Family Legacies

My paternal grandmother, Winnie Gabriel – whom I called “Ma” - was the quintessential country housewife. In my grandparents’ home in Mount Mourne, NC, she cooked like a whiz, and she made beautiful quilts. A patchwork quilt she crafted is one of my most cherished possessions. Ma gardened, and her favorite flower was the zinnia, probably because it was a bright, colorful, hardy flower.

She also knitted. When I was a little girl in the early ‘60s, I was endlessly fascinated by her knitting needles. She attempted to teach me, but I just didn’t catch on. That was okay, though. She baked with me, taught me how to roll out biscuits, and took the time to play Old Maid with me on their front porch.

She was also artistic and musically talented, things I didn’t know until recently. As a young girl she played the guitar, and I believe that’s where I got my own talent for it. But I digress.

In 1965, my parents separated and it was a deeply sad time for our families. My mother took us right after Christmas and we moved to Charlotte, 90 miles away from my father. The divorce wasn’t pretty.

Family was everything. My grandmother, who loved her grandchildren unreservedly – in fact, she and my grandfather helped my aunt bring up her children after my uncle died at a very young age from heart disease – was devastated at the thought of losing two of her grandchildren due to a broken family. She attempted to help make that next Christmas a good one for my younger brother and I. When I opened a package from her that holiday season, I found a beautiful pair of knitted slippers. I can see them now. They were bright red – one of her favorite colors – and had little bells at the top that jingled when I walked. My sweet grandmother had crafted a gift of love and wanted to make sure my little feet were warm. Even though they slipped off my heels when I walked, I wore them. They were a link to my Ma and Pa and my old “normal” life.

As things sometimes happen, the slippers disappeared long ago. However, I’m honoring Ma - who died in 1988 - the best way I know how. I can bake a darned good biscuit, though I’m still trying to master her fabulous fried chicken and the fried squash. My favorite flower is the zinnia…and I delight in knitting for my little grandchildren. As for passing along things Ma taught me , Livvy and Julie have the biscuits down pat, and they’re nagging me to teach them to knit. This summer they will learn how to use needles and yarn, and we will plant zinnias in red, with maybe a little pink and white mixed in.

Ma, you left a fine legacy behind.

Confessions of a Television Addict

In an effort to economize because I now have a hefty car payment, a couple of weeks ago we let our satellite television subscription go and decided to switch to cable. Since we had no digital converter box, for two weeks I was reduced to Netflix on my laptop and had to wait over a week to watch the latest episode of "Raising Hope" on Hulu.

I was jonesing worse than a heroin addict. No nightly reruns of How I Met Your Mother! No 2 Broke Girls on Monday nights, let alone my weekly Raising Hope fix! (They've been renewed for a third season. I never thought I'd utter the words "Thank you, Fox", but in this case I'm more than happy to do so.) I wasn't able to get ready for work in the morning to the accompaniment of the early WBTV news, which almost killed me. John Carter and Christine Nelson, I missed you!

The cable installer showed up today and I almost kissed his feet, though he took way too long to do the install for my taste. I was pacing and biting my nails. After he left, I grabbed my shiny new remote, began channel-surfing like any good TV addict and found the greatest station in the world - MeTV. It's been available in my area, but my satellite service didn't carry it. Folks, this station is better than TVLand and carries some excellent classic TV programming without edits. They're running "That Girl", "Family Affair", "The Untouchables", "Car 54, Where Are You", "Thriller"...the list goes on and on. Best of all, the shows carry the network ID at the end. I watched the end of Bonanza today - which yeah,yeah, I know it's on TVLand - but TVL doesn't bother to run the NBC ID at the end! When I saw the legendary NBC snake at the end I got cold chills. Larry Mathews - little Ritchie Petrie - does a promo for the Dick Van Dyke Show!

I'm watching The Wild, Wild West right now (which was always one of my mom's favorites), and even though Jim West has amnesia he hasn't forgotten how much he loves the ladies. Ed Asner is playing a baddie who's stealing a vaccine.

Batman's on later this evening, followed by Lost in Space. I'm going to curl up in my recliner with a blanket and relive my childhood for a little while. Sigh. I'm in heaven. Now, if I could only watch this on a huge "Magnificent Magnavox" console in my grandmother's den, I'd be euphoric.

I'm practically dancing.

Eavesdropping on Conversations

Okay, it wasn't eavesdropping.  The conversation was conducted right in front of me.

My eldest son stayed here over the weekend, draping his 6'2" frame over a love seat.  (That's how you keep your adult kids from coming back to stay.  Don't give 'em a comfortable place to sleep, take away the satellite remote and watch stuff they hate, and never, ever let them check their Facebook on your laptop.  They'll be there 48 hours, max.)

His best friend, who is probably six feet tall, bald and huge and looks like Mr. Clean, had to go out of town overnight and needed my son to come over and walk his dog.  Since Best Friend has no girlfriend and no children, this dog, who is a hyperactive Jack Russell mix, is his baby.  Eldest son went over and did his duty...and later that night had to report back to his friend about the dog.  The conversation went like this:

"Hey, dude.  Yeah, you got back okay?  Cool.  Frisky did what?  Dude, I swear I took him out for a walk.  Yeah, I promise.  Hey, ask my dad.  He drove me over there.  Yes, Frisky pooped."  (He didn't use the word "pooped", by the way.)  "Yes, he did, I swear.  What did it look like?  Are you freaking serious, dude?  Well, he laid two or three and they were about as big around as a hot dog and maybe five inches long apiece.  No, he didn't have diarrhea."  Pause.  "Did I feed him anything besides what you normally do?  Dude, would I give Frisky anything you wouldn't?  My feelings are hurt."  Another pause.  "Okay.  No problem.  Peace out."

Eldest son turned his head and noticed me staring at him.  "What, Mom?"

Sometimes there are no words.

Me and the CBS Eye

I love television history.  It probably began in utero.  My parents named me after a '50s television character named Susan Camille McNamara, played by the fabulous Ann Sothern.  Anyhow, whenever I happen upon a bit of TV trivia that dates back to the late 1940s or up into the early 1960s, it practically makes me shiver with delight.  One of my proudest possessions is a 1948 Emerson console TV.  It doesn't play - and might catch fire if it were ever plugged in - but it makes me feel good to see it in the corner of my den.

A couple of days ago, the CBS Eye had its 60th birthday.  In honor of the occasion, I found a picture of the old Eye with clouds in the background and put it on my computer.  I also found a picture of Ann Sothern, printed it out at home, and posted it in my cubicle for everyone to see.  I figured the lady for whom I was named, whose show was on CBS after all, deserved equal time.

When I was three or four, the Eye and I had a rocky relationship.

As a little girl, I was afraid of a lot of things, and The Eye was one of them.  One of the logos CBS used was an animated eye, whose iris opened and closed like a camera shutter:

To my chubby little four-year-old self, it looked leathery and malevolent, and invariably I would run screaming from the room.  When you stop to consider that most of the shows I watched were on CBS, it made for a lot of exercise of both the physical and vocal varieties. 

Thankfully, I grew out of it.  Nowadays I have a lot of affection for the Eye.  It's a reminder of pre-cable times, when we had four channels if we were lucky and the truly well-off had an antenna on the roof that could pick up stations 50 miles away. Yes, I sound like my grandparents talking about the good old days of radio, but who cares?

Just for the fun of it, NBC's earliest logo:

Sigh...think I'm heading over to YouTube.  


















 

Milanos vs. Wedding Cookies - There's No Contest!

Not too long ago, I experienced a bout of ennui and decided a scientific experiment was in order. My ingredients?  A bag of Milano cookies and an icy cup of Coca-Cola.  I was out to see how well a Milano cookie held up when dipped in cola.  My results in just a moment.

Ever had a Milano?  Oh, my goodness.  Two buttery, airy wafers with a thin layer of chocolate - dark, milk, or mint, take your pick - sandwiched in between.  Addictive doesn't describe it.  And these perfect, lovely cookies are the antidote to depression, stress, or just plain boredom.

Last week I had a day in which everything seemed to go wrong.  I had awakened to find my home phone out due to a storm early that morning, my work day consisted of one crisis after another, and on the way home my elderly but normally trusty Town & Country ran hot.  (I pulled over right in front of the weigh station on Interstate 85 in full view of three state troopers, none of whom came over to see if I needed help or to offer to call IMAP.  Note to the NC State Patrol - if I'd been thin and blonde they'd have raced over and fought to help.  Diversity training is in order.)

I called Hubby, who came to the rescue and ensured I could get the car home.  On the way - Hubby following to ensure I had no other problems - we stopped at the grocery store.  By this time I'd decided that a bag of Milanos was in order, and screw the cost...but when I got to the cookie aisle a box of Danish Wedding cookies caught my eye.  Hmm...tiny, tender chocolate chip cookies with a dusting of confectioners' sugar sounded like just the ticket.  I couldn't wait to tear into them when I got home.

They just weren't the same.  I didn't get that sense of satisfaction, that "ahhhh..." moment.  They're gone in one bite, and almost too sweet.  I closed the box, stuck out my lower lip, and wished for the white bag with the perfectly photographed Milano on the front. 

The results of my experiment?  Here's another advantage to the Milano...it holds up well when dipped.  I mean it.  It keeps its crunch and that beautiful semi-sweet taste.  And it blends well with icy Co-Cola (another perfect food product).  Wedding cookies just get mushy and the sugar floats on top of the drink.  Don't waste your time.

I'm keeping emergency bags of Milanos at my desk and in the car.  You gotta be prepared.  As for the rest of the wedding cookies, they're in their box in plain sight on my desk at work.  I'm hoping someone will steal them.

Random Thoughts...

Martha Plimpton’s dog had diarrhea in the shower.  In the shower.  How did she get that dog to be so freaking considerate?  Mine jumped up on our bed in the middle of the night and squirted on my best comforter.  Martha, if you happen to read this, advice please.  (And congrats on the Emmy nomination.  You rock on Raising Hope.)

I can’t stand parents who brag on their teenaged math whiz.  Big deal.  My son cracked his first safe at the age of 16.  Top that.

My almost 7 year old granddaughter can beat most adults at Call of Duty.  She’s either a PS3 prodigy or we need to keep her away from guns when she gets older and her parents start to piss her off.

I was named after a ‘50s TV character.  Does that explain my addiction to television?

My newest grandson is finally home.  He's a cutie pie.  The first thing his mechanic father did was prop him up in a chair and put a tiny wrench in his hand for a photograph.  The kid never opened his eyes.  Photo to come later.

From the "Wait Until You Have Children Of Your Own" Files...

When I was a teenager and my mother threw that particular phrase at me, I swore up and down I would never, ever use it on my own children.  And sure enough, when they were very young and angelic, hubby and I never spoke those words and I actually  -  and oh so foolishly! - thought we'd never need to.  Then they became teenagers, making our lives a living hell, and we used the phrase every chance we got just to make them mad.  I totally sympathized with my mother, which didn’t happen very often.  Trust me.

Picture me saying this with an insane giggle; our oldest daughter is getting payback, and the grandchildren are only in the first grade.   Heheheheheh.

The time was Thanksgiving evening, long after the turkey had been demolished.  My daughter and my son-in-law were entertaining and sent the little girls to their room to play.  These are the granddaughters who had been at Nana's and PawPaw's earlier and impressed me with their wonderful behavior.  (PawPaw was sequestered in the bedroom with the 50 inch flatscreen TV, a turkey leg, and the football game.)

A little while later, my daughter noticed that things had gotten awfully quiet in the girls’ bedroom.  When you have children who are five and six, quiet equates trouble.  About the time she noticed the ominous silence, my younger granddaughter came running out yelling these unforgettable words:  “Mommy!  Mommy!  Katie’s trying to make me drink her pee!”  Sure enough, when my daughter went to investigate, somehow my older granddaughter had managed to, well, squat over a Beauty and the Beast teacup and offer it to Cammie as refreshment…maybe her own twist on an after-Thanksgiving-dinner aperitif.

I received a hysterical phone call from my daughter.  “Momma, what is wrong with these kids?” she wailed.  After I asked her what happened and got the whole story, I laughed so hard I almost gave myself a hernia.

Her father was thrilled.  “Lemme talk to her,” he said.  “I told you your behavior would come back to haunt you one day,” he crowed upon taking the receiver.  When he hung up, we high-fived each other and laughed like witches over a cauldron.  

My granddaughters are still young.  Wait until they’re teenagers. We are literally rubbing our hands together in gleeful anticipation.