tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-305939172024-03-23T11:29:11.363-07:00Goldendaze-ginnieSerene 89 year old looking to exchange insightful ideas and remembrances.Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12749133391349265563noreply@blogger.comBlogger1348125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-37435680619391488172022-08-19T17:15:00.001-07:002022-08-19T17:15:56.421-07:00A letter to my blogger friends<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1bfxZNBtXmrVWcsERsnM-R49XihL7vTWMwDae3WUYHAghp3ROS0s7hCbLHs8kBgzobYWSDda2SQ9m4o_SXLFOiHgRhkzVp260uNQQUVbpkvUm0Xy-qWUzLZXPmr67xtPya9jN-aWYKACDeQngQiPNFtMDcCuv-hGdsOB7BXdmSAgIG-ILry8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1bfxZNBtXmrVWcsERsnM-R49XihL7vTWMwDae3WUYHAghp3ROS0s7hCbLHs8kBgzobYWSDda2SQ9m4o_SXLFOiHgRhkzVp260uNQQUVbpkvUm0Xy-qWUzLZXPmr67xtPya9jN-aWYKACDeQngQiPNFtMDcCuv-hGdsOB7BXdmSAgIG-ILry8" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I have given much thought to what I am about to do. I am 89 years old and have been blogging since July, 2006. It has greatly enriched my life to know you all...some close to home and some of you from parts of the world that I will never get to in this lifetime !</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It was a very different world then and we have had our ups and downs in the U.S., but nothing like we are going through now. As I look back I can pin-point exactly when the "big change" began, It was in 2010 when the very right wing Tea Party won the majority of seats for the House in the mid-term election . Although Obama won a 2nd term he was stymied by that and, as unbelievable as can be, Donald Trump became our 45th President.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">All of us, Democrats, Republicans and Independents have been remiss in our naivete. We should have seen what was coming by Trumps horrifying inaugural acceptance speech. We, the believers of our country who were not racists should have taken our clue from that and done everything in our power to push back from his very first lie. I just can't believe that our beloved country is so fragile that we have allowed the low life of our citizenry to take over ... not to mention the radicalization of the Republicans in the House and the Senate. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">For the last 4 months I've made a decision to stay away from politics. I have chosen memories from my past to share with you and I hope you have enjoyed them. However I find I am consumed with fear for the future of our country. I just don't feel I can continue on a light note, as I have, and I don't want to bore you with my political rants. So this is my last Goldendaze-Ginnie blog entry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Thank you all, dear friends, for sharing your lives with me. The last 16 years with you has been one of the highlights of my life. With love to all ...Ginnie</span></p><p><br /></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-18013249328633660912022-08-12T14:00:00.025-07:002022-08-12T14:00:00.193-07:00Miserable Tykes, UK (1920's), USA (1938)<p><span style="font-family: arial;">This is a copy of a blog entry that I posted in 2006. It seems strange to read this since all of my sisters are now deceased.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjStVoJ7unQ1zMf_TM60TuyY3xAoCi9JA4ITpmVwHzQ8yQhdIgx3fQXvWHckBDEVL2l5oA1bPWd9JUE_UCHj0iptdyvkGyiACkyZ0E7-_fLzZk06BW643ZFNFzrewuvYtrwNFwn6wrAXfcgqgJHA0TTn8SiNLNl3dz1kQ3l17b-XA_T9LU62jQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="340" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjStVoJ7unQ1zMf_TM60TuyY3xAoCi9JA4ITpmVwHzQ8yQhdIgx3fQXvWHckBDEVL2l5oA1bPWd9JUE_UCHj0iptdyvkGyiACkyZ0E7-_fLzZk06BW643ZFNFzrewuvYtrwNFwn6wrAXfcgqgJHA0TTn8SiNLNl3dz1kQ3l17b-XA_T9LU62jQ" width="148" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKTMHo8UnroR5CzS6UkXPIv2cnmqVHlFsaGG2aDl6k0-4ORVRVmhc_vPaiBHqSpDxZgZnf_G94X3VxidSwtAEGqJ6mqsFSyLGCATqlI5XFxsMmbwtSMc82EbAeAGW-o0J3usheEtD95BsOHEqg1r-ObIcMCkefK2nyuDeD0wC2p9d5ujmEes4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="201" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKTMHo8UnroR5CzS6UkXPIv2cnmqVHlFsaGG2aDl6k0-4ORVRVmhc_vPaiBHqSpDxZgZnf_G94X3VxidSwtAEGqJ6mqsFSyLGCATqlI5XFxsMmbwtSMc82EbAeAGW-o0J3usheEtD95BsOHEqg1r-ObIcMCkefK2nyuDeD0wC2p9d5ujmEes4" width="151" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: left;"><span><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: left;"><span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;"><p align="left" class="western">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>In
2006 my blogger friend Big John from England posted a blog
entitled “A not too neat and tidy trio” and he featured the
picture that you see here. I found it very amusing and I especially
loved the expressions on the three little tykes.I left this comment:
“It reminds me of the Staples TV commercial…that shows the Dad
racing around the store gathering school supplies for his kids. He is
ecstatic because school is starting and he's singing (to the
Christmas tune) It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year and
then the camera trains on the kids and , I swear, they have
expressions on their faces just like the two older children in your
photo. Priceless!”</span></span></span></p><p align="left" class="western"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"></span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="color: #444444;">N</span><span style="color: #333333;">ow,
imagine my surprise when my oldest sister, Mary, (age 80) sent me
this photo for Christmas. She had it framed and wrote, “Merry
Christmas, Joy & Peace” across the inside ! You can see that
she retains a good sense of humor. I immediately thought of John’s
picture and how similar they are.</span></span></span></p><p align="left" class="western" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">I
am the youngest of 5 girls and when I asked Mary where our middle
sister Nancy was she said that none of us wanted to have our picture
taken that day, but only Nancy was brave enough to stamp her foot and
run off. She was, and is, the rebel of the family.</p><p align="left" class="western" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">I
guess children have their miserable days just like we adults do…
but somehow you don’t expect to see it in family photos. There is
something very appealing about these two pictures, however. You can
almost hear the big sighs and read their thoughts…”you can make
us pose, but you can’t make us smile !”</p></span></span></span></div><br /><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-83341142235108358932022-08-08T06:33:00.001-07:002022-08-08T06:33:41.014-07:00A RABBIT’s TALE….stranger than fiction.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhatS8Ue9Llk7V8LAlsyCv6XfsHzh9X1ehOhskbXfNjgCKOL3UyuspP4LXFjKZlCdnrqhw5jGKBqatpkYWgdqAUMOWXmPWBiA1STzyNTNd4W-5S4_c6yNzKjf9_ozHAe-dJBq_7VKEFpyVv-4dQ-YElgk6y866-bwVXgwY8xKtT2sDGI_0z0f0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="182" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhatS8Ue9Llk7V8LAlsyCv6XfsHzh9X1ehOhskbXfNjgCKOL3UyuspP4LXFjKZlCdnrqhw5jGKBqatpkYWgdqAUMOWXmPWBiA1STzyNTNd4W-5S4_c6yNzKjf9_ozHAe-dJBq_7VKEFpyVv-4dQ-YElgk6y866-bwVXgwY8xKtT2sDGI_0z0f0" width="158" /></a></div><span style="color: #333333;"><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In
August of 2004 I was in Duke Hospital undergoing the removal of a
brain tumor. It was benign, but, because of the location, it was
imperative that I have the operation or take the chance of losing my
hearing. </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;">I was very positive about the outcome</span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;"> but, I gave my best friend a letter with my wishes written down </span><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: center;">just in case I didn't make it</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"> . They were
simple, just a memorial service and the reading of part of “Watership
Down”. This is a remarkable tale about a group of rabbits and their
quest for life. The main rabbit, a male called Hazel, lives to a ripe old age and the
final pages tell of his death.</span></p></span><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif">“</span></span></span></em><em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span>He
woke to realize that there was a rabbit lying quietly beside him. ....'Do you know me?' he asked and Hazel answered 'Yes, my lord.' 'Then If you’re
ready, we might go along now' said the stranger. They went
out…where the sun was shining and it seemed to him that he would
not be needing his body any more, so he left it lying on the edge of
the ditch…strength and speed flowing out of him and into the sleek
young bodies of his rabbits.<br />
<br />'You needn’t worry about
them', said his companion and together they slipped away,
running easily down through the wood, where the first primroses were
beginning to bloom.”</span></span></span></span></em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif">
</span></span></span></span>
</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif">**************************<br />
Since I'm writing this you know that it all turned out well. My friend </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span>was the only
person who knew of my wishes in case it had not. So, it was a great
surprise when my daughter told me this:</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif"><br />
<br />
</span></span></span><em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif">“</span></span></span></em><em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span>After
you were taken to the operating room we all settled in for a 5 hour
wait. At one point Brian and I went outside for a breath of air and
found ourselves in a large area that was being remodeled. It was a
type of courtyard with walls on all four sides and no greenery
because of the construction. We sat on some cement blocks and drank
our coffee.<br />
<br />
All of a sudden we were amazed to see a small
rabbit come hopping across the tarmac and, although it looked
completely out of place, it was not in the least bit shy. It seemed
to study us for a few seconds and then it hopped off. ‘How strange
is that?’, we said to each other.”</span></span></span></span></em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span face="Lato, sans-serif"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><em><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;">*****************************</span></span></span></span></em></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">Strange
indeed…..stranger than fiction?</span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"> </span></span></span></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-80937158661525454362022-08-02T14:00:00.001-07:002022-08-02T14:00:00.209-07:00 “BOB & RAY”, 1949<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMOzMk_gBSle4ZvAjrU6Xo2mKcc82m3Job4-XBfmh6o_iygqNttX9j_fTTibfpfho0LQtN4TfOnxZCojDrwgJY4R3Mt8GlbhHovVcDLLzQU5iarejTsAS_o7_cDv2Qp8YCbSlaLj4X9dvNFozAydvOcxingtoRXE1rzrsqtbmQXFjs9JNEiVI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMOzMk_gBSle4ZvAjrU6Xo2mKcc82m3Job4-XBfmh6o_iygqNttX9j_fTTibfpfho0LQtN4TfOnxZCojDrwgJY4R3Mt8GlbhHovVcDLLzQU5iarejTsAS_o7_cDv2Qp8YCbSlaLj4X9dvNFozAydvOcxingtoRXE1rzrsqtbmQXFjs9JNEiVI" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>The
comedy team of “Bob & Ray” was catching on like wildfire in
1949, the year that I was a Junior in High School. Their wacky radio
show, “Matinee with Bob & Ray” aired on WHDH, Boston, and I
couldn’t wait for the daily 15 minute segments to begin.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span><br />
<br />
</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Their
format was typically to satirize radio and TV (which was just
emerging) with off-the-wall dialogue, usually presented in a deadpan
style.</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 20pt;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 20pt;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 20pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6pg_-N4WRa1sL_9fJ0mtQy4PILr-3tzQt36nYPphz26wRWn7c1KXoZFxHtAnWDG3v0lazecOzhQeAhhRcFWL6eePkHEpejkkbJZThPta7SetwQRADwLbZPjCr7oQj8QwErL2wEiPKq8InOuV9qsxFJOwo428Lht9M7Gk030C-jUFDJgM_BfI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6pg_-N4WRa1sL_9fJ0mtQy4PILr-3tzQt36nYPphz26wRWn7c1KXoZFxHtAnWDG3v0lazecOzhQeAhhRcFWL6eePkHEpejkkbJZThPta7SetwQRADwLbZPjCr7oQj8QwErL2wEiPKq8InOuV9qsxFJOwo428Lht9M7Gk030C-jUFDJgM_BfI" width="283" /></a></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 20pt;"><br /></span></span></span></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Another
spoof was their game show entitled, “The 64 Cent Question” and my
favorite segment, the cowboy singer who did <u>rope tricks on the radio</u> ! </span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Bob was usually the interviewer and Ray would take on different
accents and voice tones. He had a wonderfully flat tone that he used
for all his female characters, especially Mary McGoon, a home
economics advisor who shared her bizarre recipes with the audience. </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>By
1949 they had been airing the show for three years and, although
their popularity was growing, they hired the Ad Agency that my Dad
worked for to promote it even further. Dad made plans to attend a
live broadcast and he took me with him. It was my first time to watch
the inner workings of a radio show and it was amazing to watch how they made the sound effects and other technical ends of the business.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I was just 16 years old when I attended that with Dad and little did I know that "live radio" would be a large part of my life too. As was said in those days "keep tuned." </span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-64380951212638732452022-07-29T12:15:00.000-07:002022-07-29T12:15:09.041-07:00 LIVE RADIO SHOWS in the 1940’s <p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAdZFwCA_QFpFoqe1qqL4t-NDON9o7F9tYKAVFEEhks0VnYdQyEXcPxhNuyYhufcjZ0UPEaME_8ftAiSO4zf10gK8OJUN-Ce5u4Ce1Gta8PfgZqnivqWxFLCpKpSCG5Nj9kxvpLhZuxLCvGBvFZ6rSnuwcAjUlXMaXKCcfiA6DVC5aDwZJ_wI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="91" data-original-width="91" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAdZFwCA_QFpFoqe1qqL4t-NDON9o7F9tYKAVFEEhks0VnYdQyEXcPxhNuyYhufcjZ0UPEaME_8ftAiSO4zf10gK8OJUN-Ce5u4Ce1Gta8PfgZqnivqWxFLCpKpSCG5Nj9kxvpLhZuxLCvGBvFZ6rSnuwcAjUlXMaXKCcfiA6DVC5aDwZJ_wI" width="240" /></a></div><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; font-family: arial; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">I<span><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">n
the early 1940’s World War II was raging and the live radio shows
of that era provided a much-needed respite for the families waiting
at home and for the boys on base. “The Jack Benny Show”, “Edgar
Bergan and Charlie McCarthy”, “Burns and Allen” and “The
Great Gildersleeve” were only a few of the shows that brought their home-spun humor into our lives.</span></span></span></span></span></span><p></p>
<p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial;">I
was 9 yrs old in 1942 and I can remember many a night that we gathered around
the big, wooden radio in the living room and laughed until the tears
flowed. There were also nights when we cried as we listened to the
news of our brave boys so far from home. The radio was our lifeline
for good news or bad.</span></p>
<p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial;">By
1946 my taste in radio shows had changed dramatically. I was now a
teenager and my “romantic” self couldn’t get enough of “The
Lux Radio Theater”. Their format was to air one hour radio versions
of motion pictures, often using the same cast as in the movie.
(examples of these were: “Jane Eyre”, “I Remember Mama”, and
“Miracle of the Bells”.) The only problem was that my bedtime was
before the show came on. Not to worry. We now owned two smaller
radios and I, simply, connected a long extension cord to one of them
and took the radio to bed with me!</span></p><p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial;">My folks never
reprimanded me, or even let me know that they were aware of what I
was doing. But, I recall many nights that I fell asleep mid-show and
woke the next morning to find the radio miraculously turned off and
set on the floor beside the bed.</span></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-89976858156621017892022-07-22T23:20:00.000-07:002022-07-22T23:20:05.997-07:00...a spider orb web<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlIr_AKg5Cg1wPdqd_Nvg7x1AjjeKGunfX98aPaOtLgHkpYtuVHuSfbARpbv1TYy8RPJCXhUtULzuy3f5y_jXKsfabp92FX7fzOezy6E_xYviIBCL1kTq0OhbJkJ9oy3oO1vMm-YsDXc-acR7VR-udf6o8W6XgYi85QUWm2OfuzMIMOhmMcWo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjlIr_AKg5Cg1wPdqd_Nvg7x1AjjeKGunfX98aPaOtLgHkpYtuVHuSfbARpbv1TYy8RPJCXhUtULzuy3f5y_jXKsfabp92FX7fzOezy6E_xYviIBCL1kTq0OhbJkJ9oy3oO1vMm-YsDXc-acR7VR-udf6o8W6XgYi85QUWm2OfuzMIMOhmMcWo" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-align: start;">This is </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333;">an orb web that a spider weaves at night to catch </span>its<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333;"> prey</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: start;"> a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-align: left;">nd here is a web </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: small; text-align: left;">construction diagram that shows the intricacy of the design and how it is achieved.</span></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5lLy8I1hiYRMXrbF0bENRIC30OJcAgZDMEVLsCMDGocTLld4af_jUXxDBwiiDgMGF2DCJ_iSEjRcoLZX3MyO2K06KigvlLlZcS6FZy7PAJIgZWLGegrMAsZBqC780WDJ2FC_tlFOemGXBm37AV7fPi4l51LBDBclCnsjNwZEcl5X9GC1hoQo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="640" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5lLy8I1hiYRMXrbF0bENRIC30OJcAgZDMEVLsCMDGocTLld4af_jUXxDBwiiDgMGF2DCJ_iSEjRcoLZX3MyO2K06KigvlLlZcS6FZy7PAJIgZWLGegrMAsZBqC780WDJ2FC_tlFOemGXBm37AV7fPi4l51LBDBclCnsjNwZEcl5X9GC1hoQo" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">The spider releases a sticky thread</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333;"> to a spot where it sticks & the first bridge is formed. After this </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: center;">the spider constructs a loose thread and constructs a Y shaped thread. Then a frame is constructed to attach the other radii.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After all the radii are completed the spider starts to make the circular threads. The spider can span the distance between the threads the width of her legs. The web is completed with non-sticky radii and sticky circular threads and now the spider can rest and sit in the center of the web with her head down ... calmly awaiting her dinner ! </span></span></div></div><div class="yj6qo" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" class="Bs nH iY bAt" role="presentation" style="background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; color: #202124; display: block; padding: 0px; position: static; width: 768px;"><tbody><tr class="aTN"><td class="Bu yM" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: top; width: 0px;"></td><td class="Bu bAn" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: top;"><div class="nH if" style="margin: 0px 16px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="nH aHU" style="position: relative;"><div class="nH hx" style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; min-width: 502px; padding: 0px;"><div class="nH" jslog="20686; u014N:xr6bB" role="list"><div aria-expanded="true" class="h7 ie nH oy8Mbf" role="listitem" style="clear: both; max-width: 100000px; outline: none; padding-bottom: 0px;" tabindex="-1"><div class="Bk" style="border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-color: initial; border-left-style: initial; border-radius: 0px; border-right-color: initial; border-right-style: initial; border-top-color: rgb(239, 239, 239); border-top-style: solid; border-width: 0px; float: left; margin-bottom: 0px; position: relative; width: 752px;"><div class="G3 G2" style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: 0px rgba(100, 121, 143, 0.12); border-image: initial; border-left: 0px; border-radius: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: none; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div id=":7s"><div class="adn ads" data-legacy-message-id="18238c4d4fdf826f" data-message-id="#msg-a:r2526659843564952361" style="border-left: none; display: flex; padding: 0px;"><div class="gs" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 20px; width: 680px;"><div><div class="ii gt" id=":7p" jslog="20277; u014N:xr6bB; 4:W251bGwsbnVsbCxbXV0." style="direction: ltr; margin: 8px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative;"><div class="a3s aiL" id=":7q" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 1.5; overflow: hidden;"><div dir="ltr"><div data-smartmail="gmail_signature" dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div><br /></div></div><div class="adL" dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="adL" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"></div></div></div><div class="hi" style="background: rgb(242, 242, 242); border-bottom-left-radius: 1px; border-bottom-right-radius: 1px; font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: auto;"></div></div></div><div class="ajx" style="clear: both; font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></div></div><div class="gA gt ac5" style="background: transparent; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top: none; font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.875rem; padding: 0px; width: auto;"></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="nH" style="font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></div><div class="nH" style="font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"></div></div></div><div class="nH" style="font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><div class="l2 pfiaof" role="contentinfo" style="margin: 0px 0px 16px; padding: 0px 16px 0px 72px; text-align: center; text-shadow: none; visibility: hidden;"><div class="aeV" id=":ao" style="float: left; text-align: left; width: 221.109px;"><div class="ajd" style="display: flex;"><a class="aiF" href="https://drive.google.com/u/0/settings/storage?hl=en&utm_medium=web&utm_source=gmail&utm_campaign=storage_meter&utm_content=storage_normal" style="text-decoration-line: none; width: 220px;" target="_blank"><div class="aiC" jslog="108909; u014N:cOuCgd,Kr2w4b,xr6bB; 40:WzFd" style="background-color: #dadce0; border-radius: 8px; height: 6px; margin: 7px 0px;"><div class="aiA" style="background-color: #5f6368; border-radius: 8px; height: 6px; width: 8.79688px;"></div></div><div class="aiG" jslog="108910; u014N:cOuCgd,Kr2w4b,xr6bB; 40:WzFd" style="align-items: center; display: flex;"><div class="aiD" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: auto; color: #5f6368; font-size: 0.75rem; letter-spacing: 0.3px; text-shadow: none;"><span dir="ltr"></span><span dir="ltr"></span></div><div aria-label="Follow link to manage storage" class="aiz" role="img" style="background-image: url("https://www.gstatic.com/images/icons/material/system_gm/2x/launch_gm_grey_18dp.png"); background-size: 18px; height: 20px; margin: 0px 8px; opacity: 1; width: 20px;"></div></div></a></div></div><div class="aeU" style="float: left; width: 221.109px;"><div id=":83"><div class="ma" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: auto; color: #5f6368; font-size: 0.75rem; letter-spacing: 0.3px; line-height: 20px; padding-top: 0px; text-shadow: none;"><a class="l9" href="https://www.google.com/intl/en/policies/terms/" style="color: #222222; text-decoration-line: none; text-shadow: none;" target="_blank"></a><a class="l9" href="https://www.google.com/intl/en/policies/privacy/" style="color: #222222; text-decoration-line: none; text-shadow: none;" target="_blank"></a><a class="l9" href="https://www.google.com/gmail/about/policy/" style="color: #222222; text-decoration-line: none; text-shadow: none;" target="_blank"></a></div></div></div><div class="ae3" id=":85" style="float: left; text-align: right; width: 221.109px;"><div class="l6" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: auto; color: #5f6368; font-size: 0.75rem; letter-spacing: 0.3px; line-height: 20px; padding-top: 0px; text-shadow: none;"><div></div><span class="l8 LJOhwe" id=":7v" role="link" style="color: #222222; cursor: pointer; text-shadow: none;" tabindex="0"></span></div></div><div style="clear: both;"></div></div></div></div></td><td class="Bu yM" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: top; width: 0px;"><div class="Bt" style="height: 0px; overflow: hidden; width: 0px;"></div><div class="nH" style="width: 0px;"><div class="no" style="float: left;"><div class="nH nn" style="float: left; min-height: 1px; width: 0px;"></div></div></div></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #333333; font-size: small; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-41141657686976654012022-07-18T07:14:00.003-07:002022-07-18T07:14:43.106-07:00 PLUM ISLAND, Massachusetts……1937 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDim3F2rqG9QKBovSuAelL14qaMQeMyuY55z6ixz-iU_G2hxETa9IAZSLzYnZ1bLLXzKFLCpN2p_5AFaRl9A2hdAsO3ajXnI8DFKGR0tcdPx-HJWQE3z_E9I9Ddgk_pMctywvGUiM1qZKq6s3trOhz0ibNkW082PfS_sn2VGQL1VZv8erq-io" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="221" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDim3F2rqG9QKBovSuAelL14qaMQeMyuY55z6ixz-iU_G2hxETa9IAZSLzYnZ1bLLXzKFLCpN2p_5AFaRl9A2hdAsO3ajXnI8DFKGR0tcdPx-HJWQE3z_E9I9Ddgk_pMctywvGUiM1qZKq6s3trOhz0ibNkW082PfS_sn2VGQL1VZv8erq-io" width="166" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The date was 1937 and my
sister Nancy and I are enjoying a fun time at Plum Island, Mass. I am balancing a bottle on my head and seem to be
very proud of myself. </span></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">As I gaze again at that picture I can’t help but chuckle. Little did I know then that “putting the cork in the bottle” was to play a huge part in my later life. I certainly didn’t seem to be worried about it then !</span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">It was a big treat to be spending our summer there. The "great depression" was still with us and we had little money to spare but a friend of the family offered </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">us his cottage on the island for the summer. We 5 girls ranged in age from 4 ½ (that was me, the youngest) to 13 years, so we would be able to care for ourselves and enable Mother to get a well deserved rest.</span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Our
get-away was spent in a tiny cottage named “Alice”. It was one of
a group of compact little wooden structures and was directly on the
beach. Although we had a rudimentary kitchen there were no bathroom
facilities and our community of families shared an outside shower and
an outhouse.</span></span></span></span>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: center;">T</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here
was a small store, a run down board walk and an open-air building
where we could play games, listen to music and work on jig saw
puzzles. I'm sure that the youngsters of today would be less than happy to spend a whole summer in such rudematary conditions ... n</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">o TV’s, cell phones, or other distractions ... just lots of sun, sand and ocean. </span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">In other words...HEAVEN!</span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-87406834597743408342022-07-12T13:00:00.001-07:002022-07-12T13:00:00.185-07:00Hitchhiking to North Carolina 1977<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS2nzrvFmw3_rmcCjZ9BEhwgG7JzzndnUuupXH5ivsUrzTnMAQSaCJdWAEcLzrgoR42IXYCaLeePOJciTRYEK6_T_7vnbceven8bD3zDyNtibs5slMQEqt8quhxeGBixjsFq2GfJhQAO7BOw9RaC194T5vAvV3K3oHtkq8FK6ALeLgnNaTUro" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="300" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjS2nzrvFmw3_rmcCjZ9BEhwgG7JzzndnUuupXH5ivsUrzTnMAQSaCJdWAEcLzrgoR42IXYCaLeePOJciTRYEK6_T_7vnbceven8bD3zDyNtibs5slMQEqt8quhxeGBixjsFq2GfJhQAO7BOw9RaC194T5vAvV3K3oHtkq8FK6ALeLgnNaTUro" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span><span style="color: black;"><span><span lang="en-US"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;">In
the summer of 1977 my 17 yr. old son and a friend were hot and
restless and looking for an adventure. They came to me with a plan
and, after a lengthy discussion, I reluctantly agreed. They
had decided to hitchhike from Dutchess County, New York to Pinehurst,
North Carolina … a distance of approximately 750 miles. My Husband
and our younger son were already there working on a small building
project and the boys couldn't wait to surprise them.</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As
I watched them trek down the highway the next day I wondered if I was
crazy to let them go. They looked like Mutt and Jeff… my son being
6’3” and his friend barely 5’ 10”. With tears in my eyes and
trepidation in my heart I drove home and waited for their call. Of
course I was a nervous wreck but that call did come 4 days later and
they were fine. They’d completely surprised my husband and younger
son and the plan was for them to stay for the next two weeks and then
they’d all drive home together. I remember being so happy that it
was a tame adventure and that my fears were boundless … they were
safe and sound. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It
would be years before they shared the actual facts of the trip ! </span></span></p><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">They
had a little money with them but even that was rarely spent. They
concentrated on getting rides to big cities along the route.
Then they’d find the busiest hotel in the vicinity and pretend to
be registered there. They’d swim in the pool, which cooled them off
as well as acted as a shower and, after lounging for a bit, they’d
wander to the lobby and check out the billboards. T</span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">here
was always an eating event of one sort or another listed and if not
they'd check out other hotels until they found what they were looking
for. Then, with the hubris of youth, they'd wander in and eat
to their heart's consent. The amazing thing was that they were never
questioned, not even once. </span></span></p>
<p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then,
to add insult to injury, they’d take the elevator to the top floor
and bed down on the roof !! One night it rained and they settled for
a deserted corridor. So the only expense they incurred was for
food and I’ll bet that wasn't much either. I'm sure they weren’t
shy taking “doggie bags” from those free dinners they
attended. </span></span></p>
<p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.14in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">So,
that’s the “rest of the story” and when I think of the “what
if’s” I can only agree with the old adage … </span><i style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">IGNORANCE
IS BLISS !</i><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"> </span></span></p></div><p><br /></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-23346346603860298032022-07-06T14:00:00.001-07:002022-07-06T14:00:00.200-07:001958 ... THREE DATES IN ONE NIGHT<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipYx5vV7CLcf4LMzziLwOJG4zNg7njmKz8bCjQrMtdGCBQMviDLFFCthXBwHAst3jLlc9Laip6ks1BwXYkGPuxNnwVLt22VpVaG2Ln2mfcVnJd1xKw36QsUwK9jq1-WfoaHBPavWDA9t7kdrHQsJElzNBOivfyuXXNr8ukS7-NWNwGgVoedm0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="230" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipYx5vV7CLcf4LMzziLwOJG4zNg7njmKz8bCjQrMtdGCBQMviDLFFCthXBwHAst3jLlc9Laip6ks1BwXYkGPuxNnwVLt22VpVaG2Ln2mfcVnJd1xKw36QsUwK9jq1-WfoaHBPavWDA9t7kdrHQsJElzNBOivfyuXXNr8ukS7-NWNwGgVoedm0" width="173" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">It
was a balmy April evening in New York City and my date was escorting
me home after an early movie. It was a weekday and we both needed to
be up early for work. As we crowded into the elevator I was surprised to
come face to face with an old college schoolmate. I hadn’t seen
Pete for 3 years and we were, naturally, excited to run into each
other.</span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pete
was also on an early date and we managed to exchange eye signals that
said, “Lets say goodnight to our dates and then meet in the lobby”.
I’m not quite sure how we pulled that off, but we did, and about 30
minutes later Pete and I reunited. All of a sudden it didn’t matter
that it was a week night. This was my old friend Pete from Upsala
College days and we had lots of catching up to do.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My
apartment was in Tudor City and Pete had friends who lived just two
blocks away. “There’s sure to be a party going on”, he said and
he was right. This was a 4th floor walk-up apartment and we could
hear the music and the conversation long before we got to the door.
We were warmly welcomed and I was introduced to a new and
invigorating group of New Yorkers. The talk was eclectic but
typically liberal and heavily concentrated on the Arts.</span></span></p><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: #ffffff;">As
the evening went on a new man arrived and I found myself drawn to
him. Dick was a photographer who had just left a two year stint on
“Life” magazine and was starting a free-lance business. He was
attractive, in a rough boyish style and not very tall. His mother
lived in the apartment one floor up and he had moved in with her
while he launched his new career.<br />
<br />
Suddenly this thought
came to my mind: “He’s too short for me, but this is the man that
I’m going to marry !” I guess Pete saw the hand writing on the
wall because he kind of faded away after Dick told him, “Don’t
worry, old buddy, I’ll be happy to see that Ginnie gets home
safely.”<br />
<br />
So there it is...three dates in one night. It
was the only time that I ever did that, but I don’t feel guilty
about it since my third date and I were married four months later.
Dick and I tied the knot on August 23, 1958 and our marriage lasted
32 years until his death in 1990</span></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span></p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-18903755181178644252022-07-02T14:00:00.001-07:002022-07-02T14:00:00.193-07:00Merv Griffin, 1958<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrvhH7FW7ef436_Z8z0IWATAn_g89IWgsBnh3LZzFmL3TwUVcQNT9YlCMmBp_7ZN8AnGD71p4yElyNg3XrwpNeEEhwxUGPlzjiSL8x_Zmuoy517DLkN3jAAxCSC-nXtEbQqRi9CnvMjRX9iX52ibBm75xqE2QEUg9o-FTBz2Uv09Spt1hdWNY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrvhH7FW7ef436_Z8z0IWATAn_g89IWgsBnh3LZzFmL3TwUVcQNT9YlCMmBp_7ZN8AnGD71p4yElyNg3XrwpNeEEhwxUGPlzjiSL8x_Zmuoy517DLkN3jAAxCSC-nXtEbQqRi9CnvMjRX9iX52ibBm75xqE2QEUg9o-FTBz2Uv09Spt1hdWNY" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>In
1958 I was working for WABC Radio in New York City. It was an
exciting and exhilarating time for me but it was a very shaky time
for the radio industry. The stations were losing audiences by the
droves, as TV was just cresting over the horizon.</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #c9211e;"><b>
</b></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">
My job was to write promotional material aimed at selling time on
these live shows and </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">one
of the</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">m</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">
w</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">a</span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">s
a </span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">prime-time
game show called “Keep Talking”, starring the young and up-coming
Merv Griffin.</span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>never
actually met Merv but I was in his presence quite a few times </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>and
c</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>ould
see that </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>he</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>
certainly exuded charisma, both off and on the air. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>However,
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
never guessed that he’d become one of the most successful business
men in the world.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>M</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>erv was still pretty heavy at that time
and it was just a short time later that he decided to “clean up his
act”. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>He
realized that TV meant being actually seen as opposed to talking on
the radio so he</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>
lost a lot of weight and either quit or cut way back on his drinking.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>When
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>NBC
TV came out with color it was the end of the live radio era … and
the beginning of the “newly invented” Merv Griffin. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
followed his career for many years and was not surprised to </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>see
that he was the creator and executive producer of Jeopardy a</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>nd
many other successful TV shows.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>When
h</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>e
passed away in 2007 </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>he
was lauded for all he’d done to make TV s</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>u</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>ch
a success, but</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>
I will always </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>remember
the “</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>real”</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Merv
that I’d known in 1958.</span></span></span></span></p><p><br /></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-19305743035582384952022-06-27T14:00:00.001-07:002022-06-27T14:00:00.189-07:00Albert Camus<p><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;">In a remote cemetery on the outskirts of the quiet village of Lourmarin, Provence</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;">, is the final resting place of author Albert Camus.</span></span></p><p><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNYjdnceo2wKLUny3zlrWQByEFAkLTDylGqpUG8BxPL5OrVbll_QmdTrkmSvF2Qi7A749qXtShJMpBgmMtNXDTfoUm8t9R0jMlKk2Qcuq8EH0yKvRGt7MLZgqQp8nCWRrJrkvEi3mqUqja7dWuS6yHrznTJxIiBcUmdI7GWw5fyy8u0qVHKeQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNYjdnceo2wKLUny3zlrWQByEFAkLTDylGqpUG8BxPL5OrVbll_QmdTrkmSvF2Qi7A749qXtShJMpBgmMtNXDTfoUm8t9R0jMlKk2Qcuq8EH0yKvRGt7MLZgqQp8nCWRrJrkvEi3mqUqja7dWuS6yHrznTJxIiBcUmdI7GWw5fyy8u0qVHKeQ" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;"><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">Nobel prize winning author </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">Albert Camus is </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">one of the greatest French writers and philosophers of the 20th century. </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">In</span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;"> 19</span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">58 </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">he bought a house </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">with the Nobel prize money </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">in the sleepy </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">French</span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;"> town </span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">of Lourmarin.</span></span><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">He, his wife and two boys loved the town and he </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">became deeply involved with the Lourmarin football team. They still play today on a simple field overlooked by the town’s chateau. </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #382c14;">Sadly, (in 1960) he was killed in a car accident. He was only 47.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;">In 2009 French President Sarkozy initiated plans to have Camus exhumed and reinterred at the Pantheon in Paris, the last resting place of such illustrious French names as Victor Hugo, Rosseau, Saint-Exupery and Voltaire.</span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14;">However the plans never came to fruition because Camus' son declined the offer. He knew that his dad, </span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent;">despite</span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14;"> his stature in French culture, would choose to stay put with a simple-carved gravestone telling where he was. </span></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;">Camus remains buried in the town he so loved and where his wife now has joined him ... both coffins having been lovingly carried by the players of the village football club.</span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHgXtmyzG0uZa1yHp29yj6SUvS3gj2uf-evtvx1G7-sSoYm9eehd4uTffKIZvcMlyE_Ax3vzCFy1LZINW72OvBQOzEqCztyfgk_LB79Qja07yqg89yz8efrozeVCyXm8uX0z2suTwEMnDjU5uQ2bjSCg4ZPxQe1qAWuHfQp2HnZ79nm_PenSc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHgXtmyzG0uZa1yHp29yj6SUvS3gj2uf-evtvx1G7-sSoYm9eehd4uTffKIZvcMlyE_Ax3vzCFy1LZINW72OvBQOzEqCztyfgk_LB79Qja07yqg89yz8efrozeVCyXm8uX0z2suTwEMnDjU5uQ2bjSCg4ZPxQe1qAWuHfQp2HnZ79nm_PenSc" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #382c14;"><br /></span></div></span></span></div><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p><div><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-20818776442082000892022-06-22T14:00:00.005-07:002022-06-22T14:00:00.204-07:00Ray Bolger in Las Vegas…….1957<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Ray Bolger is best remembered as the scarecrow in "The Wizard of Oz",</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7-v9jekZIM5PYC3d5jq4XQAWvIhn4sQvGN6sSQ-q-WGzAOfo7_bcEYqkeVvLCDxxCM9s_mQqWhAj_075KnjAX1BYwFs2-UfwQi6V3v_BcC5ZNqEBm-tvIKprIeDaOFEge0TuLmZil32IgxxeoMpPNCUlabzJ5SCc7WTx-DKctEp-SxWRTZwY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="263" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7-v9jekZIM5PYC3d5jq4XQAWvIhn4sQvGN6sSQ-q-WGzAOfo7_bcEYqkeVvLCDxxCM9s_mQqWhAj_075KnjAX1BYwFs2-UfwQi6V3v_BcC5ZNqEBm-tvIKprIeDaOFEge0TuLmZil32IgxxeoMpPNCUlabzJ5SCc7WTx-DKctEp-SxWRTZwY" width="197" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">but, that wasn’t his only claim to fame. He was a song and dance man of star quality and his </span><span style="font-family: arial;">1948 Broadway performance in the musical “Where’s Charley?” was proof of this. His softshoe rendition of “Once In Love With Amy” was the hit of that show and it became his theme song. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd6de_ySAu6jp5v9mIyTIiC_n1eQv726Z42g3xX-6DBA64iV4Ko9mqORw3ncZ3L8Cg_-_UwNyeEChrP1Y9fHTjKNZRE7lQCUTcy2GU5MrGfJdtrBnkCSUEVgA6C73zIsSjOszglnE2QZMJfzSz1hPe8C6KfD-fZ5ocoKR4HWjaWRfBUMhSC7k" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="149" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd6de_ySAu6jp5v9mIyTIiC_n1eQv726Z42g3xX-6DBA64iV4Ko9mqORw3ncZ3L8Cg_-_UwNyeEChrP1Y9fHTjKNZRE7lQCUTcy2GU5MrGfJdtrBnkCSUEVgA6C73zIsSjOszglnE2QZMJfzSz1hPe8C6KfD-fZ5ocoKR4HWjaWRfBUMhSC7k" width="112" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p align="left" style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white;">In 1957 a friend and I drove cross-country from California and we made a brief stop in Las Vegas. When we saw that Ray Bolger </span><span style="background-color: white;">was the featured performer at the Hotel Sahara we decided to attend and we were so glad we did. </span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Ray
was so loose that you’d swear he didn’t have a bone in his entire
body. His routine </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">was
comical and fast-paced so we were completely unprepared for the
finale. </span></span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;">Suddenly
Ray stopped and stood as still as a statue in the spotlight. A hush
came over the audience and when it was perfectly quiet the orchestra
began to play “Once in Love With Amy”. </span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Ray had not moved a muscle
during this whole time, but now he slipped into his soft-shoe routine
while, very softly, singing the words to the lovely song, "Once
in Love with Amy." </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Then
he asked us, the audience, to join in and he continued to dance while
tossing the lyrics to us one line at a time. We sang along as he
danced and I doubt there was a dry eye in the house.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 16px; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: center;">It's one of my favorite memories and, although most everyone will remember Ray Bolger as the timid scarecrow "without a heart" I will always remember him singing to his beloved Amy at the Hotel Sahara in Las Vegas.</span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-2812098851145354462022-06-17T14:03:00.000-07:002022-06-17T14:03:37.312-07:00 FRENZIED, FRENETIC FEMALES ………1949<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilFz_Ky90wU6_TqxQE5yJG0nUrj0_9-wrWIPe-SeIXB24B08kCumCJorXmI3C_SSpq9o9TgTtuQT9Gsqvwo5Bn95ohTPMIK_Atl7fm2tJti2o7x1r5XxEfK1zRZto_K2cCO3tf0aaRJdK7uw8pIHJ3HyFVOaFJ-TtlrqroHVzTjUqTDK_RiOA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="231" data-original-width="320" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEilFz_Ky90wU6_TqxQE5yJG0nUrj0_9-wrWIPe-SeIXB24B08kCumCJorXmI3C_SSpq9o9TgTtuQT9Gsqvwo5Bn95ohTPMIK_Atl7fm2tJti2o7x1r5XxEfK1zRZto_K2cCO3tf0aaRJdK7uw8pIHJ3HyFVOaFJ-TtlrqroHVzTjUqTDK_RiOA" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: -webkit-center;">
</p><p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: black; text-align: center;"><b>I</b></span><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span>n1909 Edward A. Filene came up with the idea of selling surplus and overstocked merchandise in the basement of his father’s department store in Boston. He named it "Filene’s Automatic Bargain Basement” and it was an </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span>immediate success.</span></span>
</span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;">I was 16 when I made my visit to the famous discount store. This was in 1949 and I waited in line until the doors opened. It took all my strength to hold my own against the push of all those bodies.</span></p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;">Once
inside I elbowed my way to one of the tables and was thrilled to see
a peach colored cashmere sweater. It was a brand name in my size and
at an incredibly good price. I held it high in front of me to inspect
for flaws & before I knew it a hand reached out and snatched it
from my grasp. I was so surprised that I didn’t even try to see
where it went.</span></p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;">This
was not an auspicious beginning and I decided to step back and
reconnoiter. I saw that the savvy shoppers had large Filene shopping
bags. They would quickly scan a table and shove anything that seemed
of interest into the bag. When they had their fill they would retire
to the end of the room where large mirrors were hung. Then they would
take their time inspecting their choices…keeping everything close
and out of reach from the other shoppers.</span></p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;">Now
I had the maneuver down pat and, at the end of the day I’d spent
very little and had quite a bit to show for it. However, I couldn’t
help but wonder if it was worth it.</span></p>
<p align="left" style="line-height: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;">I
was exhausted a</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;">nd,
although </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;">glad
to say that I’d visited the famous Filene’s Bargain Basement I
never went back.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; text-align: -webkit-center;"><b> </b></span></p><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-37802988591961926342022-06-13T17:31:00.000-07:002022-06-13T17:31:16.141-07:00 1950’s MAGIC POTION.........JERGENS’ LOTION<p> </p><div class="post-body" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><div style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"></div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6287/3284/1600/092-housewife.jpg" style="color: #5588aa; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small; text-decoration-line: none;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6287/3284/320/092-housewife.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(221, 221, 221); cursor: pointer; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; padding: 4px;" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In 1950 the Jergens Co. chose neighbors of my grandparents in Brattleboro, Vt. to be the poster family for one of their magazine advertising series. It was entitled “Four Youngsters to Feed, Daily Housework & Chores on her Vermont Farm”, and depicted the faithful and ever dutiful-wife Bertha, husband Herman and four children.<br />I don’t have the pictures but I do have the script and it is incredible to see how we were back then. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To illustrate:</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ad #1. (Bertha gazing dreamily into camera). “My secret for pleasing Herman is always to be cheerful and prettied-up when the day is done. I take a shower, put on an attractive dress, fresh makeup and, of course, Jergens lotion in case we might hold hands across the table.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">”</span><span style="font-family: arial;">Ad #2. (Bertha with daughter) “Mary and I love to wax & polish and it doesn’t bother my hands at all because Jergens lotion keeps them so smooth & soft. Herman says they look as if I were a lady of leisure”.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ad #3. (Berth washing dishes) “Those hungry wolves of mine make every meal a production, but I don’t mind the dishes. Jergens lotion gives my hands a ‘never put them in water’ look. I keep a bottle in the kitchen”.</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ad #4. (Whole family seated for dinner. Bertha & Herman holding hands across the table and gazing into each other’s eyes.) Herman beams at Bertha and gives her Jergens-soft hand an extra squeeze that seems to say, “We’re just about the happiest couple in the world, aren’t we?”</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The 1950’s…….a wondrous time…when a bottle of Jergens’ lotion, and lots of hard work and blind devotion on the wife’s part, could solve all our problems ! And guess what? I bought into it…lock, stock & LOTION.</span></div></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-36880708697616043102022-06-08T04:49:00.002-07:002022-06-08T04:49:17.382-07:00My Peanut Necklace … 1939 World's Fair<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOxhPupZl9bVXnKMjVntpQrWJm8Fz2v-q1QHH4R8oOg8cwnk6I3zXDjE--8CpSHYPNcJkiajYCIjftzAMXAkGD-vd5TYMiawfLLpZSupgoH_SjTMHLB6ZGEd7lR2TNkhpo8v0ZFK3En3MoKz55W9N07qGeOahTJTv8UAJB1FGxtu1fudCUfjM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="180" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOxhPupZl9bVXnKMjVntpQrWJm8Fz2v-q1QHH4R8oOg8cwnk6I3zXDjE--8CpSHYPNcJkiajYCIjftzAMXAkGD-vd5TYMiawfLLpZSupgoH_SjTMHLB6ZGEd7lR2TNkhpo8v0ZFK3En3MoKz55W9N07qGeOahTJTv8UAJB1FGxtu1fudCUfjM" width="163" /></a></div><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Every
time I hear the resonant tones of “Finlandia”, by Sibelius, I am
transported back to the 1939 World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows, NY.
I was only 6 at the time and I don‘t remember how we got there or
what we ate or even much of what we saw but certain memories have
stayed with me over the years</span></span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span><br />
<br />
</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
recall standing in a long line in</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span>
</span></span><span style="color: #282828;"><span>f</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span>ront
of the Planter‘s Peanut exhibition. They were giving away necklaces
with a little peanut attached and I made
everyone wait until I had mine. I have never seen another like it and
wonder if this was the original Planter’s trademark before the
little peanut guy of today with the cane and top hat.</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3COQtlzWqfe5LoMEc5zFWURzXaK8RfnRp_AYVuDq49fbrQtSMYjorqsqriXCPMb84SKBZAAnOLCxgNVMCIqZu4QkcDdiPmYYfpxIKtr5xtd63FeUCKkpuxiEDzg6W9hhj8NWRNuzLxbFOzJd9fSWLuwy7Mz-SVg-AkdIWzlUbDpPR_CJ8lGg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="231" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3COQtlzWqfe5LoMEc5zFWURzXaK8RfnRp_AYVuDq49fbrQtSMYjorqsqriXCPMb84SKBZAAnOLCxgNVMCIqZu4QkcDdiPmYYfpxIKtr5xtd63FeUCKkpuxiEDzg6W9hhj8NWRNuzLxbFOzJd9fSWLuwy7Mz-SVg-AkdIWzlUbDpPR_CJ8lGg" width="173" /></a></span></span></div><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Progress"
was the theme of the Fair which depicted futuristic techniques such
as television and the interstate highway system. It introduced new
materials, new ideas and a new spirit. It also displayed the crafts
and products of the day. It was a “vision of tomorrow” which
sadly came to an end when it was announced over the loudspeaker that
we had declared war on Germany and the Fair was closed down.</span></span><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The
most indelible memory for me was the Pool of Industry. This was the
famous musical fountains display. It contained 1,400 water nozzles,
400 gas jets with a mechanism that caused the flames to change color
and fireworks that were shot from over 150 launchers. Music was
played live by the fair’s band and broadcast by large
speakers.</span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Each
night, as the sun went down, the crowds would gather at the pool.
This was the finale of the day. I remember being hypnotized by the
haunting strains of “Finlandia” as the enormous jets of water
sprayed rainbow colors higher and higher into the sky. This was all
topped off by a barrage of fireworks. </span></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A nighttime spectacle almost
too grand for one little girl to absorb.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p></div><p><br /></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-58374782789571308922022-06-01T13:00:00.003-07:002022-06-01T13:00:00.210-07:00THE GRUNION RUN….on a Southern California beach, 1952<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7hSbsKa7bvVKVYZ7UBlneaqJKggxy56ieyjBuhbvNFKpeRIuCp_9GprdulPXgFQrwqlTr6IllsEExPACoiOMziDO_NOlOz9u_74oJQCeVEMTFNrQKakLErl7vUFcojvl7RtUlFuB3DV9-aQ5c6WfkOyTiIjx7bSyqRyKCJckl43Shm08a9g4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7hSbsKa7bvVKVYZ7UBlneaqJKggxy56ieyjBuhbvNFKpeRIuCp_9GprdulPXgFQrwqlTr6IllsEExPACoiOMziDO_NOlOz9u_74oJQCeVEMTFNrQKakLErl7vUFcojvl7RtUlFuB3DV9-aQ5c6WfkOyTiIjx7bSyqRyKCJckl43Shm08a9g4" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">One
of the most memorable nights that I can remember was at a beach just
north of</span><span> V</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">entura,
California. My friend Gayle and I were there during our summer break
from college back east and were working as waitresses at
The Pierpont Inn. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Luckily it wasn't all work. We had some fun escapades too </span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">and this one topped the list. It was close to midnight and a group of
us had lit a blazing bonfire on the sand. There was a full moon and
the waves were very active, crashing rhythmically on the beach. A
feeling of tension was in the air. We had no idea if we would be
lucky enough to see the grunion, or if it would be another night
climaxed by disappointment.</span></span></span></span></p>
<p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Suddenly
a great cry went up, and was heard to echo down the length of the
beach: “the grunion are running”...and there they were. Thousands
of small, silvery fish were riding a wave to the shore. As the wave
receded back into the ocean, the grunion remained on land, the
females drilling grooves into the sand as they twirled on their
tails, depositing eggs. The male grunion would curve around her in
order to fertilize the eggs and the spawning was speedily accomplished before
the next wave appeared to return them to the depths of the ocean. It
was a sight to behold.</span></p><p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiQ6vwgK1v3O-vPl3tWOkWXmotxfP4GEaXsO-dmfBJdzN3rr3SaDybIqhFn9ukjj9SF3aUOgrOevt4eTHsriyQDtAqkLD_tvrW3byuCF12uTHDjmrt1Zi3SyGk2S6uWz7Z7_G6SDZwzlporef7SsEnfCqHkqh6FnKY5UTeknxIBXbUfkxtRMM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="320" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiQ6vwgK1v3O-vPl3tWOkWXmotxfP4GEaXsO-dmfBJdzN3rr3SaDybIqhFn9ukjj9SF3aUOgrOevt4eTHsriyQDtAqkLD_tvrW3byuCF12uTHDjmrt1Zi3SyGk2S6uWz7Z7_G6SDZwzlporef7SsEnfCqHkqh6FnKY5UTeknxIBXbUfkxtRMM" width="320" /></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
<br />
</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Suddenly
all bedlam broke loose as old and young alike raced for the fish,
trying to catch them by hand. (the only way then that California allowed them to harvest the fish.) They were considered a great delicacy
and it was a challenge to capture any since they were on land for
such a short time and were very slippery too. However, the smell of fried fish soon filled the air and I
realized that those bonfires were used for more than just alleviating
the chill.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
<br />
</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Observing
the grunion, however, was more to our style than trying to catch
them. Gayle and I watched in fascination as the show played out in
front of us.. As I understand it, the southern coast of California
and the Baja Peninsula are among the very few places where the
grunion run so we were fortunate indeed.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span></span></span></span>
</p>
<p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="border: none; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br />
</p><br /><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-54913629004999853732022-05-28T04:00:00.000-07:002022-05-28T04:45:04.763-07:00 COLLEGE BREAK, 1952...First trip to California<p><span style="font-family: times;">(Note: I am very aware of all the horrible things that are going on in our country right now and I know that it can't be all the fault of Trump, but his lies have made it OK for the very scum of our citizenship to surface and wreak their hatred and racism upon us. I am 89 years old and pray that I can live long enough to vote against them all. In the meantime I will continue to share my memories in the hopes they will give you a brief reprieve as they do for me.)</span><br /></p><p> *******************************************</p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: small;">When I was between my Sophomore and Junior years in college I spent the summer break in California. A classmate and I traveled there from Massachusetts by Greyhound and I will never forget that </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">l-o-o-o-ng bus trip. There were many stops but only two of them gave us enough time to shower and wash our hair.. Gayle and I </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">decided we’d “beat the system” and save 25c in the bargain. . We crowded together in one booth…vying with each other for every drop of precious water. The only problem was that the booth had a door that reached only half-way to the floor & the attendant saw our four legs. We ended up paying the full price after all!</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The trip took 5 days and by the time we landed in Los Angeles our ankles had swollen to twice their size and we could hardly walk. We were met by my beautiful slim sister and her handsome Danish husband. They looked like an advertisement for the good life in California, as compared to us, the pasty complexioned and fat relatives from the East.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">An active day or two got us back to our normal selves, however, and we did manage to get jobs as waitresses in the historic Pierpont Inn, in Ventura, overlooking the ocean. (In the photo that’s Gayle (on the left) and me in our waitress garb.) </span></span><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwXjb4I90m6xiEbnVD341kjRxh7QOYKWHpQUaDrDrk-cH0T7aOS15a79nhLwD_jytXUDsVjJ55NTU6RT39ifDDM-RF6iVwi9q2NMp9LK0FxUZz7-diWG4-37SgKBAfaLCEMy4VvY37K17-eZk_2zYw9Gjn01vf4231gh34Ihob1ydbmkB1G38" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="234" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwXjb4I90m6xiEbnVD341kjRxh7QOYKWHpQUaDrDrk-cH0T7aOS15a79nhLwD_jytXUDsVjJ55NTU6RT39ifDDM-RF6iVwi9q2NMp9LK0FxUZz7-diWG4-37SgKBAfaLCEMy4VvY37K17-eZk_2zYw9Gjn01vf4231gh34Ihob1ydbmkB1G38" width="176" /></a></div><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It was hard work. We were taught to carry the big trays, loaded with food, balanced on our shoulder. By the end of the summer my right arm was actually larger than the left. But, the ambience and the clientele were delightful and the tips were plentiful…enough to enable us to fly home!.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">A memorable Pierpont moment was the night that I had the actor Rory Calhoun as a customer. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYsMzZVg6-DuB1Ix_MqtBgz8mtrGnYMjLyPDGoYZ13K9nDaAwDLdccYLSeqL18CvlGKL6nQsI8yjGOmSnbqlUVmEXb6tNBqHekE4WoFJqrv9FAoBAHWBq8QRAlfSSxWo4Qrse5oyhlVqvhRiCoytA8deNEjy83ldIH1UVLAZVZ4hOeqhLAn5s" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="269" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYsMzZVg6-DuB1Ix_MqtBgz8mtrGnYMjLyPDGoYZ13K9nDaAwDLdccYLSeqL18CvlGKL6nQsI8yjGOmSnbqlUVmEXb6tNBqHekE4WoFJqrv9FAoBAHWBq8QRAlfSSxWo4Qrse5oyhlVqvhRiCoytA8deNEjy83ldIH1UVLAZVZ4hOeqhLAn5s" width="215" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">The Pierpont was often visited by celebrities but it was seldom that I had a chance to wait on them…they were usually assigned to the older waitresses. Rory was dressed in his usual outfit…white cowboy boots, white pants & fancy white shirt. I emphasize the “white” because it was hardly that after I spilled chilled gazpacho on it. I tripped and upset a whole tray of the tomato-based soup into his lap. What a gentleman he proved to be! He insisted that I remain as his waitress and left me a huge tip!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">That was truly a magical summer…hard work, sun, sand, ocean and my first chance to explore this amazing country of ours.</span></span></div></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-66973533670623081452022-05-23T07:09:00.003-07:002022-05-23T07:09:54.985-07:00 Our “L’il Marco” at the Bocce Restaurant, 1959 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij4FPBsp-DR3LpdG-dlEJVYSUGkEMyYIL6fTUEQWfdAP1LU5w2RCOLodtgE-V_tmqec__o_kwohkY5EdpVjTHEaMhFDM3AlX3HD279zVJYkuVQd4_pU5xX6jFb2L82gaO81wB2fFFpJfO_qwCi8vTP9BBhyP2Unpwh3b4kodO-e_hV7pPqbro" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="311" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEij4FPBsp-DR3LpdG-dlEJVYSUGkEMyYIL6fTUEQWfdAP1LU5w2RCOLodtgE-V_tmqec__o_kwohkY5EdpVjTHEaMhFDM3AlX3HD279zVJYkuVQd4_pU5xX6jFb2L82gaO81wB2fFFpJfO_qwCi8vTP9BBhyP2Unpwh3b4kodO-e_hV7pPqbro" width="233" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>
<br />
</strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>Dick
and I were married in 1958 and living in New York city. Our favorite Italian restaurant was a place where you entered through a neighborhood bar and then into the back
room which featured an indoor Bocce court. It was so much fun to
enjoy a magnificent Italian dinner while watching the men
compete.</strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>About </strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant: normal;"><strong style="color: #333333;">2 months after our first son Mark was born we decided to treat ourselves to a night out at "il Vagabondo" and we took him with us. The bar was very </strong></span></span><strong style="color: #333333;">crowded that night and we knew many of the locals by
sight</strong><strong style="color: #333333;">. Many of them were elderly Italian men and
their eyes lit up when they saw Mark and they wanted to know what we
had named him. Of course he became “L’il Marco” to them and
they insisted that we leave him with them and go in and enjoy our
dinner.</strong></span></p>
<p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>I suppose that sounds a bit shocking in today’s world, but we felt
very secure leaving Mark with them. Even when we were seated at a
table in the next room we could hear them “ooing” and “ahhing”
over “L’il Marco” as they passed him gently around the
bar. </strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>When
it was time to leave I remember that our usually good baby started to
cry and I was amazed. In a very short time he had come to love those
rough old men and he hated to leave. I felt the same way.</strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong><span style="color: #333333;">In 2008 Mark and I actually took a trip to Italy and we often enjoyed watching and listening as the elderly </span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>Italians laughed and gestured their way through a conversation. I told Mark how it reminded me of the magical night when he became "L'il Marco" and was held in the loving arms of the same type of old Italian men just like these.</strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: transparent;"><strong>
<br /></strong></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></p><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-63955067439877935262022-05-19T05:45:00.001-07:002022-05-19T05:45:38.605-07:00AROUND THE DINING ROOM TABLE…in the 1940’s<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1gyANVZ7VsWxEWG4IxSpB_1lSlHCPId4mWzk1JDqatr9CplD-n-xB1dedNTSuOsK6NwJfbfpLXUAfgAt9FykxAY2QaQFaNgb4ixfYE8prlum6-Lkhz0d1AaJ-O6bLYdc6BPAQjBvD2tIljGtalVijVwtDtRd8YYlbhaihV_jT4MDP5-QpgNE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="258" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1gyANVZ7VsWxEWG4IxSpB_1lSlHCPId4mWzk1JDqatr9CplD-n-xB1dedNTSuOsK6NwJfbfpLXUAfgAt9FykxAY2QaQFaNgb4ixfYE8prlum6-Lkhz0d1AaJ-O6bLYdc6BPAQjBvD2tIljGtalVijVwtDtRd8YYlbhaihV_jT4MDP5-QpgNE" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span><strong><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: #221f22;">Some
of the best conversations I have ever enjoyed have been around the dining room table. </span></span></span></span></span></span></strong></span></span></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><strong><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: #221f22;">This was particularly true of my childhood home. As my Dad used to say, 'When the </span></span></span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: #221f22;">body is fed </span></span></span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: #221f22;">the mind follows". </span></span></span></span></span></strong><strong style="color: #333333;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">By
the mid 40’s none of us had left home yet so our dining room table
was always full. It was very large…room enough to seat 10
comfortably. We needed that space because we were 5 girls, (separated
in age by 8 years!), my mother and father, and a never ending assortment of
boyfriends and other guests.</span></span></span></span></strong></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span><span style="color: #333333;"><strong><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Everyone
was welcome and it was understood that if you stayed for dinner you
would participate in the lively discussions and games that followed.
The menu might be scant, due to the Depression, rationing or lack of funds, but, the
enthusiasm was abundant.</span></span></span></span></strong><strong><span style="color: black;"><span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></strong></span></span></span><strong style="color: #333333;"><br /></strong></span></p><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">One
of our favorite games revolved around the Dictionary. One person
would hold the opened book on their lap, eyes closed and point to a
word. It was then up to all the participants to define the word and
the winner was the one who came closest to the actual definition in
the dictionary. An example might be: the word PICOT. (Typical answers
could be: “a small bed”, “a quaint saying”, “ used to make
a fancy fence”…etc.) Of course the actual definition is
“ornamental loops in embroidery”. It was not only an amusing game
but it helped to increase our vocabulary and to promote an interest
in words. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Another
high-light of those evenings were the discussions. We would relate
our day’s events, talk about world or national events or just plain
listen. The 1940's</span></span></span></span></span><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;">were tough years, but my parents made them magical for me and my four sisters.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span><span style="color: #333333;">What a lucky little girl I was.</span></span></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-70584309990606497392022-05-12T13:00:00.001-07:002022-05-12T13:00:00.210-07:00A CENTRAL PARK HONEYMOON … 1958<p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Dick and I married on August 23,1958 in New York City. We didn't have the time nor money for a traditional honeymoon but living in Manhattan was just as good. Here we are in one of our favorite places … Central Park. </span></p><div><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5KOO4sjOacSY4kxZzTYDTxjCIu4L7Y7F8qKHKqZ4ZJbkE1bZwVwDvyPTw86S9cr9iMCmMUX5U4ELtm8TaMhbw6z157QtQCegaY-2RWwZqpqAzK5DmoVaQxzspqMXB2pzDD1BxWYaIaT_dDWpWlkiECl8SxC9HU0_ckXK7MBuKxEDxzvjnnYM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="289" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5KOO4sjOacSY4kxZzTYDTxjCIu4L7Y7F8qKHKqZ4ZJbkE1bZwVwDvyPTw86S9cr9iMCmMUX5U4ELtm8TaMhbw6z157QtQCegaY-2RWwZqpqAzK5DmoVaQxzspqMXB2pzDD1BxWYaIaT_dDWpWlkiECl8SxC9HU0_ckXK7MBuKxEDxzvjnnYM" width="217" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: georgia, serif; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">We loved it there and would sit for hours overlooking the lake, reading, talking about the future and just plain people watching. If we waited long enough the entire world would pass before us. Concerts were staged weekly and I remember that it was there that we saw Peter, Paul & Mary, The Mills Brothers and Johnny Mathis to name just a few.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #333333; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em;"></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">The Children's Zoo was one of our favorite spots in Central Park and we would meet there often after our work was over for the day. Watching the children at the Zoo was almost as much fun as watching the animals.</span></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh46FcaMk5ovwfPwJVlyguFpzGqy6IlX6FdpV3ClDvrYZbrc5KKWAKorgT7oheQ7xPEsZTDAuOaPzuuOQrM7pBGy0E_CaZKOqw9GaKxOvyJUcSz3b3yqHv72Ol4ryM3gCd3M5NQElLOyjesglCVlfp1yyeIKjQM9WfLZ7MrNDwMYs1LxYOvHEg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="110" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh46FcaMk5ovwfPwJVlyguFpzGqy6IlX6FdpV3ClDvrYZbrc5KKWAKorgT7oheQ7xPEsZTDAuOaPzuuOQrM7pBGy0E_CaZKOqw9GaKxOvyJUcSz3b3yqHv72Ol4ryM3gCd3M5NQElLOyjesglCVlfp1yyeIKjQM9WfLZ7MrNDwMYs1LxYOvHEg" width="165" /></a></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="color: black; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I have so many fond memories of that time in my life. Just imagine … we had an ongoing honeymoon in Central Park and most of it didn't cost a dime.</span></span></div><div align="left" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: small; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 0.27in; margin: 0px 0px 0in; text-align: -webkit-left;"><br /></div><br /></span></div></div><br /><br /></span></div>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-66389030004571745592022-05-07T13:00:00.001-07:002022-05-07T13:00:00.206-07:00A JACKET FULL of PUPPIES … 1973<p> </p><h3 class="post-title" style="background-color: white; color: #cc6600; font-size: 18.2px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0.25em 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 4px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPJXQ2JRtWWpIAhDNBBhWtq7S3d8OQp0iPHmfrgAUmeAtdHYSg50wKI96Dkkxyd-TNUj_5lmBWYpK_aZrWagjYhWVC1I4A5RB6AqaVVGhS2MdkpDG-f4HOMYzaZYh5kq10AkPGHBkynJa4tblrfC6IKB9Dtgb0hGNmOpOtJJS0yT4GPVbTNqU" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="229" data-original-width="320" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhPJXQ2JRtWWpIAhDNBBhWtq7S3d8OQp0iPHmfrgAUmeAtdHYSg50wKI96Dkkxyd-TNUj_5lmBWYpK_aZrWagjYhWVC1I4A5RB6AqaVVGhS2MdkpDG-f4HOMYzaZYh5kq10AkPGHBkynJa4tblrfC6IKB9Dtgb0hGNmOpOtJJS0yT4GPVbTNqU" width="320" /></a></div></h3><h3 class="post-title" style="background-color: white; color: #cc6600; font-size: 18.2px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0.25em 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 4px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #cc6600;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In 1973 my family and I were living in a small town in upstate New York. (The picture shows our oldest son feeding the German Shorthaired puppies that we were breeding then.)</span></span></span></span></span></p><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #cc6600;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We'd moved from New York city about a year earlier and it was a great change. For one thing we didn’t entertain like we had while living there but, on this particular night, we were having a sit-down dinner for 12 couples. </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a snowy November evening and all of our guests had arrived, but where was my husband? He and our son (pictured here) had gone out hunting early in the day. Now it was well past dark and still no sign of them.</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was starting to get panicky but then I heard a car door slam and knew they were home. We all went to greet them and watched as they carefully lifted Dick’s hunting jacket out of the back of the Blazer. It seemed to be heavy and it took the two of them to carry it inside. </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">That
was when we heard the tiny yapping sounds and realized that his
jacket was full of newborn pups. There must have been 7 or 8 of them
and Dick explained what had transpired.</span></p><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">
</p><p align="left"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
had noticed a pregnant dog about 4 weeks earlier and every time he
went into the woods he would call to her and they became friends.
A few days before our party Dick noticed that the mother would not
come to his call and he assumed that she must be having, or already
had, her puppies. </span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So
it was a shock when Dick and Mark stumbled onto the body of the
mother. She had most likely been killed by a ruthless hunter who saw
movement in the brush and assumed that it was a deer. They were
devastated and then their next thought was, “where are the pups?”
They finally located them scrunched into a hollow log covered with
snow and they extricated them one by one and bundled them in Dick’s
jacket. </span></span></span></span></p><p align="left"><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You
can imagine the rest of the story. We took turns sitting on the
kitchen floor, fancy dress clothes and all, cuddling the pups and
feeding warm milk to them. So it became a “sit-down” dinner party
after all and, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to top it off, one of the guests was a journalist. He wrote an
article that tugged at the heart strings of many readers and all of
our little “orphan pups" were adopted into good homes.</span></span></span></p></div></h3><h3 class="post-title" style="background-color: white; color: #cc6600; font-size: 18.2px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 0.25em 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 4px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span><br /></h3>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-53275391821170369442022-05-02T13:00:00.001-07:002022-05-02T13:00:00.214-07:00Barbra begins the journey ...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjSeMv6vIgGvXDJUviHRCQmuYmgo9ZOl4auypkcqvtP8NwgQF4KN_Ge2ssNLOqNqQ_nbYM3IE4UugZ488uo3tbtHjRxjsi4mixGCCDoSQpcqJwHm-YsEozk9v8DedizO02GoOZrtiQvucZjv7RPB-p0mjkWDl1FOLeaWVszAbTjdGiTaSKVG4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="104" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjSeMv6vIgGvXDJUviHRCQmuYmgo9ZOl4auypkcqvtP8NwgQF4KN_Ge2ssNLOqNqQ_nbYM3IE4UugZ488uo3tbtHjRxjsi4mixGCCDoSQpcqJwHm-YsEozk9v8DedizO02GoOZrtiQvucZjv7RPB-p0mjkWDl1FOLeaWVszAbTjdGiTaSKVG4" width="156" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiASwXyD0mdsWzshmnUVBUbI-rEKzHR35OmBxdStEag4qgDIl-fK45iq7k3JH2jcnLL5Veju9Rk9Gc4Ly0VA0k77YY0Bv5KBXB7V4pQ_eupxJHOhqkI_HN2TMaSTJfFL7Wx8SV7mpzH2d_OF8RrBBF-n1prX3SuGBXirysJzQYRTg_hkaY0rwA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="201" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiASwXyD0mdsWzshmnUVBUbI-rEKzHR35OmBxdStEag4qgDIl-fK45iq7k3JH2jcnLL5Veju9Rk9Gc4Ly0VA0k77YY0Bv5KBXB7V4pQ_eupxJHOhqkI_HN2TMaSTJfFL7Wx8SV7mpzH2d_OF8RrBBF-n1prX3SuGBXirysJzQYRTg_hkaY0rwA" width="239" /></a></div><br /></div><p></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span><br />
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>In
1961 my husband and I lived in NY City. We had two small children and
were in an apartment on the 11th floor of an old building on West
94th St. </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Television
was coming in to it’s own by then and we loved to watch “The Jack
Paar Show” after the evening news. (This, of course, is the TV
success that became “The Tonight Show” with Johnny Carson.</span></span></span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I
can remember so clearly a night when I was watching alone and my
husband was in the next room doing paperwork. As I recall Jack Paar
was not hosting that night and there were no big name guests listed
to be interviewed.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">Then
the temporary host introduced the next guest who was a singer with
the strange name of Barbra Streisand. (I was sure that a cast member
was responsible for the misspelling !) He explained that this was her
TV debut and that she would be singing her interpretation of the old
Tin Pan Alley standard “Happy Days Are Here Again”. </span><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;">This
didn’t grab me particularly since, although I liked the lilting
tune, I couldn’t see how this was an appropriate song for a singer
trying to break in to the “big time”.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then
Barbra walked on stage, the lights dimmed and the orchestra played
very softly in the background as she started to sing. I couldn’t
believe what I was hearing. She sang this normally upbeat song very,
very slowly and each note was pure as a bell. I called to my husband
and we listened, entranced, as she continued to sing and ended on a
single note that seemed to go on forever. There was dead silence in
the room and then the audience exploded … as did we, the two of us
sitting alone in our apartment and clapping to beat the band.</span></span></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I
have never experienced another pop singer who impressed me as much as
Barbra did that night. I was not at all surprised to read that her
debut album “The Barbra Streisand Album”, released early in 1963
and including her rendition of “Happy Days” was voted Album of
the Year and won three Grammy Awards.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span></p></div><p><br /></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-3348820335347259762022-04-27T08:00:00.001-07:002022-04-27T08:00:00.185-07:00Fur Flyers, New York city, 1963<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIqIKb5a7c5lKr8o2fYhoYmwfDySYI08OatvGIlx5o707Syvq70cz8pdgsO_eLvR_-kvGrbMx46rkYsbq2adWbTbekI145G37QmHBql-zAN5rPTwygUEvtXz58RrhbzNvhHKLlYG1-bjvfIqeRf0Kdq_PLz54dTMN5OSTZC0Gt5dVCQYR4TY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="155" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYIqIKb5a7c5lKr8o2fYhoYmwfDySYI08OatvGIlx5o707Syvq70cz8pdgsO_eLvR_-kvGrbMx46rkYsbq2adWbTbekI145G37QmHBql-zAN5rPTwygUEvtXz58RrhbzNvhHKLlYG1-bjvfIqeRf0Kdq_PLz54dTMN5OSTZC0Gt5dVCQYR4TY" width="116" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This
is about my friend Jimmi G.</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She</span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
was one of those who loved life and who grumbled about it constantly.
She could swear like a sailor and often did so. To listen to one of
her harangues was akin </span></span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">to
being caught in a revolving door...you could see the other side but
it was almost impossible to get there ! Needless to say, she was an
imposing character.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I met Jimmi just shortly after I met my husband.
We were all living in NY City. She was dabbling in antiques and had
been able to accrue a small nest egg. However, she was forever
looking for new outlets for her creativity and in the early ’60’s
she hit on an idea that took off like wildfire.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">Jimmi
took her accumulated cash and traveled through New England and the
East Coast buying up vintage fur hats and coats. Many of them were
missing buttons and some had even come apart at the seams. None of
this discouraged her. She had an idea and to watch it come to
fruition was exciting.</span></p><p><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She
came back to New York driving her old wooden-sided station wagon
packed to the brim with fur items. She was a savvy buyer and had paid
little to nothing for her purchases. Most people were happy to get
rid of their musty, old outer wear and were thrilled to have made a
dollar or two on the exchange</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">The
next thing on Jimmi’s agenda was a store front and she found the
perfect thing on 8th St, near Greenwich Village. She named her store
“Fur Flyers” and opened for business on a windy, Fall day. A good
friend of ours was a writer for “The Village Voice” and he gave
her a great send-off. Within days it was apparent that Jimmi’s
store was the “talk of the town” and it became the “in” thing
to be seen in a vintage item from “Fur Flyers”.</span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">As
I recall, Jimmi made 2 more trips out of town to gather merchandise,
but, by Christmas time most of the inventory had been sold. In little
more than 4 months she had made a small fortune and it was time to
move on to new adventures.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><br />
<br />
</p></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></span></span>
</p><p></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-44054833847877553792022-04-22T13:00:00.008-07:002022-04-22T17:47:54.075-07:00 An amusing Christmas gift ... 2006 <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEzPT_6OWUA-RZtk-hwxvC1kbpSI_8hm-DiLeh-BCRyzNFZeIL43hVu5ueo6zqnBb6M47Tpn6hbcXBJUW3XNAt2-gOxuxjHutCWsxFQiYZ_mG2Va8LVgIpAIDbSBTOXH2uts4HVm75TsIuDuCXZqW191W8GqTypMbWwU6hLAMSBwYhzRO-gVs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="197" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjEzPT_6OWUA-RZtk-hwxvC1kbpSI_8hm-DiLeh-BCRyzNFZeIL43hVu5ueo6zqnBb6M47Tpn6hbcXBJUW3XNAt2-gOxuxjHutCWsxFQiYZ_mG2Va8LVgIpAIDbSBTOXH2uts4HVm75TsIuDuCXZqW191W8GqTypMbWwU6hLAMSBwYhzRO-gVs" width="148" /></a></div><p></p><p align="left" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="border: none; display: inline-block; padding: 0in;"><span face="warnock-pro, serif"><span><span style="color: #404040;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span><span>This
is a photo taken in 1936 of me (bottom left) and three of my four
sisters. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;">Only our middle sister Nancy, always the rebel of the family, was brave enough to actually refuse to be part of the photo.</span></span></p><div><span face="warnock-pro, serif" style="color: #333333;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="warnock-pro, serif" style="color: #333333;"><span><span>You
can tell that none of us wanted to have our picture taken and can
almost hear the big sighs and read our secret thoughts … </span></span></span><span face="warnock-pro, serif" style="color: #333333;"><span><span><b>"you
can make us pose but you can't make us smile."</b></span></span></span><span face="warnock-pro, serif" style="color: #333333;"><span><span> </span></span></span></span></div><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Fast forward to Christmas time 2006. I had received a package from my </span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>oldest
</span></span></span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>sister
Mary (top right), now in her 80's. I couldn't wait to open it because one thing you could count on with Mary was that her gifts would always be "one of a kind". </span></span></span></span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>It wasn't Christmas day yet but I couldn't wait. The package held a nicely wrapped small box and I couldn't imagine what it could be. I tore off the paper and found a framed copy of the picture you see above. She'd had it beautifully framed and it came complete with a lovely card that read <b>"Merry
Christmas, Joy & Peace"</b>. </span></span></span>
</span></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial;">It's
evident that old age had not robbed her of a good sense of humor and
it still remains one of my favorite gifts.</span></p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30593917.post-55729197622690907892022-04-17T13:00:00.001-07:002022-04-17T13:00:00.193-07:00More memories ...<p> <span style="font-family: arial;">The power of SMELL ... my first memory.</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgZRgY0wGBeYjGKmQI_KOX6HYM8ff17r70sQ0AWg6zkwhm_G-0zvSFk8GfBWNbvhEfMBEmfjcpI7Iz52zDFYhNEfg1aUva6Jb4aDMggVYQJw5GXQ4JPM4RV-tmVQsXwV6xuGF6GJBUrGvEMMIVw-NnHV-s9tCkt4j8ALnqwuXD-barhIa6kPY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="320" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgZRgY0wGBeYjGKmQI_KOX6HYM8ff17r70sQ0AWg6zkwhm_G-0zvSFk8GfBWNbvhEfMBEmfjcpI7Iz52zDFYhNEfg1aUva6Jb4aDMggVYQJw5GXQ4JPM4RV-tmVQsXwV6xuGF6GJBUrGvEMMIVw-NnHV-s9tCkt4j8ALnqwuXD-barhIa6kPY" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
have tried very hard to recall my early days but I honestly don’t
know what I actually can remember as opposed to those things that
were retold so many times in my family that they seem to be MY
memories.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>I
am not able to go back much further than when I was 6 or 7 years old.
The years before that seem to be lost to me….except for this
amazing experience. I have heard that the primary sense is smell…and I can attest to that. When I was very young the whole
gang of us went to Brattleboro, Vt. to visit my mother’s family. I
know this is true because we have pictures to prove it and it is also
recorded in my Aunt Emma’s diaries. I must have been 3 or 4 at the
time and I have no conscious memory of that visit.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>HOWEVER….many
years later I became aware of a very strange smell…it seemed to be
a combination of three odors…the pungent smell of new sawn lumber,
the slightly gamey smell of lamb being roasted in the oven and the
almost sickly sweet smell of maple syrup bubbling on the stove. I was
immediately transported to the kitchen of my</span></span></span>
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>grandparents
in Brattleboro. The sensation was so strong that I felt like I could
reach out and touch them...and I actually remembered being there. It
was a swift but powerful memory and then it receded almost as quickly
as it came..</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>The
interesting thing is that Grandpa was a carpenter and had a shop and
wood lathe in a large room off of the kitchen. They also had a
“sugaring-off” business and would tap the maple trees and boil
the sap into syrup on the wood stove in the kitchen.. The smell of
lamb being roasted?? Perhaps that was the special meal being prepared
for our visit.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span>Whatever
it was, I have only smelled that combination three times in my 89 years and each time it has pulled me back to that warm and loving
kitchen of my childhood.</span></span></span></span>
</p>Goldendaze-Ginniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11823572794470671309noreply@blogger.com4