Yikes, Ike!

Yikes, Ike! This is a picture of the building next to us. I went out (had to use the stairs as the elevator doesn't work when there is no power) and checked out our building -- because we live upstairs I was concerned with roof singles being gone and getting rain in the house. I didn't see any pulled up shingles on the front of our home, but the back, I couldn't get out to see, as my knee kept popping out.

If I could have gotten my cart out of the garage, I would have ridden around and checked out more damage. But what I did see was enough -- there were roof shingles all over the place. Tree limbs (we still have small trees), leaves, garbage -- one of the garbage bins got sucked over. What a mess! So what is written below is what I was thinking when the storm first started.

Here goes!

We are in the middle of a wind storm as a result of Ike. No rain, though, just wind, and lots of it.

I was sitting on my porch and the doors of glass – the sliders which allow us to have air circulate are bowing in the middle with each gust and I’m just praying they don’t break. I finally pushed the heavy table against one of the doors so I won’t bow as much, then I piled all the chairs together and pushed them against another door so it won’t bow.

The wind is coming straight out of the South, and the roofs that face that way are losing shingles all over the place. One building is down to the bare wood on the roof. I think we’re okay, but how would I know until it rains and I start having dripping through my ceiling.

I’m writing on the computer – we’re without electricity, and I’m recording this in a Word document.

Since we have no electricity I have no wireless. Funny, it doesn’t work when the electricity is off! Anyway, I see people pushing against the wind, getting in lose plants and flags, many of which have blown around the neighborhood. I guess I should go down and check out my pots and see if they’re still where I put them near the front door. I don’t want anyone to get hit by a flying flower pot. (I did, they hadn't moved an inch -- that's on the north side of the building).

I did notice that several hanging ferns are no longer hanging. They are rolling around on the ground.

This morning some men wisely stacked all the swimming pool furniture into one corner and turned all the tables upside down and removed all the umbrellas. The pool looks like someone denuded a tree and just dumped all the leaves into it.

Oops, there go three more roof tiles from across the street. I pray they don’t land on someone’s windshield on Route 27. That would be bad.

Okay, I’m signing off now and I’ll post this when our power comes back on. We also only have cell phone service, which is probably dead because I haven’t had it charging for a week. Nice being isolated – NOT!

FOLLOW-UP

We got electricity back around 10 p.m. and were settling in with candles -- we both decided around 7 o'clock to go to bed. But I woke up around 9 and was hungry, so I made us sandwiches. I cleared out the ice dumpster, in which the ice had melted just enough to become one solid block. So, we have no ice and won't for at least 12 hours. Oh, well.

Because I didn't want to drink the water, and not knowing whether there were any boil water orders -- which I couldn't do anyway without electricity -- I opted to drink 1/2 gallon of cranberry juice. Man, I hate that stuff. That's the story for another BLOG, though.

And to the two people I was able to talk with before I lost ALL telephone service, including my cell phone, we're okay. The wind has died down to a gentle breeze of about 30 mph, which seems tame compared to the registered 85 mph winds that hit our area.

All schools are closed tomorrow and there are orders to stay off the roads unless it's an emergency, which I think going to the doctor and getting some pain relief is. If I get stopped, I'll just head over to the already over-extended ER at the local hospital. Who knows? Dr. Caoili may not even have power tomorrow and won't be open anyway.

As of right now 11:30 p.m., September 14, there are still 750,000 people in our area without electricity. We have underground lines, so that may be why we're back on, because they fix transformers first, then they get to the downed wires. I don't know, but maybe that's why we're back online with power. I notice, thought, that over on Cyndi's hill, and beyond, they'll still blacked out. Duke Energy says it could be three days before all power is back on. There are still some downtown (Cincinnati) buildings without power.

Sad note: There was a fire at Findlay Market today which, because of the winds, took off and destroy several of the Market's buildings. I don't know which "shops" were destroyed at this point, just that there was large fire at Findlay -- and the TV pictures showed total losses in several buildings.

Well, I think I will sign off for now.

MTF

Rainy days

I always get nostalgic on rainy days. Runnemede wasn't exactly the rainy-est place in New Jersey, but I recall several nice rainy days growing up. Of course, it didn't matter if it rained, we had the front porch and the back porch on which to play.

I know I've written about that front porch many, many times, but days like today just bring it all back. Playing with my doll and the little doll buggy I had -- which I believe was my grandmother's. It was repaired several times by my mom. It was basically a sling held between two bars -- one bar being the handle, the other bar being the lower part of the buggy, and then it had three wheels.

I used to have a picture of me with that buggy, but I don't know what ever happened to it. I do remember the last time my mom fixed it, though. She had some green upholstery material left over from slip-cover material she used on an old chair we had in our living room. It wasn't very pretty material, but it was sturdy.

I would put my doll(s) in that sling, cover them with a blanket, and walk back and forth across the porch singing my baby to sleep. Where I got the idea that one had to sing their baby to sleep, I don't know. I dont' remember my mom singing any of us to sleep, but perhaps she did, and in my baby-mind I recalled that as I sang to my dolls.

And, of course, as I got older, weather permitting, I would just sit out there and read. I always loved to watch the storms coming in and they usually came at us from the northwest or west, both directions were easily visible from the porch.

I also remember having to sweep the porch once a week -- a job I really didn't mind -- and then sweep the steps and the walk that led to the street. I was proud -- yes, the kind of pride that goes before a fall type of proud -- of the job I did when I cleaned the porch. I felt like I accomplished something. And once the walk was cleaned of debris, I could sketch my hop-scotch blocks back onto the walk. said sketch would last until it rained.

So, tomorrow, I'll take my computer out on my porch here in Kentucky, and enjoy being outdoors, but dry while it rains. Or, maybe I'll read another Louis L'Amour book -- I picked up three more at the library the other day. Or maybe, I'll clean the house -- nah -- can't see well enough on cloudy days. How's that for an excuse?

The head of the table

That was where my father always sat. But my mom did not sit at the other end. She either sat right next to dad or next to a child who was strategically placed between her and dad.

We had two eating places. When I was small -- when all the children were small -- we always ate in the kitchen, precisely at 6:00 o'clock. And the clock in the kitchen was adjusted almost everyday to be synchronized with dad's wristwatch. The clock in the kitchen was a wall clock and seemed to lose 5 minutes or so a day. After a few years of the daily reset, I guess dad decided it was time to get a new clock -- a clock he only had to adjust maybe once a week. He had a "being on time" thing.

So, dad sat at the "head" of the table in the kitchen. I was always on this left (in the kitchen) then next to me was Deb. My mom sat on dad's right -- which was nearest the stove so she could keep the meager amounts of food we had coming -- and next to her was Mark, and then Carl was on a stool at the other end of the table. It was a very small table, in a very small kitchen. And at the end of dinner, at 6:45 p.m. we would listen to Lowell Thomas (news) -- all of us, not just dad and mom. I never resented having to sit there and listen to Mr. Thomas. I found his rendering of the day's news fascinating.

When we got larger -- physically -- we were moved to the dining room where dad sat in the chair at the head of the table which was located at the kitchen end of the table, rather than at the living room end of the table. In the dining room I sat to dad's immediate right, and next to me was either Deb or Mark. Mom sat at dad's immediate left, and next to her was Carl, and then Mark was at the end.

I never sat anywhere else, but next to my father at the table. Even when we had guests I sat next to dad. When Alan was sharing meals with us on almost a daily basis (before we were married), I still sat next to my father, and we squeezed a chair in between me and my brother Mark (he had rotated around the table at that point) for Alan.

Dining in our house was not a quiet affair. It was always full of conversation, Italian-type fighting, and lots of laughter.

The end of dinner was signified by my father getting his bread and jelly -- which he always ended his meal with. The rest of us, however, ended our meal with salad -- usually just lettuce with a vinegar/olive oil dressing. I still end my meals that way, although now I add cucumber, celery, tomatoes, walnuts, dried cranberries, and blue cheese chunks. Then I top that with balsamic vinegar and oil. That's it, and even Alan likes that salad. I think it's the sweetness of the balsamic vinegar that he likes along with the nuts and cranberries. And, of course, he really loves the blue cheese. 'Nuf said about that.

I was reading a book the other day, and bread and jelly seems to be "dessert" in some cultures. So I guess when mom didn't have junket, or pudding, or jello, dad would eat his bread and jelly for dessert. If we had junket, or pudding, or jello, or apple sauce, then he got a double dose, because he always ended his meal with bread and jelly.

ttfn

Potato Chip Sandwiches

I wasn't sure whether to put this at this BLOG site or at The Fat Lady Singeth, but since this food delicacy comes from my growing up time in Runnemede I thought I'd put it here.

Today I had one of my favorite sandwiches (I didn't say hoagie which, if made in an Italian deli, is my all-time favorite). It was liverwurst, white American cheese, and potato chips. Yes, potato chips, piled high inside the bun -- it was, of course, masterfully built on a hamburger bun. Yum.

As I was wolfing it down, I thought about the potato chip thing.

My mother was NOT a gourmet cook. Oh, I loved her cooking, but it was meat and potatoes, bread and jelly cooking. For a treat, we would get something other than PB&J for lunch. I dislike immensely PB&J, always have. By the time I got to my school lunch the bread would be so soggy because of the jelly bleeding through the bread. Yuck!

Some of you may recall the episode of The Cosby Show where Bill Cosby was piling potato chips on his hoagie (you see he's from Philadelphia and knows how to properly prepare a hoagie). Well, my mom invented that, and I will go to my death with a sword in my hand defending my mom as not only the inventor, but the champion maker, of potato chip sandwiches.

These sandwiches were a very special treat. Now, you NEVER have potato chips on a PB&J, so that sandwiches is eliminated from the contest at the very beginning for which I am eternally grateful.

But, most anything else is fair game to be classified as a potato chip sandwich. Today, I had liverwurst and American cheese piled high with potato chips -- so that was first and foremost a potato chip sandwich. Cream cheese and olives are secondary when you add potato chips between the bread slices. Tuna fish and chips (fish and chips Drexler/Sbaraglia style) is exceptional.

Now, I'm not talking about the potato chips being an accompaniment to the actual sandwich, I'm talking about the sandwich accompanying the potato chips. Very simple really.

So you nieces, nephews, daughters, and son, cousins, and anyone else who reads this -- spice up your life, make your next sandwich a potato chip sandwich. Forget the carbs and calories, enjoy a treat.

ttfn

Pride

I was watching the Republican convention and was particularly aware of the obvious pride Mr. Palin had for his wife, Sarah, and the pride with which Mrs. McCain looked at Senator McCain.

You know there have been moments in my life with Alan when I know I must have had that same kind of pride, but I don't remember too many of them. That doesn't bode well for me, does it?

I just don't remember bursting with pride when he graduated from Rutgers, nor when he got his masters from Rutgers. Nor do I recall pride when he graduated from Planning Associates school at Fort Belvoir after a year of being AWOL from the family in Cincinnati.

I do, however, remember the pride I felt when he was commissioned into the U.S. Army as a Second Lieutenant. Now, that was something I shall never forget. Yet, it was at a time when very few Americans had pride for our servicemen. It was at the time of the Viet Nam war, and while I was very proud of his commission, I was scared that he would be sent to that country to fight in a war against communism -- at least I think that's what that war was about.

I recall his commissioning as a First Lieutenant as well. I got to pin the bar on him, and then he became a Captain, that, too was a time of pride for me. And what did I do? Nothing. I just endured his long days of classes, physical training, and sleepless nights.

I recall an other instance when I was proud of Alan, albeit it was a funny pride. We were on our honeymoon and he was doing his dives -- have I related this story before? He was quite good at diving, twists and turns, and swans, etc., and because I had seen him "show off" like this before, I thought nothing of it. Then I heard a little girl say, "Look at that man, mommy. Isn't he diving well?" Then it dawned on me that she was talking about Alan. At that point I was proud to be married (albeit only three days) to a wonderful man.

I think that my pride regarding Alan's accomplishments -- and there have been several that I didn't mention here, has not been so obvious to me because he is so much a part of me, that when something great happens to him that should elicit pride from me, it's just another step in my life, and that pride for him is wrapped up in me, for which I don't feel that pride. Does that make any sense?

Alan is a very humble man, and I guess that humility just exudes from him when something for which there should be pride occurs and his humility, or lack of pride carries over to me. It's not that I'm any less proud of him, it's just that I don't FEEL proud.

Now, if we were to talk about my children and grandchildren, there would be many instances in which I could tell you of my pride for them, probably because they needed to know that mother or MeMom was proud of them. I guess I never thought that Alan needed to know that I was proud of him. It was just assumed that as my husband I was proud of him in all things. I guess I need to tell him more often that I am proud of him -- past and present.

ttfn

Writing

BLOGging has fulfilled a childhood desire of mine -- writing.

I recall when I was in second grade I wrote something about autumn and it appeared in the school (grades 1-8) newspaper. I was so excited. There was my name in print and my article had found a space in that little paper. It was the beginning, and I wrote articles for almost every school paper that was published while I was in the Runnemede Grade School system. That's not to say that the articles were great, they certainly were not, but it did start something.

Unfortuntately, I didn't keep copies of those essays.

In high school I also wrote little articles, not on current events, or reporting things that were going on in school, but articles about what the clubs were like, who was in them, why people should join them, etc.

Then when short skirts came out, I remember that I asked if I could write an article for the high school paper on short skirts -- not the fact that we weren't permitted to wear anything that was above the knee (which led to the kneeling test), but how the girls felt about them and whether it was a fad that would last or not. It was almost a full column. And the responses to my questions were interesting, to say the least. When I asked the teachers what they thought, most thought it was a fad and that it wasn't a good fad. Too much skin showing on girls. I mean, why didn't the girls just wear their Bermuda shorts to class? And those knobby knees? Who wanted them to show? Apparently most of the girls in the high school.

Unfortunately, I didn't keep copies of those essays either.

In college I wrote a couple of articles for the literary magazine. And then nothing for a long time.

When I was in politics (minor politics, not national) I wrote several articles for the local newspapers. Some were published some were not. But they were basically reporting on the state of education in the State of Ohio, and who would read them.

Well, BLOGging has fulfilled my aspiration for writing. I have really enjoyed telling tales (that's sounds like they aren't true, but they are) about my growing up years. This is not the end of the writings, just thought you might like to know that I'm enjoying the writing experience.

ttfn

What a weekend

I don't remember Labor Day being a big thing when I was growing up. I grew up in a community where almost everyone worked at New York Ship Yard, or the Philadelphia Navy Yard. So, I know they were union employees. But Labor Day was just the end of summer, that's all. No big deal.

Oh, the traffic on the pike going toward Philly was bad -- those were the days before the bridge was put in that went over to South Philadelphia. And that was just another sign that people were coming back from the shore and summer was truly over.

School would start the next Monday. School in New Jersey never, ever started before Labor Day. Out here in Kentucky, every since we moved here in 1975, school has started at the end of August -- usually the last Monday. Lately, though -- that is in the last couple of years -- school has been starting earlier and earlier and earlier (in August) and this year in our county (counties are big things out here in Kentucky) school started on August 5th.

I think it's terrible that they take a whole month of summer away from children. They got out of school around June 1, so they only had June and July. Two measly months! Man, I'm glad I was kid back in the good old days when we got a FULL Summer's worth of days off!

ttfn