I was reading through various blogs this morning and I clicked in on one of my favorites, h2phobic. Don't get me wrong, you're all my favorites because if you weren't I wouldn't spend time reading you. But h2phobic kind of rings some old bells in my brain because she reminds me of me when I was a few years younger.
After reading her entry this morning I started to write a note in her comment section, then changed my mind and was going to write her a personal email, then changed my mind again and decided to write my own entry regarding issues similar to hers in some ways. Like her, I'm not good at confiding things either. Comes from my stoic ScandiHOOvian background - don't ever let anyone know that you're anything but "just fine" and don't ever air your dirty laundry in public. So today you're all going to learn something about Lena that not too many people know.
My last job, before I quit working altogether, was in the Spanish Department of a local private, very prestigious Lutheran liberal arts college. I worked there for eight long years. The department consisted of 10 professors, only 2 of whom were American, the remainder being native speakers from various Spanish-speaking countries (Mexico, Peru, Colombia, Ecuador to name just a few.) I was the administrative assistant and happened to be a blue-eyed blond of Norwegian heritage.
Now you would think that a group of educated people, most of them with doctorates, would be anything but racists - WRONG!! There was a lot of political unrest within the department, and I won't go into all the details, but because I was blond, blue-eyed and Lutheran, they made my life miserable. There were constant digs and remarks and put-downs many times a day regarding my background and American philosophies. At first I thought they were just jokes, but it didn't take long before I realized that wasn't the case.
Now the Chair of the department was one of the two other Americans but was married to a Mexican National who had maintained his Mexican citizenship even though he had lived in this country for 20+ years. After being subjected to this for several years I finally got up the nerve to address the subject with her. I won't go into all the details, but the summary of her response was to just overlook it because it was a cultural thing. I should just expect it from them.
Another issue that really bothered me was how all the native speakers were allowed to get away with all kinds of things. They would schedule appointments with students and then not bother to show up. Or just not bother to show up for their classes and this possibly several times a week. Of course that left me holding the bag dealing with students who had tried numerous times to connect with their professors and were constantly stood up. But let the other American professor pull this kind of thing, or even be a few minutes late to his/her appointment with the student and they would suffer repercussions that you wouldn't believe. One of the advertising points of this college was the 100% availability of the instructors to the students. The native speakers would use and abuse all the facilities of the office - use all kinds of postage for their personal use, one of them was writing a book and used the office copy machine to make thousands of copies of his book and then charged it off to office expense. But both myself and the American prof had to pay our copy bills immediately. There were a lot of other things too, but you get the idea of the preferential treatment that went on. And every time I addressed these issues with the Chair her standard response was "We have to let them by with this because in their country that's the way things are done. It's a cultural thing."
To make matters even worse, she (the Chair) would "set up" the other American professor so that things would go wrong and then the prof could be reported. The Chair was the most underhanded, manipulative, nasty woman I have ever worked for. And as a result, after several years I began to develop anxiety issues to the point where I ended up going to a counselor. I guess you're all wondering why I didn't quit. Well, the answer to that was because I was stubborn. I wasn't going to let this witch beat me, and I thought I was going to make a difference.
After several years of this stress it started to affect my health in different ways other than just stress. Ole finally convinced me that I needed to get out of there, and fortunately we were in a financial situation where I didn't have to work. So trying to be a good and responsible employee I wrote my letter of resignation and gave a 30-day notice citing health reasons for my departure.
About two weeks before my last day I received a call from Human Resources scheduling an exit interview. They, of course, wanted details of my reasons for leaving, so I let it all out. I gave them all the awful details, right down to the nitty gritty. The director, of course, was horrified and immediately called the president of the college and I was asked to write a detailed report of all the things that I could remember that had happened over the previous years. Remember, I still had two weeks to go before I was out of there.
Well, apparently the President and the Human Resources Director confronted the Chair with this information.
To show you how coniving the Chair was, she called a department meeting under the guise of it being a going away party for me. When we all got seated around the table she presented the information that she KNEW that there were some unhappy people in the department and that SOMEONE had gone to the Human Resources department and the President and complained telling all kinds of falsehoods about her. Then she went around the table, asking every person if they had been to the Human Resources department and what for. She started with the person next to me, went around the table the opposite direction so that I would be the last one. Of course no one else had talked to the HR director but me during my exit interview and she knew this. So when she pointed her finger at me and asked me about HR it didn't matter anymore whether I liked confrontation or not. She had raised my dander with her tactics, backed me into a corner and I was coming out swinging. If you know me, you know that it takes a LOT to get me to that point. I get angry, but keep it all inside, thus the tendency toward anxiety attacks.
My response to her when she pointed her finger at me about 6 inches from my nose was to Let It Blow. By this time I didn't care who else was in the room or who else heard what I had to say. I let her have it, and then I got up, walked out of the conference room, went to my office, put my coat on and headed down the hall. The Chair stood in the office door and yelled at me "You're coming back to work tomorrow, aren't you?" My response, without turning around to even look at her, was to raise my hand in the air and raise my middle finger!! Now Folks, I just never do that sort of thing, but I sure did that day.
I had about a 20 minute drive home and when I walked in the door my phone was ringing. It was the HR director along with the President of the college on a conference line. Immediately following the confrontation in the conference room the other blond, blue-eyed American professor in the department had called the HR director to report what had happened. The HR director and the President asked me if I would be willing to allow my documentation to be used against her to get her out off her current position as chair and hopefully out of the college altogether. Of course - you're darn tootin' I would.
It took a couple of months, but she was finally removed from her position as Chair of the department, and another two years of documentation before they could finally fire her.
And I have never had another anxiety attack. I found that if I verbalize things before they get to a point where I'm so angry the anxiety attack doesn't happen. Now I try to take up the issue before it becomes a confrontational point and I can still speak in civilized tones instead of being so angry I just lose it and yell. I learned a very tough lesson under some very dire circumstances.
Love Lena
THE ADVENTURES OF OLE & LENA A Stud & and Hot Dish
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Trailer Trash!! That's Me!!
When I was a little girl my father was a farmer in north central North Dakota, where the farms are small compared to what they are here in the Red River Valley. My father farmed 400 acres of soil that wasn't very productive, especially during the dry years of the early 50s. In order to hang onto the farm he had to take another job, which ended up being something called a "grease monkey" for a road construction crew. Not exactly a politically correct job title in today's society, but back then that's what it was. Today he would have been called a mechanic for heavy equipment.
So my Mother was forced to move from an eleven room farm house into a 25 foot trailer house with three kids, and no indoor plumbing. We lived like gypsies. I won't say we even became "trailer trash" because that indicates you embed yourself in one place. We didn't. We moved from one location to another, following the progress of the road that the construction crew was working on. Many times I remember my Father coming to the trailer and telling my Mother, "We've got to be moved down the road to the next location within one hour." And we would.
Now mind you, there were 20 to 30 families living like this - vagabonds. And a big "cook car" - which was a mobile kitchen, run by several ladies who would do all the meal preparation for the single guys who worked on the crew. Inside on one end was a kitchen, and the remainder was one long table going through the center of the car with benches on each side for the guys to sit and eat.
So this whole procession of trailers and the cook car would go down the road several miles to another location, which was usually some rancher's pasture, pull in and set up camp. Now think about this - this was a pasture - no well for running water, or sanitation faciliites. First things first - several holes would be dug for the outdoor biffies, then one very large hole to bury garbage. Then a truck with a huge water tank on the back would arrive and park itself somewhat centrally located. One of my brother's regular jobs was to fill water into buckets and haul it to our trailer whenever needed so we had water to drink, cook and wash dishes with. Baths were taken once a week in a large round galvanized tub that my mother used to wash clothes in every Monday. Otherwise you did a "spit and polish" between the times when you would sit in the galvanized tub. And all HOT water was made hot by heating it in a large pot on a gas kitchen stove.
I often think when we're out traveling in our 40 foot motorhome, my Mother would have thought she'd died and gone to heaven with all the conveniences I have. Completely self-contained - solar powered, gas/electric hot water heater, same for the frig, TV, air conditioning - We often park in the middle of the desert for weeks at a time when we travel in the winter, and have all those conveniences. She had NONE of that. But then neither did anyone else in the "camp."
Going to town for groceries on Saturday afternoon was always a big event. We got to go to TOWN!! They were mere wide spots in the road, and sometimes up to 30 miles away on gravel roads, but it was still a big event. Places like Elgin, Carson, Cannon Ball, Amidon, Black Butte, Flasher - some of which no longer even exist other than a few fallen in buildings. But at that time most every little town had some kind of a grocery store where a big treat would be a bottle of pop (soda to you NON-upper-midwesterners). Nesbitts orange and grape nehi were my favorites.
I have very fond memories of those days as a kid - playing with all the other "camp kids" out in the pasture not knowing what you were going to "step" in or find - and that included rattle snakes!! Most generally the rattle snakes were hunted out of the area we were going to be camping in. The construction company would send their snake crew in ahead of time and they would locate the snake dens and clean them out. An ugly, dangerous job, but it had to be done.
I remember very vividly a time when a large bull snake decided he was going to move in under our trailer. He was only about six feet long and possibly six inches in circumference. The scariest part was that these snakes would crawl up into the underside of the trailers looking for warmth on chilly nights, and could possibly get into your house. Wouldn't that be cute - wake up during the night and have a snake that size trying to crawl under your covers to warm up!! That's just slightly intimidating. We didn't know it at the time but bull snakes weren't poisonous - but beneficial. They caught lots of mice. I don't care - I still wouldn't want him for a bed partner - AAAACCCCKKKK!
Most of the roads that my Father worked on were in western North Dakota and all over South Dakota - a very slimly populated area, even back then. It's even more thinly populated now, but still holds a mystique for me when I travel the area. There's something so hauntingly beautiful about it. Take a look.
More tomorrow - Love Lena
So my Mother was forced to move from an eleven room farm house into a 25 foot trailer house with three kids, and no indoor plumbing. We lived like gypsies. I won't say we even became "trailer trash" because that indicates you embed yourself in one place. We didn't. We moved from one location to another, following the progress of the road that the construction crew was working on. Many times I remember my Father coming to the trailer and telling my Mother, "We've got to be moved down the road to the next location within one hour." And we would.
Now mind you, there were 20 to 30 families living like this - vagabonds. And a big "cook car" - which was a mobile kitchen, run by several ladies who would do all the meal preparation for the single guys who worked on the crew. Inside on one end was a kitchen, and the remainder was one long table going through the center of the car with benches on each side for the guys to sit and eat.
So this whole procession of trailers and the cook car would go down the road several miles to another location, which was usually some rancher's pasture, pull in and set up camp. Now think about this - this was a pasture - no well for running water, or sanitation faciliites. First things first - several holes would be dug for the outdoor biffies, then one very large hole to bury garbage. Then a truck with a huge water tank on the back would arrive and park itself somewhat centrally located. One of my brother's regular jobs was to fill water into buckets and haul it to our trailer whenever needed so we had water to drink, cook and wash dishes with. Baths were taken once a week in a large round galvanized tub that my mother used to wash clothes in every Monday. Otherwise you did a "spit and polish" between the times when you would sit in the galvanized tub. And all HOT water was made hot by heating it in a large pot on a gas kitchen stove.
I often think when we're out traveling in our 40 foot motorhome, my Mother would have thought she'd died and gone to heaven with all the conveniences I have. Completely self-contained - solar powered, gas/electric hot water heater, same for the frig, TV, air conditioning - We often park in the middle of the desert for weeks at a time when we travel in the winter, and have all those conveniences. She had NONE of that. But then neither did anyone else in the "camp."
Going to town for groceries on Saturday afternoon was always a big event. We got to go to TOWN!! They were mere wide spots in the road, and sometimes up to 30 miles away on gravel roads, but it was still a big event. Places like Elgin, Carson, Cannon Ball, Amidon, Black Butte, Flasher - some of which no longer even exist other than a few fallen in buildings. But at that time most every little town had some kind of a grocery store where a big treat would be a bottle of pop (soda to you NON-upper-midwesterners). Nesbitts orange and grape nehi were my favorites.
I have very fond memories of those days as a kid - playing with all the other "camp kids" out in the pasture not knowing what you were going to "step" in or find - and that included rattle snakes!! Most generally the rattle snakes were hunted out of the area we were going to be camping in. The construction company would send their snake crew in ahead of time and they would locate the snake dens and clean them out. An ugly, dangerous job, but it had to be done.
I remember very vividly a time when a large bull snake decided he was going to move in under our trailer. He was only about six feet long and possibly six inches in circumference. The scariest part was that these snakes would crawl up into the underside of the trailers looking for warmth on chilly nights, and could possibly get into your house. Wouldn't that be cute - wake up during the night and have a snake that size trying to crawl under your covers to warm up!! That's just slightly intimidating. We didn't know it at the time but bull snakes weren't poisonous - but beneficial. They caught lots of mice. I don't care - I still wouldn't want him for a bed partner - AAAACCCCKKKK!
Most of the roads that my Father worked on were in western North Dakota and all over South Dakota - a very slimly populated area, even back then. It's even more thinly populated now, but still holds a mystique for me when I travel the area. There's something so hauntingly beautiful about it. Take a look.
More tomorrow - Love Lena
Monday, June 22, 2009
I'm Growing Mold Between my Toes
Another gray, cloudy day - good for sleeping in. I was snuggled under the blankets this morning squeezing the last of the sleep out of the night when off in the far distance I heard this obnoxious ringing going on. It wouldn't stop - just kept on and on. When I finally rose to the surface of sleep I realized it was my phone and that anybody calling at that hour of the morning meant an emergency of some sort. When I got my eyes unstuck and was able to focus on the clock I realized it wasn't THAT early - it was already 8 a.m. I haven't slept that late in who knows how long.
It was Big Brother calling to chat. Of course when you're in the hospital they have you up at some ungodly hour poking and prodding and getting you ready for the day as if you have somewhere to go. So we chatted for about a half hour. He seemed to be in good spirits, which helps my mental state a lot. He still can't use either arm, so I'm not sure how he dialed his cell phone, but he did. He lays it on the pillow beside his head and puts it on speaker phone and that seems to work quite well. Poor guy is probably bored out of his gourd.
Anyway, I got the clear dope on this surgery that he will be having tomorrow. Apparently it's the bone behind his eyeball that shattered - the one that holds your eyeball in place. The eyeball will have to be removed and a plate placed behind it. If he doesn't have this surgery his eyeball will recede. Not a pleasant thought. At this point there doesn't seem to be any vision loss, so let's hope things stay that way. The thought of having an eyeball removed - taken out of the socket - laying there on the table while they insert a plate just grosses me out. I had to chuckle when Big Brother stated that he hoped the doctors didn't decide to play a game of ping pong with it!! See - I told you he seemed to be in good spirits.
On the mold front - last night when I got in the shower I noticed all this black fungus looking material that seemed to be growing between my toes. It was enlarging as I watched. I thought to myself - I know I didn't get THAT dirty when I was outside working today. Ick. So I grabbed the bar of soap and the wash cloth and started scrubbing but it didn't disappear. Upon closer examination I realized it was black mold!! It rained again all day yesterday. I had started to mow the grass when I came home from church because it was so tall that small children could get lost. When it started to rain I told myself I wasn't going to let a little rain stop me and kept on going until the grass got so wet it just gummed everything up and clogged the chute going to the bagger. Okay - I had to give up. But in the meantime I was wet in places I didn't know I had before. And you know what happens to things that get damp and don't get dried off like they should. It's been so wet around here for so long that fungus has attacked my toes because they're always wet from walking in the grass.
Seriously, Folks, I'm just joshing - my feet are clean - I'm just being facetious. I'm just darn tired of all this water. When I got up this morning the temperature was already in the 70s but the humidity was 86%. Now that's some serious humidity.
So I went out and took a couple more pictures of my flowers before the next rain beats them all to pieces. My rose tree has opened up - the flowers come in clusters and each individual flower isn't real big, but together they make quite an impression. And the fragrance is heavenly.
Here's one of my favorite irises. It's called Temper Tantrum. Maybe that's why I like it. It's not one of the big huge German irises, but I just love how the blues and purples blend.
It was Big Brother calling to chat. Of course when you're in the hospital they have you up at some ungodly hour poking and prodding and getting you ready for the day as if you have somewhere to go. So we chatted for about a half hour. He seemed to be in good spirits, which helps my mental state a lot. He still can't use either arm, so I'm not sure how he dialed his cell phone, but he did. He lays it on the pillow beside his head and puts it on speaker phone and that seems to work quite well. Poor guy is probably bored out of his gourd.
Anyway, I got the clear dope on this surgery that he will be having tomorrow. Apparently it's the bone behind his eyeball that shattered - the one that holds your eyeball in place. The eyeball will have to be removed and a plate placed behind it. If he doesn't have this surgery his eyeball will recede. Not a pleasant thought. At this point there doesn't seem to be any vision loss, so let's hope things stay that way. The thought of having an eyeball removed - taken out of the socket - laying there on the table while they insert a plate just grosses me out. I had to chuckle when Big Brother stated that he hoped the doctors didn't decide to play a game of ping pong with it!! See - I told you he seemed to be in good spirits.
On the mold front - last night when I got in the shower I noticed all this black fungus looking material that seemed to be growing between my toes. It was enlarging as I watched. I thought to myself - I know I didn't get THAT dirty when I was outside working today. Ick. So I grabbed the bar of soap and the wash cloth and started scrubbing but it didn't disappear. Upon closer examination I realized it was black mold!! It rained again all day yesterday. I had started to mow the grass when I came home from church because it was so tall that small children could get lost. When it started to rain I told myself I wasn't going to let a little rain stop me and kept on going until the grass got so wet it just gummed everything up and clogged the chute going to the bagger. Okay - I had to give up. But in the meantime I was wet in places I didn't know I had before. And you know what happens to things that get damp and don't get dried off like they should. It's been so wet around here for so long that fungus has attacked my toes because they're always wet from walking in the grass.
Seriously, Folks, I'm just joshing - my feet are clean - I'm just being facetious. I'm just darn tired of all this water. When I got up this morning the temperature was already in the 70s but the humidity was 86%. Now that's some serious humidity.
So I went out and took a couple more pictures of my flowers before the next rain beats them all to pieces. My rose tree has opened up - the flowers come in clusters and each individual flower isn't real big, but together they make quite an impression. And the fragrance is heavenly.
Here's one of my favorite irises. It's called Temper Tantrum. Maybe that's why I like it. It's not one of the big huge German irises, but I just love how the blues and purples blend.
So another day of wet stuff. Ole is making progress on the ark.
Love Lena
Saturday, June 20, 2009
An Update
Things are looking up a bit - at least some things. We're gradually losing our "lake front" property. The water is receding very slowly and the forecast is for a whole day of sunshine and no rain today. Our driveway is no longer under water so it's easier to get in and out now.
You can't imagine how nerve wracking it is to watch that water come so fast and there's nothing you can do about it. And then there's all the politics that go along with it - "they" won't allow us a dike because it's not "practical." I'd love to know what their definition of "practical" is. It's especially difficult to watch this governmental body dishing out all their rules and regulations and making decisions that allow other households that aren't in the floodway getting all kinds of help and we, who suffer from this every time there is a heavy rain or spring runoff get nothing. Legally, we can't even build a dike at our own expense because of our proximity to the river. Why did we build here, you may ask? When we bought this property back in 1972 it had never been under water. In the last 10 years there have been 3 major floods and our house has been a little island. Fortunately, our house has stayed dry, but you can't imagine the mess we have to clean up every time this happens. Oh well, griping doesn't do any good so I'll quit.
I had my second mammogram yesterday. I was brought back to the radiologist's office and offered a big long explanation that involved words like "biopsies" and "tumors" and "cancer" and all those scary words. Then they did a second series of x-rays and I sat and waited for the results. After an hour of all kinds of horrible things going through my mind I was called back again and the word "calcification" was explained to me. Apparently calcifications can range anywhere from malignant to benign and anywhere in between. So that's the latest word - I have some calcifications that they want to watch very closely and will be going back for another x-ray in 6 months.
Okay then. I guess I have to spend the next 6 months with "that" thought hanging in the back of my mind.
On the Big Brother front - I talked to him several times yesterday. The doctor has postponed surgery until next Tuesday due to all the swelling still around his eye. His broken shoulder still has not been casted - I suppose they're waiting for decreased swelling there also. His son arrived in El Paso yesterday and will stay through the surgery. I'm so glad there is someone there with him. After my experience with Ole in the hospital twice last summer, I know that you need some kind of a patient advocate in order to survive in a hospital these days. Someone who can ride herd on what's going on and look out for the patient's best interests - not the hospital's. Nephew sent me a picture via cell phone yesterday. I was horrified at how awful Big Brother looked. He looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and then someone beat the tar out of him afterwards. Look out for those 10-foot ladders, Folks.
Since the water decided to recede Ole headed out for the Back to the 50s weekend at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds last night. He had intended to leave on Thursday and not come back until Sunday. But due to the water factor he'll be back tonight. I, on the other hand, stayed home doing the sump pump watch, etc. Lovely Daughter and Lars had intended to go with him if he had gone for the weekend, but due to the short trip they decided to stay home. So Lars and Lovely Daughter came out last night and Lars made pizza for supper. He's quite a pizza aficionado - it was SOOO good. Then we watched the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It wasn't at all what I expected. It was a very long movie, and one of those that I'm glad I didn't spend my money going to a theater to see.
Speaking of movies, have any of you watched Slumdog Millionaire yet? I watched it a few weeks ago and thought it was TERRIBLE. Whoever voted that in as best picture of the year - well, their taste is most definitely only in their mouth!!
A few entries ago I promised you some pictures of my backyard this year because the peonies and irises were outdoing themselves. They hadn't been this beautiful in years despite the horrible winter we had. Unfortunately the heavy rain beat me to it and kind of messed up the flowers. Lots of them are on the ground, etc., but I did take a few shots this morning to share with you. Please keep in mind they aren't as spectacular as they were a week ago.
In this picture you can kind of see the "lake shore" behind the flowers. Under normal conditions you wouldn't be able to see any water in this picture at all.
You can't imagine how nerve wracking it is to watch that water come so fast and there's nothing you can do about it. And then there's all the politics that go along with it - "they" won't allow us a dike because it's not "practical." I'd love to know what their definition of "practical" is. It's especially difficult to watch this governmental body dishing out all their rules and regulations and making decisions that allow other households that aren't in the floodway getting all kinds of help and we, who suffer from this every time there is a heavy rain or spring runoff get nothing. Legally, we can't even build a dike at our own expense because of our proximity to the river. Why did we build here, you may ask? When we bought this property back in 1972 it had never been under water. In the last 10 years there have been 3 major floods and our house has been a little island. Fortunately, our house has stayed dry, but you can't imagine the mess we have to clean up every time this happens. Oh well, griping doesn't do any good so I'll quit.
I had my second mammogram yesterday. I was brought back to the radiologist's office and offered a big long explanation that involved words like "biopsies" and "tumors" and "cancer" and all those scary words. Then they did a second series of x-rays and I sat and waited for the results. After an hour of all kinds of horrible things going through my mind I was called back again and the word "calcification" was explained to me. Apparently calcifications can range anywhere from malignant to benign and anywhere in between. So that's the latest word - I have some calcifications that they want to watch very closely and will be going back for another x-ray in 6 months.
Okay then. I guess I have to spend the next 6 months with "that" thought hanging in the back of my mind.
On the Big Brother front - I talked to him several times yesterday. The doctor has postponed surgery until next Tuesday due to all the swelling still around his eye. His broken shoulder still has not been casted - I suppose they're waiting for decreased swelling there also. His son arrived in El Paso yesterday and will stay through the surgery. I'm so glad there is someone there with him. After my experience with Ole in the hospital twice last summer, I know that you need some kind of a patient advocate in order to survive in a hospital these days. Someone who can ride herd on what's going on and look out for the patient's best interests - not the hospital's. Nephew sent me a picture via cell phone yesterday. I was horrified at how awful Big Brother looked. He looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and then someone beat the tar out of him afterwards. Look out for those 10-foot ladders, Folks.
Since the water decided to recede Ole headed out for the Back to the 50s weekend at the Minnesota State Fairgrounds last night. He had intended to leave on Thursday and not come back until Sunday. But due to the water factor he'll be back tonight. I, on the other hand, stayed home doing the sump pump watch, etc. Lovely Daughter and Lars had intended to go with him if he had gone for the weekend, but due to the short trip they decided to stay home. So Lars and Lovely Daughter came out last night and Lars made pizza for supper. He's quite a pizza aficionado - it was SOOO good. Then we watched the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It wasn't at all what I expected. It was a very long movie, and one of those that I'm glad I didn't spend my money going to a theater to see.
Speaking of movies, have any of you watched Slumdog Millionaire yet? I watched it a few weeks ago and thought it was TERRIBLE. Whoever voted that in as best picture of the year - well, their taste is most definitely only in their mouth!!
A few entries ago I promised you some pictures of my backyard this year because the peonies and irises were outdoing themselves. They hadn't been this beautiful in years despite the horrible winter we had. Unfortunately the heavy rain beat me to it and kind of messed up the flowers. Lots of them are on the ground, etc., but I did take a few shots this morning to share with you. Please keep in mind they aren't as spectacular as they were a week ago.
In this picture you can kind of see the "lake shore" behind the flowers. Under normal conditions you wouldn't be able to see any water in this picture at all.
Well, People, I had better get my backside off this computer chair if I'm going to accomplish anything today. My project for today is to get some carpets cleaned and then it will be a contest to see which cat urps up on them first. Seems every time I clean carpets somebody vomits within 24 hours. I really want to replace my living room and dining room carpet with laminated flooring like I have in my kitchen. Then it would be a piece of cake to keep things a bit cleaner with all these animals in the house. So far I haven't been able to talk Ole into doing that though. It would be so nice to just have some large area rugs that could be washed.
Enjoy this lovely day, everyone.
Love Lena
Thursday, June 18, 2009
What next???
I guess if bad stuff has to happen it might as well all happen at once so I can get it over with.
1. We're flooding again. Not as bad as last spring, but bad enough, and the river hasn't crested yet so we really don't know where it's going to stop. We had a severe storm move through south of us two nights ago dropping 8 inches of rain in the area where our river starts about 15 miles south of here. I knew we were in for trouble, but one never knows how much trouble. The river rose 8 feet over night and is still rising - rapidly. Ole was planning to leave for Minneapolis this morning to attend the annual Back to the 50s weekend on the state fair grounds that he never misses. I informed him I wasn't very comfortable with him being gone for the entire weekend and leaving me to deal with this. So far he's home.
2. I had the annual mammogram last Tuesday at one of the satellite clinics. I just received a call this morning that I have to report to the main clinic tomorrow and have one redone because the radiologist spotted a shadow. Something more for me to lose sleep over.
3. I received a call yesterday afternoon regarding Big Brother, who lives down in New Mexico. He's a bachelor so he was alone when this happened. He was changing, or trying to change a fluorescent light bulb in his shop, which has a 20 foot ceiling. He was standing on the top of a 10-foot step ladder (dumb) when the ladder gave way or he slipped or some such thing and fell to the concrete floor. He busted his left wrist, right shoulder, broke his nose, and broke some of the bones around his eye. When he came to he managed to get to a phone to call his neighbor who rushed him to the ER in the closest town (20 miles away). They didn't have an orthopedic doctor so they shipped him by ambulance to El Paso, TX at 10 o'clock last night and performed surgery when he arrived. I haven't heard results yet, but hope to know something by late this afternoon.
Okay. That's enough for now, don't you think? I need to come up for air.
1. We're flooding again. Not as bad as last spring, but bad enough, and the river hasn't crested yet so we really don't know where it's going to stop. We had a severe storm move through south of us two nights ago dropping 8 inches of rain in the area where our river starts about 15 miles south of here. I knew we were in for trouble, but one never knows how much trouble. The river rose 8 feet over night and is still rising - rapidly. Ole was planning to leave for Minneapolis this morning to attend the annual Back to the 50s weekend on the state fair grounds that he never misses. I informed him I wasn't very comfortable with him being gone for the entire weekend and leaving me to deal with this. So far he's home.
2. I had the annual mammogram last Tuesday at one of the satellite clinics. I just received a call this morning that I have to report to the main clinic tomorrow and have one redone because the radiologist spotted a shadow. Something more for me to lose sleep over.
3. I received a call yesterday afternoon regarding Big Brother, who lives down in New Mexico. He's a bachelor so he was alone when this happened. He was changing, or trying to change a fluorescent light bulb in his shop, which has a 20 foot ceiling. He was standing on the top of a 10-foot step ladder (dumb) when the ladder gave way or he slipped or some such thing and fell to the concrete floor. He busted his left wrist, right shoulder, broke his nose, and broke some of the bones around his eye. When he came to he managed to get to a phone to call his neighbor who rushed him to the ER in the closest town (20 miles away). They didn't have an orthopedic doctor so they shipped him by ambulance to El Paso, TX at 10 o'clock last night and performed surgery when he arrived. I haven't heard results yet, but hope to know something by late this afternoon.
Okay. That's enough for now, don't you think? I need to come up for air.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tissue Paper Flowers
As I was poking around outside this morning, making my daily inspection of my flowers to see what's happened overnight, I found THIS!!
It's my Japanese Tree Peony - in all its glory. Yesterday there was only buds - this morning the first bud has opened. The flowers are like tissue paper and it was so huge I had to run and get a ruler to measure it. It's 9 1/2 inches in diameter. That's one HUGE flower, Folks.
For those of you who are gardeners, we're a very definite Zone 3 here, so I don't always get flowers on this peony every year. And this was an extremely harsh winter, along with the fact that everything was under water for two weeks, so the number of buds on this bush has truly surprised me.
Amazingly enough my flowers are gorgeous this year - I think it might have something to do with the cool weather we've been having. Perennials seem to love that. I'll be taking some pictures over the next couple of weeks as things progress and share with you.
I've been spending a lot of time outside - at least when it's not raining - and yesterday finished installing my watering system. So now with the twist of a knob I can water ALL my flower pots at one time, and have all the beds divided into zones that I can turn off and on as needed. I'll eventually be putting a timer on each zone so that when we're gone for a period of time I won't worry about things drying out (as if THAT would ever happen in this neck of the woods!)
Anyway, I must make this short as I've got a ton of stuff to do outside today - like clean up the mess I've made over the last several days as we're having friends over for a fire in the fire pit tonight. Then I've got to spray weeds and cut the grass. There's a full day's job right there so I had best get busy.
Ta ta for now!!
Love Lena
Thursday, June 11, 2009
High School Romance
I have nothing exciting going on in my life right now - so here goes more history. If you get bored, just click on the little X in the upper right corner of your screen, okay?
I met Ole when I was a senior in high school in our first hour study hall. He sat toward the front and I sat about mid-way back. He was tall and slim with a mass of dark hair that he combed like Fonzie on Happy Days. Every morning during the Pledge of Allegiance he would turn around and give me a big smile. One day before classes started he asked me to go to the library with him, which was one of our options instead of going to study hall.
This time was supposed to be used for studying but of course, THAT didn’t’ happen when we were able to sit next to each other. There was a lot of whispering and note writing and hand holding that went on during that time, but not a lot of studying. Imagine that!! Ole would slide his chair right up next to mine, and periodically, the librarian would come over and slide them back apart. He would never say anything, just move the chairs apart (snicker). Years later we ran into him and the first thing he exclaimed was that he was glad we had gotten married and then chuckled. He was a good egg.
Ole and I always sat on the far end of the room from the flag, so that when everyone stood to say the Pledge of Allegiance they were all facing away from us. Imagine my surprise during this time when he turned and gave me a great big smack on the lips!! Right there in the library – everyone standing with their back to us, hands over their hearts and Ole is kissing me!! That Ole was a conniving young man, all right.
I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance that fall, and from then on we were an item. He was driving a 1949 Ford at that time, which was his pride and joy. Even way back then he was into cars – building, painting, and being “cool.” It was dark blue and had loud pipes. It was pretty impressive.
January came, and it was time for the Winter Snowball dance at school. All the girls had been shopping for dresses, or making their own. The song “She Wore Blue Velvet” was popular at that time, so I worked for weeks and sewed my own blue velvet gown. The week before the dance somebody ran into Ole’s ’49 Ford – hit and run when it was parked in the street in front of his house – it was no longer drivable. So Ole asked his dad if he could borrow his car for that night – but the answer was no. Ole’s dad was a mean boozer, and did anything/everything he could in his lifetime to alienate his kids. Ole had another car that ran, a 1954 Ford, but it didn’t have a heater – it had been completely removed at some point for parts I suppose. So the night of the dance came, and of course in January it was way below zero. Ole drove the ten miles to my house to pick me up and we started back to town for the dance. It was windy that night with blowing snow and we were getting pretty cold in this car without a heater. All of a sudden the hood flew up – over the windshield putting a crack in it, and landed in the middle of the highway behind us. Unfortunately there was a big truck oncoming in the other lane, and before Ole could get out and get the hood picked off the middle of the highway the truck hit it and it was flat as a pancake.
Well, that took care of what little engine heat had managed to get into the car – and from there on it was Icicle City. I distinctly remember when he brought me home that night it was 35 degrees below zero. My Dad was up waiting for us and was very adamant about Ole spending the night at our house because it was too cold to drive back to town in a car without a heater. But Ole wouldn’t do it and headed for home. Fortunately he made it because temperatures like that are very life threatening.
Then in the spring came the Prom. Back then it was ritual for couples to stay out all night following the Prom. There were no organized functions after the Prom – just house parties. Of course I informed my parents I wouldn’t be home until morning, as I had always had a curfew and abided by it (goody-two-shoes, ya know?) Even though they knew I wouldn’t be home until morning I can still remember how guilty I felt when I walked in the door just as the sun was coming up and my Dad was sitting at the table having coffee. Why did I feel that way? I couldn’t tell you – because I hadn’t done anything wrong. Just my ScandiHOOvian upbringing, I guess.
Then there was the night we double-dated with Vickie and her boyfriend, Roger. Ole had his sources and was able to score on a 12-pack of Buckhorn beer. Buckhorn was $1 a 6-pac back then. And it tasted like it too – but then I’ve never been much of a beer connoisseur so what did I know? But I drank it because it was the cool thing to do. We were parked on a country road one cold winter night, and of course after consuming a couple of Buckhorns, Vickie and I had to go to the bathroom. Well, obviously there’s no facilities on a country gravel road and we couldn’t make it back to town, so we opted to get out and go behind the car. The guys promised they would be good – ya, sure. Now Ole had dual exhausts on his car, and just as Vickie and I got into “position” what should he do but gun the engine!! I had squatted off to one side, but Vickie was right in front of one of the pipes – and after the engine had been idling for a while moisture had collected in the exhaust pipe. So when Ole gunned the engine Vickie got sprayed with cold water right on her bare backside. In her shock she went flying away from the back of the car right in mid-pee!! Ole still roars when he talks about that night.
What a conniver that Ole was.
There’s more – but this is getting long so I’ll save it for another day. And besides, Lovely Daughter reads here so I don’t want to expose TOO MUCH of my past (snicker). Hi, Lovely Daughter!!!
I met Ole when I was a senior in high school in our first hour study hall. He sat toward the front and I sat about mid-way back. He was tall and slim with a mass of dark hair that he combed like Fonzie on Happy Days. Every morning during the Pledge of Allegiance he would turn around and give me a big smile. One day before classes started he asked me to go to the library with him, which was one of our options instead of going to study hall.
This time was supposed to be used for studying but of course, THAT didn’t’ happen when we were able to sit next to each other. There was a lot of whispering and note writing and hand holding that went on during that time, but not a lot of studying. Imagine that!! Ole would slide his chair right up next to mine, and periodically, the librarian would come over and slide them back apart. He would never say anything, just move the chairs apart (snicker). Years later we ran into him and the first thing he exclaimed was that he was glad we had gotten married and then chuckled. He was a good egg.
Ole and I always sat on the far end of the room from the flag, so that when everyone stood to say the Pledge of Allegiance they were all facing away from us. Imagine my surprise during this time when he turned and gave me a great big smack on the lips!! Right there in the library – everyone standing with their back to us, hands over their hearts and Ole is kissing me!! That Ole was a conniving young man, all right.
I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance that fall, and from then on we were an item. He was driving a 1949 Ford at that time, which was his pride and joy. Even way back then he was into cars – building, painting, and being “cool.” It was dark blue and had loud pipes. It was pretty impressive.
January came, and it was time for the Winter Snowball dance at school. All the girls had been shopping for dresses, or making their own. The song “She Wore Blue Velvet” was popular at that time, so I worked for weeks and sewed my own blue velvet gown. The week before the dance somebody ran into Ole’s ’49 Ford – hit and run when it was parked in the street in front of his house – it was no longer drivable. So Ole asked his dad if he could borrow his car for that night – but the answer was no. Ole’s dad was a mean boozer, and did anything/everything he could in his lifetime to alienate his kids. Ole had another car that ran, a 1954 Ford, but it didn’t have a heater – it had been completely removed at some point for parts I suppose. So the night of the dance came, and of course in January it was way below zero. Ole drove the ten miles to my house to pick me up and we started back to town for the dance. It was windy that night with blowing snow and we were getting pretty cold in this car without a heater. All of a sudden the hood flew up – over the windshield putting a crack in it, and landed in the middle of the highway behind us. Unfortunately there was a big truck oncoming in the other lane, and before Ole could get out and get the hood picked off the middle of the highway the truck hit it and it was flat as a pancake.
Well, that took care of what little engine heat had managed to get into the car – and from there on it was Icicle City. I distinctly remember when he brought me home that night it was 35 degrees below zero. My Dad was up waiting for us and was very adamant about Ole spending the night at our house because it was too cold to drive back to town in a car without a heater. But Ole wouldn’t do it and headed for home. Fortunately he made it because temperatures like that are very life threatening.
Then in the spring came the Prom. Back then it was ritual for couples to stay out all night following the Prom. There were no organized functions after the Prom – just house parties. Of course I informed my parents I wouldn’t be home until morning, as I had always had a curfew and abided by it (goody-two-shoes, ya know?) Even though they knew I wouldn’t be home until morning I can still remember how guilty I felt when I walked in the door just as the sun was coming up and my Dad was sitting at the table having coffee. Why did I feel that way? I couldn’t tell you – because I hadn’t done anything wrong. Just my ScandiHOOvian upbringing, I guess.
Then there was the night we double-dated with Vickie and her boyfriend, Roger. Ole had his sources and was able to score on a 12-pack of Buckhorn beer. Buckhorn was $1 a 6-pac back then. And it tasted like it too – but then I’ve never been much of a beer connoisseur so what did I know? But I drank it because it was the cool thing to do. We were parked on a country road one cold winter night, and of course after consuming a couple of Buckhorns, Vickie and I had to go to the bathroom. Well, obviously there’s no facilities on a country gravel road and we couldn’t make it back to town, so we opted to get out and go behind the car. The guys promised they would be good – ya, sure. Now Ole had dual exhausts on his car, and just as Vickie and I got into “position” what should he do but gun the engine!! I had squatted off to one side, but Vickie was right in front of one of the pipes – and after the engine had been idling for a while moisture had collected in the exhaust pipe. So when Ole gunned the engine Vickie got sprayed with cold water right on her bare backside. In her shock she went flying away from the back of the car right in mid-pee!! Ole still roars when he talks about that night.
What a conniver that Ole was.
There’s more – but this is getting long so I’ll save it for another day. And besides, Lovely Daughter reads here so I don’t want to expose TOO MUCH of my past (snicker). Hi, Lovely Daughter!!!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Shades of American Graffiti
When I was in high school my Dad decided to buy me a car. I guess he got tired of me always asking to borrow his, or worried that I’d smash it up or some such thing, although I never put a scratch in any car the entire time I was in high school. He had a 1957 Desoto at that time.
It had fins the size of airplane wings and looked like it could take off at any moment. It had automatic pushbutton drive to the left of the steering wheel so it was a cinch to drive – no shifting or popping the clutch (which was fun). It was a hardtop, so you could be really cool when you were dragging Broadway. We’d roll down all the windows regardless of the temperature, push the button into gear away we’d go.
Back then it was not a standard feature to have air conditioning in your car – it had to be special ordered. I vividly remember one very hot, steamy summer night when my Dad had given me his car and a bunch of us girls decided to drag Broadway. We rolled up all the windows and PRETENDED we had air conditioning so we could be really cool. How pretentious – and stupid. All we did was sweat like pigs and besides that we couldn’t hear what the guys were saying to us when we passed. Duh!!
Dragging Broadway was the “Thing” to do back then. Broadway was about seven blocks long in our city, and the place to be on a Friday or Saturday night. A good place to burn up a tank of gas, but then it was only 32 cents a gallon back then. You’d eventually meet up with a carload of guys (that you knew of course), park your car and pile into theirs. Then it was off to some fast food joint for a coke and a burger, or maybe even out to some back-country road if they happened to have some beer.
Then my Dad decided he would buy me my own car – and THIS is what he bought me. I didn’t have any input at all – he just came home with this one day and told me it was mine.
It was a 1951 Nash Rambler with a six cylinder with a stick shift on the column – the epitome of style, aerodynamics and speed, huh? I just about died from embarrassment because I thought it was so ugly. But then, what the hey, it was wheels and most of my friends weren’t even allowed to borrow their dad’s car.
So – take what you get and make the best of it. The thing my Dad didn’t realize though, is what an impression the fold-down seats would make on all my friends! Okay – get your mind out of the gutter, now! By this time I was dating Ole, and most usually we spent our time with several of his guy friends and their girls. So with fold-down seats it could turn into quite a party – now I TOLD you to get your mind out of the gutter, didn’t I???
I remember one night in particular – very cold and snowing – and the guys had managed to get some Buckhorn beer for $1 a six-pack. There were Ole and me; his two next-door neighbor girls, Jean and Sue; several of his buddies, Junior, Ronnie, Donnie, and Dennis, and a couple of others girls I can’t even remember at this point. We all piled into my Little Nash Rambler, Ole popped the clutch and we sped out of town sounding like a little sewing machine, headed for some back-country road to drink that Buckhorn. When we found a suitable spot we flipped those seats down and all sat in a circle and had a high old time until the Buckhorn was gone. Needless to say, my car became known as the Party Car, unbeknownst to my Dad who I’m sure didn’t take those fold-down seats into consideration when he bought me that car.
Big Brother had to suffer through a Nash Rambler too, when he went to college. His was a 1949 up-side-down bathtub. But it had lots of potential - -
At one point he and a buddy stored a beer keg in the cavern-sized trunk, ran plastic tubing through the interior of the car up to the dash, and hooked the tubing to a handle so they could draw beer out of the spigot – how convenient, huh?
Of course back in those days the consequences for being a minor consuming consisted of a slap on the wrist and being sent on your way. Not the case nowadays – fortunately. When I think of all the things that COULD have happened I cringe and I think of just how lucky we were. My heart goes out to all the parents who have lost children under these circumstances or any others.
It had fins the size of airplane wings and looked like it could take off at any moment. It had automatic pushbutton drive to the left of the steering wheel so it was a cinch to drive – no shifting or popping the clutch (which was fun). It was a hardtop, so you could be really cool when you were dragging Broadway. We’d roll down all the windows regardless of the temperature, push the button into gear away we’d go.
Back then it was not a standard feature to have air conditioning in your car – it had to be special ordered. I vividly remember one very hot, steamy summer night when my Dad had given me his car and a bunch of us girls decided to drag Broadway. We rolled up all the windows and PRETENDED we had air conditioning so we could be really cool. How pretentious – and stupid. All we did was sweat like pigs and besides that we couldn’t hear what the guys were saying to us when we passed. Duh!!
Dragging Broadway was the “Thing” to do back then. Broadway was about seven blocks long in our city, and the place to be on a Friday or Saturday night. A good place to burn up a tank of gas, but then it was only 32 cents a gallon back then. You’d eventually meet up with a carload of guys (that you knew of course), park your car and pile into theirs. Then it was off to some fast food joint for a coke and a burger, or maybe even out to some back-country road if they happened to have some beer.
Then my Dad decided he would buy me my own car – and THIS is what he bought me. I didn’t have any input at all – he just came home with this one day and told me it was mine.
It was a 1951 Nash Rambler with a six cylinder with a stick shift on the column – the epitome of style, aerodynamics and speed, huh? I just about died from embarrassment because I thought it was so ugly. But then, what the hey, it was wheels and most of my friends weren’t even allowed to borrow their dad’s car.So – take what you get and make the best of it. The thing my Dad didn’t realize though, is what an impression the fold-down seats would make on all my friends! Okay – get your mind out of the gutter, now! By this time I was dating Ole, and most usually we spent our time with several of his guy friends and their girls. So with fold-down seats it could turn into quite a party – now I TOLD you to get your mind out of the gutter, didn’t I???
I remember one night in particular – very cold and snowing – and the guys had managed to get some Buckhorn beer for $1 a six-pack. There were Ole and me; his two next-door neighbor girls, Jean and Sue; several of his buddies, Junior, Ronnie, Donnie, and Dennis, and a couple of others girls I can’t even remember at this point. We all piled into my Little Nash Rambler, Ole popped the clutch and we sped out of town sounding like a little sewing machine, headed for some back-country road to drink that Buckhorn. When we found a suitable spot we flipped those seats down and all sat in a circle and had a high old time until the Buckhorn was gone. Needless to say, my car became known as the Party Car, unbeknownst to my Dad who I’m sure didn’t take those fold-down seats into consideration when he bought me that car.
Big Brother had to suffer through a Nash Rambler too, when he went to college. His was a 1949 up-side-down bathtub. But it had lots of potential - -
At one point he and a buddy stored a beer keg in the cavern-sized trunk, ran plastic tubing through the interior of the car up to the dash, and hooked the tubing to a handle so they could draw beer out of the spigot – how convenient, huh?
Of course back in those days the consequences for being a minor consuming consisted of a slap on the wrist and being sent on your way. Not the case nowadays – fortunately. When I think of all the things that COULD have happened I cringe and I think of just how lucky we were. My heart goes out to all the parents who have lost children under these circumstances or any others.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Isn't this supposed to be June???
This is JUNE, People!! June is supposed to be summer - and that's snow falling on the ground and piling up on the streets. This is just a few miles west of where Ole and I live and that's too darn close for comfort.
Al Gore - would you please tell me where global warming is, anyway? You sure couldn't tell it by the weather we've had in Minnesota over the last year. It was 35 degrees when I got up on Sunday morning, and not much warmer than that this morning. I WISH for some global warming. I threatened to get Ole's mittens out this morning so his hands wouldn't get cold when he grabbed the steering wheel in the truck to go to town. But he said he was tough and could get along without them. I just hope he doesn't come home with frostbite on his fingers.
As Ole was putting his long-sleeved flannel shirt on this morning when he was getting dressed he made the remark that he may have to wear flannel shirts all summer this year.
A long time ago, I wrote about Ole's wardrobe. He's a pretty classy guy, you know. He wore a three-piece suit, white shirt and tie to work for 30 years. So when he retired the suits retired too. Now his uniform of the day is blue jeans, t-shirt and a flannel shirt. I can always tell when summer arrives here in Minnesota because he quits wearing his flannel shirt. Most years that's not until the 4th of July - so we've got a few weeks yet before that happens.
Ole grumbles about his flannel shirts. I don't buy expensive ones for him to wear out in the shop where they get all greasy and dirty and full of welding holes. I go to Wally World to buy his "Fashion Statements", and even though I'm able to buy Longs or Talls, he still thinks they're made for people whose arms end at their elbows. Ole's a big man - actually he tells people he's 5'14" - that explains why most of his flannel shirts look like they have three-quarter length sleeves. Fortunately the other part of his haute courtier wardrobe isn't as difficult to find - jeans and t-shirts.
I think we need to load the motorhome again and head south so we can bask in some warmer temperatures.
Love Lena
Al Gore - would you please tell me where global warming is, anyway? You sure couldn't tell it by the weather we've had in Minnesota over the last year. It was 35 degrees when I got up on Sunday morning, and not much warmer than that this morning. I WISH for some global warming. I threatened to get Ole's mittens out this morning so his hands wouldn't get cold when he grabbed the steering wheel in the truck to go to town. But he said he was tough and could get along without them. I just hope he doesn't come home with frostbite on his fingers.As Ole was putting his long-sleeved flannel shirt on this morning when he was getting dressed he made the remark that he may have to wear flannel shirts all summer this year.
A long time ago, I wrote about Ole's wardrobe. He's a pretty classy guy, you know. He wore a three-piece suit, white shirt and tie to work for 30 years. So when he retired the suits retired too. Now his uniform of the day is blue jeans, t-shirt and a flannel shirt. I can always tell when summer arrives here in Minnesota because he quits wearing his flannel shirt. Most years that's not until the 4th of July - so we've got a few weeks yet before that happens.
Ole grumbles about his flannel shirts. I don't buy expensive ones for him to wear out in the shop where they get all greasy and dirty and full of welding holes. I go to Wally World to buy his "Fashion Statements", and even though I'm able to buy Longs or Talls, he still thinks they're made for people whose arms end at their elbows. Ole's a big man - actually he tells people he's 5'14" - that explains why most of his flannel shirts look like they have three-quarter length sleeves. Fortunately the other part of his haute courtier wardrobe isn't as difficult to find - jeans and t-shirts.
I think we need to load the motorhome again and head south so we can bask in some warmer temperatures.
Love Lena
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Story of my Big Hair
My last entry was about men’s combovers, toupees and moustaches. I suppose in the interest of equality we need to address the Big Hair issue also. When I think of the torture I put my hair through as a girl/young woman, it’s a miracle that I have any left on my head.
When I was in high school if your hair didn’t match the width of your shoulders you just weren’t part of the In Crowd. Everyone “set” their hair every night on brush rollers and then somehow managed to sleep all night on them. Those who couldn’t find rollers big enough to satisfy their needs in Woolworth’s had their mothers save juice cans, cut out both ends and wrapped their hair around them. In the morning it was imperative that you allow at least an hour just to fix your hair. This consisted of giving your hair one more coat of hair spray before you took the rollers out, letting the lacquer dry thoroughly, removing the rollers and then back-combing the hell out of it. When you finally got it standing up and out as high as it could go it got one more swish of Aqua net hair spray before you started styling it. Styling consisted of barely touching the surface, just enough to get it all to lie down and cover that rat’s nest. Once you were happy and thought you were having a good hair day it was time to fumigate the bathroom with the Aqua net again, and spray your hair until you could push on one side and the whole head of hair would move. Those puppies weren’t going anywhere in the Minnesota wind, believe me!!
I kept my hair pretty tame compared to some of the other girls. I was usually successful enough so you couldn’t see any of the teasing below the layer of combed hair. I remember one girl in particular – she stood about six feet tall and two feet of that was dyed black hair – I swear she never even attempted to smooth the surface of her hair. When you followed her down the hall, all you could see was a tangled mess.
Everyone carried a can of Aqua net in their purse, and stopped in the bathroom between every class to give your hair another squirt. Believe me, you needed a gas mask when you entered the room. You’ve heard of mesothelioma – I think we all graduated with Aqua-net-ethoma. It cost a whole 79 cents a can back then. Fortunately it was cheap because we used a lot.
About the time I joined the working world wigs and hairpieces were the rage. Ole bought me a human hair wig for Christmas one year and I practically lived in it. For the life of me I don’t know why because I had a headache by the end of every day. I finally gave up on that and bought a synthetic hairpiece, which made my life really simple. Fix the sides and the back and plop the hairpiece on top and away you go. By this time I had graduated from 79-cent a can Aqua net to something a little better, probably White Rain or some such thing.
Here’s the hairpiece – hard to tell it’s not mine, huh?
When we lived in Iceland I would get my hair fixed in a beauty salon every Friday night after work. After all I had to look “beautiful” for my big date with Ole every Friday night. The gal was a single mother who operated her shop in the basement of her mother’s home. I could get a wash, set and style for 50 cents. I wore my hair longer then and she would send me home with some of the most elaborate hairstyles. It was fun.
My hair was very thick, so it was easy for me to have Big Hair.
Don’t cha’ just LOVE those sunglasses? I was SO COOL!!
Then came the Hippy Days – or the closest thing I ever came to them. I was living in Florida while Ole was out on a Med Cruise. It was always hot and humid and raining, so Big Hair with lots of hair spray was out of the question because it always felt like wet glue and you couldn’t get it to stand up anyway. I spent a lot of time at the beach then, and wanted something easy to take care of. So I grew it long and wore it straight, or as straight as my hair could get. I never resorted to ironing it though – I’d seen too many gals that had burned theirs.
Somewhere along the line came my version of the Afro. Remember when everyone would get so many perms that their hair was fried, but that was okay because it was a wash and dry style. You didn’t have to do anything with it except pic it out when it was dry. Carrying a comb wouldn’t have done you any good anyway. I don’t think a comb would have gone through it. I was a young, working mother at the time, so in that respect it was a good style for me. But certainly one of my more unflattering styles, although I was COOL, or at least thought I was.
Pssst – there’s Ole’s comb over again!!!
I never got into the mall hair with the Closer-to-God-Than-You bangs, the mullet or any of those kinds of styles. Once Lovely Daughter was born, I kept it short and mostly curly – sometimes shorter than others. I had it really short and spiky at one time, and I loved it, but Ole didn’t, so that didn’t last long. If he had his wish I’d wear it waste length – sorry Ole – you’ll never see that in this lifetime. There comes a time in every woman’s life when long hair is just not flattering anymore. It’s like the male comb over – cut it and deal with it!!
Despite all I’ve put my poor hair through over the years, I’m fortunate enough to still have thick hair that is somewhat curly. Over the years I’ve given up trying to fight what it wants to do and pretty much just let it go it’s own way - with a little help from a stylist who gives me GREAT haircuts.
So that’s my story on Big Hair – and I’m stickin’ to it . . .
When I was in high school if your hair didn’t match the width of your shoulders you just weren’t part of the In Crowd. Everyone “set” their hair every night on brush rollers and then somehow managed to sleep all night on them. Those who couldn’t find rollers big enough to satisfy their needs in Woolworth’s had their mothers save juice cans, cut out both ends and wrapped their hair around them. In the morning it was imperative that you allow at least an hour just to fix your hair. This consisted of giving your hair one more coat of hair spray before you took the rollers out, letting the lacquer dry thoroughly, removing the rollers and then back-combing the hell out of it. When you finally got it standing up and out as high as it could go it got one more swish of Aqua net hair spray before you started styling it. Styling consisted of barely touching the surface, just enough to get it all to lie down and cover that rat’s nest. Once you were happy and thought you were having a good hair day it was time to fumigate the bathroom with the Aqua net again, and spray your hair until you could push on one side and the whole head of hair would move. Those puppies weren’t going anywhere in the Minnesota wind, believe me!!
I kept my hair pretty tame compared to some of the other girls. I was usually successful enough so you couldn’t see any of the teasing below the layer of combed hair. I remember one girl in particular – she stood about six feet tall and two feet of that was dyed black hair – I swear she never even attempted to smooth the surface of her hair. When you followed her down the hall, all you could see was a tangled mess.Everyone carried a can of Aqua net in their purse, and stopped in the bathroom between every class to give your hair another squirt. Believe me, you needed a gas mask when you entered the room. You’ve heard of mesothelioma – I think we all graduated with Aqua-net-ethoma. It cost a whole 79 cents a can back then. Fortunately it was cheap because we used a lot.
About the time I joined the working world wigs and hairpieces were the rage. Ole bought me a human hair wig for Christmas one year and I practically lived in it. For the life of me I don’t know why because I had a headache by the end of every day. I finally gave up on that and bought a synthetic hairpiece, which made my life really simple. Fix the sides and the back and plop the hairpiece on top and away you go. By this time I had graduated from 79-cent a can Aqua net to something a little better, probably White Rain or some such thing.
Here’s the hairpiece – hard to tell it’s not mine, huh?When we lived in Iceland I would get my hair fixed in a beauty salon every Friday night after work. After all I had to look “beautiful” for my big date with Ole every Friday night. The gal was a single mother who operated her shop in the basement of her mother’s home. I could get a wash, set and style for 50 cents. I wore my hair longer then and she would send me home with some of the most elaborate hairstyles. It was fun.
My hair was very thick, so it was easy for me to have Big Hair.
Don’t cha’ just LOVE those sunglasses? I was SO COOL!!
Then came the Hippy Days – or the closest thing I ever came to them. I was living in Florida while Ole was out on a Med Cruise. It was always hot and humid and raining, so Big Hair with lots of hair spray was out of the question because it always felt like wet glue and you couldn’t get it to stand up anyway. I spent a lot of time at the beach then, and wanted something easy to take care of. So I grew it long and wore it straight, or as straight as my hair could get. I never resorted to ironing it though – I’d seen too many gals that had burned theirs.
Somewhere along the line came my version of the Afro. Remember when everyone would get so many perms that their hair was fried, but that was okay because it was a wash and dry style. You didn’t have to do anything with it except pic it out when it was dry. Carrying a comb wouldn’t have done you any good anyway. I don’t think a comb would have gone through it. I was a young, working mother at the time, so in that respect it was a good style for me. But certainly one of my more unflattering styles, although I was COOL, or at least thought I was.
Pssst – there’s Ole’s comb over again!!!
I never got into the mall hair with the Closer-to-God-Than-You bangs, the mullet or any of those kinds of styles. Once Lovely Daughter was born, I kept it short and mostly curly – sometimes shorter than others. I had it really short and spiky at one time, and I loved it, but Ole didn’t, so that didn’t last long. If he had his wish I’d wear it waste length – sorry Ole – you’ll never see that in this lifetime. There comes a time in every woman’s life when long hair is just not flattering anymore. It’s like the male comb over – cut it and deal with it!!
Despite all I’ve put my poor hair through over the years, I’m fortunate enough to still have thick hair that is somewhat curly. Over the years I’ve given up trying to fight what it wants to do and pretty much just let it go it’s own way - with a little help from a stylist who gives me GREAT haircuts.
So that’s my story on Big Hair – and I’m stickin’ to it . . .
Love Lena
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Tale of the Combover and the Handlebar Moustache
Well, I haven’t “lived in the past” for a while, so I suppose it’s about time to do that again. A comment in another Blogger's post sparked today’s entry – all about combovers, toupees and moustaches.
When I first met Ole back in the dark ages of high school, he had beautiful, thick, wavy hair down to his eyebrows. Back in those days every guy carried a comb in his back pocket and every time one of the strands of hair got out of place it was immediately returned to proper order. Picture Fonzie of Happy Days and his comb – that was actually for real – whipping that comb out frequently and running it through his hair. And guys didn’t use hair spray then – they used things like Brylcream or Vitalis. Brylcream was thick like toothpaste. Vitalis wasn’t as heavy, but both were very oily and greasy. That’s why all the guys had shiny hair back then. Here’s Ole from his high school days, and that’s pretty much what he looked like two years later when we got married.
When Lovely Daughter first saw this picture when she was in her teen years she wouldn’t believe it was her father!! At our 10 Year HS Class Reunion he was voted Most Changed Student in our graduating class. Not only in appearance, but it could have had something to do with the fact that he had actually become an upstanding member of society. In HS he was known as a “hood.” Definition back then was a tough guy who smoked and drank and raced his car where he shouldn’t.
By the time we moved to Iceland the hairline was beginning to recede a bit in the temple region. Ole always blamed it on the white hat that he had to wear. He said it cut off the circulation to his scalp and made the hair fall out. He neglected to look at his mother’s six brothers, all of who were completely bald on top with a fringe around the edge.
By the time he reached sea duty on the aircraft carrier he had begun the comb over. And a month before he was to get off the carrier and out of the Navy they made him shave off his handlebar moustache. At one point in time his moustache was long enough that if he stretched it out he could touch his ears on each side. He went through a lot of moustache wax at that time. EVERYONE wore handlebars in the Navy back then – I think making him shave it off was just a control issue at that point. You know, just to let him know that he wasn’t Master of his own Universe.
The comb over is getting more prevalent here – and a little more out of control.
By this time I was trying to encourage him to just deal with the fact that he was losing his hair and get it cut off. Combovers just weren’t attractive. But he wasn’t willing to accept hair loss yet. UNTIL his Buddy, who worked for him at that time, came back to his office one day and said, “Ole, get your coat, we’re going to go get you a haircut!” Buddy took him to his stylist, put Ole in a chair and told the stylist, “He’s bald, make him look like it! He’ll have to deal with the fact later.” And so she did, and Ole did. She cut all of those long stringy pieces of hair off the top of his head that were pretending to cover his bald spot, and left the ring around the ears and back. And how shocked I was when he came home from work that night – and how pleased. I called Buddy that night and thanked him profusely.
Here’s one of my favorite pictures of Ole and Lovely Daughter. See? He looks so distinguished with his bald pate rather than trying to pretend to have hair!!
Ole made the decision to retire at 55, and as that time came closer he cut the rim around his head shorter and shorter. He always said that when he retired he was going to SHAVE his head, and get a tattoo and an earring, and he did. About six months before he retired he started shaving his head, which was totally against company dress code at that time. He got his first tattoo on his shoulder where it couldn’t be seen anyway, and about three months before he retired he had his ear pierced. There was that rebellion issue coming out again, just like when he was a hood back in high school. He doesn’t exactly look like a hood anymore though, does he???
At one point in time, years ago when I was still working in the hospitality industry, I was the assistant sales manager at a rather large hotel in the city. I had booked in a convention of farm implement dealers who had their big pieces of equipment on display out in the parking lot. I distinctly remember that it was a very windy March day. The head of the convention had been out in the parking lot showing off some of his new equipment to convention goers, and when he blew back in the front door everyone couldn’t help but giggle at him. He hadn’t put enough glue or whatever it is that’s used to hold a toupee in place, on that morning, and the wind had lifted up the front of the toupee. It was curled backward and was flapping back and forth just a bit as he walked. No one bothered to tell the poor man what was going on, and apparently he didn’t take time to look in the mirror that afternoon because he walked around that way the entire remainder of the day. Poor soul – but it certainly gave us all a chuckle.
We have another friend who hasn’t dealt with the fact that he’s going bald yet either. He still wears a comb over and it gets worse and worse every year. He uses so much hair spray on it that when the wind blows it lifts all the hair up in one piece, but none of the hairs separate. It’s really hard to keep from laughing when this happens. If he only realized how stupid it looks.
After all, shaving your head these days is the fashionable thing to do. Just ask Britney Spears!!
Remember – yesterday’s mullets are today’s combovers.
(Pssst – don’t tell Ole I wrote about this – we’ll keep it as our little secret, okay??)
When I first met Ole back in the dark ages of high school, he had beautiful, thick, wavy hair down to his eyebrows. Back in those days every guy carried a comb in his back pocket and every time one of the strands of hair got out of place it was immediately returned to proper order. Picture Fonzie of Happy Days and his comb – that was actually for real – whipping that comb out frequently and running it through his hair. And guys didn’t use hair spray then – they used things like Brylcream or Vitalis. Brylcream was thick like toothpaste. Vitalis wasn’t as heavy, but both were very oily and greasy. That’s why all the guys had shiny hair back then. Here’s Ole from his high school days, and that’s pretty much what he looked like two years later when we got married.
When Lovely Daughter first saw this picture when she was in her teen years she wouldn’t believe it was her father!! At our 10 Year HS Class Reunion he was voted Most Changed Student in our graduating class. Not only in appearance, but it could have had something to do with the fact that he had actually become an upstanding member of society. In HS he was known as a “hood.” Definition back then was a tough guy who smoked and drank and raced his car where he shouldn’t.
By the time we moved to Iceland the hairline was beginning to recede a bit in the temple region. Ole always blamed it on the white hat that he had to wear. He said it cut off the circulation to his scalp and made the hair fall out. He neglected to look at his mother’s six brothers, all of who were completely bald on top with a fringe around the edge.
By the time he reached sea duty on the aircraft carrier he had begun the comb over. And a month before he was to get off the carrier and out of the Navy they made him shave off his handlebar moustache. At one point in time his moustache was long enough that if he stretched it out he could touch his ears on each side. He went through a lot of moustache wax at that time. EVERYONE wore handlebars in the Navy back then – I think making him shave it off was just a control issue at that point. You know, just to let him know that he wasn’t Master of his own Universe.The comb over is getting more prevalent here – and a little more out of control.
By this time I was trying to encourage him to just deal with the fact that he was losing his hair and get it cut off. Combovers just weren’t attractive. But he wasn’t willing to accept hair loss yet. UNTIL his Buddy, who worked for him at that time, came back to his office one day and said, “Ole, get your coat, we’re going to go get you a haircut!” Buddy took him to his stylist, put Ole in a chair and told the stylist, “He’s bald, make him look like it! He’ll have to deal with the fact later.” And so she did, and Ole did. She cut all of those long stringy pieces of hair off the top of his head that were pretending to cover his bald spot, and left the ring around the ears and back. And how shocked I was when he came home from work that night – and how pleased. I called Buddy that night and thanked him profusely. Here’s one of my favorite pictures of Ole and Lovely Daughter. See? He looks so distinguished with his bald pate rather than trying to pretend to have hair!!
Ole made the decision to retire at 55, and as that time came closer he cut the rim around his head shorter and shorter. He always said that when he retired he was going to SHAVE his head, and get a tattoo and an earring, and he did. About six months before he retired he started shaving his head, which was totally against company dress code at that time. He got his first tattoo on his shoulder where it couldn’t be seen anyway, and about three months before he retired he had his ear pierced. There was that rebellion issue coming out again, just like when he was a hood back in high school. He doesn’t exactly look like a hood anymore though, does he???
At one point in time, years ago when I was still working in the hospitality industry, I was the assistant sales manager at a rather large hotel in the city. I had booked in a convention of farm implement dealers who had their big pieces of equipment on display out in the parking lot. I distinctly remember that it was a very windy March day. The head of the convention had been out in the parking lot showing off some of his new equipment to convention goers, and when he blew back in the front door everyone couldn’t help but giggle at him. He hadn’t put enough glue or whatever it is that’s used to hold a toupee in place, on that morning, and the wind had lifted up the front of the toupee. It was curled backward and was flapping back and forth just a bit as he walked. No one bothered to tell the poor man what was going on, and apparently he didn’t take time to look in the mirror that afternoon because he walked around that way the entire remainder of the day. Poor soul – but it certainly gave us all a chuckle.
We have another friend who hasn’t dealt with the fact that he’s going bald yet either. He still wears a comb over and it gets worse and worse every year. He uses so much hair spray on it that when the wind blows it lifts all the hair up in one piece, but none of the hairs separate. It’s really hard to keep from laughing when this happens. If he only realized how stupid it looks.
After all, shaving your head these days is the fashionable thing to do. Just ask Britney Spears!!
Remember – yesterday’s mullets are today’s combovers.
(Pssst – don’t tell Ole I wrote about this – we’ll keep it as our little secret, okay??)
Love, Lena
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