I mentioned in a previous post (maybe it was on the Fat Lady BLOG) that I'm reading books about the Amish (historical fiction) and am really enjoying them. I have really enjoyed a series that takes place in Lancaster, PA.
My dad's family started out many, many years ago in the Lancaster area and I'm finding that a lot of the sayings I grew up with are in these books I'm reading. I didn't realize that my father knew so much of the Dieutch and that the words were part of his heritage. In fact, except for a cousin of my fathers who lived in Reading, PA, whom his cousin Alberta talked about when she visited us, I didn't even think about having an Amish background. I still don't know whether daddy's family was at one time Amish, but the language that would slip out at times was definitely from the Amish.
The latest words that I recalled because I read them are dummkopff and himmell. dummkopff means dummy or stupid, and you would never call someone that, but you would refer to yourself as a dummkopff if you did something stupid. Himmell was a way of saying "Oh my goodness" -- "Himmell" also being translated God.
Dad didn't use those words often, but they came out occasionally and I picked them up and used them once in a while as well.
Another word that was used several times in the last book I read was "dotage." I realize I am now in my "dotage" and am not liking it too much (nor did the character in the book, with whom I was relating).
Added Feb. 7: I also read in one of the books that a common prayer said at the table was: "Come, Lord Jesus, and be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed. Amen." Guess what? That was one of dad's favorites -- when he was hungry.
ttfn
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
More daylight?
My sister reminded me when she called me on Sunday -- she calls me almost every Sunday, and I look forward to the talks so much -- that we get 2 more minutes of daylight in the a.m. and 2 more minutes of daylight in the evening -- that 4 minutes per day. Oh, really?
I think the people who wrote that up were just trying to encourage me through the darkness. I have noticed very little change in the mornings. It's still dark until after 8 a.m. In the evenings, it is dark by 6 p.m., which is a little later than when the darkness descended at Christmas, but not much.
I don't remember disliking the dark when I was living in Runnemede. Of course I was much younger then and really wasn't paying too much attention to the amount of daylight. Being on the East coast the day starts at least an hour earlier than it does out here which is at the tail end, almost, of the eastern time zone. So when I got up in the morning I never noticed it being dark, and I don't recall having to walk to school at 10 til seven in the dark. Out here? I would have to walk to school in the almost dark at 10 to eight!
Complaining? Yes, I am. I want more daylight. I'm getting old and my eyesight isn't what it used to be. I need light, people. Lots of light. Physical light, that is.
I do have the LIGHT of the world, Jesus, in me, for which I am very, very thankful.
ttfn
I think the people who wrote that up were just trying to encourage me through the darkness. I have noticed very little change in the mornings. It's still dark until after 8 a.m. In the evenings, it is dark by 6 p.m., which is a little later than when the darkness descended at Christmas, but not much.
I don't remember disliking the dark when I was living in Runnemede. Of course I was much younger then and really wasn't paying too much attention to the amount of daylight. Being on the East coast the day starts at least an hour earlier than it does out here which is at the tail end, almost, of the eastern time zone. So when I got up in the morning I never noticed it being dark, and I don't recall having to walk to school at 10 til seven in the dark. Out here? I would have to walk to school in the almost dark at 10 to eight!
Complaining? Yes, I am. I want more daylight. I'm getting old and my eyesight isn't what it used to be. I need light, people. Lots of light. Physical light, that is.
I do have the LIGHT of the world, Jesus, in me, for which I am very, very thankful.
ttfn
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Daylight
I haven't noticed that the days are getting longer. The TV says they are, and the minutes of daylight each day have gotten longer, but...
I don't notice any difference. Could it be because we've had snow or some sort of precipitation every day since early December? And because we've had precipitation and the sun is hidden, the expanded daylight hours just aren't coming through?
I want it to be light! I don't like the winter dark.
I do, however, like our weather this year. Just enough snow to keep me happy, but not enough to give me agida. And, so far, no ice storms. Now, that's a real blessing.
ttfn
I don't notice any difference. Could it be because we've had snow or some sort of precipitation every day since early December? And because we've had precipitation and the sun is hidden, the expanded daylight hours just aren't coming through?
I want it to be light! I don't like the winter dark.
I do, however, like our weather this year. Just enough snow to keep me happy, but not enough to give me agida. And, so far, no ice storms. Now, that's a real blessing.
ttfn
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Familial sayings and other things
I have just finished reading The Thorn by Beverly Lewis. It is about an Amish family, present day.
I knew my dad had some Pennsylvania Dutch background. One of the last times I saw him, he told me about that part of his family -- which I didn't know existed. He told me he was reluctant to ever talk about them because of the hexes they had on their barns and other buildings on their farm. So, that part of the family sort of disappeared from the radar screen, so to speak.
But I did find out from reading this book that some of what I grew up with -- sayings and food and prayers -- came from that background.
The word schruewwlich -- which we always pronounced stroo blick (accurate would be shroo vlick) which is not too far off from the real pronunciation was used through this book for the way the heroine's hair was always unkemp. Yes, daddy would tell us we look schreuwwlich if our hair wasn't combed just so, or if our buttons were not buttoned correctly, or our socks weren't put on with the heel at the heel, etc. This along with verschimmelled, disheveled, and just plain untidy were part of the everyday vernacular at our home. Four little kids, you get one tidied up and the other three are all apart in that short amount of time. A never ending process to get four little ones spiffied up at the same time.
I had often wondered why, when my father made coffee, he would put an egg in the bottom of the drip coffee pot. He said it made the coffee taste better, and that's the way his mother made it. Well, his mother probably learned it from her mother. Apparently, the PA Dutch folks do that because they believe it takes the bitterness out of the coffee. I have never tried it. With my luck, the egg would break and I had scrambled coffee eggs. Yuck!
And, I was amazed when on one of the rare occasions the family had an oral prayer (the Amish usually have a silent prayer at the food table) the grace they said was the exact same grace daddy taught me when I was a very young child. Come Lord Jesus and be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed. Amen.
I'm sure there was other things in the book that I missed which were common to our household.
I have to say that I enjoyed the book, and I have enjoyed other books by Beverly Lewis as well. Always a great read.
ttfn
I knew my dad had some Pennsylvania Dutch background. One of the last times I saw him, he told me about that part of his family -- which I didn't know existed. He told me he was reluctant to ever talk about them because of the hexes they had on their barns and other buildings on their farm. So, that part of the family sort of disappeared from the radar screen, so to speak.
But I did find out from reading this book that some of what I grew up with -- sayings and food and prayers -- came from that background.
The word schruewwlich -- which we always pronounced stroo blick (accurate would be shroo vlick) which is not too far off from the real pronunciation was used through this book for the way the heroine's hair was always unkemp. Yes, daddy would tell us we look schreuwwlich if our hair wasn't combed just so, or if our buttons were not buttoned correctly, or our socks weren't put on with the heel at the heel, etc. This along with verschimmelled, disheveled, and just plain untidy were part of the everyday vernacular at our home. Four little kids, you get one tidied up and the other three are all apart in that short amount of time. A never ending process to get four little ones spiffied up at the same time.
I had often wondered why, when my father made coffee, he would put an egg in the bottom of the drip coffee pot. He said it made the coffee taste better, and that's the way his mother made it. Well, his mother probably learned it from her mother. Apparently, the PA Dutch folks do that because they believe it takes the bitterness out of the coffee. I have never tried it. With my luck, the egg would break and I had scrambled coffee eggs. Yuck!
And, I was amazed when on one of the rare occasions the family had an oral prayer (the Amish usually have a silent prayer at the food table) the grace they said was the exact same grace daddy taught me when I was a very young child. Come Lord Jesus and be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed. Amen.
I'm sure there was other things in the book that I missed which were common to our household.
I have to say that I enjoyed the book, and I have enjoyed other books by Beverly Lewis as well. Always a great read.
ttfn
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Daddy's Christmas
I pulled this picture off-line, but it is the exact same outside as my father's Magnavox. Apparently, the model name was "The American." These old things are selling now for around $500 whether they work or not. Question: Can you still get tubes to repair them?
The set-up in dad's Magnavox was a little different than this one. The drawer where the record player comes out was actually on the left, and the top was split so that the side that had the record player (the top cubby-hole) lifted up in order to put the records on the spindle. Where you see the record player drawer, was where the speaker was housed. The bottom-left cubby-hole is where he stored his favorite, or the children's favorite records.
I was a small child when my father bought himself a very large Christmas present.
"Rose" he said, "Listen to this."
Well, listen she (and we) did!
Daddy bought himself a Magnavox High Fidelity combination radio/record player in a beautiful mahogany cabinet. Where he got the money for it, I haven't a clue, except he bought it the year his step-mother died. And, I, being too young to understand things such as inheritances just assumed daddy had bought himself a wonderful gift.
But was it so wonderful?
Well, for dad, it was. But, I think one of his purposes was to either drive me (and my mom) nuts, or make us deaf. The deafness certainly has come to pass for me, and before he died himself.
Anyway, this wonderful radio/record player combo was a real boon for our family. I recall listening to "I Love Judy" on Sunday evenings, watching the radio, and visualizing all that was being done and said on that show.
Each evening we would gather for at least one radio show and I and my sister would sit on the floor right in front of the radio and listen to the show, transporting ourselves into the box, and seeing those wonderful programs such as: The Shadow Knows; The Lone Ranger; Sergeant Preston of the Yukon -- those were my favorites.
And the records: Dad signed us up for the Big Jon and Sparky record club and each month we would get a new record which was either a story or a set of songs related to the program. We just loved those records and they were in different colors, not just black.
Dad's Christmas tradition, and here's where the deafness comes in, was to play the Messiah on Christmas morning. He would turn the bass up (or down) to it's fullest., and turn the volume up as far as he could get away with before my mom went over and not-so-gently turned it down. After all, we has four screaming, over-active children in a very small house, who had just opened their Christmas present. More noise we didn't really need.
I suppose dad turned it up so he could hear it over the children's noise. He would announce:
"Listen to this, Rose." Bass turned at full blast, floor shaking, he would sit in his captain's chair by the Magnavox and seem to be in bliss as he shook along with the floor as the music emanated from the record player's speaker.
Of course, the bass on that machine was nothing compared to what came out later in the 20th century, but dad sure did enjoy his Magnavox through the years. And so did we.
ttfn
"Rose" he said, "Listen to this."
Well, listen she (and we) did!
Daddy bought himself a Magnavox High Fidelity combination radio/record player in a beautiful mahogany cabinet. Where he got the money for it, I haven't a clue, except he bought it the year his step-mother died. And, I, being too young to understand things such as inheritances just assumed daddy had bought himself a wonderful gift.
But was it so wonderful?
Well, for dad, it was. But, I think one of his purposes was to either drive me (and my mom) nuts, or make us deaf. The deafness certainly has come to pass for me, and before he died himself.
Anyway, this wonderful radio/record player combo was a real boon for our family. I recall listening to "I Love Judy" on Sunday evenings, watching the radio, and visualizing all that was being done and said on that show.
Each evening we would gather for at least one radio show and I and my sister would sit on the floor right in front of the radio and listen to the show, transporting ourselves into the box, and seeing those wonderful programs such as: The Shadow Knows; The Lone Ranger; Sergeant Preston of the Yukon -- those were my favorites.
And the records: Dad signed us up for the Big Jon and Sparky record club and each month we would get a new record which was either a story or a set of songs related to the program. We just loved those records and they were in different colors, not just black.
Dad's Christmas tradition, and here's where the deafness comes in, was to play the Messiah on Christmas morning. He would turn the bass up (or down) to it's fullest., and turn the volume up as far as he could get away with before my mom went over and not-so-gently turned it down. After all, we has four screaming, over-active children in a very small house, who had just opened their Christmas present. More noise we didn't really need.
I suppose dad turned it up so he could hear it over the children's noise. He would announce:
"Listen to this, Rose." Bass turned at full blast, floor shaking, he would sit in his captain's chair by the Magnavox and seem to be in bliss as he shook along with the floor as the music emanated from the record player's speaker.
Of course, the bass on that machine was nothing compared to what came out later in the 20th century, but dad sure did enjoy his Magnavox through the years. And so did we.
ttfn
Monday, December 27, 2010
Christmas Cards
I know I keep harping on the same subject. Christmas cards. This will be my last missive this year on this topic.
Well, I didn't get any written again this year, except as I mentioned before the ones to the grandchildren. I don't know how my mother did it. Except to say, as far as I knew, she didn't have arthritis in her hands (or anyplace else for that matter). If she did she never complained about it, except to say, she hated getting old. To that I can relate.
Writing the few cards I did write was not pleasant because of the arthritis in my hands. It's amazing though that keyboarding (typing) doesn't hurt, nor does playing the piano. I wonder why that is? I guess squeezing the hand and the way a pen is held uses different muscles, tendons, and pulls on the bones in a different way. And, oh yes, my dad would be so proud that I'm still using a fountain pen to write out my cards. I do prefer a fountain pen to a ball point or gel pen, but they are hard to find. I have one that is on it's last legs, I'm afraid, and my old Esterbrook is gone for good. Oh, I still have it physically, but the bulb inside into which the ink supplied was siphoned, wore out. I know of no place that replaces just that part of the pen, if it is replaceable at all. And all those extra style points I have for my Esterbrook.
If you don't know what an Esterbrook pen is, Google it, and for those in the family that read this you will remember my father always had an Esterbrook pen in his pocket, and he would, when using it, make a bit ta-doo about removing the cap, and swinging his arm to just so, and with a flourish would begin writing. I can see that so vividly. Dear daddy and his pens. He would have made a great President of the US at a signing ceremony.
I'm wondering, though, did my grands get the cards? Did the USPS do their thing and deliver them in a timely manner? I realize we've had snow almost every day since the beginning of December, and that may have delayed the cards getting to their appointed address on time, but I did mail them at least a week before Christmas.
I suppose in this day and age with IMs, texting, and e-mails -- and even e-mails are passe, aren't they, what with Facebook and Twitter -- getting mail may not be the thrill it was when I was a girl.
I longed for those cards at Christmas time, and birthdays. I was so pleased when daddy would allow me to open one or two of the cards -- the ones addressed to "The Drexler Family", and yes, especially the ones addressed to "Judith Drexler". Even though I never went by that name, all dad's family and former parishioners knew me by that name, thus, I would get cards at Christmas time to that name. If a card happened to come to Judy, or after 5th grade to Judi when I cut out the "th", I was thrilled. And I kept those cards in a special box for a long, long time.
Do children do that today? Do they enjoy getting REAL mail, mail delivered to their door, put in a special box, and affixed with almost a half-dollar's worth of stamps? Maybe when I see the children in a few days, I'll find out.
ttfn
Well, I didn't get any written again this year, except as I mentioned before the ones to the grandchildren. I don't know how my mother did it. Except to say, as far as I knew, she didn't have arthritis in her hands (or anyplace else for that matter). If she did she never complained about it, except to say, she hated getting old. To that I can relate.
Writing the few cards I did write was not pleasant because of the arthritis in my hands. It's amazing though that keyboarding (typing) doesn't hurt, nor does playing the piano. I wonder why that is? I guess squeezing the hand and the way a pen is held uses different muscles, tendons, and pulls on the bones in a different way. And, oh yes, my dad would be so proud that I'm still using a fountain pen to write out my cards. I do prefer a fountain pen to a ball point or gel pen, but they are hard to find. I have one that is on it's last legs, I'm afraid, and my old Esterbrook is gone for good. Oh, I still have it physically, but the bulb inside into which the ink supplied was siphoned, wore out. I know of no place that replaces just that part of the pen, if it is replaceable at all. And all those extra style points I have for my Esterbrook.
If you don't know what an Esterbrook pen is, Google it, and for those in the family that read this you will remember my father always had an Esterbrook pen in his pocket, and he would, when using it, make a bit ta-doo about removing the cap, and swinging his arm to just so, and with a flourish would begin writing. I can see that so vividly. Dear daddy and his pens. He would have made a great President of the US at a signing ceremony.
I'm wondering, though, did my grands get the cards? Did the USPS do their thing and deliver them in a timely manner? I realize we've had snow almost every day since the beginning of December, and that may have delayed the cards getting to their appointed address on time, but I did mail them at least a week before Christmas.
I suppose in this day and age with IMs, texting, and e-mails -- and even e-mails are passe, aren't they, what with Facebook and Twitter -- getting mail may not be the thrill it was when I was a girl.
I longed for those cards at Christmas time, and birthdays. I was so pleased when daddy would allow me to open one or two of the cards -- the ones addressed to "The Drexler Family", and yes, especially the ones addressed to "Judith Drexler". Even though I never went by that name, all dad's family and former parishioners knew me by that name, thus, I would get cards at Christmas time to that name. If a card happened to come to Judy, or after 5th grade to Judi when I cut out the "th", I was thrilled. And I kept those cards in a special box for a long, long time.
Do children do that today? Do they enjoy getting REAL mail, mail delivered to their door, put in a special box, and affixed with almost a half-dollar's worth of stamps? Maybe when I see the children in a few days, I'll find out.
ttfn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
