Another hot and humid day and I find myself holed up in my house with the windows shut, fans going, and the single window air conditioner running at top speed. It is still hot and humid. It is worse outside, though. No fishing, no gardening, no walking. It might as well be winter.
I don't recall many days like this when I was young. Maybe it just didn't bother me as much when I was a kid. Our house was so super cool all summer because of the trees around it, that had air conditioning been available, we wouldn't have needed it. I do recall my grandparents taking a galvanized wash tub outside and filling it with water for us to sit in to cool off. That was a treat, as was running through their lawn sprinkler spray.
When I was a young mother, we would all pile into the car and go for a long ride to cool off. These were the sixties, and our car didn't have air conditioning, but with the windows all down, the breeze felt great. Gasoline wasn't an issue yet, and it didn't take much money to fill the tank. In the sixties, I had three children, and there was always a battle over who sat in the window seats and who got stuck in the middle. Sometimes we would go to KMart and walk around inside because it was air conditioned. At home, I would sometimes turn on the garden hose and let the kids cool off in the water spray. Once in a while, we would go to Girty or Rearic's Fording and wade or swim in Crooked Creek.
I can say this for certain: the best times of my life were the years when I had all my children still at home. There was a lot of work -- huge amounts of laundry, ironing, cleaning, cooking and baking -- but there were hugs and kisses and laughter and the beautiful faces of my babies. I miss that.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Life's Pleasures
Today, I witnessed my grandson help his Little League team win the championship game. He is a talented baseball player who seems to have found his niche, as my eldest daughter said. We watched him hit his second home run in as many days, and his happiness at doing so. He is an all-around good player. It's great to be a grandmother when these milestones can be shared.
I live a little over an hour away from my grandchildren, and so I miss out on many things. In today's world, things are so different from the world in which I grew up. My grandparents were nearby and visiting back and forth occurred a couple of times a week. They were so much a part of my life, and I cherish those memories and all I learned from them. Grandparents are teachers of history, and I fear my nine grandchildren have not had the opportunity to hear the old stories and oral history of their ancestors. Perhaps children today don't care about the past, or perhaps their parents don't, but the oral histories told by grandparents teach children about their place in the scheme of things, if nothing else. But I can't change things or attitudes. I can just feel saddened by the loss.
I live a little over an hour away from my grandchildren, and so I miss out on many things. In today's world, things are so different from the world in which I grew up. My grandparents were nearby and visiting back and forth occurred a couple of times a week. They were so much a part of my life, and I cherish those memories and all I learned from them. Grandparents are teachers of history, and I fear my nine grandchildren have not had the opportunity to hear the old stories and oral history of their ancestors. Perhaps children today don't care about the past, or perhaps their parents don't, but the oral histories told by grandparents teach children about their place in the scheme of things, if nothing else. But I can't change things or attitudes. I can just feel saddened by the loss.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Grocery Prices
The photo to the right (What I Saw Today) shows who is getting most of my money these days. And yours, too, I suspect. Normally, I run to the store every couple of days and vary the stores depending upon what I need. Today, I went to Giant Eagle and though I know their prices tend to be higher than other stores, their produce and variety are the best around here. So I put up with the higher prices. However, today I was really shocked by how much the prices have increased. A can of Maxwell House Decaf was over $13. A jug of Tide detergent was also over $13. A bag of frozen chicken was $12 something. So three items cost $38!! I remember when I was a newly-married bride in 1962 and spent $25 every two weeks for lots of groceries. I know I sound like my grandparents and parents sounded to me when I was young, but I really think these prices reflect more than high shipping costs. The greed of all the people from the grocery store back to the manufacturer/grower is despicable. For some of us who are retired or unemployed, these prices mean that we either eat or we pay our bills. This is a disgrace in a country which has so much wealth.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Flux Art and the Treehouse
As I was painting today, my mind was wandering a bit, thinking about various art movements of the twentieth century. Fluxism, or Flux art, was a movement which the general public doesn't really know about, much less understand. It began as anti-art, a mini-revolution against the abstract expressionism which ruled the mid-century art world. The "happenings" of the 1960's were a kind of flux art, where the audience in some way is involved with the creation of the art. Flux art was that of performance or participation. Often is is humorous and uncomplicated.
About ten years ago, I witnessed flux art being performed by a man who didn't even realize he was creating performance art. He was probably the most creative person I have ever known, though unsophisticated and unaware of his genius. His creativity was not planned to be creative, much less as works of art, and that is what made it genuine and real.
On my way home from work one early summer day, as I drove past his property just up the road from mine, I noticed that a very large tree which had stood sentinel at his driveway had been cut off about ten feet up from the ground. I thought the tree must have been diseased and was in the process of being cut down. However, every day for the following week, the tree remained the same. Then came the day when I noticed there was a wooden platform atop the tree trunk. Another week passed before anything else happened, and then a white plastic table was sitting on the platform. A few days later, a flower in a vase appeared on the table. The following week, a white plastic chair had been placed at the table. Needless to say, I was anxious every day to see how the treetop scenario had changed. I laughed aloud at each addition to the tree, but the last day was the best. As I drove past the tree, there was the creator of this art - sitting in the chair with his back to the road, reading a book. Now that is a really good example of flux art! I howled and laughed and I still laugh when I recall the entire event.
The whole thing actually ended up being a tree house for a fifty-year old man who never grew up, but had more creativity in his little finger than most of us who graduated from college with degrees in art. It was marvelous.
About ten years ago, I witnessed flux art being performed by a man who didn't even realize he was creating performance art. He was probably the most creative person I have ever known, though unsophisticated and unaware of his genius. His creativity was not planned to be creative, much less as works of art, and that is what made it genuine and real.
On my way home from work one early summer day, as I drove past his property just up the road from mine, I noticed that a very large tree which had stood sentinel at his driveway had been cut off about ten feet up from the ground. I thought the tree must have been diseased and was in the process of being cut down. However, every day for the following week, the tree remained the same. Then came the day when I noticed there was a wooden platform atop the tree trunk. Another week passed before anything else happened, and then a white plastic table was sitting on the platform. A few days later, a flower in a vase appeared on the table. The following week, a white plastic chair had been placed at the table. Needless to say, I was anxious every day to see how the treetop scenario had changed. I laughed aloud at each addition to the tree, but the last day was the best. As I drove past the tree, there was the creator of this art - sitting in the chair with his back to the road, reading a book. Now that is a really good example of flux art! I howled and laughed and I still laugh when I recall the entire event.
The whole thing actually ended up being a tree house for a fifty-year old man who never grew up, but had more creativity in his little finger than most of us who graduated from college with degrees in art. It was marvelous.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Old-Fashioned Fourth of July
Memories of the Fourth of July when I was a child are always the same. The first thing in the morning was traveling to New Kensington to watch the parade. When my father was young, he marched with the drum and bugle corps, playing the bugle. My grandfather was always involved in one way or another in the parade, as he was a policeman. Parades were exciting and special events in those days.
After the parade, we went to the home of my maternal great-uncle and his wife, who hosted both his family and hers, at an all-day picnic which ultimately was like a family reunion. I don't recall the Fourth ever being anything but hot and humid, miserably so. We all congregated in the back yard of Uncle Frank's house, and amid the group picture-taking, we kids played games and had a grand old time. Bottles of pop were kept cold in galvanized wash tubs filled with dry ice, which always fascinated us kids. We were always cautioned not to touch the dry ice, but we all, at one time or another, defied the warnings of the grown-ups. There never was any alcohol, as this group was made up of staunch Presbyterians who frowned upon drinking. I recall my parents talking about some of the men who had "stashes" in their autos, which explained the disappearances, and consequent behavioral changes, of the men throughout the day. Most of the men, and very few women, smoked cigarettes, though. Remember, this was in the 40's and 50's, prior to warnings about smoking.
Every few years, our great aunt and uncle from Scranton would come with some or all of their children. I was always ecstatic when they came and brought their son, Joe. He was a few years older than the rest of us, and I had a little girl crush on him. The last time I saw him, when I was about thirteen, he took all of us kids for a ride in his convertible and we thought he was just super.
Everyone brought a covered dish or a dessert or fruit to the picnic, but other than hot dogs and hamburgers, I don't remember exactly what foods we ate. Except for the watermelon, of course. That was as much a part of the Fourth of July as fireworks. As dusk arrived, we kids were given "sparklers" which were lit by the grownups. Other than being told not to touch the sparkling part of the wands, we were allowed to just enjoy waving the sparklers around until they died out. Everyone left after the sparklers to watch the fireworks from a neighboring hill. Ahh, that was always the best time of the summer. Fireworks weren't shown other than on the Fourth of July, so it was a real treat. My father used to tell us of the fireworks when he was a kid, and said they were far more elaborate and depicted things like the flag.
After the great uncles and aunts, including my grandparents, passed away, the reunions ceased. And the Fourth of July was never again the same.
After the parade, we went to the home of my maternal great-uncle and his wife, who hosted both his family and hers, at an all-day picnic which ultimately was like a family reunion. I don't recall the Fourth ever being anything but hot and humid, miserably so. We all congregated in the back yard of Uncle Frank's house, and amid the group picture-taking, we kids played games and had a grand old time. Bottles of pop were kept cold in galvanized wash tubs filled with dry ice, which always fascinated us kids. We were always cautioned not to touch the dry ice, but we all, at one time or another, defied the warnings of the grown-ups. There never was any alcohol, as this group was made up of staunch Presbyterians who frowned upon drinking. I recall my parents talking about some of the men who had "stashes" in their autos, which explained the disappearances, and consequent behavioral changes, of the men throughout the day. Most of the men, and very few women, smoked cigarettes, though. Remember, this was in the 40's and 50's, prior to warnings about smoking.
Every few years, our great aunt and uncle from Scranton would come with some or all of their children. I was always ecstatic when they came and brought their son, Joe. He was a few years older than the rest of us, and I had a little girl crush on him. The last time I saw him, when I was about thirteen, he took all of us kids for a ride in his convertible and we thought he was just super.
Everyone brought a covered dish or a dessert or fruit to the picnic, but other than hot dogs and hamburgers, I don't remember exactly what foods we ate. Except for the watermelon, of course. That was as much a part of the Fourth of July as fireworks. As dusk arrived, we kids were given "sparklers" which were lit by the grownups. Other than being told not to touch the sparkling part of the wands, we were allowed to just enjoy waving the sparklers around until they died out. Everyone left after the sparklers to watch the fireworks from a neighboring hill. Ahh, that was always the best time of the summer. Fireworks weren't shown other than on the Fourth of July, so it was a real treat. My father used to tell us of the fireworks when he was a kid, and said they were far more elaborate and depicted things like the flag.
After the great uncles and aunts, including my grandparents, passed away, the reunions ceased. And the Fourth of July was never again the same.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
New Links
Take a look at my blog list in the right side column. For those of you who, like me, have to watch your pocketbook, there are several good sites to check. And for those of you who suffer from chronic pain, there is a good site which reports all new treatments. Of course, there is The Huffington Report for those of you who like to keep abreast of politics.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
