Visit almost over

I am not posting any pictures of my brother and his wife. My brother, Mark, has been in a lot of pain this week. What is it with us Drexlers? He has a bad sciatic nerve, I have a bad sciatic nerve, Deb has one, and I think my brother Carl complains of back/hip pain as well. I know my mom suffered from it. And I know at least one of my cousins does.

So, my brother has been a wretch this week (wretch is one of the Drexler "sayings"). He is just being a bear, and I really understand why. When a person is in pain they tend to be nasty, and I also know that the sciatic pain is not fun.

He was supposed to go to the doctor yesterday, and Sue (his wife) and I got it all wrong (we didn't really, but he said we did) and so he didn't get to the doctor after all, so no relief is forthcoming because he's "too busy" today to see the doctor.

Here's what happened: The doctor called here and Mark wasn't home, he was driving Alan down to the Israel conference they're both attending. He has said we should let the answering machine get the call, but we didn't. Sue let me take the messages from the doctor's office. The first one was about the time, and we called Mark and he said the time for the appointment was fine.

The doctor's office called back and told me exactly how to get to their office. Well, it happens that there are five offices in that building, and my brother wasn't sure which doctor in that building was the one he was to see. His doctor had the day off, apparently, and the substitute was seeing him. Well, since the doctors office said when they called, "This is Dr. *(&)&$#'s office" and went on about the time and place, I didn't catch the name of the doctor, nor did Sue. So, you see it was our fault he didn't get his care yesterday, and is suffering even more today.

Regarding the word "wretch". It doesn't mean to throw up or anything like that. A "wretch" is a person who is just being nasty and not pleasant to those around them.

So, it just another day in the life....

Sisters and parents

My mom always had an adoring look in her eyes whenever she was holding a child or a baby. The top picture is outside our back porch before it was enclosed. The year, 1946. Deb is probably 3 or 4 months old. I am a whopping 3 years old. The next picture is of my sister and me. She's the one sitting in the rocker. I assume because she is still very wobbly on her feet at this point. This picture is before mom had done her landscaping on that side of the house. The other side of the house is where she had started with her rose bushes and her iris. This side got prettied up when I was around 10 or 11 and and I helped her plant bushes and wildflower seeds. I loved working with my mom in her garden for about 5 minutes then I wanted to go off and do other things, tomboy things like climbing a tree or riding a bike with no hands. The bottom picture is dad with Deb. That's how he always held her, sort of away from him. Was he just afraid she was going to grab his glasses or afraid he was going to be his suit soiled. Probably both. But Deb is the one that grew up to be his caretaker and showed him so much more affection than I did. She was the helper to him when he became feeble and infirm. Thanks, Deb, for doing what I didn't do.

My mom wasn't supposed to have children, or at least that's what she was told by her doctor. I don't know what the problem was, ostensibly, but she wasn't to have children.

My mom LOVED children. She should have been a teacher. She surrounded herself with nieces and nephews and Sunday school children. My mom and dad were married 7 years before she had me -- I was her first -- or their first. And I guess she thought that was it because she didn't get pregnant again for over two years. Then she had my sister, Deb.

Whatever happened with the birth of Deb must have opened something up in her, because in the next 36 months she had two more children. The last one, being my brother Carl. She was told no more children after Carl. I don't know why, but I think it was because she was getting old and there was a uterine issue (bleeding). Thinking back it was probably the latter because I recall her being anemic and bleeding from her nose and mouth very easily, so easily that she had trouble staunching the flow of blood once it started. Too much detail? I don't think so. But if I were living back in 1946, this subject would never be discussed. In fact, back then you couldn't use the word "pregnant." A woman was "in the family way" or "with child" or some other delicate expression. Pregnant just shouted something a woman didn't want to flaunt.

Although I think my mom probably wanted to flaunt every PREGNANCY she had. She was so happy. And I've posted a few pictures here, one in which you can see how happy she is with my sister. She loved her children. The one with daddy is the way I remember him holding Deb. Apparently Deb had a bowel problem, like she was allergic to milk or something. I had one child with that problem and we had pampers, so it wasn't too bad, but imagine diapers and rubber (not elastic plastic) pants. These rubber things were wide in the legs and wide in the waist, so there was minimal protection to the holder of the baby or to the sheets in the crib.

As I go through all my pictures again, more and more I am reminded how blessed I was to have a sister, even though we were at odds most of the time, and who now, I wish lived next door so I could see her and talk to her and run errands, etc., with her every day. I was also blessed to have two brothers, neither of whom I see very often. I just live so far away from them -- all of them.

And I was also blessed to have a mother and father who were obviously in love with one another, and who transfer their love for each other to each of their children. Mom especially.

Mom had a tolerance for ill behavior. Daddy didn't. So Mom was the go between when we did bad things. Our spankings would have been so much worse, I am guessing, had it not been for mom saying, "Carl, that's enough" through tears because her beloved children were being punish. She knew they had to be punished, but it was difficult for her to do that job.

I miss them both so much, and as I age, I often -- and I mean often -- pick up the phone, dial the old house number and then realize there is no phone connection to heaven and I can't talk with them any more. Bummer.

I hope you enjoy the pictures.

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Talk about a bad hair day

Yeah, that's me, 1960. Bad hair day! Well, it was probably a good hair day, but you can see how curly my hair was, and in back of all that curly hair was a pony tail which was just a little knob. My hair, wet, would have been down below my shoulders, but pulled up and dried? Not so long.

Lori, this one's for you.

Lori posted, several months ago, on her Friday Picture Show a picture of her in the 1980s where her hair was BIG. Well, lucky for her BIG was in, in the 80s, but it wasn't in, in the 50s and early 60s. No, no, no. Straight was the style. I never had straight hair except for one day, two days ago.

Now, I'm used to the curl and I guess I'm glad for it because all I have to do it wash and fluff. I still have a pony tail which is just a knob in the back of my head, but I can wear the hair down and it DOES reach my shoulders at this point.

I also want you all to notice the blouse I'm wearing. It's the same one I was wearing in the picture I posted several days (or was it weeks) ago when I'm in that picture of Alan and me (the black and white). Just goes to show you how few clothes I had when I was growing up. And that was a good year. I had three blouses and two "pencil" (we called them straight) skirts which I had sewn (the skirts, that is), and two pairs of peddle pushers. I think they call them Capris now, or are capris tapered slacks? I can't remember, but I thought I had quite a closet full of clothes that summer. I did, of course, have at that point TWO, count 'em, TWO Sunday dresses which I absolutely loved. One was a beautiful lavender cotton dress with two pleats down the side (gave me some hips which I didn't have at that time) and there were buttons to hold the pleats in place. And I had a wonderful shirt-waist dress which was tan with black doo-dads printed on the tan background. I loved that dress as well.

So, you see, when you start thinking about how poor we were, then realize that we weren't all that poor, considering I had all those clothes (albeit the three blouses were hand-me-downs from my cousin Bette E). And I thank God for all those hand-me-downs, which at that point I was no longer handing-me-down to my sister. She was on her own at that point, and being the clothes horse she always was -- she always could wear a sack and look like she was wearing a designer dress -- I didn't mind not giving my clothes over to her.

Let her wear sacks, I thought. She could do it. Just check out some of her teen-age pictures. You'll see what I mean. And no, I didn't leave the "l" out of the word "sacks". I mean she could wear a burlap sack and look great. How envious I was of her ability to do that. She still looks great in no matter what she wears. I still look shleppy. Guess it's in the posture!

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Picture cubes

I was asked recently by one of my nieces if I had my mom's picture cubes. Answer? No, I do not.

I barely remember them. She started them up after I had left home. I do not have them, and I don't think my sister has or had them. I'll check with my brother when I see him next week. Yes, I'm heading up there for a few days.

My usual house sitter will be filling in at home for me, watering plants, eating what perishable food there is in the fridge, doing laundry, maybe some cleaning (?), etc.

I'll let you all know what I find out about the cubes.

In case you don't know what the cubes are; they were clear plastic doo-hickies in which you put pictures, one on each side of the cube, which means each cube could hold a grand total of 6 pictures, wow! But mom had several sitting around the house and I know her grandchildren loved to look at them.

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How do you take a trip without a car?

Picture taken in 1960. I loved that coat I'm wearing. Unfortunately, I wore it to Youtharama (I wrote about that young-peoples semi-monthly get together before) and someone got sick and threw up on it. The stench never came out and I had to throw the coat away. It was the first store bought coat I owned -- not a hand-me-down. Vanity of vanities -- they'll get you every time. I was very prideful over that coat, I'm sure. Notice the purse on my wrist? I still have that purse. It was GENUINE leather, and I purchased it myself. It was my Sunday best. Can you imagine -- that purse is 50 years old. Wow! And it's still useable.

We had no car. How many times have I mentioned that. We went to the zoo -- on a school field trip. We visited the Ben Franklin Museum in Philly -- on a school field trip. We visited the Philadelphia Art Museum -- you know the steps of which Rocky ran to the top -- on a school field trip. After I became proficient at using buses and subways, my trip taking horizons broadened. To get to college I had to make two transfers and it took me two-and-a-half hours one way. I only used the bus to get home from college on days I had to work, or days when I had an 8:00 a.m. class and no others. Fortunately, I was in a car pool and that worked well most days.

But to go on trips to any place outside the Runnemede-Philadelphia corridor we (the family) depended on friends, neighbors, and relatives to take us places.

The picture above shows a few of us familiy members at the Pocono Game Farm, which was a good 2-1/2 hour drive from our home, via turnpike. The person who drove us there was Uncle El (Wentzel) and his wife, Aunt Blanche went with us. You will see her on the left in the picture. Mom is on the right, and Carl, Mark, and myself are in the picture as well. That's me in the middle, back.

I have several other pictures of this day, one in which one of the llamas was nibbling at my collar. Apparently, the collar on my coat was made of sort of "fur" from either llama, sheep, or some other wool-bearing animal, and I guess the llama thought I was family. Scared me nearly to death.

So, I thought I'd include a picture of one of our trips to a place other than the shore, and a trip taken with someone other than family. Uncle El took us on several "road trips" that I can recall. I'm not sure how many other family members went since most of us had a tendency toward motion sickness. I recall one trip we took with him shortly after the Pennsylvania turnpike opened part way, and it was a big deal to go through a tunnel. So we went as far as the first tunnel -- outside of Harrisburg -- and back -- all in one day. I think we were gone about eight hours. What a man he was, all that driving, with noisy kids, and no complaining at all. In fact, all I remember of Uncle El is that he smiled all the time.

BTW, Uncle El and Aunt Blanche were NOT related to us. It was just a name we assigned to them because they were like family. Aunt Blanche was my pray-er when I was growing up. She was one of the two local Good News Club teachers in Runnemede -- the other being Aunt Marian Manduka. And Uncle El was our transport down to Camp Haluwasa on Friday nights.

We young people were so fortunate to have folks who would take the time to transport us non-drivers (in NJ you couldn't get a permit until you were 17). They will receive crowns in Glory for their work with teens in the 50s and 60s in that small town in NJ. Thank you Lord for those who were willing to be with us, enjoy us, and never complain about taking the time to move us from one church activity to another.

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Daddy and the dining room table

This is a picture of my father taken, probably in the mid-80s. Don't you just love the picture on the wall behind him? Can you see the cows? No? Well, every time he caught one of his children looking at that picture (it was a water color) he would ask if they saw the cow behind the tree. Joke there.

This is where he began studying (the kitchen end of the dining room table) after all the kids left home. Mom let him. Why? I don't know because I know it annoyed her like crazy. You can see behind him the buffet with some cookies and a basket. Also the red candle on the table. It must have been Christmas time when this picture was taken. All those coats piled up on the clothes tree. I imagine some of his children and grandchildren were visiting at the time.

Actually, this picture of dad at the table is pretty neat. You think? Well, you should have seen it after mom passed. I mean he took over the whole table. Now, you have to realize he had a study over at the church, and there was a phone in the church, so he wouldn't miss any telephone calls. I guess it was too cold for him over there, or maybe it was just that his study was so crowded with books and papers that he couldn't find his desk.

Poor dad. He was the brunt of so many jokes because of his constant studying of books (relating to Bible topics). He would get almost every book that came out on Bible topics and then he would critique them. If he didn't like the book and found "errors" in it, he would write to the author, cc: to the publisher and the author's employer. Yes, he would let the author's employer know they had hired a heretic. And if the book met with his Bible knowledge then he would write a glowing report on the book and send the report to the same three people.

I know some people who wrote books valued daddy's critiques. Others, of course, didn't; and he would get calls from the disgruntled, but they never dissuaded him nor persuaded him to believe anything other than what is written in God's word. No guessing games, he put it. You just couldn't "interpret" God's word to fit your psycho babble or your mixed up beliefs. God's word was God's word, and that was it. No ifs, ands, or buts. He was very firm about that.

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More of 1960

I'm sorry this picture is so hard to see, but in the early 60s color pictures were not an everyday happening, we were still in the black and white age. Alan's dad took this picture one Sunday after church. That's the Runnemede house in the background, as well as the grade school across the street where I attended for a few years. Do you see how thin I was? I'm sure I was wearing at least three full slips under that dress so that I'd look more like a woman rather than a stick.

1960 -- the year of Judi and Alan. We had eight months to enjoy each other's company and learn as much about each other as we could. We both knew that Alan would be going back to Kenya with his parents in early August. So, we spent as much time together as we could, which really wasn't very much. After all, neither of us could drive and he didn't live near a bus line.

We saw each other every weekday during the school year (January through mid-June), but they were short times because we had four minutes between classes and our paths didn't often cross while we were changing classes. We both tried to get to school early but since he was dependent upon a school bus, I was the one who was early and he had to catch up. Same with after school. I'd walk him to his bus and we'd talk until the bus was filled, then it was good-by for another day.

On weekends, occasionally he would be dropped off in Runnemede on a Sunday while his parents were off to another church trying to drum up financial support for their mission work. Those days were special, but we had to share all our time with my brothers and sister. I really didn't mind missing my Sunday afternoon nap on those days.

After school let out we got to see each other one day a week -- his father agreed to bring him to Runnemede for a few hours once a week, when he was out and about. The only other way Alan could get to see me was hitch-hiking from their home in Laurel Springs to our home in Runnemede. Neither his parents nor I liked him to do that, even though back in those times it was customary for young men to hitch a ride to get from place to place and you never heard of any mishaps or bad behavior on the parts of the drivers.

So, during the summer we spent most Sundays together and maybe one other day which was our "date" time. We had so little money so our dates were either something we could do for free, or something that cost less than a dollar each. Miniature golf was our favorite because it was 50 cents a game. Bowling was $1 plus shoe rental but you could bowl as many games as you wanted.

One very special date was the time we went to Clementon Lake Park -- it was an amusement park -- and it's still there -- but not like King's Island. It was a small park, but it was a great park and as far as we were concerned it was the best park in the world. We had a wonderful time that night and spent a whopping $5 -- all the rides were priced individually back then and so you got to ride the roller coaster only once because it was the most expensive ride. We spent most of our time just walking around the park. I think we probably got some popcorn (buttered) for 25 cents. If you click on the link you'll notice that the price has risen a bit. When we went there it was free to get in the park and you paid for each individual ride.

Alan never kissed me until one evening late in June. We'd been a couple since January. And we had been taught that you didn't kiss anyone until you were engaged. Okay, we were too young to be engaged, even though Alan was certain I was the one he would marry. I thought that was a nice thought, but I wasn't as certain as he was. But back to that first kiss.

Alan and I were going on a boat ride with a group from church down the Delaware River. It was one of those big river tour boats. I was so excited because I love boats. Well, we were alone by the railing on the top deck and I dared him to kiss me. I told him I'd give him 25 cents if he did. Well, he took the bait. He kissed me -- at least he said he did. I didn't feel anything and it was a cheek kiss, whooptie-do. He insisted that he kissed me and that I owed him a quarter. I insisted that since I didn't feel it I didn't own him anything.

I think we carried that argument on until shortly before he left for Kenya -- like the day before -- when finally he kissed me proper, just to remind me that he would be back and that he would marry me.

Guess he told the truth.

More on the Courtship of Alan and Judi

When Alan and I were teenagers -- before he went back to Kenya with his parents -- there was a program on TV called The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis (Dobie Gillis for short). Well, it was one of Alan's and my favorite programs. We would actually get on the phone, and sit with phone in hand and watch the program together. I can't remember any other TV programs of that half-year (1959-60) except Dobie Gillis.

The thing is that this started one or two customs in our own lives. There were three main characters: Dobie, Maynard G. Krebs, and Zelda Gilroy. Zelda really, really liked Dobie, who being a real cute boy would have nothing to do with the very nerdy Zelda. Maynard was Dobie's best bud.

Maynard did not like to work. Not at all. In fact, whenever he heard the word "work" he would scrunch up his face and contort his body and shout "work!" Not a good thing for the poor boy. Maynard was not a very good influence on Dobie I don't think.

Zelda was NOT going to be sluffed off by Dobie and every chance she got she would twitch her noseat him. His reaction? Reflex twitch back. Then he would say, "Now stop that." Alan liked to wink at me at the most embarrassing times, mainly when we were not supposed to even know each other or were in church or in a "separatist" camp setting. That means no boys and girls having any kind of communication with each other.

Zelda called Dobie, "Poopsie." I began calling Alan Honey Woney -- something I still do today. He started calling me, now get this, Darling Twosie. I asked him why he did that -- and he really did it after the first time to irritate me -- and he told me I called him Honey "one-y". He heard the number "one" not the rhyme of honey. So he called me Darling "twosie". Stupid, right? Well, he was the nerd, not I!

Thought you'd want to know that.

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RR is back for a few

I promised I was going to go through my pictures and see if anything gave me a nudge as to what life was like back when.... (1943 - 1972). Not that I died in 1972, it's just that Alan was in the Army and we moved to our first house in 1973 which was in Fanwood, NJ, and we went "south" rarely. Then two years later we moved to Cincinnati, OH. We retired in northern Kentucky (just south of Cincinnati).

Now for a few pictures which I got at my sister's last week. Pictures of various times and I'll try to tell you what each picture evoked in my memory.

This first picture I chose because it shows our family kitchen. You can see how small it was, and yet, we had a table in the center (drop-leaf) and we all six squeezed around that table, even when one of us was in a high chair. The high chair we used was my father's when he was a boy. I still have that high-chair. Those chairs were different back in the early 20th century. No trays. You pushed the chair to table and the table was the tray. I recall mom putting a plastic table cloth under the high chair when my brother, Carl, was in residence.

Things to notice in this picture, other than the small size of the room. Between the door and the window is a calendar with a scripture-a-day attached. Every year a friend of the family would give mom a new one of these calendars and each year she would tear off the day's scripture and take it into her heart and mind and live by it. You can barely see it. It's just above the light switch.

Notice the lovely curtains. Mom had these curtains in the kitchen for years and years and years. I'm not certain of my sister's age in this picture, but I'm guessing early 20s.

Also notice the cabinet over the counter (which is full of mom's "plant starts" for her herbs). We always had to share out 26 square feet of counter space with her plants, daddy's pills, and the dish drain. Attached to the cabinet (don't you love the locks/handles?) is a wooden knife holder. I mentioned in Runnemede Remembered Recipes that I still have a couple of those knives and Deb also has a couple of those knives. She also has the knife holder. It's so 1940s. I really did love the stainless steel counter-top with linoleum inset. It was so very easy to keep clean.

When dad left the house, the trustees gutted the parsonage and they got rid of those wonderful old cabinets. I spoke with the new mistress of the parsonage (the pastor's wife) and she was really disappointed that they had taken them down and put new dark wood cabinets that didn't go all the way to the ceiling. Of course, under the counter space were four drawers and cabinets. In the drawer on the far left as you face the sink, were the tea towels (as dish towels were called in those days). The next drawer to the right of the sink was the junk drawer. I've already written about that, many, many moons ago. Then came the "silverware" drawer. Knives, forks and spoons of all designs -- we didn't have a matched set -- were in that drawer along with baby bottle nipples, baby spoons, etc. Then the next drawer which was very large and deep was where mom kept all her kitchen gadgets.

Even though the kitchen was small we always seemed to have enough cabinet space. I think it was just that mom didn't get anything new to put into the cabinets and that's why they weren't crowded. Mom used every available space to have what she thought was an efficient kitchen. Also on the side of the cabinet is a can opener, attached to the wood of the cabinet.

I'm also sure that if mom saw this picture she would die of mortification. The place is really a mess!Below is another picture of my sister. Notice the beautiful "collar" she has around her neck. Actually, maybe this is me in this picture, but I'm pretty sure it's Deb. I had a collar just like that. And, don't you just love the droopy Christmas tree? We always had a droopy tree -- a Charlie Brown tree -- that shed most of its needles before it was up. We got the tree on the day before Christmas eve when the trees had been knocked down to $1 or $2. A couple of times I recall someone actually getting us a tree and delivering it about a week before Christmas. This picture was taken in the dining room.



In the next picture (below) my sister is holding one of her dolls. She had several (this was also in 1955) and had inherited by this time my baby dolls. I did not give up my collectibles until my husband made me when we got married and moved to a 604 square-foot apartment. I had to give up a lot of things when we moved there, and mom didn't store them for very long! Anyway, this is Deb in front of the porch on a wintry day. I'm guessing it was Christmas because we always went outside on Christmas to get our pictures taken with our favorite toy.

Below, Deb is sitting at the dining room table, her husband, Jim is almost out of the picture. Mom's arms are visible. It doesn't look to me that this is a holiday. It must have been summer, though, because mom's "summer" curtains are up in the living room. On the wall you can see a "nick-nack holder." I had this shelf for years. It disintegrated several years ago. Just as well, it was a dust catcher which rarely receive the hand-in-glove needed to clean it up. And, I know Alan thinks I have lots of junk (nick-nacks) but I've downsized quite a bit, believe me. Now my kids have all the "junk." I'm thinking that fat arm on the right of the picture is mine. No other family member that I know of has arms like that -- none but me.

And finally, this is Deb and daddy. Not sure of the year, but I think she told me it was just after Jennie, her eldest, was born, or maybe it was when she was at PCB. Anyway, she's sitting with daddy on the love seat, which now resides in my niece's home. I had it for years, then my daughter had it, now my niece. That piece of furniture has to be at least 100 years old. This also has to be in winter because mom's winter curtains are hanging at the window. Ah ha, I see an angel on the top of the bookcase. So, it must be around Christmas.

So, that's it for this edition of RR again. More to follow in a few....

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Regarding broccoli

It seems the haters are outrunning the lovers. Are there no lovers or likers of broccoli out there who are willing to admit that they love the veggie as I do? I know there are, because I know of at least three sometimes readers of this post who love broccoli.


I'm not sure I even asked for the broccoli lovers to respond to this post, or the Recipes post or the Fat Lady post. Doesn't matter. None of them have received any notes of love for this God-made, God-given vegetable.

Maybe it's just that the haters in this world are more vocal than the lovers. Lovers, after all, have happier, more important things to do than to rant and rave against a vegetable that can in no way harm them.

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I'm in Mt. Airy, NC -- add this to the sayings list

I'm visiting my sister, Deb, and while she's at work I'm putting up a short message of another word we discovered from our childhood while we were preparing dinner -- well, she was preparing the dinner, I was standing around trying to look and sound useful. The word is MEESH, necessarily in all caps, just wanted the word to stand out.

What's a "meesh". Well it isn't a thing exactly. And it's very hard to describe, but here goes, by example.

Last night Deb was making salads for all of us in individual dishes. Well, one dish was definitely missing some lettuce, so I said "meesh" -- it just slipped out. Meaning not enough of that product in this pot. "meesh" is a word of unknown origin which we used in our childhood years, and which now will be used again, I suppose, to indicate that we had been short-slipped something on our food place, or not enough was place on our platter.

It was a word that was especially useful with our father who tended to be very stingy with candy. I've mentioned before about the cutting up of one small Irish potato to be shared amongst the four of his children, and when handed this small morsel of delight, we would all in one accord say to him, "Meesh."

So, I guess it means, too small a portion.

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50 Years

This has to do with Runnemede and my teenage years. This is Alan and me in 1960, about six months after our initial meeting. And a long time after we realized we didn't just LIKE each other, but like-liked each other. A long time is a relative term when your 16/17 years old and you think the next day is never going to get there. And then you realize, wow, it wasn't such a long time after all that we got from not liking to liking to like-liking each other. Then came love, and yes it came that summer. So here we are now 50 years later. Unbelievable. We met on October 27, 1959.

Alan and I were talking tonight during commercials while we were watching NCIS. And I mentioned that we should have a party because it will be 50 years that we've known each other in a couple of months..

We met on an afternoon, a gray, dreary, cold afternoon, in late October. It was a Tuesday, and it was the last Tuesday of that month, just before Halloween. I remember this because I didn't particularly like Alan the first time I met/saw him. That lasted about two weeks, the dislike that is.

Anyway, the reason I know it was late in October is because he was finished with football practice everyday of the week, and was able to come to Hi-B-A (Highschool born againers) which met on Tuesdays. We were late getting started that year because the leader -- a grown-up -- was ill at the beginning of the school year. His name was Dick Johnson. I never saw him again after I graduated from High School.

Maybe it's time for me to start posting some of Alan's and my getting-to-know-each-other accounts, which definitely took place in Runnemede. But folks this was 50 years ago, and the mind just isn't what it used to be. I know it's all stored in there, I just have to get it out.

I'll update another day. Watch for it!

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Broccoli Wars

While I'm gathering old pictures, I have to say something about my niece's (Lori's) crusade. She is a broccoli hater. She is now posting pictures of the broccoli haters. Do I have to waste time and energy posting pictures of broccoli lovers? I suppose I do.

So, all you broccoli lovers out there -- you know who you are -- please let me know that you love that great green veggie and don't mind having your picture posted, or any anonymous "friend" listing.

Think about it. It's such a good-tasting veggie raw or cooked -- although I have to admit I prefer it cooked. Raw doesn't have much taste unless you gop it up with ranch dressing.

Now, don't put off commenting and letting me know that you love broccoli. And I don't want any hate mail, so don't even think about that.

I'm waiting!

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