Talcum Powder The Playing Cards?

Like most of the folks around the world I am looking for things to keep myself busy and my mind as sharp as I can keep it. Reminiscing is one way to do it. Looking back and trying to remember names, places, activities, and dates! Forget the dates, I have never been good at that. I like to think that approximate is good enough. As many of you know I am now a caregiver once again to a lady that needs some assistance in her daily activities. One of the things that she really enjoys is playing cards. We have played hundreds of games with the same two decks. Well, with the circumstances in the world today with the Corona Virus 19 I don't like anything brought into the house that might be contaminated, so I haven't gotten new cards.

The stickiness ( is that a word?) makes for my arthritic thumbs to give me a painful jolt every evening when I deal out the cards. Last night I was telling my lady that it seemed to me when my late husband and I were really poor and played lots of cards that I put those sticky cards in a pan of flour. She looked at me with doubt. So I did my "go to" and Googled it. Sure enough, it said to put sticky cards in flour, corn starch or talcum powder in a paper sack, shake it and then wipe each card off. Well it sounded like a lot of work to me. I for sure don't remember doing that.

 I had two of the three things. I asked her what she thought I should use. She opted for talcum powder. So this morning they all fifty two cards ( no jokers) went into a paper sack with about three tablespoons of beautiful smelling baby powder. The fog of the talcum powder was frightful. Who knew? But you see this fluffing caused an unexpected development other than the fragrant fog. They no longer fit in their case. They are almost twice as big as they were. In the old days we didn't have a case, we either had a little cardboard box or a rubber band wound around them. That way they could get thrown into the junk drawer and all stay together for the next card game.

I am not doing the second deck until after I see just how slick these cards are tonight. I first have to get all this talcum powder not only off the cards, but shake out the towel and wash it. Clean the counter and the floor and put the sack inside another sack. Mercy one more thing for my great grandchildren to read about. I wonder if I should put this in a Marlee story...

Sunday Afternoon Drives : Burma Shave Signs

I don't consider myself very old, but by other's standards I'm sure that they do. Today I realized that they just might be right. Yesterday I took the lady that I care for to the beauty shop. (It's fine folks. We were two of four in the shop.) She was very quiet on the way there. I asked her what she was thinking about and she pointed out things that I had not paid any attention to. Why were the cattle all laying down? Why did some abandoned homesteads have so many daffidils blooming and others didn't?
I grinned to myself because I thought of myself as a youngster; probably about ten years old or so going for a Sunday afternoon drive. My dad always drove, mother pointed things out to  my brother and I as we traveled. I can remember roadside signs. They were called Burma Shave signs. I asked my companion if she remembered those. Oh she grinned and said, "I sure do, but I can't remember any of them. I wonder why they took them out." I said something to cover my ignorance like 'they had a big deal once about road side signs being distracting to the driveres.'. She thought that was a terrible thing to do, but it got me to thinking. Thinking for about three or four minutes then my mind was onto something else.

This afternoon I was mind reminiscing about our afternoon yesterday and happened to think about the Burma Shave signs and why they took them out. They were really fun for a little girl to read out loud and pretend to understand them. (Many of them I did not) So of course, I Googled the signs. This is what they said:
Burma Shave roadside signs were from 1929-1963. They were only enjoyable at the driving speed of 35 mph. What?? I only drive 35 mph in town.
Here is a sample of a Burma Shave sign. If you were so very old like me and enjoyed them like I did, comment and let me know if you remember any of them. Memories often make you smile you know. And in our crazy world we now live in we could sure use a few more smiles.

Will anyone say, what is Burma Shave?

This...

This is what the lady and I call this corona virus 19 that has the world at it's feet. It is the master of the supermarkets, the hospitals, the churches and of course, the schools. "This" is shutting down our way of life as we have known it all of our natural lives. Never ever, have I in my wildest dreams or imagination would I have thought that a virus would disrupt my train of thought, let alone my way of life. It's called worry. I worry about my family and the economy. I find myself worrying a lot nowadays.

I am a caregiver to a lady that is only three years older than I am, but has some health issues that calls for someone to be with her to provide assistance with most things. We eat together and watch television together. She likes political stations. I do not like that kind of thing. Give me a Notebook or a Bambi movie and I am set for the evening. However, nowadays, I am tuned in at least to the audio of the channel that she watches. "This" (she points to the television) is this going to make it so I can't go to the beauty shop? Does "this" mean that I shouldn't go to the doctor for my test?

My husband called me in the midst of some of these many questions to tell me that our little store now has toilet paper. The price is $10.00 for four rolls. What? "This" is ruling our fundemental right to care for ourselves and others.

Yesterday I watched church services via the internet. The service was from the little town where I lived with my husband and small children years ago. It was sad to see the minister sitting on the floor in an empty church visiting with us sometimes shaking his head in disbelief as he also could not believe the effect of this new master that has so many defeated and sick and terrified.

"This" has me thinking of the stories that my mother told me of the days of the Great Depression which she and my father lived through. No one hoarded then; they moved. They moved for a nickel an hour more for their pay. They lived in coal shacks, they painted with calcimine paint or whitewash. They fixed and patched and shared their food with others. They went on picnics which consisted of bread and butter sandwiches and cold water. There was a trick to keep that water cold. You wrap a burlap sack that was soaked with cold water around a glass canning jar. There were no Igloo coolers.

My mother also told me of another time. A time of whooping cough which caused so  many deaths of children. Tiny babies that were children of their friends. A baby of four months old, for one that was our neighbor. She told me that I had whooping cough, but she had me vaccinated so it wasn't deadly.
Then there was polio. Polio the killer; iron lungs which helped people breathe, but they could only see their visiters with a mirror. Now this new Master is causing visitors to have to visit with their family or friends through the windows of nursing homes. Thank goodness for cell phones so they can actually talk to each other. Of course, some folks are unable to talk....

"This", like the Great Depression, is going to have lasting effects on future generations just like the horrible things that I have just mentioned. Them being just a few I might add. I have a small inner smile when I hear folks collecting things like Depression glass, iris pitchers and glasses. I know for a fact that the iris pitcher I have of my mother's cost a dime; a dime. Will there be things for future generations to collect from "This"? I can't even imagine what it would be.

I love children and writing little stories in my daily blog. I love to see them share and be kind. "This" has caused many acts of greed and unkind deeds and words to be said. However, this morning I was reading some Facebook posts. Guess what? Familys are watching church together on their computers, the children are in the kitchen baking and cooking with their parents. And snuggle time has hit an all time high. "This" may have caused unmeasurable acts of unkindness towards others, but I am seeing a family unit once again begin to knit a closer relationship that will create memories for a lifetime.
Stay safe and be kind to one another. Don't let "This" be your master, we will overcome this as did other generations their own "This".

She Spit On Her Iron

I was talking about my mother the other day and how hard she worked when I was a little girl. I was some of the hard work she encountered. I was telling a new friend how I got to stomp my little brother's diapers in a wash tub. Oh, I am so sure she wanted to do it herself. It would have been so much faster, but she let me "help". She always washed clothes on Mondays. She ironed on Tuesdays and baked on Fridays and Saturdays. She somehow fit in all of her other duties like cooking, gardening, canning, and plucking chickens on the other days.

The picture that you see is similar to my mother's. My mother's however, was smooth with age and use. The corners of the boards were round. I don't know if it was made that way, or from many loads of laundry.  It smelled of homemade lye soap. I can almost smell it in my mind's eye today.

I can see my mom with a wet rag washing down the wire clothesline. Then she would put a clothespin bag on the line. Then the fruit of her labor was the basket after basket of wet clothes she carried outside. She would put the basket on the ground, grab a lot (in my little girl mind) of clothespins and put them in her mouth. One by one she would hang out the sheets, pillow cases and the rest of the white clothes. On and on it went until the overalls were finally on the line to dry.

 Our uncle lived with us. His pants were put on metal stretchers and then hung on the line. They gave his pants a nice crease. Which was funny because he owned a mill and ground feed for farmers. Of course, he came home white with flour dust everyday, but he did start his day out looking good. Some stores still sell these for about thirty dollars a pair. I couldn't find the cost in the forties, but I'm sure it was nowhere near that amount.

When the clothes were dry mother would bring them in the house to sprinkle. My little girl mind couldn't grasp this concept. She got them dry just to get them wet again.
She had a dish with warm water in it. She would spread out the shirt or whatever she was going to iron on the kitchen table, then she would shake the warm water on it. Then she rolled them all up tight and put the clothes one by one in the laundry basket. Then the next day, being Tuesday, she would iron them all.
The one thing I never got to do was spit on my finger and test the iron to see if it was hot. She always said I might burn myself so that was her job.

I had a tiny little ironing board and a tiny little iron that I just now remembered. It would barely get warm, but I was allowed to iron my daddy's hankies; not the sparkly white ones for church, but the everyday red and blue ones for work.

When I look at the picture above I just grin to  myself. Her ironing board was wooden. The cover on it she made herself out of old sheets and large safety pins. There were scorch marks on it, and even a hole or two. She must have been interrupted a time or eight on laundry day.

New Year's Eve In 1952

As many of you know I lived in an old farm house in Iowa when I was a little girl. Iowa winters are extremely cold. On one night a year, I was allowed to sleep on a day bed in our dining room where the coal stove was. That night was New Year's Eve.
For Christmas the year that I was eight years old, my mama made me a pair of pajamas from scraps of flannel that she had saved over the years. If you think to yourself that sounds like Dolly Parton's coat of many colors, you would be close. I can remember that some pieces were red and white striped, and some were printed; nothing matched. The only thing that was the same was all the little pieces were flannel and very soft.
My pajamas had a large round wide ruffled collar just like Clarabell, the clown's outfit did on the Howdy Doody Show.

 Oh how I remember that night. It was so much fun. I had begged to stay up until midnight to usher in the New Year. My mother didn't argue with me a bit. My mother never let you just sleep on the couch. You slept on clean fresh ironed sheets, a clean pillow case and a soft warm quilt to keep you warm as toast.
I can remember starting a bit of a fuss because I was aware that my mama thought I would fall asleep before midnight, so she wanted me in my pajamas and under the covers.
My mom could tuck you in with her loving hands better than anyone ever! She tucked the pillow under my neck, then she slid the covers close to each side of me. She sat down next to me and said a prayer, then wishing me a happy happy new year. I smiled when she pointed to the clock that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the sofa. She said, "Now remember, when the two hands are straight up at the top the new year begins. She kissed me goodnight and turned out the lights.
Now come on, she knew I would be asleep in minutes, but what she didn't tell me was that they were expecting company and she wanted me asleep before they came. I was completely unaware of them visiting that night because of course, I did fall asleep. I was a bit miffed when I woke up the next morning because I missed watching both hands on the clock be straight up, but that is not the end of the story. The next Sunday night church service was a fellowship party. There were treats and laughter. I had never seen anything like it before. Church was usually a very solemn affair. All these grownups were acting like kids. Soon someone said, "Okay, everyone take your seats. Elsie, could you please dim the lights? We have a treat for you all. It's called a home movie. The other night Elsie and I went to a lot of your homes and used our new 8 mm. movie camera. Get ready for some fun."
Well I sure was ready. I had never seen a home movie before. Soon I saw some people on the screen that I  knew that went to our church. They waved and smiled. Then right before my very eyes was me! Me in my clown pajamas sound asleep. Oh I was so upset. Those grownups were laughing and joking about me and my beautiful pajamas. Interesting that was sixty-seven years ago and I still feel the hurt. I wondered how my mother felt. I wondered if she was in on the fun, or if she was a bit put out as she would always say because they were making fun of my pajamas.
Years went by and one day I remembered that movie and I asked her about how she felt about them laughing. She explained to me that when the camera was off they complemented her about what a wonderful job she had done on those pajamas. They had even said she should sell her home sewn things because she was such a good seamstress. Such different points of view. You just never know what is said and what is felt from two different stand points. Besides that, I loved my pajamas.
Happy New Year! I know many of you have new pajamas. Wear them with pride!

Christmas Memories Through The Years

Good morning. Once again I find myself thinking of Christmas long ago vs. Christmas 2019. What a difference just seventy plus years make. It seemed not so very long ago I was a five year old wondering what was going to be in my little brown paper sack that Santa always gave away at the church program on Christmas Eve. It was always fun to see an apple or orange and mixed nuts and peanuts in the shell. Ribbon candy was always part of that sack. Apples and oranges and mixed nuts were not the norm for my family so our little brown paper sacks were precious. I can remember coming home from church and mom getting out a big bowl. She and dad emptied out their sacks into the bowl. We had the option of adding ours to the bowl or keeping it to ourselves. Well, the little five year old LuAnne most definitely wanted to keep it to myself. I knew that I could make it last a long time, but the angel on my shoulder started clearing her throat and yes, I did empty my bag into the bowl as well.

This is a picture of main street of my little town of Cherokee, Iowa when I was just a little girl. It was all decked out for Christmas. I can remember getting thirty-five cents a week allowance when I was ten years old. I saved a quarter every week and spent the dime on a movie with popcorn on Saturday afternoons if I was lucky enough to get to go. I can remember my daddy telling me that he would match the money I saved. He was a bit shocked when I showed him all the money I had saved towards my Christmas shopping spree. I have a feeling he was hard put to match that money now that I look back at it.

We had a J.C.Penny store on the right hand side of main street. I found my mama a beautiful house dress for just a little over two dollars. It was pink. She was so pleased. I bought my daddy a tie that was red with a yellow horn on it. He wore it to church and received a lot of ribbing for his flashy tie. In those days men wore a lot of black, brown and navy. That tie was still in my mother's dresser drawer when she moved to the nursing home. Tears.

I remember a Christmas that I had two gifts under the tree. One was big and one was very very small. I really wanted to open the big one and save the little one for Christmas morning, but I could tell my mama wanted me to open the little one. She kept saying, "It is said that little packages often contain large gifts." Well, I opened it. It was a Timex watch. She had wanted me to wear it to the Christmas Eve program. It didn't work. Sad faces. Tears.
As time went on my Christmas memories were happy and sad. Missing family members started being the norm instead of the exception. When I was a teenager, I lost both of my grandparents.
I married at a very young age and Christmas time found me with seven dollars to spend. There was a store that was closing in my little village. I spent  a quarter on a big yellow mixing bowl. I put a box cake mix in it and wrapped it for my mother. She often talked about that mixing bowl. When I cleaned out her cupboards that mixing bowl had been well used. It was rubber and showed the use it had had over the years.
Now I talk about the lean years when my children were little. Poor was the word. Poor but oh so very happy with my little family of two children and a loving husband and father. One year I had ten dollars to spend on each of my children. Then and now nothing has changed. If you spend ten dollars or a hundred, the children would count how many packages they each had. Everything was fine if they each had the same "count" they called it. That year they each got ten gifts; you see the trend?
Today I watched the news on television which of course, we didn't have when I was a child. I told my husband this morning I don't think I even knew what war was until I was a young adult. I was watching a city that had been bombed beyond recognition because it was a Christian city and disposable and easy to claim.
I can remember watching Edward R. Merle on the news that started before the movies, but really I can remember the cigarette he was smoking rather than the content of his news. I had never seen anyone smoke a cigarette except our neighbor man.
Now today I again am a combination of sad and happy. My Christmas will be bittersweet because I have company coming for the holidays, but know of a small homeless child that probably won't have a Christmas because of poor decision making of some of her family members. I have put the word out, so Santa if you hear me and do in fact make wishes come true, please make the homeless a better day than yesterday and tomorrow a better day yet.

Mind Reminiscing: Hot Spots

When you get to be as old as I am you start "mind reminiscing." Sometimes just a question, a picture, or hearing someone laugh can send my mind reeling into good times and bad times. I can remember things I probably should have put out of my mind permanently and can't find the things that I really should remember.
Such as yesterday my niece asked me if I could re-post a post from long ago about my late husband's family in war time. I didn't have a clue about what I had written or when or which blog.

The "mind reminiscing" also makes no sense to anyone but me. For instance that particular question made me think of Christmas years ago on the farm when I was just a little girl. Why? Because I thought, "Old girl, you are really in a hot spot because you can't remember as much as you should." I instantly could see our old dining room. In the middle of the room was an old coal stove. You could see the fire through isinglass. Does anyone but me remember isinglass? That was our hot spot for sure. If you stepped four feet away from the stove you were cold. This picture is almost the perfect replica of the stove that warmed our fronts for awhile then we turned and warmed our backs. If we would have known the word rotisserie back then we were the "chickens."

I was an avid reader from the time I was seven years old. I asked my poor mother so many questions I'm sure she went to bed weary not only from her daily hard work, but from her inquisitive child. I can remember asking her why one word had more than one meaning. That made no sense to me. I'm sure she gritted her teeth and said with a smile. "I have heard that the English language is the hardest for people from other countries to learn because of just such things as homonyms." I can remember asking her why do the trees outside have bark and Poochie, our dog barks. That was completely beyond a seven year old girl's comprehension.  I can clearly remember going to bed as a child thinking, "I bet if I was a grownup I could think of different words to mean the same thing so people wouldn't get confused." Yes, I did that; a lot. As I got older I started to realize that phrases, not only words took on different meanings.
I can remember my children's father talking about the war and being in a hot spot more than once. I can remember hearing on the radio and television that Korea, Vietnam and Afghanistan and wildfires in California were hot spots. I also remember the terrible age of race riots they called them. Hot spots in college campuses. Kent College comes to mind if I remember correctly. Shooting and wild fighting started in protest of the Vietnam War. That was definitely a hot spot. That set off college campus strikes throughout the country.

As I continued to age I found myself in a world of technology that was only a nightmare to an older lady of fifty-eight or so. A lady that was sick with a neurological disease making learning new facts and ideas very very difficult. And at times impossible to grasp. A mouse, a mouse pad. Computers can only count to one? Huh? No not for me. However, here I am with a mouse on a mouse pad on my computer desk.

 My brother was a guru in computers and traveled around the world teaching people what he knew about the mysterious world of computers. My daughter did data entry when she was out of school for extra money for college. What was data entry? I had no clue.
Then I found myself hearing about hot spots again. What in the world were people talking about; hot spots? "Lu, you should check to see if your cell phone is capable of being a hot spot." What? My world continues to rattle my brain. Now uptown there is a place called Hot Spot. It is a convenience store that gives me a discount if I pay cash. Now that I understand.
Talk to you later!