"Am I invisible"?

I talked with my sister, Deb, tonight. Her dear husband now has shingles, like Alan has had since last June, only he's just starting with them. They hurt, folks, no two ways about it. But, once again, I digress.

Let's see. Oh, yes. I was talking with my sister Deb who had just gotten off the phone with my brother, Mark. Are you with me so far? Mark and Deb were talking about the BLOG and Deb reminded me of something -- well a couple of things. And I'll lead into one of them.

Tonight, my husband and I were watching the Redskins/Seahawks playoff game on TV. I was for the 'skins. When I walked in the room, the Redskins did horrible. When I left the room, the didn't do well, but at least it wasn't horrible. In fact, they were ahead before I walked in the room to watch the game. So what, you ask? Well, my brother reminded my sister that whenever he was watching baseball, and my mother walked into the living room, the Phillies would do something really bad, like strike out, commit an error, or the pitcher would throw a wild pitch; something like that which would cause the Phillies to crash and burn. He got to the point where he would tell mom not to come into the room when the game was on TV because no matter what the Phillies would do terrible. Or let her in the room when the opposing team was up to bat. Unfortunately her whammy didn't affect the opposing team.

Now, that has nothing to do with invisibility, does it? Well, it's the same principle. When I get in a line at the grocery store, not matter how short, something happens and it becomes the longest, slowest line in the checkout section. I should carry a sign that says, "Get behind me and be prepared to wait a long time." It never fails. If I use the "check yourself out" place, the computer malfunctions -- I've given up on doing that ever again.

Well, back in the old days when there was only one check out line, but where if you wanted something in the store there was usually a clerk who would help you. My dear mother, would go to the meat counter. She would be first in a line of people crowding up to the case and oh, no, the clerk would ask someone else what they wanted. And, folks, this was a common occurrence.

I remember at the A&P one time, she was checking out, and the bagger walked away -- happens to me all the time, so I just decide that I will do it myself, and then if there is a bagger, well, good for me. But anyway, that had happened many times. And one day, it was hot, she was bothered, and finally, my dear, sweet, loving mother said, loud enough for most people in the front of the store to hear, "What am I, invisible?" The cashier looked at her perplexed. I told the cashier -- "My mom has been shopping here since Leap's closed, which was shortly after you big guys opened. And every time I've been with her, the bagger walks off. So, she wants to know if she's invisible." You see no bagger, it took longer to get checked out. Mom didn't like bagging herself.

I was a cashier at Shop Rite in South Jersey in the early 60s, and I learned to be very grateful for anyone who would help with the bagging, including customers who wanted to get moving out of the store more quickly. So, when I started doing my own grocery shopping, I just always "took the position" of bagger and would bag my own groceries. I still do that. No bagger? So what. I'd rather do it myself anyway. That way, when I get home I can get a bag and not have to dig through several to find all the refrigerated items, or all the canned goods, or all the bread. Get my drift? It makes life simpler for me, and it helps the cashier.

So, it doesn't matter if I'm invisible, but it sure did matter to my mother.

Hot Flashes

Well, I was rereading one of my prior BLOGs and I mentioned that the hot weather only helped increase the number of times I had to endure hot flashes. I realized today that since it has turned cold, and we keep the house at about 65, I haven't had a hot flash for almost a week. Although, I sometimes almost wish I would have one, because I haven't been able to get warm either. It's either one or the other. I'm shivering, or I'm huffing and puffing and pulling off my clothes because I'm so hot.

Alan had a "hot flash" the other night -- I made chili, and I guess he reacted to the "heat" in the chili. He wondered how I could stand them on a constant basis.

My mom had hot flashes. I remember this because she would turn beet red. She was in her mid-40s, and it was shortly after my youngest brother was born that this happened. She would just shut down. She'd sit, turn almost purple, and breathe slowly, then when the redness left, she'd be up and about, doing her thing once again. I remember my father telling her to take her pill when this happened.

Hot flashes were never talked about in polite company back in those days, nor was pregnancy, nor was anything even remotely connected with sexuality. In fact, you didn't even mention toilet paper when you went to the grocery store. Mom, never wrote out "toilet paper" on her list which I was to get. It was always, "TP". There were other "unmentionables" that I won't mention except to say that if you turn on the TV -- even on the Disney channel -- there are certain "personal" products that are advertised, and I wonder how parents explain them to their younger children.

This has nothing to do with Runnemede

We didn't have TV. We didn't have commercials. We had a quite small TV that received only black and white images. And what was worse, you actually had to get out of your chair to change the channel!!!! We didn't have color let alone HD.


Now, the other night I was watching something on my large-screen TV and this commercial came up. http://www.dvdtown.com/news/story/4887. Make sure you click on the "donkey" picture.


It tickled me so much that I started laughing and I laughed for a good five minutes. Wait for the punch line at the end. It's a commercial about Shrek, but it's from Toshiba, not Disney -- so when I first started searching for it, I couldn't find it. Then I watched the same program (rerun) again thinking maybe it would have the same commercials it had the night before. It didn't. Well, anyway. You all might want to check this out. I think it's so funny. And, it reminded me of my dad's saying, "The poor guy."

Ring the bell

I found this picture somewhere recently, and I noticed the round window on the side of the church. See it? It's a tiny window, about 24 inches diameter. Stained glass. Beautiful, actually. It was above the place where people would hang their coats.

The vestibule of the church (where the window is) was tiny, maybe 8 feet by 10 feet. On the left as you entered the church if you looked up, you'd see that beautiful round stained-glass window. All the church windows are stained glass, except for the ones in the basement and the one in the back where the ladies room is. I digress.

Next to the window was a rope, attached to the rope is a bell -- in the belfry which you can see in the picture (front over main door). Dad would "announce" that a service was to begin by pulling on that rope and ringing the bell. He always told me that the bell was saying "Come to church, come to church, come to church...." On rare occasions he'd let me help him pull the rope and ring the bell. I loved doing that. Calling people to church.

And, yes, it was rung on the day I was married -- before the ceremony -- calling people to "come to church". All were invited.

I wonder if they still ring that bell to call people to church.

That's me -- the short one -- standing with someone on the street near the front of the church. The picket fence was still there last time I was in Runnemede. The tree at the end of the fence grew to be huge. And the yard, behind the fence, had a fish pond in it. The pond was never taken care of, but we enjoyed seeing fishes from time to time. Behind the fence you can see a low-one-story building -- that, folks, is the chicken coop about which I've written before.

Diddle

Today is my youngest brother's 59th birthday. I think it's 59, maybe it's 58. You really do lose count after 40! That's him (with me) two years ago.

Why the title "Diddle"?

Diddle was his nick name when we were children. He was born on a Sunday -- I know this because we already born children went to Sunday school and church and then were shuttled off to neighbors to wait for him to be born. Mom told us while we were getting ready for Sunday school that we would be having a baby something by the afternoon.

I didn't hear a murmur of complaint from here, but she let me feel her belly during a contraction. I didn't feel anything but a big belly.

My brother, Carl David Drexler, was born on January 2 at 1:15 p.m. -- at home. Dr. Paisley from Haddon Heights was the doctor who delivered him. The neighbors commented that the birth must be happening because the shades in the house were all drawn. Modesty?

Anyway, around 2:00 p.m. we were permitted to return home and gape at the new addition to our family. Yippee, another boy :).

Carl was my father's name, so to distinguish between him and my dad we started calling my new brother "Little Carl". Well, that was too difficult for my younger (not youngest) brother Mark to say, and he called him "Little", but it came out "Diddle" and it stuck. I still call him "Diddle" and he is not longer little. He grew up and is taller than any of the rest of us, and he's strong -- he's a cross-country trucker, and lifts his loads himself, many times -- still.

Happy Birthday, Diddle!

Grammar school and the zoo

When I was in grade (grammar) school, all lessons stopped at 10:00 a.m. on Monday morning. That was the time for a radio program (no TV back then) called At the Zoo. We would listen to this program for 15 minutes and then talk about the animal that was discussed on the program.

The song that introduced the program is still with me.

At the zoo, the great big zoo, I dearly love to watch the little monkeys.
Some are hanging by their tail from a bar, some are riding on the rail in a car.
Sometimes I am wondering what do monkeys think of people while the people watch
the monkeys at the zoo.

And there were other "animal" songs that I learned in my early grades at school:

I went to the animal fair, the birds and beasts were there, the big baboon by the light of the moon was combing his auburn hair. The monkey he got drunk, he climbed up the elephant's trunk. The elephant sneezed and fell to his knees, that was the end of the monk, the monk, the monk, the monk.

Silly, isn't it. But we children enjoyed singing it.

Then, today, as I was watching the Mummers' parade (out of Philadelphia) one of the clowns did his drunken dance to Me and my teddy bear.

Me and my teddy bear, have no worries, have no cares.
Me and my teddy bear just play and play all day.

That's all there is to that ditty.

As I recall these things, sometimes it's a short phrase on TV or in a movie, or sometimes it's a smell, or sometimes I'm talking and out comes something that goes all the way back over 50 years. It amazes me that the mind can store and recall so many things. And, oh, how I wish, it could recall even more!

New Year's Day and Mummers

When I was a teenager and until I left home, we would travel to Philadelphia -- whomever wanted to get on a bus, then subway -- and go to the Mummers parade. http://mummers.com/

Today, it was on TV. And as I was watching it, I wondered what the fascination was back when I was younger for this parade. To me, at this stage of my life, it looked like a bunch of drunks having a blast on their drunkenness. I don't remember the drinking part of the parade. And the costumes, are nothing like what they used to be, although the commentator said that they were the most elaborate and most beautiful he'd ever seen, in the 25 years or so he'd been commenting on the parade. Well, I guess he missed the ones we saw 40 years ago.

Anyway, we went to south Philly (camped out at Aunt Rita's and Uncle Joe's) and went to Broad and Snyder (see map on website) to watch the parade. I was really only interested in the string bands. Maybe that's why I didn't see too much of the drunks -- you can't really play music well if your stoned! We would go to the parade site, watch, get cold, go back to Aunt Rita's get warmed up, and then back out again. They lived only a couple of blocks from Broad and Snyder at 1810 South Juniper. Which is between 13th and Broad St (not on the map, because Juniper street is a very narrow street).

Most times the weather was lousy -- in fact, I don't remember any beautiful, warmish, sunny days when we watched the parade. If we didn't get to South Philly to watch the parade in person it was on TV, but black and white doesn't do justice to the colorful costumes.

Aunt Rita's "spread" was bountiful -- we were fed, warmed, and sheltered between trips to actually watch the parade. What fun! Oh, yeah, today I fell asleep watching the parade on TV. What does that tell you?