For a while I was posting family sayings at a rapid pace. I don't know how many others from Runnemede had these sayings, but today my sister reminded me of another one that my father (and of course the rest of us) used regularly.
Swearing wasn't permitted. That is, damn, wasn't permitted. We were not permitted to take the Lord's name in vane, therefore OMG or any form thereof was verboten. Gosh warranted a smack in the mouth. Golly was okay. At least it didn't warrant a swat.
So today's word could be considered an expletive deleted, but I think it's more a word of frustration or disbelief than anything else.
Today's word: piffle, usually preceded by Oh... Oh, piffle.
So my sister reminded me of this saying and in order to write it down I needed a pencil and paper, otherwise I know I would forget it. Well, piffle, I couldn't find a piece of paper. Oh, piffle the pencil's point was broken.
Get it?
ttfn
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Sledding
When I was a child we (the family) had one sled. No tires. And cardboard sleds weren't something about which I was familiar.
I'm mentioning this because today, here in Northern Kentucky, we are experiencing what I call "a sledding snow." What is "a sledding snow?" It's a snow where you can run your sled down a hill and the snow doesn't disappear because in reality the snow upon which you sled was a mere dusting. Yes a few inches of good, snow is best for sledding.
When I was a child, since I was the oldest, I always had first dibs on the family sled.
I remember when I was about 3, maybe 4, one of my very first memories, my father put me on the sled, and he pulled me down to the post office, down the middle of Second Avenue to the Pike, then close to the curbs on the Pike (not on the sidewalks which would have been cleared) and on that trip I heard the train whistle. A train passed through Runnemede twice a day on its way down to Grenloch from Camden and environs north of there.
To get my dad's attention, I asked in my three-year-old English: That's the choo-choo, huh? That came out: Ats a choo-choo? And daddy thought I was saying "Where's the choo-choo?" He tried very logically to explain it to me, and finally we stopped at the corner of Second and the Pike and I could see the choo-choo. It made my day. The thing is, my father took me on a sled ride to the post office. I think my sister was maybe a year old, still a baby, so I had my daddy all to myself for the length of that ride.
After that, whenever he would take me to the post office with him, whether it was winter, spring, summer, or fall, it almost always coincided with the time when the train was going through Runnemede, and the expression: "That's the choo-choo, huh?" was my mantra during those jaunts.
The things one remembers.
NOTE: The whistle was pulled at Smith's Lane, Third Avenue, Clements Bridge Road, and Evesham Road, so I don't know whether I heard the Third Avenue tug or the Clements Bridge tug of the whistle. It matters not. I heard it. Now? I probably wouldn't hear the whistle if I was sitting directly under it.
Also of NOTE: The trains back then were still coal powered, so we could see the smoke billowing from the train's smoke stack way before we heard the whistle. I wonder if my father waited on purpose after seeing the smoke to take me on our jaunts just so he could hear me ask about the train.
Also of NOTE: "Where's the choo-choo, huh?" became sort of a table tease if my father wished to embarrass me in front of friends and especially boyfriends, of which there were very, very few. Talk about a father not wanting his daughter to get married and leave him. That's a tale for another day.
Well, the snow has slacked off, so I guess the shovelers did know something that I didn't and the weather people haven't been broadcasting. And I'm going to head to my next Internet project.
ttfn
I'm mentioning this because today, here in Northern Kentucky, we are experiencing what I call "a sledding snow." What is "a sledding snow?" It's a snow where you can run your sled down a hill and the snow doesn't disappear because in reality the snow upon which you sled was a mere dusting. Yes a few inches of good, snow is best for sledding.
When I was a child, since I was the oldest, I always had first dibs on the family sled.
I remember when I was about 3, maybe 4, one of my very first memories, my father put me on the sled, and he pulled me down to the post office, down the middle of Second Avenue to the Pike, then close to the curbs on the Pike (not on the sidewalks which would have been cleared) and on that trip I heard the train whistle. A train passed through Runnemede twice a day on its way down to Grenloch from Camden and environs north of there.
To get my dad's attention, I asked in my three-year-old English: That's the choo-choo, huh? That came out: Ats a choo-choo? And daddy thought I was saying "Where's the choo-choo?" He tried very logically to explain it to me, and finally we stopped at the corner of Second and the Pike and I could see the choo-choo. It made my day. The thing is, my father took me on a sled ride to the post office. I think my sister was maybe a year old, still a baby, so I had my daddy all to myself for the length of that ride.
After that, whenever he would take me to the post office with him, whether it was winter, spring, summer, or fall, it almost always coincided with the time when the train was going through Runnemede, and the expression: "That's the choo-choo, huh?" was my mantra during those jaunts.
The things one remembers.
NOTE: The whistle was pulled at Smith's Lane, Third Avenue, Clements Bridge Road, and Evesham Road, so I don't know whether I heard the Third Avenue tug or the Clements Bridge tug of the whistle. It matters not. I heard it. Now? I probably wouldn't hear the whistle if I was sitting directly under it.
Also of NOTE: The trains back then were still coal powered, so we could see the smoke billowing from the train's smoke stack way before we heard the whistle. I wonder if my father waited on purpose after seeing the smoke to take me on our jaunts just so he could hear me ask about the train.
Also of NOTE: "Where's the choo-choo, huh?" became sort of a table tease if my father wished to embarrass me in front of friends and especially boyfriends, of which there were very, very few. Talk about a father not wanting his daughter to get married and leave him. That's a tale for another day.
Well, the snow has slacked off, so I guess the shovelers did know something that I didn't and the weather people haven't been broadcasting. And I'm going to head to my next Internet project.
ttfn
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
What's online
I've been so into Bill Leap's book on Runnemede that I decided I'd do some Net surfing and try to find out some more about Runnemede's past. After all, his book was written in 1976 and more historic info may have popped up since then.
I found some really good websites which give me the history of the area including Runnemede, and pictures -- old pictures. How neat is that?
So for a few days I'll probably be on hiatus while I surf and search and see if I can find anything that will nudge my thinking cells so that I can report some more of things I remember about Runnemede.
ttfn
I found some really good websites which give me the history of the area including Runnemede, and pictures -- old pictures. How neat is that?
So for a few days I'll probably be on hiatus while I surf and search and see if I can find anything that will nudge my thinking cells so that I can report some more of things I remember about Runnemede.
ttfn
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Double Whammy
First shot:
I posted several remembrances about snow days on my other blog: The Fat Lady Singeth if you're interested in "Snow Days remembered."
Now for today's second shot:
I've been re-reading Bill Leap's History of Runnemede, and the book is loaded with maps of Runnemede. My brain has really left me, I'm certain, because I know as a child -- well before it became unseemly for me, a young woman, to be riding a bike all over South Jersey -- I rode my bike all over Runnemede and Glendora. For those unfamiliar with South Jersey geography, Glendora is a town which butts up to Runnemede on the South side.
I looked at those maps of Runnemede, current as of 1976, 10 years after I left the town except for infrequent visits, and discovered that I couldn't remember half of the streets' names or having ridden on them, which I know I had to have done.
The brain is supposed to be a computer, right? So somewhere in my computer -- the one in my head -- all that information is stored and I just have to find the correct combination of buttons to push, so to speak, to recall all that data.
I'm so enjoying the History of Runnemede (again). The book begins in the mid-1600s and continues to 1978 when it was published. Amazon is selling the book for $120 if you're interested. I'm not selling my copy. I think my sister also has a copy of the book. Hers may be signed making it more valuable perhaps. Mine is just a book in pristine condition.
I wish Mr. Leap would update the book from 1976 to present. I've been searching the web looking for an e-mail address for him to suggest same, but have had no luck in finding any way to contact him.
Well, I'll keep at it, if my laptop computer keeps running. It only took five tries to get it to boot up this morning. I'm getting ready for it to crash and burn at any time. I have dumped all my pictures to several "travel drives" and I have backed them up by dumping the entire "pictures" folder to an external hard drive we took from an older computer, had it cleaned up, and have been using for a couple of years. It still has plenty of room on it.
Later today, I hope to pass off my e-mail files to Alan's laptop. Let's see: Alan has three computers -- a humongous desktop computer with lots of storage, a laptop, newly purchase which is empty except for a few games, and a computer in the garage on which he stores all the records of where various items in the house are hidden. And I, alas, have a computer that won't boot up, and is slower than molasses in January. Hey, maybe that's my problem. It's January!
So, folks, it's ttfn, or syl.
ttfn
I posted several remembrances about snow days on my other blog: The Fat Lady Singeth if you're interested in "Snow Days remembered."
Now for today's second shot:
I've been re-reading Bill Leap's History of Runnemede, and the book is loaded with maps of Runnemede. My brain has really left me, I'm certain, because I know as a child -- well before it became unseemly for me, a young woman, to be riding a bike all over South Jersey -- I rode my bike all over Runnemede and Glendora. For those unfamiliar with South Jersey geography, Glendora is a town which butts up to Runnemede on the South side.
I looked at those maps of Runnemede, current as of 1976, 10 years after I left the town except for infrequent visits, and discovered that I couldn't remember half of the streets' names or having ridden on them, which I know I had to have done.
The brain is supposed to be a computer, right? So somewhere in my computer -- the one in my head -- all that information is stored and I just have to find the correct combination of buttons to push, so to speak, to recall all that data.
I'm so enjoying the History of Runnemede (again). The book begins in the mid-1600s and continues to 1978 when it was published. Amazon is selling the book for $120 if you're interested. I'm not selling my copy. I think my sister also has a copy of the book. Hers may be signed making it more valuable perhaps. Mine is just a book in pristine condition.
I wish Mr. Leap would update the book from 1976 to present. I've been searching the web looking for an e-mail address for him to suggest same, but have had no luck in finding any way to contact him.
Well, I'll keep at it, if my laptop computer keeps running. It only took five tries to get it to boot up this morning. I'm getting ready for it to crash and burn at any time. I have dumped all my pictures to several "travel drives" and I have backed them up by dumping the entire "pictures" folder to an external hard drive we took from an older computer, had it cleaned up, and have been using for a couple of years. It still has plenty of room on it.
Later today, I hope to pass off my e-mail files to Alan's laptop. Let's see: Alan has three computers -- a humongous desktop computer with lots of storage, a laptop, newly purchase which is empty except for a few games, and a computer in the garage on which he stores all the records of where various items in the house are hidden. And I, alas, have a computer that won't boot up, and is slower than molasses in January. Hey, maybe that's my problem. It's January!
So, folks, it's ttfn, or syl.
ttfn
Monday, January 4, 2010
100 years
It's 2010. I know the ball dropped four days ago, but it's significant that it's 2010 because Mt. Calvary Union Church was started in 1910 -- 100 years ago. This picture of the church was taken in the 1940s. I'm in the picture (the little tyke with a person I don't recognize). I'm probably 4 or 5 year's old in the picture.
It was the first church in Runnemede. According to "The History of Runnemede" written by William Leap, the church congregation met at the old blacksmith shop. Since there were no benches or chairs in the building, it is reported that the congregation would arrive carrying washing benches. If it was cold, since there was no heat in the blacksmith shop, the congregation would move to the school house.
Mr. Leap reports that the building was dedicated on Feb. 22, 1911, and that's what the cornerstone on the church says.
You know? I don't recall ever seeing that stone, but apparently it's there on the right front corner of the building.
My dad was pastor of that church for more than half of its life (so far). He was pastor from 1944 until 1999 when ill health forced his retirement. He went kicking and screaming, let me tell you. In all those years he didn't miss a service (he didn't take vacations). He didn't even miss a service on the day his wife of 52 years died. He wept when she went to heaven shortly after the morning service. And went back to conduct the evening service.
I need to re-read the History of Runnemede (for the fourth time) because each time I read even a part of the book it reminds me of things I had forgotten about my favorite small town -- Runnemede, NJ.
ttfn
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Mummers
I used to enjoy the stringbands. I remember going to the Mummers parade when I was a teenager and into my 20s. I had family who lived in South Philly near Broad and Snider, which is approximately where the parade began, so the folks weren't so drunk yet.
But the best part was the stringbands. I recall dad watching the parade on TV and commenting about the costumes, which ones he likes, and then which band(s) sounded the best. I don't know how he could tell which costumes were the best because we had a black and white TV, but he gave his commentary along with the TV hosts.
Well, today, I was able to catch a rerun of this year's Mummers parade -- the stringbands. I was so very disappointed.
I don't know what happened to the marching band. Now it's a run-around the street band. The costumes -- which I saw in color -- were just plain ugly. Very few sequins or feathers. It looked to me like they went to an Oriental Trading Company catalog and ordered costumes for their bands. And the music? Well, I couldn't really call it that. Maybe it was the way the microphones were picking up the various instruments.
I recognized a few of the musical numbers, but mostly the songs were unfamiliar. You know, folks, some songs just done lend themselves to stringbands. Banjos are made to play certain types of songs, and so are saxaphones. Clarinets? Yikes. All I heard was squeaks.
If you want to know more about the Philadelphia Mummers parades, go to: http://www.gophila.com/C/The_Holidays_in_Philadelphia/497/U/The_Mummers_Parade/1489.html
ttfn
Concerts and the Club Diner
Why this situation came to mind I don't know, but it did.
I was about 10 years old and my music school teacher took several of her students into Philadelphia one evening to hear the Philadelphia orchestra. My parents got together the money for me to go with them. But they didn't give me any other money, except for a nickle, in case I had to make a phone call.
I didn't know that the others who went to the concert would want to go to the Club Diner in Bellmawr on the way home, but they did. There I was at a diner with no money. So, what did I order? Nothing. There was nothing on the menu that you could get for a nickle. I just said I wasn't hungry.
However, lesson learned. Of course when I got home I was blubbering. And the next time I went to a concert with the music school students, I had a whole dollar to spend, if I needed it -- which I did.
ttfn
I was about 10 years old and my music school teacher took several of her students into Philadelphia one evening to hear the Philadelphia orchestra. My parents got together the money for me to go with them. But they didn't give me any other money, except for a nickle, in case I had to make a phone call.
I didn't know that the others who went to the concert would want to go to the Club Diner in Bellmawr on the way home, but they did. There I was at a diner with no money. So, what did I order? Nothing. There was nothing on the menu that you could get for a nickle. I just said I wasn't hungry.
However, lesson learned. Of course when I got home I was blubbering. And the next time I went to a concert with the music school students, I had a whole dollar to spend, if I needed it -- which I did.
ttfn
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