2000 Ribbons by Martina Moore As I am standing in my pantry and reaching for a can of green beans from the grocery store, I am thinking of all the canning I used to do. Now it seems to be impossible to squeeze a little bit more time in the day to do one more thing. I loved to can and to look at my labor of love during the gray winter months. Next to my cans from the grocery store is one golden jar of beautifully arranged yams. Every yam is the same color, size and thickness. I got this treasure from Katie Gilbert on Beaux Mountain Road. My friend Evelyn introduced me to Katie last summer. Katie is petite, soft spoken and beautiful. Her smiles make you feel good right away. But the most amazing thing about her is that she has collected over 2000 blue, pink and purple ribbons for the best canning, baking and cooking at the fairs. Yes, over 2000! She entered her first competition in 1941 with candy. She made divinity sea foam and chocolate fudge and won two blue ribbons right away. After this she was hooked and entered the Stokes County Fair in King, the Dixie Classic Fair in Winston-Salem and the State Fair in Raleigh every year. During the Second World War she was unable to compete because there were no fairs held at that time. In 1991 she won the championship in making apple pie and the grand prize two times, also in apple pie making. She won $50.00 and $300.00 worth of kitchen gadgets for the championship. She remembers, with a shy smile, that her husband kissed her in front of everybody, and then they went out to eat "something good." All of her ribbons are neatly stored in three boxes, filled up to the top with every ribbon she has won, along with the notations of the year, location and what is was for. In the top of the box are two sheets of paper with the tallied number of ribbons won at each fair and the year. Still today, even though she is way up in her eighties, this petite lady does all the canning, baking and cooking by herself. She enters the fairs with about thirty different canned goods. Then she comes back on the different days to enter the pie contests, meatloaf contests, cake contests and so on. Just the thought of this makes me exhausted. Every can must be labeled with contest, year, what kind of process was used, like pressure canning, hot bath, etc. The same with baked goods. I have gone to the fairs to look at the canned goods. When you talk to the people at the Dixie Classic Fair or at the King Fair, Katie Gilbert's goods stand out big time. One of the women at the Dixie Classic Fair could point to Katie's jars without reading the labels. She picked up the jars and proudly showed me Katie's work of art. Every bean, carrot or potato was the same size, color and form in an astonishing unity. I was in awe. Katie is one of my heroes. What will I be like in my eighties? ...and yes, maybe I will can something this summer. mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog

Becoming a Blacksmith by Anderson Gardener Phillips Some things never change but most things do. In my line of work this is true to the fullest extent. I am seventeen years old, and I am a blacksmith, or at least I am becoming one. A blacksmith is one who works iron, not only making horse shoes, but one who also makes tools, hardware, gates, fences and almost anything out of iron that is needed. It is the most wonderful and diverse trade in all the world. Nowhere else than in the blacksmith shop have I found the mixture of beauty, strength and hard work all poured into a single piece of iron. Thus, the iron we work, the fire we keep and the hammer we swing all have a magic to them for they are the extent of mans' creative nature. That nature and this trade have gone hand and hand for thousands of years. For the most part, the true nature of the trade has not changed, yet in the past hundred years the trade of the blacksmith has dwindled, and the masters are few and far between. As a student of this trade I have been lucky to find the guidance that I need. My father was a jeweler and it was from him that my love of metal work along with my knowledge began to grow. I learned many of the basic things I know from working with the silver and gold he mastered, but I was never satisfied with the work of a jeweler. I found a hammer one day, and I asked my father what it was for. He said it was a blacksmith's tool. He went on to tell me that the work of a blacksmith was hard and required a blacksmith not only to be strong but smart as well. I had never seen a blacksmith work before and didn't believe any existed any more. I thought the trade was lost to museums and perhaps some who did it as a hobby. I was 12 when I started to make a few small things, beating them out on a piece of railroad track at my anvil and a campfire as my forge. I was able to gain bits and pieces of knowledge from books, but it wasn't until chance brought me to a treasure of knowledge. While at the Dixie Classic Fair, I heard the ringing of the anvil and found the demonstrations done by the local blacksmithing group. I must have spent an hour in disbelief as I looked over every tool in the shop; it was heaven for me at the time. I was able to attend the monthly meetings of this blacksmithing group and learned so much by watching and listening to their skilled demonstrators. So as time went on I slowly built a shop of my own. I collected tools and hammers and spent every spare minute working on whatever project I had found for myself. I can only imagine what my mother thought, but my family supported me in my unusual interest in the trade; we even all took a road trip the day I went to buy my first anvil. I began to take small orders and sell some of my work as my hobby began to grow into a profession, yet I still lacked the basic training that I needed to aspire. The traditional aspiring blacksmith would take an apprenticeship (he would work with a blacksmith who would teach him). Once he had learned all he could from that master he would take his things and journey to another blacksmith's shop where he could learn and work, hence becoming a journeyman of the trade. To continue to grow as a blacksmith I had to find someone to teach me. (At the time I didn't even know where to begin.) I sent a letter to a school across the country that taught blacksmithing, and I found a perfect place for me to learn, the American School of Blacksmithing in Oregon. The master of the shop was a man named Geronimo Bayard, a renowned horse-shoer and a blacksmith of great skill. I got on a bus and rode from Winston to Oregon where I took three classes and spent some time on the side, overall about a month. The master of the shop, Geronimo, let me stay with him while I was there. He would teach me between classes and took me with him to shoe horses. He quickly became not only my teacher, but a great friend and an excellent role model. I am thankful for every day I spent with him and for everything I learned. You see, fate has an odd way of playing itself out. Geronimo died a few months after I finished his classes. Another master of the trade is lost. About six months ago I took an apprenticeship with a blacksmith, Bernd Mergener. He was trained in Germany and moved to the United States and now works in Winston. The organization, hard work, ethics, and perfectionist attitude that make German craftsmanship so great are the current topics of my study. I also learn the extent of the trade beyond just swinging a hammer. I am learning how to run the business. It is from Bernd that I have learned to make all of the pieces come together, and I am still in awe at his skilled experience and hope that one day I may achieve the same skill as he. The end goal for me is to be a master of the trade, but as I am told, you are not a master until someone else calls you one. I'll get there thanks to the help and the true friendship of those who have taught me. I can only hope that one day I'll be able to teach the way that I have been taught, to prolong the life of a dying art, to pass on the skills, the knowledge and the history, the legacy and the legend of the trade I love so much. mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog

That's What I Remember by Shelli Lynch Shucking corn and shelling beans in lawn chairs, that's what I remember. Whenever we are faced with the possibility of a loved one's death, we are apt to recall the strangest and simplest things about them. It becomes difficult to sift through the years of words and touches in order to find that one bold comment, that one significant caress. We grapple with the idea that we should be able to remember. But, what remains genuine is the fact that we can't remember that one time, that one word because our lives were saturated by them, so much so that one memory doesn't come to mind, a thousand do. Moving her glasses, her Guidepost, and her Bible to dust the coffee table; that's what I remember. Each family has their leader. One who sits silently and directs traffic from their velvet chair with a simple gesture. True leaders of families never shout, they almost sing their lullaby of wisdom. It seeps into our thoughts late at night when the cicadas are wooing us to sleep. Their stories told repeatedly, their legend born. Watching her hands along the dark green yarn, that's what I remember. Beauty does not reside in those things that we merely find aesthetically appealing. Rather, it floats amid the seemingly insignificant observances of daily habits. The reflection of those steal, blue eyes behind the large reading glasses. The ridges of strong, creamy fingers working a stitch. The curve of a slender, Southern neck as it dips closer to the steaming stew for judgment. One can travel the world in search of ancient beauty and never find any as delicate as the Taylor eyes. Her smell of peppermint and warm tea, that's what I remember. To a child, being protected is never as appreciated as when they grow older and simply reflect upon its presence. Falling off of your bike and lying in that big, four-poster bed watching her shoulders flex beneath thinning skin while making you comfortable can make you sigh when you're ten and cry when you are twenty-eight. Standing by your bedside while you recover from what seemed like Hell itself may be fleeting when you are eighteen, but will sustain your grief when you are thirty-six. Her smile on your forehead as she kisses the pain away may never have been seen during your youth, but now, it wakes you in the morning and tells you of a woman who simply loved you eternally. She will never have her own profile in the Sunday paper. She will never be a household name. Many will share her memory, yet there are those that will never be that lucky. We house her stories in our hearts as sad, funny, adventurous and brave; yet, they will never be printed nor sold. The world will go on with those in it who never had the pleasure of hearing her laugh. Ours is an oral tradition of downy syllables crooning through the ages of a woman and her life here on Earth. Ours is a song of the South and its truest legend. Watching her love us, that's what I remember. mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog

A Lakeside Fourth of July by Carolyn Landreth When I was a kidlet growing up in St. Paul, Minnesota, I was fortunate to live in a neighborhood with other kids my age. My best buddy was Karen, who is still a close friend, even though we are many miles apart. On the Fourth of July, the neighborhood kids had a parade. This primarily consisted of decorated bicycles with strips of crepe paper woven through the spokes of the wheels in alternating colors of red, white and blue. We made tassels that hung from the handle bars. Sometimes we marched up and down the sidewalks, and I still have the toy drum which I pounded with great precision. Of course, we had flags to wave as patriotism was especially big with World War II on our doorsteps. Our dress also had to be flag-like--a tradition that we still seem to adhere to. This all took place in the early hours of the morning of the Fourth, and then it was time to head out to our cottage on Lake Owasso, which is about 20 minutes from the Midway of St. Paul, where we had our permanent home. The property at the lake was in a pie shape on a long hill with the widest part near the main road, and it included an orchard and a huge garden that was tended by Grandpa, and in later years by Uncle Fritz. The middle section of the property is where the cottage and well were located with large steps leading down to them. There was another hill descending from the cottage to the lake shore. The cottage was built in 1917 by Grandma and Grandpa Thiers who had two teenagers--my mom, Louise, who was 17 and Uncle Fritz, who was 19. My Grandparents wanted the cottage to be accessible to the young folks for lake parties, and so they built it with a large "L" shaped living area for dining and dancing to the piano or phonograph. Large windows marched around that entire area affording a fabulous view of the lake and the woods. There were cots along the window walls which were used for seating and beds for the extended family members. A large, private bedroom was enclosed in the center of the house with a bathroom off to the side. An outhouse was attached to the garage up on the hill--just in case. The large kitchen and pantry was in the back of the house next to the screened-in porch, the one with the screen door that slammed just right. There was a big kerosene stove that held those glass kerosene bottles which had to be filled periodically. This is where we canned and jellied and jammed in the latter part of the summer. Sometime later, there was a kerosene stove installed in the living room for cool evenings, and so that in the winter months we could get warm when we went ice skating. After Mom and Uncle Fritz had their respective families, time at the lake was split-up into two week increments. After Grandpa died, Grandma would stay with us for our two-weeks and then with Aunt Helen and Uncle Fritz for their two weeks. No matter who's turn it was to be living at the lake, there was always a Fourth of July party for the whole family. There were flags placed along the steps from the upper section of the property down to the house. Grandma made beautiful flower arrangements with blue bachelor buttons, white daisies and dark pink (almost red) roses that were all grown in the garden. She also stuck tiny flags in large gum drops that were put at everyone's place at dinner. My mom continued that tradition, and now I do the very same thing. The men-folk mowed the grass over the entire property and then started the fire in the brick chimney-type barbeque down by the lake shore. The women-folk were busy in the kitchen and back porch forming hamburger patties, reaming lemons for the real lemonade, cooking the custard for ice cream, and making German potato salad and deviled eggs. Soon it was time to haul all the goodies in a wheel barrow from the cottage down to the shore house, which was a small screened-in pavilion with a large picnic table inside. There was a picnic table outside the shore house, but if the mosquitoes were bad we would go inside. The lemonade was in a big earthen crock with a spigot. The hamburger-fry was orchestrated by my dad and uncle Fritz. What a glorious smell! The seasoning was just perfect and when those juicy guys were slapped on the buns with thick slices of tomatoes and gobs of lettuce and rings of white onions, our mouths watered uncontrollably. (The burgers I buy at Cook Out remind me of those lake-side burgers.) The ice cream was made in a crank freezer which we all took turns churning. My cousin, Bob, reminded me that sometimes some of the rock salt would get into the ice cream by mistake, but we still managed to enjoy the end results. After stuffing ourselves it was recreation time. Horseshoes for the men and sitting and talking and knitting for the ladies. Grandpa Thiers did a little fishing off the dock. As our family grew and those little cousins became bigger cousins, there was much frolicking on the dock and in the lake. Somewhere around 1967, cousin Jim bought a big 50 horsepower motor boat for $999, and the water skiing began. Most everyone except me had success getting up on the skis. I never managed to get out of the water. I swallowed the lake with each attempt, and I finally gave up feeling that some water should be left in the lake for the fish. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. During World War II, my cousin Fritz was a soldier in the army. One Fourth of July, he was home on furlough and came out to the lake in his uniform. We were all so proud of him, and that year the flag waving was more prolific than usual. And, then there were fireworks! This was back in the days when fireworks were legal in all states. My dad, who was a kid at heart all his life, was a serious lover of fireworks. The louder the better. Cousin Bob was also a fireworks enthusiast and in 1956 he bought ten gross (quick, how many is that?!) of M-80's--sometimes referred to as cherry bombs--for only $18 and they lasted us five years. Dad and Bob put the M-80's under empty tin cans and lit the fuses. We watched the cans zoom many feet into the air. We took bets on how high they would go--to the top of that spruce tree or to the top of that oak tree? Since the fuses were waterproof, the "boys" would light one and throw it in the lake. The explosion was quite spectacular. As I think about it now, the fish could not have been very happy over that situation. Cousin Eileen reminds me that the firecrackers were usually lit by Dad's cigars, and the rest of us used punk sticks to ward off mosquitoes while watching our evening fireworks displays. Despite all the fireworks used we were lucky that no one was maimed or injured in any way. As the day faded, the folks went on back to their homes. If it was our family's turn to stay at the cottage we would bid the other relatives goodbye and get ready for bed. If it was really hot, we would go for an evening dip to get all that salty sweat off our bodies and feel fresh for bed. That brings to mind the bathing suit saga. For years, bathing suits from the teens and twenties were kept in a big box on the closet shelf in the bathroom. It was such fun to rummage through those funny old woolen suits--the women's with skirts and the men's with leggings and tops with holes on the sides. Actually, even I had a woolen bathing suit, a bright yellow number. Oh, how it itched! I wore it as a child in the early 40's. There is nothing quite so unpleasant as putting on a wet, soggy woolen suit. To be honest, it was unpleasant to put on a dry woolen suit. We'd often go swimming two or three times a day. Sometimes, just a lake dip was not enough, and we would take a bar of ivory soap down to the spring-fed lake for a sudsy bath. There were times when it was too cool or rainy to bathe in the lake, and that was when the round galvanized washtub would come out of it's storage place and be set up in the kitchen. Water was heated on the stove, and I had the privilege of bathing first. After I was tucked in bed, my folks took their turns sponging off. Such a cozy feeling, just like the evening swims on the Fourth of July. There was nothing as gratifying as looking back on the day and slipping into our beds with the windows open and that lovely lake breeze wafting through the cottage. Sweet dreams! *Carolyn Landreth is the co-owner and operator of One-Way Antiques in King, North Carolina. mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog

Grandma and The Spinach Balls Or Why One Should Never Assume by Judith Katz-Schwartz We had all gathered at my mother's apartment for a holiday celebration. I can't even remember which holiday it was. It must have been in the early eighties because my sister's son, Ian, was two years old. And my sister Evelyn was concerned because we wouldn't be eating dinner for several hours. Ian was a little boy with a big hunger and Evelyn was a doting Mom. Evelyn and I always had the habit of opening the refrigerator, checking all the cupboards, making a slow circle around the kitchen, dining room and even the living room. All of this snooping was for the purpose of checking out what there was to eat. What splendid morsels had my mother prepared for the occasion? What store bought delicacies were sitting out on platters, residing in the fridge, or wherever, waiting to be devoured? Were all our favorites there? How much could we sneak into our mouths before the actual meal? Evelyn noticed the spinach balls in the skillet on top of the stove. "Ian will eat those," she said. "I'll heat them up. Want one?" No one had to ask me twice. Ian was the first to bite into a spinach ball. And to spit it right out again, all over his new shirt and the damask tablecloth on the kitchen table. He refused to eat another bite. He wouldn't even stay in his seat at the table, but took off for one of the bedrooms and a date with the vacuum cleaner (his latest love). So, Evelyn picked up one of the remaining spinach balls on the plate, and popped it into her mouth, offering the other one to me. Before I could eat it, Evelyn's face screwed up in revulsion. She turned to the trash can and spat out the entire mouthful. "Something's wrong with this", she said. "What do you mean? There's nothing in there that could be spoiled. It's just spinach and egg", I answered. "Oh yeah, then you try it", Evelyn retorted. "I'm not kidding. Something's not right." What an understatement. I took a tiny bite of the ball in my hand. There are no words to describe the vileness of the Hideous Sphere From Hell. It tasted like something in the capsules they give spies in the movies to take in case they're captured behind enemy lines and decide to end it all. It definitely didn't taste like food. Not food for humans anyway. Perhaps if you were trying to catch a mouse, you could set the trap with one of these so if the trap didn't get him, he'd die from eating the bait. "Should we tell Mommy?", my sister asked. "Should we tell Mommy! Are you insane? Of course! If we don't tell her, she'll serve this to everyone, and we'll all celebrate this holiday in the emergency room", I answered. "Okay, you tell her." We come now to a basic truth of life in the Katz family. All bad news has always been delivered to our parents by me, on behalf of The Girls (Evelyn and I are, collectively, "The Girls". Our brother, Arnie and our two first cousins are "The Boys"). Here's something you may already have noticed: people aren't all that thrilled with the poor shmoe who is always delivering the bad news. This could be why everyone we knew thought of Evelyn as an angelic child, while I was the black sheep. I think I know how those hapless ancient Roman messengers felt when they had to tell Caesar that Cleopatra had been spotted at all the local Cairo dance clubs smooching with Marcus Antonius in the VIP lounge. But, I digress. Mom had to be told. "Mommy", I said, "these spinach balls really stink!" Okay, so there was no danger of my ever having a career in the diplomatic corps. My mother tasted one of the balls and headed straight for the trash can, as did a couple of other people. Mom couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. We discussed every single ingredient. Nothing in the recipe had the potential to produce such a vile vegetable orb, such a lousy legume lump, such a pile of repulsive rotten roundness. Until we hit upon the subject of the oil used to fry them. Mom pulled the bottle of oil out of the cabinet under the sink and handed it to me. It was an ordinary bottle of vegetable oil. I took off the cap, and sniffed. It brought tears to my eyes. The smell that wafted up to my nose was redolent of lemon. And soap. "Mama!", my mother yelled, as Grandma came around the corner into the kitchen, carrying several pairs of socks she had discovered while rearranging my mother's sock drawer (unbeknownst to Mom, of course), and which she had decided my mother no longer needed as socks, but they'd do very nicely for dusting (but don't get me started on that). Mom held up the bottle of oil and said, "What's in here?" Grandma fixed her with that look of pity she usually reserved for the neighbor's dog, who had been dropped on his head as a puppy and now perpetually stood in front of his water dish wondering where he was, and drooling all over the floor, and said, "It's for vashing around the dishes. Vudden?" My mother had bought a giant economy-size bottle of lemon scented dishwashing liquid and Grandma had decided to transfer it into about six hundred smaller bottles. Why, is still one of the great mysteries of our family. And which bottle had she filled with dishwashing soap and then stored right in the front of the cabinet where the cooking oil was kept? Why, the oil bottle, of course. Vudden? So we were all standing around munching on spinach balls expertly sauteed in dishwashing detergent. Bear in mind here that Grandma didn't even live with my mother. She just knew how my mother was supposed to live, so she came in all the time and rearranged the house in such a way as to ensure that everyone in it lived the way they were supposed to do. What's the point of this story, and what has it to do with collecting? It'll be a stretch, but I'll make a connection for you. The point is that things aren't always what they seem. None of us should take anything for granted. Just because something looks like a handpainted Nippon vase doesn't mean you shouldn't turn it over and look at the mark. As almost all of us denizens of yard sales know, a piece of Roseville spotted across the fleamarket aisle can turn out to be one of those Asian repros once we get over there to the table on which it's sitting and really examine it. And that lovely rhinestone necklace on Ebay could turn out to be a hunk of junk. So, let's be careful out there. And let's ask lots of direct questions. The person on the other end of the deal could be a perfectly honest one, but one who just doesn't know what he's selling. It's why the phrase caveat emptor was invented. And sniff everything before you eat it. To my long-suffering mother (really, you didn't think the story above was an isolated incident, did you? If you did, then I must tell you about the time my mother phoned me and asked,"What happens to plants that have been watered with vanilla syrup?"), Happy Mother's Day and Happy Birthday from The Girls. And The Boys, too. mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog mzmouser@attbi.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Time's fun when you're having flies." -Kermit the Frog

The good old school days By OPAL "GRANDMA" HABISCH Boy and girls, when you read this you will probably say, "What was so good about the old school days?" Well, I will tell you. The school's today are like a kings's palace with good teachers. Your school's have running water - when I went to school, the only time we had running water was when the roof leaked! Our bathroom was outside in a woods behind the school building, and everybody used the same one - there wasn't a boy's or girl's bathroom. It wasn't too bad when the weather was warm. In the winter, you were in and out in a hurry. There were about 28 children in our school. That included grades one through eight. We had one teacher for all eight grades. For heat, we had a big potbellied stove and we burned wood. We would put our lunch pails around the stove when it was real cold outside, so our food wasn't frozen. It was the boys' job to keep the woodbox filled. They would go outside, brush the snow off the wood, and bring it in. A lot of snow would get brought inside with the wood; it would melt off in the woodbox and there would be a puddle. When it got real cold, the teacher would have us get up and jump up and down and clap our hands to warm up. We thought it was really fun. Our drinking water was brought in by the janitor in a big milk can. He set it in the hall and sometimes it would freeze on top. We had two tin cups for all of us to use. It was good water and we enjoyed how cold it was. Our janitor was a farmer that lived close to the school. He would come in and start the fire in the stove early in the morning so the building would be warmed up when we got to school. If it wasn't warm enough when we got there, we would wear our coats until it got warmer. The boys would have the jobs of clearing a path in the snow and clearing the steps and the girls would have the jobs of cleaning the classroom, sweeping and cleaning the blackboard. We would do this before we went home every day. There weren't any school buses. Everyone walked to school, even the teacher. My brother and I walked seven miles, but when the lake froze up in the winter and we could walk on the ice, it was only four miles. We never heard about sports at school in those days. If we had any free time, we had to work. I lived on the farm with my grandparents to help them, as my grandmother was quite sick, and when I got home from school, I had plenty of work to do. When I got out of high school, I went to the University of Minnesota and became a nurse. My brother also went to the university and, then, into the Army. You don't need all kinds of fancy things if you want to learn. All you need is a good teacher and a will to learn all you can. Someday your generation will run this country and you need to learn all you can now, so you can do a good job. It's very important that you stay in school

Memories of the Adair Home by Marceline Sidna Mae Russell Adair The first time I saw the house was in the summer of 1930. My father was in the VA Hospital in Whipple. He became acquainted with another patient, Jake Renfro, so the two families planned a camping trip for the White Mountains. The Renfros had a house and 40 acres in Pinetop. We were going to spend ten days at Paradise Cienega. We went to the Adair's and picked up four horses that we rode up there. I had an experience by the cattle guard going into McNary. My saddle slipped off the horse and I wound up underneath him. Quite alarming for a novice! The next time I was at the house was the summer of 1932. We had moved to San Diego and came to Pinetop to spend the summer. We rented the house where Ina Clair was born. Mildred and Snooks were expecting Delbert. My sister Mary Ellen and I became acquainted with Genevieve (Sis) and we spent time in the Adair's house. A covered porch was in front. It was a nice place to sit and visit. There were a lot of impromptu concerts held there as everyone was musically inclined. The house had a living room with a fireplace (later replaced by a wood-burning stove). There was a bedroom used by Grandma and Grandpa Adair. Grandma Adair had a cedar chest in the bedroom. Every time somebody gave her a gift- a tablecloth, embroidered pillow cases, etc.- it would go in the chest, and she never used them. Their burial clothes were in there too. Hers were used, of course, but not John's- the chest went in the fire. The next room was a dining room with a huge table. A dish cupboard was in one corner. One outstanding feature sitting on the cupboard was an antique wash basin with a water pitcher that was lost in the fire too. On the wall was a large framed picture of William Penn Adair Rogers (Will Rogers). On one wall was a covered wooden container where flour was kept, usually 100 lb. bags. Also, in the fall a truck would go through town with 100 lb. bags of pinto beans and one of them would be stored in the box. There was another bedroom off the dining room and a narrow stairway to the second floor. The kitchen had another good sized table, a dish cupboard and a huge wood-burning range. The washstand with water buckets was in a corner. There was a small window in one wall and the room was unusually dark. There wasn't electricity or running water (never any plumbing) until the house was wired probably 1940. There was another bedroom off the kitchen and a small covered porch where laundry could be done, except in winter it was done in the kitchen. The woodpile was in the backyard and a large iron tub sat on three rocks and washing water could be heated. I have to mention the apple orchard. It was gorgeous in the spring. I moved in with Linda and Raymond in 1947. We fixed up the middle bedroom and that's where we lived. Lloyd and Dell were the only sons at home. I had the janitor's job at the schoolhouse down the road for which I was paid $16 a month. Janice was born in Snowflake that same year. Shortly after we came home, I came down with yellow jaundice and was completely wiped out for three or four months. The next summer we started work on our log house. When fall came our logs weren't chiseled and it got to cold so I moved back to the big house. This was the time when Grandma Adair was suffering from cancer so I found plenty to do and didn't feel so much a fifth wheel. Raymond, Janice and I slept upstairs. There were cracks in the wall where the boards had dried and shrunk. Snow would drift in, so every night when we went up there I would have to shake the top cover and get the snow off. It was kind of cozy- in bed with two kids and covering our heads to keep off the snow. I would get up early and go down to the living room, start a fire and put the coffee pot on. John loved it- getting up to a warm room and hot coffee. This was about the time I sent Raymond (Linda was already there) to his dad, and Janice and I went to Phoenix where I got a housekeeping job. I was back in Phoenix when the house burned so I missed that, but I can imagine those dried out old boards went fast.

Grandma Betty's Joke of the Week A grandmother's giving directions to her grandson's new wife how to get to her new condo. She says, "You come to the main door of the apartment building, and there's a big panel at the door. With your elbow, push button 14T and I'll buzz you in. Come inside, and the elevator is on the right. Get in, and with your elbow hit 14. When you get out, my door is just to the left. With your elbow, hit the bell." The grandson's wife says, "Grandma, that sounds easy, but why am I hitting these buttons with my elbow?" The old lady says, "You're coming empty handed?" BENEFITS OF BEING OVER 50: 1. People call at 9 p.m. and ask, "Did I wake you?" 2. People no longer view you as a hypochondriac. 3. There's nothing left to learn the hard way. 4. Things you buy now won't wear out. 5. You can eat dinner at 3 p.m. 6. You can live without sex (but not without glasses). 7. You enjoy hearing about other people's operations. 8. You get into a heated argument about pension plans. 9. You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it. 10. You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge 11. You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room. 12. You sing along with the elevator music. 13. Your eyes won't get much worse.. 14. Your investment in health insurance is finally beginning to pay off. 15. Your joints are more accurate meteorologists than the ! National Weather Service. 16. Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either. (Submitted by friend and fellow chatter 'Homestead'-Wilbur) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- When I'm an Old Lady or an Old Man When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid, And make them so happy...just as I did. I want to pay back all the joy they've provided, Returning each deed... Oh.,they'll be so excited. (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues, And bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes. I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out. I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout. (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) When they're on the phone and just out of reach, I'll get into things like sugar and bleach, Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head, And when that is done I'll hide under the bed. (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) When they cook dinner and call me to eat, I'll not eat my green beans or salad, just meat. I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table And when they get angry I'll run...if I'm able. (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) I'll sit close the the TV, thru the channels I'll click, I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick. I'll take off my socks and throw one away, And play in the mud 'til the end of the day. (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh, And thank God in prayer and then close my eyes. My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping, And say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping." (When I'm an old lady and live with my kids!) (submitted by Wilbur - Homestead51!) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Feeling edgy, a man took a hot bath. Just as he'd become comfortable, the front doorbell rang. The man got out of the tub, put on terrycloth slippers and a large towel, wrapped his head in a smaller towel, and went to the door. A salesman wanted to know if he needed any brushes. Slamming the door, the man returned to the bath. The doorbell rang again. On went the slippers and towels, and the man started for the door again. He took one step, slipped on a wet spot, and hit his back against the hard porcelain of the tub. The man struggled into his street clothes and, with every move a stab of pain, drove to the doctor. After examining him, the doctor said, "Nothing's broken. But you need to relax. Why don't you go home and take a hot bath?" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- A man applied for a job and was asked to tell about his work experience. He said, "From time to time I was a door-to-door salesman selling wall-to-wall carpeting on a day-to-day basis with a fifty-fifty commission in Walla-Walla." "How was business?" the interviewer asked. "So-so." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- A man walked into a restaurant and said, "I'd like a plate of stew and a kind word." The waitress brought his stew in a moment. As she put it down, the man whispered, "How about the kind word?" The waitress said, "Don't eat the stew!" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- What dance does a hamburger love? The Char - Char ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- What Burger can tell your fortune? A medium. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Old accountants never die....they just lose their balance. Never give up! Look at what would have happened to the Chemist who only got to Prepraration G..... And the man who concocted the formula never would have forgiven himself if he'd stopped at 6-Up..... And, Hooray for the songwriter who didn"t stop at "Tea For One". So, keep trying! Look at the man who put a hole in a Life Saver and made a MInt!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- "My right foot hurts!" "It's old age." "How come my left foot doesn't hurt? It's the same age." They're having an age problem. He won't act his and she won't tell hers!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- The following are from the GrandmaBetty Archives... Why did the soccer coach give his team a lighter? A: 'Cause they kept losing their matches! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- What did the envelope say to the stamp? A: Stick with me a we'll go places! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Top Ten Joke 10 notes on Dieting 1. If you eat something, but no one else sees you eat it, it has no calories. 2. When drinking a diet soda while eating a candy bar, the calories in the candy bar are cancelled by the diet soda. 3. When you eat with someone else, calories don't count as long as you don't eat more than they do. 4. Foods used for medicinal purposes never count. e.g. hot chocolate, brandy, toast, Sara Lee cheesecake. 5. If you fatten up everyone else around you, then you look thinner. 6. Movie-related foods do not have calories because they are part of the entertainment package and not part of one's personal fuel. e.g. milk duds, buttered popcorn, junior mints and Tootsie Rolls. 7. Cookie pieces contain no calories. The process of breaking the cookie causes calorie leakage. 8. Late-night snacks have no calories. The refrigerator light is not strong enough for the calories to see their way into the calorie counter. 9. If you are in the process of preparing something, food licked off knives and spoons have no calories. e.g. peanut butter on a knife, ice cream on a spoon. 10.Food of the same color have the same number of calories. Examples are spinach and pistachio ice cream, mushrooms and white chocolate. Chocolate is a universal color and may be substituted for any other. Joke Submission by: Brad ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Golfing with the wife One day, a man was out golfing with his wife, and he hit the ball behind a barn. After a little laughing, the wife suggested, "I'll go open the front doors, and you go open the back doors, and you can hit the ball right through." The man, of course, agrees with the plan, and goes and opens the doors. After his wife opens the front doors, and moves to the inside of the barn. The man hits his ball, and it goes almost straight up. It hits the ceiling of the barn, comes down, and hits his wife in the head, killing her instantly. The whole experience devestated the man. After one year, he was on the same gol course with a freind who didn't know about the who experience. On the whole where his wife was killed, he made the exact same shot, and the ball went behind the barn. His friend, not knowing what had happened suggested. "How 'bout I go open the front doors, you go open the back doors, and you can hit it right through." Having memories of a year ago..the man said "I don't wanna do that...you see, one year ago, this exact thing happened when I was with my wife...she opened the front doors, I opened the back...and to make a long story short...I triple bogied the hole." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Why do brides wear white? A: So the dishwasher matches the fridge and the stove.

from another list: Since a lot of funpages are looked at, and sent to others, and a lot of them are from "Flowgo.com", this is something worth checking into. It was found on my machine by House Call, the online virus scanner. For some reason, Norton didn't pick it up. Anyway it is now gone from my computer..It doesn't do any damage from what I read about it, or send out infected mails. For those of you that don't have the URL for the House Call online scan, here it is. http://housecall.antivirus.com/housecall/start_corp.asp Below is some info on this....... SECURE COMPUTING: CLEVER & NASTY TROJAN HORSE Flowgo.com visitors got a nasty guest in April: automatically downloaded software that virtually took over their machines. The software was installed through a pop-up ad purchased by Intellitouch Web Solutions. The ad automatically redirected users to KoolKatalog. Code there took advantage of a flaw in Internet Explorer. It downloaded files, known as malware, that reported back on the user's surfing habits. But perhaps its worst feature is its ability to disable the user's firewall. That way, it could not be stopped when it sent data back to its home computer. KoolKatalog has been disconnected by its Web host. But thousands of computers are believed to still be afflicted by the malware. Scan your system with an updated anti-virus program. Symantec calls the Trojan horse Backdoor Autoupder.

The House on Tuppers Creek Road In the old house on Tuppers Creek road deep in the holler where grandma raised her children, many unusual things occurred. One story of unusual activity took place one brisk October morning while grandma and grandpa were stacking firewood in the shed preparing for the coming winter, the winters could be brutal in 1920's West Virginia, Grandma always made sure she had canned plenty of food for the winter as well. Grandpa was nearly done stacking the wood when suddenly they heard a loud disturbance in the house, rustling and what sounded like a mad dog growling and snarling and knocking over furniture. The noise was so loud it could be heard clearly in the wood shed some twenty yards from the house. Fearing for the safety of my infant father who was sleeping in his crib, my grandpa grabbed a pitchfork and started running toward the house. The noise seemed to get louder and the commotion more intense the closer grandpa got to the house. Not knowing what to expect grandpa finally reached the back porch and dashed up the steps and pushed open the door with the extended pitchfork........only to find complete silence?. Grandma soon reached the house as well and quickly went to the bedroom to find the baby sleeping peacefully in his crib, having never even been awakened by the commotion. Grandma and grandpa thoroughly searched the house but found nothing out of place not so much as a crooked picture on the wall, no evidence that anything or anybody had been in the house. For grandma and grandpa it was just another unexplainable event at that old house way back in the holler, It wasn't the first one and certainly would not be the last.

The Token My grandma Holmes had three children that survived to adulthood, my father, my aunt Myrtle and my aunt Betty however grandma lost four children that all died as infants, something that was not uncommon in those days in that part of the country. As this story begins my grandma had given birth to her second child a month earlier but the baby had been suffering from a series of respiratory problems since birth. The old house on Tuppers Creek road was set quite far back off the road up on a hill with great grandma's house at the foot of the hill by the road side. The woods ran down from the hill to within a stones throw of the house and an Erie fog often ran down the bank off the hill and into grandma and grandpa's back yard in the morning. Grandma often said she would get frightened in the mornings as grandpa had to leave the house at a little before 5 o'clock in the morning to get to work on time and she and my infant father would be alone in that old house until sunrise with that fog rolling off the bank and surrounding the house. Grandma said she would often wrap the baby in a blanket and go down the hill to great grandma's house till daylight. After all grandma was still just a kid herself as she married at 16 years old and was still a month short of her 18th birthday as this story unfolds. Each morning grandma would get up and make breakfast for grandpa before he went to work. This autumn morning grandma got up to make breakfast and after checking on the baby in the crib beside their bed, she went into the kitchen and lit the fire in the stove and started her coffee. After rolling out the biscuits and placing them in the oven grandma noticed a glowing light through the curtains in the kitchen window that looked as though it could have been a fire. Grandma pulled back the curtains and saw a small glowing light that seemed to slowly come from around the side of the house and after a few moments began to slowly move across the back yard through the fog and by the garden. As grandma called for grandpa to come into the kitchen the light moved up the bank toward the family cemetery where it faded from view just as grandpa got to the kitchen. "did you see that" Grandma asked grandpa "I saw something" said grandpa but he couldn't say what it was. All her life grandma had heard of "Tokens" warnings of the impending death of a loved one, seeing this light frightened grandma who quickly went into the bedroom to check on the baby and found that the baby had stopped breathing. This was the first of the four infant children my grandparents lost, two of which were born premature. For many year now grandma has heard "Tokens" in the form of someone knocking on the door three times within a day or two of the death of a relative. Did grandma actually see the life-force of her infant child leaving the house, was the light a "Token" of her babies death, even now at 91 years of age grandma believes that it was.

Hoop Cookies Surely no one makes cookies like Grandma makes cookies, and any grandchild will tell you so! These were favorites, and Grandma usually made three or four batches of them at a time. 3/4 cup butter 1 cup granulated sugar 3 raw egg yolks 4 cooked egg yolks, sieved 1 lemon rind, grated 2 tsp mace 1/2 tsp vanilla 1/2 tsp salt 3 cups flour Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Reserving one of the raw egg yolks, beat in the remaining ingredients except the flour; work the flour in by hand, one cup at a time. The dough should be very stiff; if necessary, work in a little more flour. Smooth out the dough by kneading it for 3 or 4 minutes. Chill for 1 hour. Roll out 1/4" thick on a floured board, cut cookies using a doughnut cutter. Place on a very lightly greased cookie sheet, and brush with remaining raw egg yolk beaten with a little cold water. Sprinkle with sugar before baking, or frost after baking with red and green frosting to resemble wreaths. Bake in a slow oven (325º) about 15 minutes, or until a pale golden brown. Makes about 6 dozen hoops.

Out of the Mouths of Babes When my daughter was about four years old, she still had a hard time grasping the concept of marriage. But anyway, I got out our wedding album, thinking visual images would help, and explained the entire service to her. Once finished, I asked if she had any questions, and she replied, "Oh, I see. Is that when Mommy came to work for us?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A mother took her three-year-old daughter to church for the first time. The church lights were lowered, and then the choir came down the aisle, carrying lighted candles. All was quiet until the little one started to sing in a loud voice "Happy Birthday to you. . ." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* After listening restlessly to a long and tedious sermon, a six-year-old boy asked his father what the preacher did the rest of the week. "Oh, he's a very busy man," the father replied. "He takes care of church business, visits the sick, ministers to the poor...and then he has to have time to rest up. Talking in public isn't an easy job, you know." The boy thought about that, then said, "Well, listening ain't easy, either." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* At the beginning of a children's sermon, one girl came up to the altar wearing a beautiful dress. As the children were sitting down around the pastor, he leaned over and said to the girl, "That is a very pretty dress. Is it your Easter dress?" The girl replied almost directly into the pastor's clip-on mike, "Yes, and my Mom says it's a bitch to iron." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I had been teaching my three-year-old daughter, Caitlin, the Lord's Prayer. For several evenings at bedtime she repeated it after me. One night she said she was ready to solo. I listened with pride as she carefully enunciated each word, right up to the end of the prayer. "Lead us not into temptation," she prayed, "but deliver us some e-mail. Amen." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The physician took her four-year old daughter to preschool. The doctor had left her stethoscope on the car seat, and her little girl picked it up and began playing with it. Be still my heart, thought the doctor, my daughter wants to follow in my footsteps! Then the child spoke into the instrument: "Welcome to McDonald's - May I take your order?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin, 5 and Ryan, 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake. Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson. "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake. I can wait'." Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore, where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven," the dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* After the church service a little boy told the pastor, "when I grow up, I'm going to give you some money." "Well, thank you," the pastor replied, "but why? "Because my daddy says you're one of the poorest preachers we've ever had." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year old daughter and said, "would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say," the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say," the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* One day a mother was especially exasperated with her young son's antics. She snapped at him, saying, "How do you ever expect to get into heaven acting like that?" "Well," said the little boy after some thought, "I'll run in and out and keep slamming the door till they say, 'Come in or stay out!' and then I'll go in." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A little boy was attending his first wedding. After the service, his cousin asked him, "How many women can a man marry?" "Sixteen," the boy responded. His cousin was amazed that he knew the answer so quickly. "How do you know that?" "Easy," the little boy said. "All you have to do is add it up, like the Bishop said: 4 better, 4 worse, 4 richer, 4 poorer." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* After a church service on Sunday morning, a young boy suddenly announced to his mother, "Mom, I've decided to become a minister when I grow up." "That's okay with us, but what made you decide that?" "Well," said the little boy, "I have to go to church on Sunday anyway, and I figure it will be more fun to stand up and yell, than to sit and listen." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A boy was watching his father, a pastor, write a sermon. "How do you know what to say?" he asked. "Why, God tells me." "Oh. Then why do you keep crossing things out?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A little girl became restless as the preacher's sermon dragged on and on. Finally, she leaned over to her mother and whispered, "Mommy, if we give him the money now, will he let us go?" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* After the dedication of his baby brother in church, little Johnny sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I want to stay with you guys!" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Terri asked her Sunday School class to draw pictures of their favorite Bible stories. She was puzzled by Kyle's picture, which showed four people on an airplane, so she asked him which story it was meant to represent. "The flight to Egypt," said Kyle. "I see ... And that must be Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus," Ms. Terri said. "But who's the fourth person?" "Oh, that's Pontius-the Pilot. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The Sunday School Teacher asks, "Now, Johnny, tell me frankly do you say prayers before eating?" "No sir," little Johnny replies, "I don't have to. My Mom is a good cook." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A college drama group presented a play in which one character would stand on a trapdoor and announce, "I descend into hell!" A stagehand below would then pull a rope, the trapdoor would open, and the character would plunge through. The play was well received. When the actor playing the part became ill, another actor who was quite overweight took his place. When the new actor announced, "I descend into hell!" the stagehand pulled the rope, and the actor began his plunge, but became hopelessly stuck. No amount of tugging on the rope could make him descend. One student in the balcony jumped up and yelled: "Hallelujah! Hell is full!" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Pastor Dave Charlton tells us, "After a worship service at First Baptist Church in Newcastle, Kentucky, a mother with a fidgety seven-year-old boy told me how she finally got her son to sit still and be quiet. About halfway through the sermon, she leaned over and whispered, 'If you don't be quiet, Pastor Charlton is going to lose his place and will have to start his sermon all over again!' ------It worked." ~ Author(s) Unknown

Chicken Foot Soup Most folks today wouldn't bother with this soup - you actually have to put the whole chicken in the soup - everything but the feathers. That includes the feet! It's hard to find a chicken with its feet still attached these days unless you can find a Kosher kitchen, or grow your own chickens. If you can't find a Kosher butcher and can't grow your own chickens, order your soup chicken several days ahead of time. Ask for two pair of chicken feet. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something in the feet that gives the soup a rich golden color and an incredibly good taste. This recipe is adapted, by the way, from a booklet given to Grandma by a bank when she opened a checking account there many years ago. She doesn't remember the name of the book or the person who wrote it, although she says she's changed the recipe enough so its own Maker wouldn't recognize it! Here are the ingredients: 1 5-lb stewing hen, cut up 4 chicken feet 3 medium-sized carrots, peeled but left whole 3 medium-sized onions, peeled but left whole 1 2- to 3- inch celery root, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks 2 parsnips, peeled and cut into quarters 1 6-inch zucchini squash, peeled and cut into ½-inch disks ¼ lb fresh mushrooms, cleaned and sliced or chopped 1 clove of garlic, peeled but left whole 1 tbsp salt ¼ tsp pepper ½ tsp each of cilantro, rosemary, thyme, oregano, basil, and/or marjoram; or season to your own taste 12 cups cold water (but you may have to add more if it boils down too fast) a pot of scalding hot water - to dip the chicken and the feet into so they'll be easier to peel Here are the instructions: Dip the chicken in scalding water for about 15 minutes to make it easier to get the skin off. If the chicken has a lot of fat on it, peel as much of it off as you can to keep from having to skim it all off later. Set a pot of water on the stove to get scalding hot, and while it's heating, singe the feathers off the chicken feet by spearing them with a meat utility fork and holding them over an open flame, then scrub the feet in lukewarm water with a stiff brush. Put the feet in the scalding hot water for about 15 minutes, then you can peel the skin off em pretty easy. Toss everything but the mushrooms into the 12 cups of water, bring it to a rolling boil, and skim off any froth that collects. Cover and cook all this stuff over a very low heat or in a crockpot for about 4 hours, or until the chicken is tender enough to fall off the bones. Then strain the soup and save the chicken pieces, but throw away the feet and the vegetables. This is okay cause all the nutrients and flavor are in the soup now. If ya like, open a package of mixed corn, greenbeans, lima beans, carrots, and peas, and toss a bunch in for color and interest. While the chicken is cookin, you have time to make the noodles, too. Of course, you could use store-bought, but they don't taste nearly as good. For the noodles, you need 2 cups of flour, 4 large (very large) eggs, and 2 tablespoons of ice water. Sift the flour twice, and on the last sifting, let it pile up in the bowl, then make a little hole in the mountain to break the eggs in and drop the ice water in. Stir it from the middle until it's just slightly mixed - you'll have to knead it until you have a stiff dough. Divide the dough in half and put one half on a floured board. Roll it out until it is about 1/16th of an inch thick, put it on a towel, and let it set for about half an hour. Do the same thing to the other piece of dough. Fold each sheet of dough into three or four thicknesses and then cut it into the size noodles you want. Be sure you use a very sharp knife to do this, and you might want to dip the knife in hot water between cuts to keep it from getting too sticky. When they are all cut up, spread em out and let em dry for another half hour, then drop em into the chicken soup. Cook em until they are tender. After you've drained the soup, put the broth back on the stove and bring it to a rolling boil before dropping the noodles into it. Put the chopped or sliced mushrooms in at the same time. Check the noodles for doneness after 15 minutes... it will take longer to cook home-made noodles than to cook store-bought noodles cause they are thicker. If you drop a package of frozen mixed veggies into the broth at the same time you put the noodles in, it may take a bit longer to cook the noodles through. This soup goes really great with a tossed salad or a grilled-cheese sandwich, but it's great all by itself, too. If you don't want to bother with the noodles and veggies, add the mushrooms about 15 minutes before you're ready to eat. Mix up a few tablespoons of flour in ice-cold milk, and stir it with a whisk til there are no lumps in it. Add the mixture to the boiling soup and stir frantically until it thickens to keep it from getting all lumpy again. This will give you a nice cream of chicken foot soup!

UUUGGGG....... You dont need a what <WEG>..... E ----- Original Message ----- From: <RICHIELE3@ Subject: [FOLKLORE FAMILY] Re: The chicken and the horse > The moral of the story: If you are hung like a horse, you don't need a >

Parrots Have Feelings Too By Jon Hazen Our blue front Amazon parrot is amazingly persuasive. And I have learned respect, great respect in fact, for the power of a parrot's personality. It appeared that Sweet Pea, our two-year-old parrot, had bonded to me. I worked with her learning phrases and handled her as much as she would allow. So it made sense that she liked me. Occasionally though, she would lash out with her beak at the oddest times and I quickly learned to avoid her if she got 'snakey'. I had been bitten enough times to know she could really clamp down if this was her intention. It just had not occurred to us that Sweet Pea was at her worst when we had guests. She would get excited, hold her wings extended, flash her eyes and you can believe I knew better than to handle her then. Yet I did not put two & two together until the Christmas of 1985. It was then I learned her snakey moods were motivated by a wide streak of jealousy. For Christmas my wife and I had rented an A-frame on the beach north of Lincoln City to be joined by my parents and brother for a long holiday weekend. We brought Sweet Pea along because we thought she would enjoy the new surroundings. Like all birds, she had great powers of observation. Well, she observed plenty, alright. She saw me giving my attention to "strangers," hour after hour. I greeted her a few times the first day, but never approached other than to say "hello" or drop a piece of nut, cheese, or other tidbit into her dish. She sat on the top of her large cage, eating and watching. Unknown to me, she was also plotting her revenge. At mid-morning the next day, we were all in the main room of the cabin, reading the paper, watching the surf, and having coffee. I noticed Sweet Pea watching me intently. She caught my eye and started to dance on top of her cage, one of her ways of inviting my company. I got up and as I approached, she cooed and fluffed her feathers...another signal of friendship. "Step, Step," I said and she stepped onto my hand. I cooed at her and she echoed me. I brought her close to my face and continued to speak softly to her. I loved this intelligent, friendly creature. I brought her near my cheek. Without warning she struck like a cobra, burying her powerful beak into the soft flesh of my right nostril. Simultaneously she fastened herself to my hand with a tenacious clawed grip and began to furiously beat her wings. I gargled something unintelligible, staggered, and tried to remove her from my face. I struggled to extend my arm, but her claws and beak had the strength of an eagle combined with the leverage of a bolt cutter. There were shooting stars and rainbows throughout the room as my eyes rolled and filled with tears. I heard voices exclaiming in Spanish, English, or Russian. The room tilted as I broke the death grip on my nose and put the bird back on her cage. "Are you okay? Are you okay?" 'I'm okay," I denied as I wobbled up the stairs to the second floor bathroom to see if there was enough left of my nose for a good plastic surgeon. It was a long way up those stairs and down the hall, miles maybe, but I was able to remain conscious most of the way. Staring into the mirror, I wondered who the guy was with bloodshot eyes and crimped nose. I washed my face, took two aspirin and dabbed at my gashed flesh with a tissue. I also wondered how the Indians of the Amazon prepared parrot.

http://www.geocities.com/malward1_2000/ThePoolofTranquility.html THE TRANQUIL POOL When worries press upon me And life's burdens get me down, I have a special place to go Each morning after dawn. It is a place so tranquil That my burdens sail away. I sit beneath the pine trees Deeply rooted in the clay. This is my safe harbor - A place where I can go And gaze down on the pool Where I keep watch for the doe. She steps out of the forest, Raises head and sniffs the air. Tranquility envelops me As I watch her drinking there. And so my friend, I'd like to share This special place with you, So you might find both peace and love Within my tranquil pool. ~MARY ALWARD~ Copyright © 2000

Light May Lift Pregnancy Depression Morning Light Therapy Acts Like Antidepressant By Jennifer Warner WebMD Medical News Reviewed By Charlotte Grayson, MD April 22, 2002 -- Pregnant women battling depression may get a mental boost from bright morning light. A new study shows that bright-light therapy can improve depression symptoms by about 50% among pregnant women. Researchers say around 5% of pregnant women suffer from major depression. But most doctors are reluctant to prescribe antidepressants because little is known about how the drugs may affect the developing fetus. The researchers say this is the first study to look at light therapy as a way to treat depression in pregnant women. Their findings are published in the April issue of the American Journal of Psychiatry. Previous studies have already shown that exposure to bright light can ease the symptoms of seasonal affective disorder (SAD) or winter depression -- a form of depression where symptoms strike during dark winter days. But only a few small studies have examined light's impact on treating patients with depression that's not related to the time of year. For this study, Yale University researchers monitored 16 pregnant women with depression who sat under a specially designed fluorescent light box for one hour each morning within 10 minutes of waking up. After three weeks of light therapy, symptoms of depression improved by 49%. And the benefits increased the longer the women followed the therapy. Those who continued the treatment for five weeks had a 59% improvement in symptoms. No major side effects to the pregnancy were seen. Researchers say the mood-lifting effect of the light therapy among the pregnant women was similar to improvements found in studies of people with winter depression. Although researchers say more studies are still needed, they suggest light therapy may be an important treatment alternative for pregnant women with major depression, with few side effects. © 2002 WebMD Inc. All rights reserved.

Grandma's Stove by Jon Hazen For many years our extended family made an annual event of going out to Grandma and Grandpa's farm for dinner on Christmas Day. About thirty-five years ago we had an especially memorable time, that to this day, still gets mentioned at our Christmas Day family reunions. I think it was 1958 when, a week before the holiday, Grandpa gave our beloved Grandmother a wonderful Christmas gift. It was a fancy electric range with a glass window that looked into the oven, a large griddle on the stovetop and a timer that turned the oven on and off by itself. It was an especially welcome gift because Grandma, who was quite a cook, would have the pleasure of preparing our annual Christmas dinner on her new stove. On Christmas Day everyone arrived at the farm by mid-morning. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and cousins filled the two-story farmhouse with handshakes, laughter and hugs. Everyone received a "tour" of the kitchen and Grandma showed-off her new chrome and white enamel stove. There were lots of oooh's and aaah's as the large woman with silver hair and wire rimmed glasses explained the stove's features with a confidence that came with memorizing the instruction booklet. Grandma was in love with her stove. An enormous turkey, trussed with string and stuffed with bread and spices, perched formally on the counter. Grandma placed the plump bird in a large roasting pan and eased it into the over-sized oven. Then she set the timer to start the turkey cooking a little later in the morning. Aunt Mary watched from a distant counter where she prepared pies, wisely letting Grandma have the cooking area to herself. As was our custom, Grandma, Grandpa and all the family piled back into cars to head out to Spencer's Pond to ice skate, sip hot spiced cider next to a bonfire, and talk about the year's events while the kids, myself included, were encouraged to skate our excess energy away. By early afternoon we were worn out and the group headed into town to visit an elderly aunt who was unable to join the festivities. There was four inches of snow on the ground but the roads were clear, so we took the long drive back to the farm by way of Storm Lake and Sac City. It was nearly dark as we pulled into the farmyard, hungry and happy with the thought of our turkey feast that evening. The cars emptied into the warm, well-lit farmhouse and grandpa built a seasoned oak fire in the large brick fireplace. The adults jockeyed for seating in the comfortable living room while we kids were herded upstairs to play until called for dinner. Two short flights of steep stairs opened into a large playroom with flowered pink wall paper and oval braided rugs. I was the oldest of the children and did my best to see that the younger boys were kept busy with a game of marbles. Jennifer, my eleven-year-old cousin and counterpart for the girls' activities, was arranging a tea party with dolls. My attention turned from the marbles game when I heard Jennifer say, "Grandma's crying on the back porch!" Jennifer was standing at the side window that overlooked the back yard. More out of disbelief than curiosity, I got up to have a look for myself. Grandma was a stern, kind woman who was known to have moments of temper. But crying? I thought not. I peered through the frosty double-hung window to the yard below. There on the steps leading up to the back porch sat Grandma in her bib apron with her head in her hands. Out in the snowy back yard in the failing light, I saw a dark oval and nearby appeared to be the beginning of a snowman. With the palms of her hands, Grandma was wiping her eyes. As she began to stand, my attention was pulled from that scene to the sound of Jennifer sobbing. I figured this was big kid stuff, so I pulled Jennifer away from the window and guided her toward the stairs at the far end of the room. While thinking "What the heck is going on?", I managed say, "Hey, Jenny. It's OK. Grandma will be fine." Through the quiet sobs. Jenny choked, "It's all...my fault!" "What do you mean, it's your fault, Jenny?", I asked with as much maturity as the voice of a twelve-year-old could muster. "When we left this morning...the clock...had the wrong time...and I... made it right." She continued to weep. Two of my little cousins became curious and I stared them back to the marble game. "What clock?", I asked softly. Jenny drew in a long breath and jerked-out one final sentence: "The clock...on the stove." At that moment there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Aunt Cecilia's head and shoulders appeared in the stairwell, an apparent response to her daughter's muted crying. "Aunt CC" took my place and I went back to the marbles and the tea party. I never mentioned my conversation with Jennifer to anyone. Aunt CC knew what happened and she kept the secret too. I figured that Grandpa might have guessed because he just said, "That's the problem with these new-fangled contraptions. . . too many things to go wrong...especially if the power goes out when you're away from home. Come on Grandma, everybody, get your coats. We're all going to town for fried chicken dinner, and back here for pie and coffee." Grandma and Grandpa are gone now, but the whole family still gets together, these days at Aunt CC's. Every year someone tells his or her version of "Grandma's Stove" about the power going out while we were ice skating on Spencer's Pond, and how Christmas dinner ended up in the snow. Jenny and I just exchange smiles and join in the fun.

ODD SONG TITLES and LINES All The Girls Look Prettier at Closing Time C'mon Down off the Stove, Granny, You're Too Old to Ride the Range Don't Cry On My Shoulders Cause Your Rustin' My Spurs Don't Do Anything 'Til I Hear From You Drop-kick me, Jesus, through the Goal posts of Life. Fido is a Hot Dog Now For Better or Worse, But not for Long Forget the Night, Help Me Make It Through the Door >From The Indies To The Andes In His Undies Get your Biscuits in the Oven and your Buns in the bed Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth 'Cause I'm Kissing You Goodbye Heaven's Just A Sin Away Horses Don't Bet On People (And That's Why They Never Go Broke How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away? How Can You believe Me When I Say I love You When You Know I've Been A Liar All My Life I Can't Love Your Body if Your Heart's Not In It I Didn't Raise My Dog to be a Sausage If Fingerprints Showed Up On Skin, Wonder Whose I'd Find On You If I Can't Sell it, I'll Keep Sitting On It If I Had Shot You When I Wanted To, I'd Be Out By Now If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me? I Flushed You From The Toilets Of My Heart. If money talks, it ain't on speaking terms with me If My Nose Were Full of Nickels, I'd Blow It All On You If She Puts Lipstick On My Dipstick, I'll Fall In Love If You Don't Believe I Love You Just Ask My Wife If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too? If You Really Loved Me You Would Have Married Somebody Else If You Won't Leave Me Alone Ill Find Someone Who Will I Hate Every Bone In Your Body Except Mine I Heard the Voice of a Porkchop I Just Couldn't Leave Her Behind Alone I Just Fell In Something and I Sure Hope It's Love I Kissed Her on the Lips, And Left Her Behind for You I'll Marry You Tomorrow But Let's Honeymoon Tonite I'm Just A Bug On The Windshield of Life. I'm Gettin' Gray From Being Blue I'm Gonna Build Me a Bar in the Back of My Car and Drive Myself to Drink I'm Old Enough to Know Better But Still Too Young to Care I'm So Miserable Without You, It's Like Having You Here I'm the Guy that Paid the Rent for Mrs. Rip Van Winkle I'm The Only Hell Mama Ever Raised In the Good Old Days when Times were Bad I Ran Over My Dog in My Pickup at the Trainstation Comin' Back From My Mother's Funeral After I Got Out of Jail, In the Rain I Still Miss You, Baby, But My Aim's Gettin' Better I Thought the Acropolis Was a Ruin Until I Saw You It's Only The Hair On A Gooseberry (That Stops It From Being A Grape) I've Been Flushed From The Bathroom Of Your Heart I've Got Elgin Movements in my Hips (guaranteed a thousand hours) I've got Ford Engine Movements in my Hips(guaranteed a thousand miles) I've Got Red Eyes From Your White Lies And I'm Blue All The Time I've Got You on My Conscience But At Least You're Off My Back I've Got a Funny Feeling (I Won't Be Feeling Funny Very Long) I've Never Seen a Straight Banana I Won't Go Huntin' With You Jake, But I'll Go Chasin' Women I Wouldn't Take You To A Dog Fight Even If I Thought You Could Win In the Footprints of Time, I'm Just a Heel Mama Get The Hammer (There's A Fly On Papa's Head) My Sweet Tooth Tells Me Yes, But My Wisdom Tooth Says No My Wife Ran Off With My Best Friend, And I Sure Do Miss Him Never Hit Your Grandma with a Shovel (Spike Jones) Nitric Acid Rag No Matter how young a Prune may be, it's Always full of Wrinkles Not Tonight, I Have a Heartache Now I lay Me Down To Cheat Oh, I've Got Hair Oil On My Ears And My Glasses Are Slipping Down, ...... But Baby I Can See Through You Pardon My Southern Movements, Miss Lou "Peekin' Through the Knothole In Grandma's Wooden Leg" Poison Ivories Put On the Soup Ma, Dad's Rakin' the Back Yard With His False Teeth Razzazza Mazzazza Run to the Roundhouse, Sally, They Can't Corner You There She Got The Gold Mine, I Got The Shaft She Made Toothpicks Of The Timber Of My Heart She Was Bred in Old Kentucky, But She's Just a Crumb Out Here She's Your Cook, But She Burns My Bread Sometimes The Beer I Had For Breakfast Is Comin' Back For Lunch The Coat and Pants Do All Of The Work But It's The Vest That Gets The Gravy (Hoosier Hotshots) The Last Word in Lonesome Is Me The Pint of No Return The Railroad Comes Through the Middle of the House (Often misremembered as "The Railroad Runs Through the Middle of the House") These Boots Were Meant For Lickin' Time Wounds All Heels Velcro Arms, Teflon Heart We Used to Just Kiss on the Lips But Now It's All Over What Kind of a Noise Annoys an Oyster? What Made Milwaukee Famous (Has Made a Loser Out of Me) When It's Night Time in Italy it's Wednesday Over Here When It's Oyster Picking Time in Chattanooga I'll Muscle In On You When We Get Back To the Farm (That's When We Really Go To Town) When We Were Down to Nothin' (Nothin' Sure Looked Good on You) When You Leave, Walk Out Backwards, So I'll Think You're Walking In ... When Your Phone Don't Ring It'll Be Me Whoop! Whoop!! Whoop!!! Make a Noise Like a Hoop and Roll Away (1908) Who Put All My Ex's in Texas? Yes, We Have No Bananas Yes, We Like Bananas (Because They Have No Bones) You Blacked My Blue Eyes Once Too Often You Called Her Up, Now You Call Her Off You Can Lead a Horticulture, But You Cain't Make 'er Think You Can Tell the Man Who Boozes (By the Company He Chooses) (and the Pig got up and Slowly Walked Away) You Can't Deal Me All The Aces And Expect Me Not To Play You Can't Have Your Kate And Edith Too You Done Me Wrong, But Keep On Doing It 'Til You Do It Right You May Put Me In Prison, But You Can't Keep My Face From Breakin' Out You Stole My Wife, You Horse Thief You Were Only A Splinter As I Slid Down The Bannister Of Life You're the Reason Our Kids Are So Ugly Your Red Scarf Matches Your Eyes (line from "Loving You Has Made Me Bananas") rec. by Guy Marks " Oh you burned your finger that evening while my back was turned I asked the waiter for iodine But I dined alone Your red scarf matches your eyes You close your cover before striking Father had the ship-fitter blues Loving you has made me bananas" Your Wife's Been Cheatin' On Us Again