Sitting At The Kitchen Table

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: David C. Carter
Date: 01 Sep 06 - 12:48 PM

Hi all of you who haven't shuffled off to Vegas.                   We just got back from Dubrovnik,a short 27-hour drive from here in Paris.                                                            Why do they put towns so far appart!By the time you arrive,you can't remember who you are,what your own name is,or what you're doing there.
But then again,I'm sort of like that most of the time anyway!         
Nice to see JennyO at the Table,Helloooo!             My"performing" secrete is to mentaly divide the audience,if there is one,into individuals,stay near the exit door,and keep the car engine running!
I'm playing with a pick up band this evening,so I gotta go.
See you all around
David

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 01 Sep 06 - 02:17 PM

Helloo David Carter. I know you from the Three Word Xmas Story thread, don't I! I believe you live in Paris. My brother does too. He's visiting us in Oz at the moment. How do you come to be living there, and what part of Paris do you live in?

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 01 Sep 06 - 03:09 PM

Well, at least you don't have to SWIM part of the way to Dubrovinik, David.

Jerry and Rapaire are probably waving to each other from opposite sides of the Grand Canyon about now.

Ron, welcome back from your continental musical meanderings.

JennyO, I'll meet you and John for a cuppa at the confluence of the mighty Murrumbidgee and the Mississippi. There's a cozy little coffee house right next to the bridge. : > )

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 02 Sep 06 - 05:39 AM

A nice cuppa with a wonderful river view sounds pretty good to us, Elmer. I hope they have some home made tiramisu too! Seeya there!
Mmm, I can smell the coffee already...

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: David C. Carter
Date: 02 Sep 06 - 06:20 AM

Elmer,I can only swim in one direction,and that's down.
If I were headed for Oz I can see where that might be an option.

JennyO,Hi there,yes I know you from the Xmas thread,like your posts,keep 'em coming.
When your brother gets back here,PM me, and if he wants I'll meet him for a couple of sherberts.
All the best,to all
David

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: billybob
Date: 02 Sep 06 - 03:15 PM

Hi Ron
yes we live in East Anglia, 15 minutes from Dedham, and 20 from Harwich where the Captain of the Mayflower lived, his house is still standing as is Samuel Pepy's and a house where Lord Nelson lived.
Groton is a village not far from here where the Winthrop family who were the first govenors of Massachussits came from.
I always find it interesting when we are in the USA to see the names of English towns, mainly in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.In fact on our way back from Sidmouth we drove through Pennsylvania in Somerset! Small world?
Next time you come to Sidmouth you are both welcome to come visit and see this part of the UK.
Wendy

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 11:03 AM

I'm baaaaaaack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've really enjoyed reading the posts since I've been gone. Maybe I should stay away longer...

We had a fantastic, exciting, romantic (and at least as far as food goes) decadent 8th Anniversary/fourth honeymoon trip. On the way back, I had to smile to myself thinking, when people asked us what we did, and I say "We didn't drink, gamble or see any shows." they'd think we were certifiably insane. And yet we filled every moment with exciting experiences (for us.) After just an hour and a half of sleep before we got up at 2 in the morning to get ready to go to the airport, and a fifteen hour trip (counting travelling to the airport, two short layovers and getting to our hotel) we threw our bags in our room and hit the street. We were running on fumes and peanuts by then, but it's our style. We ended up walking down the strip about three miles before we finally headed back, and were able to catch a bus. We wanted to see everything and a little more, and we did. Ruth was in Vegas ten years ago, but hardly recognized it. We went up in the half-scale Eiffel Tower, went on a gondola ride in "Venice" went up in the stratosphere, watch the "volcano" erupt at the Mirage, and
ATE.

I approached our bathroom scale with trepidation this morning. The buffet in the Luxor, where we were staying was bountiful, bordering on the obscene, and we ate like lubmerjacks after a 40 day fast. When I stepped on the scale and cautiously opened my eyes, I was amazed to see that I didn't gain a pound! That says how much we walked.

We had one day at the Grand Canyon, going to the West Rim. It's not the most spectacular viewpoint, but plenty spectacular for me. A couple of beautiful things about it is that, because the Hualapai Indians consider the land sacred, there are no railings along the edge of the canyon. You can walk right up to the edge and look over. In one area, there's a path that winds it's way up a precipice at the end of a prominatory. A prominatory precipice. I like that. In some places, the "trail is only about three feet wide, very uneven and smooth stone. It's a drop over over 3,000 feet straight down, so I paid attention. Ruth passed.

When I planned this trip, my main interest was the Grand Canyon, and Ruth was excited to see it for the first time, too. I thought Las Vegas would be interesting. Gross excess has it's charm. I ended up enjoying it even much more than I expected, and I was looking forward to it, to begin with.

When we wandered through the casinos (which you can't avoid,) I saw endless people slumped over in front of slot machines, their eyes glazed over, looking depressed and trying time after time with no discernible sign of enjoying themselves. We didn't hear a slot machine light up indicating that someone had won in the three and a half days we were there. I have to accept that thos people were having "fun."

To each his zone. And we were definitely in a zone.

Jerry

Good to be back in the kitchen.. Thanks for keeping the pot on. Think I'll help myself, if you don't mind.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 11:45 AM

Welcome back, Jerry Elmer Hornsbuckle! Wow! The Grand Canyon, Paris, Venice, ancient Egypt and an exploding volcano. (Isn't New York City in the neighborhood of Las Vegas as well?) That's one heckuva trip. For that you get two cups of coffee and a bagel with lox and cream cheese thrown in, seeing as you don't have to worry about your weight 'n all : > )

The slot machine scene is surreal. You have to wonder about the back stories of some of the people standing hypnotized in front of those computerized, soul-less gizmos designed to tweak irrational hopes and desperation. Did you see the ones in the airport? Actually, Las Vegas itself is the height of surreality--yes? What prompted such an improbable destination to spring forth in the middle of a desert, with garish monuments, kitschy spectacles, and the ability to vacuum up more money than you can shake a stick at?

Glad you and Ruth had such a great time there. It's definitely worth the detour at least once in a lifetime. And the Grand Canyon is in a class by itself. Someone ought to write a suite about it. Again, welcome back.

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 12:39 PM

Hey, Elmer:

Nice to see you. Missed all you folks.

When we picked our clear up at the airport last night, it was raining lightly and we had an hour's drive on mostly dark roads ahead of us. The care seemed fine, but after I'd driven it a couple of blocks, we heard a strange noise coming from the back of the car of the driver's side. I couldn't really figure out what ti could be... it wasn't a grinding, metalic noise or a bump... more of a low, vibrating noise. Now, I'm not much of a car mechanic, but I've driven enough garbage cars in my life to be intimately familiar with everything that can go wrong on a car. But this one puzzled me. When I accelerated, the sound didn't change. When I drove faster, or slowed down, or turned, the sound didn't change. It clearly wasn't in the motor, as it was coming from the back of the car. And then it stopped. For about a minute. By then, we were on the highway driving 65 miles an hour, so the road noise muffled the sound. Every once in awhile, it would stop for no apparent reason.
It did this off and on, all the way home and I was just praying that we wouldn't break down on a dark rainy night. Sounds like the opening of a Snoopy novel.

When we got home, the noise was still there, so we got out of the car with the motor running, and walked around it. We couldn't figure out what was going on. Weirder yet, when I turned off the motor, the noise didn't stop. We lugged the two large suitcases and two of our carry-ons into the house, and I could hear our car muttering away in the driveway. By the time that I came back to get the last carry-on, the noise had stopped, but as soon as I reached in to pick up the carry-on, it started again. I closed the door and walked around the car a couple of times, but couldn't figure out what was going on. So, I grabbed the carry-on and headed toward the house. This was after fourteen hours of traveling, so my brain was on stand-by. As I walked up to the front door, I could still hear the noise and couldn't figure out how it could be so loud. When I walked in the house, it sounded like the noise was in the house. And then I realized it was coming from my carry-on. Slow, but I got there.

I took the bag into the bedroom and Ruth and I opened it. The bag was making the same vibrating noise we'd heard off and on, and then we found out what the problem was.

My electric tooth brush was on.

Duhhhhhhh!

We both had a big laugh, and then sobered up when we thought what would have happened if it went off on the plane. From now on I will be E. Manual Brusher when I fly.

Jerry

I'll answer me e-mails after my acuity returns. I think I left it in Vegas. Or was it San Francisco?

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 02:13 PM

Hello Jerry, good to see you back. Sounds like you had a great time.

It's nice to be over here at the table now - it's a jungle out there on some of those threads! I need a coffee!

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Tootler
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 06:58 PM

You're lucky your toothbrush was still going, Jerry. I once packed mine for a trip to London and when I got to my Hotel, I found it had been on and the battery was completely flat. I had to use it as a hand brush for the next two days <grrr>

After that I started packing a charger as well and more recently have bought one which takes standard AA batteries. It takes the same brushes as the rechargeable ones and I take the batteries out when I am travelling.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 08:30 PM

Hey, Tootler:

Welcome to the table. I have a battery operated toothbrush kicking around here somewhere, and that's a good idea. I can just pack it without any batteries in it, and put them in when I get where I'm going. I know from experience that brushing your teeth with an electric toothbrush without any "electric" is like brushing your teeth with a stick.

Who says Mudcat isn't intellectual?

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 03 Sep 06 - 10:56 PM

I don't have an electric toothbrush - should I feel deprived? Anyway, if I did, I'd go for rechargeable NiMH AA batteries, same as I use in my digital camera. I have a small lightweight charger that will charge 4 at a time, or it will do 4 alkaline batteries (not both types at the same time), so when I am away, everything I have that takes AA batteries, including torches, can be kept going, and I always have spare fresh batteries. I got sick of throwing away dead batteries out of my torches. Rechargeable is much better!

I had a similar experience to yours Jerry. When I go away I take a small travelling alarm clock which takes one AA battery. It has a button on top which you pull up to activate the alarm, which is quite a loud piercing little beep beep beep. Unfortunately the button moves up and down a little too easily, and one time on my way back from a camping trip, I heard this beep beep beep noise at the back of the car buried deep in the luggage somewhere. It took me a while to realise what it was, and a lot longer before I could get home and dig it out from the suitcase at the bottom of the pile of luggage. With the clock I'd rather not take the battery out because I'll lose the time, but I make sure now that it is somewhere handy, and that it is not in a position where the button could work its way up.

In general though, I agree about taking batteries out. I've experienced some dead torches through not doing that, and camera batteries seem to discharge if left in the camera too long as well.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 11:42 AM

Memories: Not what happened, but how we remember it.

On our trip out to Vegas, I brought a notebook along and was writing down family remembrances. Funny thing; because we remember something, we think it happened that way. Ask three people who were there when it happened and you get three different memories. These days, I'm writing a family history of sorts, centered on my Mother. One of my Mother's favorite credos is "Life is making memories, so make the best ones you can." I find now, in writing about our family that my Mother's memories, my Father's, my sisters, my Aunt's and Uncle's memories tend to flow, one into another. I've heard my Mother tell stories so many times about growing up on a small southern Wisconsin farm that when I recall them, it's almost as if I lived them. I especially realize that in writing songs. I wrote a song titled Uncle Jim, and you'd think it was about my Uncle Jim. And parts of it are. My Uncle Jim's son Howard is in the song, and it is about living on a farm My Uncle Jim was a farmer for part of his life, and I remember visiting the farm vividly. And most likely, very innacurately. In the song,there's a verse:

   After all the work is done, down by the cow pond
   The kids would all go sliding through the old corn fields
   Waiting for the bell to call them home to supper
   And racing old Buster down the hill

I can remember that clearly, never having done it. Buster was my Mother's dog when she was a little girl. I have pictures of him and I've raced him down the hill many times. In my mind. And the memories are almost as strong as if I actually did.

Another verse has my Uncle Jim:

   "Reading Reader's Digest for the 14th time
    Puffing on a bowl of old Prince Albert
    And sipping on some elderberry wine."

I don't know if my Uncle Jim ever drank elderberry wine or smoked a pipe, or read Reader's Digest. But, my Father did. I can remember the small smoking table my Father had next to his chair, with slanted wooden trays on the sides to hold magazines, and a copper lined compartment for keeping tobacco. (I can't remember the name for those tobacco storage boxes... something like a commodore, but that was Lionel Richie's group, wasn't it?) (or was it a commode? ... nah.. I think that's French for toilet.)

A Humidore... that's it. Sometimes memories need coaxing.

All this is alright. If I can give Uncle Jim and my cousin Howard Mom's dog, I guess it's alright to give him my Father's elderberry wine, Reader's Digest and Prince Albert.

When it comes to writing memories, I guess it's more accurate to say "This is how I remember it," than "This is how it happened."

We've all heard musicians who played all the notes and sang all the words, but never got the song. The same principals apply in remembering our lives, and those of others. In a way, remembering how it felt, and how you preceived it through your own beliefs and prejudices is probably more important than getting it right. Our resident philosopher, Elmer Fudd taught me that. For a guy who keeps hunting the same wabbit, he sure is wise.

Behind the ears.

Hmmm... that doesn't sound right..

Good to be back.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Ebbie
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 05:07 PM

"For a guy who keeps hunting the same wabbit, he sure is wise." Jerry

Shouldn't that be 'he sure is rise'?

I'm enjoying the conversation from my corner. Don't stop now!

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Tootler
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 05:38 PM

Jerry,

Thanks for the Welcome.

JennyO,

I was recommended an electric toothbrush by a dental hygienist as my teeth kept getting a coating of hard yuk on them. They definitely do a better job than a hand toothbrush as next time I went for a checkup, my dentist did not have to spend so much time with his hammer and chisel on my teeth, and commented on how much better condition they were in.

However, be careful of toothbrushes which take separate batteries as the cheaper ones do not agitate vigorously enough. I eventually bought one of the same brand as my rechargeable one as I reasoned that it would use the same motor and would be as vigorous. That proved to be the case.


Geoff

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 08:17 PM

Where is jimmy when we need him? Yeah, I'm with you Tootler. Them cheap battery operated tooth brushes brush your teeth as thoroughly as a cheap motel bed gives you a penetrating message for a quarter.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 10:22 PM

a penetrating message for a quarter

You trying to tell us something Jerry? :-)

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 10:43 PM

JennyO: :-)

Never tried them myself. Looks like you just get all shook up for nothin.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 04 Sep 06 - 10:57 PM

*goes off singing*

I'm all shook up
Mm mm mm, mm, yay, yay, yay
Mm mm mm, mm, yay, yay
I'm all shook up

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 07:16 AM

Good one, JennyO:

I actually wrote a rockabilly song, Tennessee Earthquake that has the line, "And I was just like Elvis, I was all shook up, uh hmn, uh
hmn, oh yeah, I was all shook up."

When we were in Vegas, the connection hit home between Elvis and Liberace. How weird that in some ways (their flamboyancy and costumes) they ended up looking like brothers.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 07:28 AM

Elvis and Liberace! You know you're right, Jerry. I never really thought about that before. Maybe it's a Vegas thing.

Your song sounds like fun. You got all the words there?

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 10:02 AM

Tennessee Earthquake

Woke up this morning 'bout five o'clock
My bed was shaking with a reelin' rock
Turned on the radio to catch the news
My cat was dancing in the corner with my blue suede shoes
(spoken) Get off those shoes, cat!

Looked at the table and what did I see?
The saucer was dancing with a cup of tea
The knife and fork they ran away with the spoon
So I looked out the window just to check the moon

I called my baby on the telephone
I said come on over baby, 'cause I'm all alone
You know I need you right by my side
We can jump on the bed, and we can go for a ride

(spoken) Oh, baby, you know what I like

It may not be Frisco in '93
But it sure scared the daylights out of me
When I saw that saucer dancing with a cup
I was just like Elvis, I was all shook up
Uh hmn, uh hmn, oh yeah, I was all shook up

Words and music by Jerry Rasmussen

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 03:58 PM

Hey, great song there, Jerry. Have you recorded that? I'll bet we'd like to hear it.

With all due respect to Elvis, I like Ry Cooder's version of "All Shook Up." Kind of a heavy-handed sound compared to Elvis's, but joyful and righteous.

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 04:06 PM

As the Monty Python segue goes, "And now for something completely different."

I came across this quote by William Blake this morning. I don't know if it is true, but it surely is encouraging to those of us whose path in life is not always one that puts on a good front to the world, with neatly trimmed edges and smoothed-over surfaces:

Improvement makes strait roads;
but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius. —William Blake

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 04:26 PM

Hey, Elmer: I like the quote.

It reminds me of a description my major professor at the University Of Wisconsin made of me in a recommendation. He said that I had a few sharp edges that needed to be sanded off, but I was a very promising student. I told him that I had no intention of allowing someone to sand off my sharp edges. I was rather fond of them. I still have them.

Tennessee Earthquake is on my Handful Of Songs album which is in the process of being produced as a CD. It's at the production company awaiting final approval.

The quote also reminds me of a favorite song of an old friend of mine, Jerry Rau. It's called Driving In The Right Hand Lane. The song is extolling all the beautiful scenery you can see, driving in the right hand lane.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Tootler
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 07:03 PM

Left hand lane where I live. People get upset if you drive on the right here.

OTOH, you should try some of our country lanes. Never straight for more than a couple of yards, but the scenery ...

Geoff

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 05 Sep 06 - 08:25 PM

Tootler, I believe the lane to which Jerry is referring is what we call the slow lane. On any highway with more than two lanes, the far right lane is supposed to be for the slower drivers. (The far left among all the right-hand lanes, or fast lane, is also referred to as the suicide lane.) Assuming that you reside in the British Commonwealth, does that mean that the far left lane is your slow lane?

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 10:06 AM

Mom's playing bingo tonight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hallelujah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's funny how such a small thing can be so big. It's been almost a month since my Mother was taken down with severe stomach pains and nauseau. It almost took her under there, for awhile. If left her too weak to even dial a telephone (not that phones have dials, anymore.) Many days, she was too weak to even talk on the phone if someone else answered it. To make things worse, my oldest sister was rushed to the emergency room about three weeks ago with a recurrence of diverticulitis. (When you become a high mileage model, you become a medical expert, because it seems like everyone is in the body shop all the time.) It was torture for my Mother to be too weak to even answer the phone, when her daughter was going through a colostomy. My sister has gone through her own private hell, complicated by getting gout while she was already on morphine after the surgery. My brother-in-law called this morning, and my sister is being released from the hospital either tomorrow or Friday.
I offered to call Mom and give her the news, because my brother-in-law has a long list of calls to make. My mother was overjoyed, when I gave her the news.

So, friends: My sister is coming home tomorrow or Friday, and my Mom is going to BINGO tonight for the first time in a month. She's a high roller, so I expect she'll come home with a lot of loot tonight. The last time, she won so many times that she gave some of her gifts to others who didn't win anything. The "loot" is very modest.. what you might expect in an assisted living complex. It's not about winning. It's about being able to go.

Go, Mom!!!!!!!!!!!! Looks like she has a few miles left in her.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Ebbie
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 11:38 AM

Well, bless her heart. I hope she has a grand time.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: JennyO
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 11:49 AM

Yay for Mom! Hope she wins! Glad your sister is coming home too!

By the way, I enjoyed your song - even though I don't know what the tune is, somehow a tune seemed to sorta suggest itself to me. Don't know if it's right or not, but I bet it's close.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 01:09 PM

Great news, Jerry! Things are looking up. What a relief. You walked through the Grand Canyon of the shadow of death there for a while. Your mother is one strong lady, and your sister has inherited her ability to bounce back. I wish you and your family a good, long respite from further crises, many a happy Bingo game for your Mom, and life in the slow lane for a while for you.

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 01:52 PM

Thanks, friends:

On a less important note, I feel like I hit the Trifecta today. While I was out this morning, the person who is doing the final production on my Handful Of Songs CD called. He's supposed to call back between one and two this afternoon (within the next hour.) I'm hoping that we can resolve any questions and get a final layout decided upon. I've been waiting over 15 years to put that album out on CD, so at least for me, it's a momentus occasion.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Tootler
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 05:37 PM

Tootler, I believe the lane to which Jerry is referring is what we call the slow lane.

I realised that, which was the point of my post - an attempt at humour which clearly fell flat. I live in the UK and we drive on the left, so the slow lane is the leftmost lane.

The second statement in my post was a poor attempt at a pun as our smallest roads are generally called lanes.

The point is, if you want to see the best of the countryside here, it is usually a good idea to get off the main roads and into the lanes.

Geoff in Middlesbrough, UK

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 05:53 PM

I'll remember that, Geoff, if we ever get over to England.

In the Midwest, the small highways are called County Trunk roads.

When we went to the west rim of the Grand Canyon, we had a 14 mile stretch of dirt road leading to the Indian reservation. Dirt roads may sound very romantic but as our bus driver put it so succinctly, they are good for a butt massage.

I got your humor, Geoff. It didn't fall on deaf ears..

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 06 Sep 06 - 11:40 PM

O Tootler:

That I didn't get your joke is no fault of yours. If you have watched any Bugs Bunny cartoons, then you know that Elmer Fudd is not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
Rest assured that everyone else was probably chuckling.

Tootle-loo,

Elmer

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Tootler
Date: 07 Sep 06 - 07:41 PM

In the Midwest, the small highways are called County Trunk roads.

Interesting. Over here a Trunk road is a major road. Just one class down from a Motorway, which is our nearest equivalent to your Interstate.

We don't get that many dirt roads, but they usually lead to farms and are normally referred to as tracks.

A whole different language.

A few years ago, I was taking a Canadian visitor out and we had just negotiated a fairly complex set of junctions when he asked "How did you know which lanes to take". I pointed out to him arrows and other markings on the road. A lot of directions at junctions are painted on the road as well as having signs beside the road and you get used to it. I noticed when I was in the States a couple of years back, that you do not do that as much as we do. I think the same must be true in Canada as I don't remember markings on the road when we went from Niagara Falls to Detroit.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Ron Davies
Date: 07 Sep 06 - 10:52 PM

I'm curious--how did the word "trunk" come into the picture regarding roads--on either side of the Pond?

1087--that would be around the time of the Domesday Book, I think. 1066 must have slipped by.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 08 Sep 06 - 09:40 AM

Yesterday, we went shopping for a new microwave and it got me thinking about God and Noah. The story is told that God spoke to Noah and told him to build an ark 300 cubits long. What does that have to do with a new microwave? The counter space where we keep our microwave is between the refrigerator and stove, so there's not an unlimited space for it. How wide is that space? Funny you should ask. I didn't think to measure it before we went out shopping, and the microwaves vary substantially in width. And then God spoke to me and said. "Jerry, I want you to buy a new microwave, but don't buy one longer than one cubit." (He didn't actually.) But, as we were looking at microwaves, I needed some way to measure how wide they were, and I used my portable cubit stick. You see, a cubit is the length from your elbow to the tips of your outstretched fingers. Not the most accurate measurement, admittedly because my cubit may be longer than yours. But then, I didn't have your cubit to measure with. The microwave I thought that we should get happened to be exactly one cubit long. One "My" cubit.

When we got back to the house, I took my cubit and measured the distance on the counter and we had about four finger widths to spare.
This morning we brought the new microwave home and I set it up on the counter. It fit perfectly. No surprise.

Now, I could have measured how many feet it was, but I was a little self-conscious about taking my shoes off in the store. I could have used my hand, too... horses were measured in hands.

Who needs a yard stick?

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Ebbie
Date: 08 Sep 06 - 12:17 PM

Women have always (?) measured yardage in bolts of cloth by holding the panel out as far their arm could reach and touching the nose at the other end.

(Man! There must be a better way to express that.)

Let's see. Instruction: Take the corner tip of the cloth between your fingers and hold it away from you as far as you can reach. With your other hand bring the length of cloth to the tip of your nose. That is a yard.

(Aw. It's too early.)

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 08 Sep 06 - 01:03 PM

I have to laugh at your description, ebbie. I had forgotten that, but had seen in many times. Trying to describe the simplest of acts in writing is very challenging. When my sons were in school they had assignments to write directions on how to ride a bicycle, or tie your shoe laces. When my youngest son, Aaron moved out to Illinois, he'd never tied a tie. On the rare occasion that he had to tie one when he was home, I'd tie it for him. My Father was the same way. He wore bib overalls most of his life, and a tie would have looked out of place. When he got new ties, I'd tie them for him. Never mind that I lived a thousand miles away and only got home a couple of times a year. He didn't wear ties that often. Once they were tied, he'd loosen them up just enough to slip them over his head, and then hang them up that way, ready to slip back over his head and tighten, the next time he needed to wear a tie.

Anyway, I wrote directions on how to tie a tie for my son, and asked some of friends to follow them, word for word to see if it worked. It did, by golly! I mailed them off to Aaron, and that's how he learned to tie a tie by himself.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Ebbie
Date: 08 Sep 06 - 03:14 PM

hahhaha Glad it worked. We've all seen - and tried to follow - instructions in how to put something together, an endeavor that is especially challenging when the directions are written by someone whose first language is NOT English. I am now prepared to forgive them.

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 08 Sep 06 - 10:09 PM

Talking about memories and music, someone suggested I share this at the table:

I'm not sure where it was: somehwere in Connecticut, I think. I had just finished doing a concert when a young man came up to talk to me. I'd sung a song that I'd written about the two railroad lines that ran through my home town of Janesville, Wisconsin when I was a kid: The Chicago/Northwestern and the Milwaukee/St. Paul. There's a verse in the song that goes:

   "Fishing off the edge of the railroad bridge
    You can feel those steel rails humming
    Better put your bait and your bucket down
    'Cause the train will still be coming."

When the young man said, "I've fished off that bridge many times," I was all excited. I asked him, "Did you grow up in Janesville?" "No, I grew up in Colorado, but I fished off that same bridge." And he did. That same railroad bridge is in every small town in the United Sates. There's one right here in Derby, Connecticut where I live now. And there are Three Mile Cricks and open fields and front porches and folding chairs in every town. It's a matter of remembering that, and looking for them. They still hold the same, simple pleasures.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Donuel
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 04:49 PM

I was sitting at the kitchen table and thought about how Norman Corwin might write about some thoughts I was having...

this was the result:


I love my country to the stars and back.
I was only six but what I knew made me love America to the bursting point.
What did I know? I knew fishing in the Ozarks, I knew my parents driving across our great country, I knew we won a war against monsters, I knew great movies like the 50 ft. woman, I knew singing this land is my land and we loved our land. I looked at the moon and Saturn through my uncle's telescope. The most exciting thing we watched was Sputnik. We felt proud that man made his first star in the heavens but some people seemed worried

When I was seven I heard fearful whispers about the unamericans and the Russians who might blow us up in a surprise atomic attack.
When I was seven I remember my parents argue if I should see the Nazi films of the Holocaust on TV.   I learned 40 years later the film had been edited by Alfred Hitchcock. I saw the skinny bodies bulldozed, I saw the naked ladies hiding themselves as they were rushed to a crater's edge.

I was nearly eight while learning old union songs, Al Jolson tunes and the mountainous deep canyon voice of Paul Robeson singing "You know who I am… America", and I loved my country. The whispers faded and in their place clear voices told me what our country did to some great men and women. My country was hurting people in this country I love so much. Eight year olds know all about things not being fair.
Things weren't fair for my river. It changed colors daily depending on what color they were dyeing shoes at Endicott Johnson shoe factory.

At eight I listened to the Civil War on 33 rpm records. The Sergeant yelled FIRE and the boom shook my bones over and over again. Lincoln said to me "A house divided against itself can not stand." Then on the other side he read the Gettysburg address to me. In class the practice for atomic attack was as much fun as it was scary. Then the last Civil war veteran died right before I turned 9. I love my country and those who sacrificed for America.

At nine I had my first big bike and I was feeling America inside and out. I wasn't just listening anymore I was talking about world peace while other kids said their dad trusts the brass. My dad told me about the working man and imperialism. I pretended to know what imperialism was but I love my country.

At ten eleven and twelve the forest, creeks and rivers were my paradise. Warren Fries showed me what was inside his grocery bag. It was a giant snowy white owl that he shot dead. I was so angry that the owl and its family were gone from our woods that I grabbed the owl from Warren then changed my mind and swore never to play together again. He was the first friend I saw cry when he understood exactly how mortal he was.

The Cuban Missile crises meant there could be a big bomb war any minute. I took a walk and heard TV's blaring the Beverly Hillbilly's. Somehow the war went away.
In math class we suddenly learned JFK was dead. We were all scared and sad but only a few wept out loud. Only the teacher Mr. Craft was grinning and pointed out how there is no hope when shot in the head. We were sad but we loved our country.

The world really started pushing back against words about peace and the waste of war. I was beaten half a dozen times in school. Twice I was sent to the hospital. Dad taught at the college so I could hear a seminar about China and how great they were growing. If I shared that at school there were self appointed football players who enforced their world view by breaking my nose in the locker room.

News that the USA topples governments and installs puppets was either denied or accepted as might makes right. Then the children of US slaves followed a non violent King in a movement for freedom that could have made some of our founding fathers proud. I was proud for these Americans. When I said so I was called a nigger lover and sometimes a Jewish cocksucker despite the fact I was neither.

Viet Nam was front and center with mounting body counts at dinner time. And I loved my country so much I tried to tell people that there must be a better way. A house divided against itself will not stand. Love it or leave it people shouted back at give peace a chance people. We both loved America. I can't tell you how many friends died or disappeared. Even the shoe factory was gone. They said it went to Taiwan.

The love it or leave it people were broken. Their house could not stand the loss of their sons. They were betrayed and some blamed the protestors and some knew they were deceived but could never say it out loud lest their children would somehow die in vain the moment the truth passed their lips. They were silent and they were the majority.

Free white and 21, I joined the 60's party and party I did. Finally a man, I found an occupation to heal people. I was close enough to 3 mile island that I felt the sickening nausea in my head the night before it was announced. America was feeling proud again when Reagan finally won a war. It wasn't the big bomb war but a little one that rhymed with grenade. The CIA had no clue when the USSR downsized but Reagan got the credit by running up ours.

The unmentionable pain faded as the parents died in pain. The Gulf war was being sold to a new crew but with talk radio cheer leaders. I know that in a perpetual war no one will die in vain. Now I knew about imperialism. My country never had colonies like some empires but we hired yes men called the Shaw or el Presidente'. We rarely if ever obeyed our treaties. We were ready to try new weapons, uranium weapons from our used up rods that powered our nuclear tea kettles. I cried over the poisons that I know our country is eating and breathing because I love my country.

Commie, pinko, love it or leave it, unpatriotic, traitor, Hitler lover and appeaser, I am still called names like I was in the high school locker room. But I still love my country enough to speak out when we make the mistake of giving our lives to a military machine run by corporations that own the Congress and media.

When 2 million of us fill the streets of our Capitol and we are still invisible to the media we must try harder. When we win elections but lose the count we must try to love our country harder.
When the words freedom zone stands for barbed wire pens we must break out. When we truly love our country we may just learn to love the world and the world us.

I dream that a new Lincoln will speak to this country with an intelligent clarity. I dream that we will all have something to unite us. That we can all stand for a republic to do business as well as a democracy to help our people live and love our land.

I have but one cup of cool water to spill on the beach but if enough of us fill our glasses and march to the shore we may even be able to cool an ocean. Cool the ideologues, cool the defense contractors in their own neighborhoods and cool a religious fever that needs to break before we return to health.

Yes I love my country to the stars and stripes and back. Even when we attack, like a mother who loves a son who has done wrong, I know how much good there is inside.


As always donuel
Don Hakman Rockville
MD

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 05:43 PM

Just beautiful, Donuel. And what a writer you are! Thank you so much for posting that. It is a feast for all of us.

Jerry

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 08:53 PM

My fingers are starting to get itchy for that wabbit....

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Jerry Rasmussen
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 09:47 PM

Here, bunny, bunny. See the wovely cawwot I have for you..

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 10:34 PM

Just hold still there a minute, Bugs Bunny, while I load up the old blunderbuss--I mean--get a nice vegetable patch ready for you and sweeeeeet little hutch to sleep in.

C'mon you wascally wabbit! Front and Center!

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Elmer Fudd
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 10:36 PM

AHA! There's NO WAY you can escape this time! I missed ya at one thousand, but now, at eleven hundred, you're mine, alllll mine! Now just hold still a minute!

Subject: RE: BS: Sitting At The Kitchen Table
From: Little Hawk
Date: 09 Sep 06 - 10:37 PM

Ehhhh....What's up, Doc?