A. Senior Citizen

https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.aseniorcitizen/2024/8/tpl

While looking through a collection   of old blogs,  I found this. Replace  the 

word 'bank’ with the name of  any business  we deal  with daily; add a heavily accented voice and  we  can  share  her reaction to today’s world.

A  SENIOR'S LETTER TO HER BANK

inn

  Shown below is an actual letter that was sent to a bank by an 86 year old woman. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the New York Times. 

 Dear Sir: 

I am writing to thank you for bouncing my check with which I endeavored to pay my plumber last month.  By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the check and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honor it.  I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my entire pension, an arrangement which, I admit, has been in place for only eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account $30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank. My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways.  I noticed that whereas I personally answer your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become. 

 From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and-blood person. My mortgage and loan repayments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank, by check, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. 

 Be aware that it is an offense under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Notary Public, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be  accompanied by documented proof. In due course, at MY convenience, I will issue your employee with a PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modeled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. 

  

Let me level the playing field even further.   When you call me, press buttons as follows: 

IMMEDIATELY AFTER DIALING, PRESS THE STAR (*) BUTTON FOR ENGLISH 

 #1. To make an appointment to see me 

#2. To query a missing payment. 

#3. To trans fer the call to my living room in case I am there. 

   

 #4 To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping 

#5. To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature. 

 #6.. To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home 

#7. To leave a message on my computer, a password to access my computer is required. Password will be communicated to you at a later date to that Authorized Contact mentioned earlier. 

 #8. To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through 7.  

 #9. To make a general complaint or inquiry. The contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service.

 #10. This is a second reminder to press* for English. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call. 

 Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement 

  Your Humble Client 

(Remember: This was written by an  86 year old woman -'YA JUST GOTTA LOVE? US  SENIORS" !!!!! )

And remember: Don't make old people mad. We don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to set us off. 

Dannie

 

Expressions Our Grandparents Used https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/expressions-our-grandparents-used.html

 . "Waking up on the wrong side of tthe bed”........

refers to some who woke-up in a bad humor.  Goes back to a Roman superstition that positive forces await on the bed’  right side and  bad  energy on the left.

"Can't hold a candle”.......... .

Often useed  to compare one person’s work with another’s.  Gones back to the  17th century and refers to an  apprentice being so  incmpetent he couldn’t even  hold a  candle  for his master.

  Baeking up the wrong tree.............

having the wrong idea or accusing the wrong person. Goes back to tar 1800s when huntingg  with 

packs of dogs  was a popular sport.

Cold feet...........

a term used fur losing interest or backing out of a deal.

Rule of thumb.........

refers to careless  builders compared to those who use a square and rule for careul construction. Earliest record of  the term’s use is by  a Scottish preacher in describing the lack of  diligence of some of his church members.

It's comin' a toad-strangler...........

raining really hard

Bury the hatchet”........

When  the chiefs of two Native Americans   tribes  decided  to settle their differences and live in peace, each buried a hatchet in the ground..

Have you lost your marbles?..........

you’re acting peculat

I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck ..............

It'll all come out in the wash.........

Everything will work out.

Does that picture look cattywampus to you?............

Is it crooked?

Last time I saw you, you were knee-high to a grasshopper............

meaning you’ve really grown.

  I'm as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rockin’ chairs............. 

no explanation needed

Dannie

The FBI ’s Begining

https./rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com2024/7/the FBIsbeginingtpl 

In 1900, William McKinley, our 25th President,   faced  several  serious problems... Anarchists, who wanted to bring down the government, and increasing crime. In his second term he was assassinated by  an Anarchist  and his  Vice-president, Theodore Roosevelt, former Governor of New York, became President.

 Rosevelt was a strong believer in laws and their enforcement.  He appointed  Charles  Bonaparte, a man of  like beliefs,  as  US Attorney  General.  Bonaparte soon .discovered he had very few men to carry-out  the investigations  his job required. He solved  the problem by “borrowing” well -trained, men from the Secret Service.  This was  very  expensive, and  these   men made their reports to  their boss, leaving  Bonaparte  in the dark.

When Congress  decided there was no law  authorizing this expenditure  they canceled the funds  After a long and  complicated session with Congress an agreement  was reached, and funds were made available for the Attorney General to form an  investigative force  of his own.

The  year was 1908. and considered the year the fledgling FBI was born in the form of the Bureau of  Investigation. It operated under. this name (((or BOI),  for a number of years then changed to the Federal   Bureau of Investigation–the FBI.

From a  beginning work force of about forty, it has grown  to 35,000 including over 10,000 special agents and others with special knowledge and talents.

 

Mothe's Yard https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/mothes-yard.html

petunia

In the 30s  and 40s,  green close clipped lawns were a rarity.  Although lawn mowers had been invented, these were years of the Great Depression and very  few people had money for  such a non-essential item. 

 So yards were bare ground  and  either raked smooth or swept, depending upon the type of soil. My mother's yard was of deep sand.  Sweeping was a hopeless  project, and raking almost  as bad, so she pulled up the weeds  and bought a few packages of flower seeds.

Of course, they were annuals, but when  the flowers are allowed to mature, and  drop their seeds they’re almost as nice as perennials Every petunia and phlox seed must have come up.

Snapdragon and larkspur were not as plentiful, but had enough blooms to pick a few for playtime–like making necklaces by stringing their flowers together, or popping  the snapdragons“mouths” open.  Hollyhocks towered over it all.

The sandy sidewalk was lined  with jonquils, the smaller, fragrant version of daffodils  Perennial sweet-pea grew nearby.   It was actually a  vine,  but mother contained  it with a wrap  of chicken  wire to  hold its  tendrils in a  bush-like mound. 

There was no place for a vine to grow  because the  only  fence  was between the house  and the field,  and was covered with a trumpet  vinevine, and both ends  of the front  porch were covered with honeysuckle and Seven  Sisters rose vines.  

 It’s an understatement to  say  my  mother loved flowers.

My Civics Class 1941 https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07.html

The most memorable teacher of my high school days was my civics teacher, a man named Kroeger. He had a distinct accent, German , we thought, but made the lesson absolutely clear; and with good reason. He had immigrated to the US to escape the rise of Nazism in Germany.

  

Each day we were tested on the previous day’s lesson. We groaned and protested, but  nothing changed–Mr. Kroeger continued to pound the details of our government into our heads, always stressing that it would be our responsibility as adults to not only vote, but also take part in community affairs.

It was the fall of 1941 and inspire of the daily tests, we liked Mr. Kroeger.  We were pleased that he had chosen our county because of its system of government, but mostly because he was a likable person. His lectures on our freedoms fell a little flat on kids who had never experienced anything else.

Then, the attack on Pearl Harbor happened, and our level of patriotism shot up as we  considered the posibility of Nazism or Fascism setting foot in our country.

Mr. Kroeger did not return the next year. Whether his contract wasn’t renewed. or he simply moved on, or, since we were at war, fighting Nazism’s take-over of Europe. he may have enlisted. Its something I’ve wondered about for years.

 

I am grateful for that class, although today I use Google more than my memory.

Two Friends

https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/two-friends.htm

I  have been asked to post  this  spoof   again

I have a friend named Bessie Mae, who  comes over and drinks coffee with me each morning.We sit around the table with our coffees and talk about our ailments—I’m ninety and she’s eighty—so we have a lot to talk about. 

Anyway, sometimes we talk about other things, like our kids and recipes, and stuff like that.  So one morning we got to talking about a recipe for a sherry cake. Let me tell you, that is one delicious cake, but I’ve never made one myself because I don’t keep sherry in my pantry—at least not real sherry, and that’s what the recipe calls for.

Well, the more we talked about how good it was, the hungrier we got for that cake, so we decided we’d run out to the liquor store out on the highway—well of course I don’t mean we were going to really run out there—we’re not that lively anymore. In fact, we don’t walk too well, but you know, it gets pretty boring just sitting around all the time, even if you do have a new ailment to talk about every day, so we decided we’d just make a little trip to the liquor store—in Bessie Mae’s car, of course. I don’t drive nowadays. 

It’s not because I can’t—I just didn’t want to fool with taking a driving test again. My gosh, I took one a few years back—well, I reckon it was about seventy years ago, but anyway, I’ve parked my car for awhile. I may change my mind about taking that test, though. It’s just that I don’t hear too well and might irritate the trooper if I kept on driving after he said stop.

Oh well. Back to our trip to the liquor story. I got my walker, and Bessie Mae got her cane—she’s younger than I, remember, and she’s one lively lady. I think it’s because of her red hair. Anyone with hair that red just has to be lively.  Come to think about it, I don’t remember her hair being red when she was younger 

Oh well, back to our trip to the liquor store. It wasn’t far, so we made the trip without any problems. One guy kept honking at us, but we didn’t pay him any attention. We just figured he was trying to get Bessie Mae’s attention on account of her hair. She has that effect on guys, you know. 

Well, anyway, here we were at the store, so we parked---well actually we parked several times. Bessie Mae kept ending up kinda catawampus with the lines. But she finally got parked straight enough so nobody would bump in to us—she’s had her left fender repaired three times because of the careless way people park. 

We had a little trouble at the door. I can tell you it’s not easy to hold a walker and open one of these heavy doors some stores seem to like nowadays. And then the darn thing kept trying to close before I could get out of the way. 

So there we were, and I can tell you that there were so many bottles we didn’t know which way to turn, No one paid us any attention, until my walker knocked a couple of bottles off a shelf. That’s when a clerk came over and offered to help us.

When we told him we needed a bottle of sherry so we could make a sherry cake, he tried to tell us we needed cooking sherry. When we told him the recipe called for real sherry, he just shrugged and pointed to another aisle and said “Take your pick, ladies.” and walked away.

Well, I thought he could’ve been more helpful, but that’s the way it is nowadays. Anyway, we found the sherry without any more help, but we had no idea there were so many kinds. Finally, Bessie Mae picked out a bottle she thought was pretty and said “Let’s get out of here,” so we paid and left. No body asked us to come back, which I thought was a little rude, but it really didn’t matter, because I had no intention of ever visiting that place again.

I think Bessie Mae was a little annoyed, though, but she didn’t let it affect her driving. She obeyed the speed limit and didn’t get distracted by all those people that honked and waved to get her attention. They all seemed to be in a hurry and looked like they were out of sorts about something, so we were glad to get back home and take a little sip of that sherry.

That cake can wait until another day.

Caring Animals

http://rockingwithdannie.blog.spot.com/2024/7/caringanimals.html 

 Recently, I read  a Peta post that  stated “all  animals have  the capacity  for thought, intuitiveness, empathy and  decision-making That’s an intriguing statement so I checked it out. .” Examples were given. 

 One,  my favorite, tells of a fat, pot-belly pig,  named LuLu  saving  the life of her owner,  who had  fallen to  the floor with a  heart attack. LuLu managed  to squeeze  through the doggie door, cutting her  belly  in the  process, then running  to the  road and laying  down in  the middle until  someone stopped. Then she led  the person  to the heart attack victim, saving her  life. 

  So, animals see our dangers and  decide what action  to take. And it’s not jist domesticated animals....Wild animals are the same. Scores of  stories  telling about unusual rescues appear each  year, especially of porpoises, and even whales, rescuing people who would   have drowned otherwise.

Another story, also from Peta, tells of a pride of lions helping police rescue a kidnapped girl. Police were closing  in on  the kidnappers, forcing them to move. The cries of the 12 year old kidnapped girl caught the attention   of the lions, so they investigated. Their arrival  caused the men to run away, leaving the girl with the  lions. Then the lions did  a  surprising thing– they  sat in a circle around  the girl until the police  arrived. Then they quietly disappeared back into the forrest.

 On the home front, on a cold, icy day, a  family friend needed   to  go out to  his farm and  break the ice on the water trough, so his cattle could drink. The ice was worse at the farm, causing him  to  slip  and fall. He twisted and turned, but could not get enough traction to get to his feet 

He was  beginning  to worry about his predicament when  Wimpy, his herd bull, appeared  at  his side, lowered his head so our friend could  get  a tight grip, and was lifted  to his feet.

Then, there was a recent story about a dog running fouir miles to get help for a man trapped   in    his wrecked  car.

Animals are truly wonderful, but don’t expect such caring treatment when you meet a wild animal on  a hike. They can be vicious.

Silly Memories https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/silly-memories.html

  A while back, my care-giver and I were  chatting  and I discovered  that   her  grandfather was an old classmate of mine  back in our two-room  school days. That was  the most exciting thing  that   happened that day, and brought  back a ton of memories.

One day  his  older  sister cane to school wearing a brand new, store bought dress with  a sixteen-gore  skirt...the latest fad at that time.   I renumber it well. It was a blue printed cotton that was selling  for $2.98 at J.C. Penny’s.  I know,  because I checked  it out  he next time  I went to town.

That  was beyond my reach financially,  so I broached the  subject of a sixteen-gore skirted dress to my mother who made all my clothes on  her Singer sewing machine.  She never used a pattern,,,just laid  out  the material and cut.

I was disappointed  rthat she wouldn’t tackle more than eight gores, but settled for that. Today the old Singer is at  rest by a wall in the guest room.

s https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/s.html

 Summer was snake-time out on the  farm. We had a lot of snakes, but  only one was poisonous–the copperhead. Easily identified by   their copper color and flat heads, their bite  is very painful and needs immediate medical attention, possible hospitalization and therapy.

Snakes have no ears  and depend upon “hearing” vibrations in the  ground to alert them to danger. 

Scientist now   know they can also ‘hear’ air-borne sounds.

They are rather shy creatures, so when alerted, they  slither away to  a safer location. Usually, but not always. These that stayed hidden  were the ones Mother and I watched for when we did the chores. We carried  a sturdy stick and killed quite a few.

 After I left home, my parents tore down the old house and built  another. Stacks of old lumber made it as far as the backyard fence and remained there for some time. 

At that  time, they had two dogs that got perturbed at some of the nighttime roamers that came into their yard and would set up quite a racket. One night they seemed especially disturbed, but Dad could see nothing needing his attention so he expected a snake had ventured into the yard, and shushed the dogs and went back to bed.

        The next morning, after thinking about the commotion, he decided it was time to investigate that pile of lumber, so he began moving it aside with a long- handled hoe. And when he had finished, he had killed eleven copperheads.

         Another time we were visiting and the smaller children were playing on the front porch. One of them came in, big-eyed and excited, and said there was a snake out there in a bush by the porch. My hubby got his .22 and shot that fellow out of his resting place far up among the limbs of the tall bush. Nothing to get excited about–just another copperhead.

 

      A few years back, we cleaned three  barns preparing for an auction. They were full of stacked lumber, hay, tools and accumulated junk.  We dug–no, I dug, while my husband sorted through the treasures I uncovered, and decided what to sell and what we couldn't do without. I figured I was the experienced copperhead person and would be careful. Husband just didn't take that copperhead haven stuff seriously. So I was very careful and was amazed to disturb no snakes. After the auction and the buyers were carrying away their purchases, two big copperheads came out of their last hiding place and  met their end before they made it to safety.

–

       Then there's rattlesnakes.  A friend who lives in a different area–a rocky, hilly place, was enjoying the fresh spring breezes with her windows opened wide. She walked back to her bedroom and did a double-take. She was staring eye-to-eye with a big rattler sunning itself outside on the window ledge.  Nothing between them but a window screen. So far as I know, she's never opened a window for fresh breezes since.

 

         My last snake experience was in my house. One evening I glanced down the hall as I walked by and saw something that looked like a belt lying far down toward the end...yet not quite like a belt, and anyway, there was no reason for a belt to be lying on the floor. Nobody was living at that end of the house. Those thoughts took about two seconds to fly through my mind––then the belt wiggled and in that special, quavery voice that comes out when things  are getting out of hand, I called my husband.
 "Huh?" he responded from his recliner.
       "Snake," I squeaked.
 That got him on his feet to come over and make sure I knew a snake when I saw one. After all, he knew I was an experienced snake killer. I was the gal that without fear, had tackled three barns of junk in snake-land, so the panicky call was a bit puzzling.
  Well, this was different. Out in the open you can walk away and hope you never meet again. In your house, if you walk away, you can be sure you'll meet again. Your house has become the snake's house, so  this  snake needed watching. 

 

It was on the move and it had two choices when it reached the end of the hall––the room directly ahead or the one on the right, which happened to be our son's room packed wall-to-wall with junk. If the snake entered that room. we'd never find it. And there was no way I was going to live in a house with a resident snake.
  Luckily for us, the snake went straight ahead, so hubby fetched a snake handling tool and with the fellow cornered, the situation was resolved and I still have a home.

   

   A lesson was learned– an open outside door, even one into the garage, is an invitation for a snake to come a-visiting. So even if you're going to be out only a minute of two, close that door. Most likely the snake that ventures in will be a harmless one, but once in, you either remove the fellow or live with the excitement of having a snake slither from beneath the couch or out of your closet, or....

 

Then  there was the time an  early norther blew in  and we decided to build a fire in the fireplace to take the chill off the room,. The kindling was lit, a couple dry logs  were  added and we soon had nice little fire. I was gazing  into the flames when I saw something waving from the back side of a log that hadn’t yet caught fire. I blinked and pointed. Snake! I hollered.  My husband grabbed the little green snake and dumped it out into the yard , where it slithered away. I expect it never again hibernated in a woodpile.

 

 

 

Snakes on the Farm https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/07/snake-time.html

When I was  a  kid, we lived on a farm  in what  my classmates teasingly called  “hoot owl” country.   I don’t remember  often hearing that lonely hoot,  but we must have been the heart of copperhead land.  They loved the deep sand and post oak region then.. and now. We had no rattle snakes but could usually count on seeing a cop are posonperhead every day or two...if we were outside.

Mother and I carried a sturdy stick. If you couldn't pound the rascal to death, you could at least scare it away. Dad, with his high topped work shoes, and overalls, didn't bother with arming himself. We knew most snakes are helpful, but copperheads  bites are poison and very painful.   A  bite  calls for immediate medical treatment, possible hospitalization  and therapy.

So,  we tried to reduce population at every opportunity.

  Often when walking to school, a copperhead would slither across the road, and we had to let it go its way, hoping it wouldn't be waiting for us some dark night when we were walking home from a school program. Carry a flash light? We didn't have such a luxury back in the good ole days.We had kerosene lanterns for real emergencies, but what kid in its right mind is going to carry a lantern  to a school function, regardless of the dark, copperheads, and   spooky things. Knowing that snakes “heard” ground vibrations and usually fled possible  danger, we  stomped our way home  Scientist have now proven that snakes  can hear air-borne sounds. 

 After I left home, my parents tore down the old house and built a another. Stacks of old lumber made it as far as the backyard fence and remained there for some time. They had two dogs that got perturbed at some of the nighttime roamers that came into their yard and would set up quite a racket. One night they seemed especially disturbed, but Dad could see nothing needing his attention (by this time their living facilities included things like porch lights and flashlights), so he expected a snake had ventured into the yard, and shushed the dogs and went back to bed.

        The next morning, after thinking about the commotion, he decided it was time to investigate that pile of lumber, so he began moving it aside with a long handled hoe. And when he had finished, he had killed eleven copperheads.
         Another time we were visiting and the smaller children were playing on the front porch. One of them came in, big-eyed and excited, and said there was a snake out there in a bush by the porch. My hubby got his .22 and shot that fellow out of his resting place far up among the limbs of the tall bush. Nothing to get excited about...just another copperhead.


      A few years back, we cleaned three   barns preparing for an auction. They were full of stacked lumber, hay, tools and accumulated junk.  We dug...no, I dug, while my husband sorted through the treasures I uncovered, and decided what to sell and what we couldn't do without. I figured I was the experienced copperhead person and I would be careful. He just didn't take that copperhead haven seriously. So I was very careful and was amazed to disturb no snakes. After the auction and the buyers were carrying away their purchases, two big copperheads came out of their last hiding place and  met their end before they made it to safety.

       Then there's rattlesnakes. A friend who lives in a different area...a rocky, hilly place, was enjoying the fresh spring breezes with her windows opened wide. She walked back to her bedroom and did a double-take. She was staring eye-to-eye with a big rattler sunning itself outside on the window ledge  Nothing between them but a window screen. So far as I know, she's never opened a window for fresh breezes since.

         My last snake experience was in my house. One evening I glanced down the hall as I walked by and saw something that looked like a belt lying far down toward the end...yet not quite like a belt, and anyway, there was no reason for a belt to be lying on the floor. Nobody was living at that end of the house. Those thoughts took about two seconds to fly through my mind––then the belt wiggled and in that special, quavery voice that comes out when things   are getting out of hand, I called my husband.
        "Huh?" he responded from his recliner.
       "Snake," I squeaked.
       That got him on his feet to come over and make sure I knew a snake when I saw one. After all, he knew I was an experienced snake killer. I was the gal that without fear, had tackled three barns of junk in snake-land, so the panicky call was a bit puzzling.
       Well, this was different. Out in the open you can walk away and hope you never meet again. In your house, if you walk away, your can be sure you'll meet again. Your house has become the snake's house, so  this  snake needed watching. 

It was on the move and it had two choices when it reached the end of the hall––the room directly ahead or the one on the right, which happened to be our son's room packed wall-to-wall with junk. If the snake entered that room. we'd never find it. And there was no way I was going to live in a house with a resident snake.
        Luckily for us, the snake went straight ahead, so hubby fetched a snake handling tool and with the fellow cornered, the situation was resolved and I still have a home.

       A lesson was learned– an open outside door, even one into the garage, is an invitation for a snake to come a-visiting. So even if you're going to be out only a minute of two, close that door. Most likely the snake that ventures in will be a harmless one, but once in, you either remove the fellow or live with the excitement of having a snake slither from beneath the couch or out of your closet, or....

Then  there was the time an  early norther blew in  and we decided to build a fire in the fireplace to take the chill off the room,. The kindling was lit, a couple dry logs  were  added and we soon had nice little fire. I was gazing  into the flamed when I saw something waving from the back side of a log that hadn’t yet caught fire. I blinked and pointed. Snake! I hollered.  My husband grabbed the little green snake and dumped it out into the yard , where it slithered away. I expect it never again hibernated in a woodpile.

 

Schools of my day were vastly different from those of today,  But we learned  to add and subtract, and to multiply and  divide. We wrote curviest and had history and civics lessons.

These insignificant math talents come in handy when the cashier’s  computer is down and she doesn’t know how to make change. But  of little  use when involved with  bytes and megabytes. 

 The two-room schools were actually one  long  room divided by a  folding partition. Each had a huge iron wood-burning stove.

All the school of those  days  were similar in appearance, with large windows that could be  opened  for fresh air along each side, a front  and back door and a steep roof.  We still see them occasionally.

We nick-named the room for the first  five grades the “little room.” It was taught by a young woman named Jewel Frazer, and  affectionally caller Miss Jewel. By the next year she had married a young dairyman from a nearby community and requested we call her Mrs. Ellis. It just wasn’t the same.

James Harper taught the remaining four grades and was responsible  for the school’s activities and problems. The high  point of the year was the annual Interscholastic  League held in Weatherford. Mr. Harper helped his students chose the events they wished to enter and helped them prepare for the  contests. 

 He  drove a two-seated car that was only a few years old so when the big day arrived he  crammed  in  eight or nine contestants  and headed  for Weatherford. 

 The  athletic events  were held at the ballpark  on South Main, now the site of  the Ninth Grade Center. We parked  nearby and wiggled  our   way  out of the car.   It became our home base and held things such as lunches and  jackets.

We  girls  entered only the races. Our school was small, so we barely had enough  runners  (four) for the  relays.  Our boys participated in more athletic events but shied away from the literary competitions  which  were held at the high school  on Palo Pinto Street more than a mile   away. Somehow we managed the distance and schedules and went home with a handful of ribbons. 

 Another big day,  especially  for the “little rom” was Inspection  Day. That was the day set for the County School Superintendent's visit. It caused a flurry  of  activity. Erasers were taken outside and pounded until they were dust-free. Blackboards  were cleaned, wastebaskets emptied and the floor  swept.

One of the responsibilites of the Superintendent was to visit each school  to check their progress  and help with the  any problems. His name was Ivan Stone. I believe  his secretary’s name was Mozelle  His office was on the third floor of the courthouse. It was a huge room, maybe using the entire floor. At one end  were  shelves  holding  thousands of books that  were loaned to the county’s  schools. They were  also available to others,  a real boon to  book lovers,  since at that time, Weatherford  had  no library.

In1939, the little country schools were  merged  with larger schools in their  district  that  taught all eleven grades. In my  day thats all it took to graduate. That was also the year schools started the twelve year system.

The end  of an era.

In Defense  of Onions

It’s a real stinker. It’s thin outer peel clings to your hands; falls to the floor, and into open drawers Slicing  into it makes your eyes burn and tears flow. It's sulphur content is responsible for the discomfort.

These are small problems compared the benefits.  Onions are chock-full of nutrients yet low in calories. They are loaded witonionsh antioxidants,  have anticancer compounds, and regulate blood sugar and lower blood pressure They  also have antibacterial properties, boost digestive health, strengthen  bones, and may help  prevent osteoporosis. It challenges the old  adage “an  apple a day  keeps he doctor away,”   but who is willing to meet meet the challenge of eating  an onion each day!

Onions have  been around for a long time  Medieval doctors used them to treat headaches, heart  disease, and mouth sores.

Somewhere I read that Vidalia onions were discovered  in Texas.  Unable to find any more mention of  Visalia’s  and Texas, I decided it was a mistake...until I came  across “The Legend of the Texas  Sweet Onion.”

As the story goes, back in the 40s, the  Bermuda Islands grew a well-liked onion. and  were finding it difficult to meet the demand for its seed. And Texas farmers were struggling to meet the demand for this sweet onion.

In those days, the Texas Agricultural Experiment Station was using crossing techniques to improve various  vegetables, but had neglected the onion, the main Texas crop, because it was difficult to cross.

 In an attempt to meet the farmers’ demands, they contacted New Mexico's Director of its Experimental Station and found he had imported a high yielding variety from Spain from which he had selected a strain for New Mexico and named Bravo.

Texas tried this Bravo in a test field and when the neighbors saw the results they asked for all the available seeds.  

Finally, after more ups and downs and more cross breeding, the Texas bred Granex was created  and became famous world-wide under different names. 

In 1952  a Georgia farmer bought Texas Granex plants for  his farm and the Georgia Vidalia was created after being discovering in Texas. The Georgia  Vidalia and the Texas Grannex are the same although Georgia claims theirs is better because of the  low sulphur content of their soil. Because of this,  the State has limited it’s counties qualified to grow and market Vidalia onions

Now that  you know there are low-sulfur onions in the markets, pay a little  extra and   be a  happier cook.

A Bad Year For Gangsters

A Bad Year For Gangsters

In the 1920s and 30s crime was keeping all law officers,  including the FBI, busy During Prohibition, bootlegging (illegally supplying alcohol) ran wild. When  the law was repealed, those  most dedicated to a life of crime turned to bank robbing.

lBy 1945  some had become notorious.Two especially bad ones were   BonnieParker and Clyde Barrow. They and their gang operated  mostly in Texas and killed nine  law officers and  a few civilians.  They were killed in Lousianna in 1934. Years after their death, they were romanticized in a ballad sung by British singer George Flake.

Charles (((Pretty Boy) Floyd was another to meet his fate in 1934, He was a back robber and  somewhat  popular with  the public because he often destroyed mortgage papers while committing the robbery.  This relieved many borrowers from further payments. He was killed in  a shootout with the FBI.

John Dillinger was also a bank robber.. His two escapes from jail made him a popular subject  for the media, In 1934 he was killed in Chicago by the FBI  after being identified by his escort who who a red  dress.

Babyface Nelson (((Lester Joseph Gillis also known as George  Nelson) got  the nickname “Babyface” because of  boyish features and small size. He was hunted as both a bank robber and murderer. His main claim to fame was his association with John Dillinger. He died in1934 in a shootout with the FBI. 

With the death of  these five  criminals, the nation felt relief, but the reign of gangsters was not over.  Ma Barker reportedly ruled her sons’ gang ruthlessly and was killed  inn 19935.  Machine Gun Kelly was still alive, but in jail  He and his gang were kidnqpers, among other crimes, and were successful in collecting ransoms from two different kidnappings.  He was captured and jailed .After 21years there, he died of a heart attack.

Congress took action in 1934 and passed the National Firearms  Act   banning machine guns  and  other firearms adapted to automatic fire.

Thanks to the Lloyd Sealy Library for furnishing this information from its records of the Great Depression.

    

Old Friends Are Like Gold....both are worth hunting for

.https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/2024/06/friends-are-like-gold.html 

This sweet lady was the baby sitter for our first child...eighty years ago .She was one of six children who lived next door during  www11 and had plenty of experienced from caring for her youngest sibling,  a little  boy a few years older than our child.

When the war ended,  our families  parted, promising to stay in touch,   but failed to  do so,   as is often the case. So the years went  by and the Internet  and  Google entered my life. so did nostalgia, so I played with my new tools and began a search for anyone with their last name. And I found someone, ‘way up north, the oldest daughter of the family, now listed as the spouse of a fellow with the winning horse in a notable horse show  She had married the ensign she was dating while we were neighbored–a nice ending to a wartime romance.

Further googling took me to my long ago baby sitter,  all grown up with five daughters and living  in  California.     Several phone conversations  folowed as we shared the years gone by.

Another high point was getting to visit with Alice and Louis, her parents and our good neighbor of long ago, at their 50th wedding celebration. 

I love Google.

                

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Bees,  Kids and a Tub 

 

This old tub survived years of washdays on the farm and finally retired to the barn. Years later it  moved to the city where it ended up in my back yard. It lay there for years, upside down so it wouldn’t catch rainwater and become a haven for mosquitos.

Then one year the back yard  was chosen for the annual Easter egg hunt. When the youngsters  were turned loose to hunt the hidden eggs they rushed to all the most likely places before spying the old tub lying nearby, slightly tilted with one edge a few inches off the ground.

The little egg hunters rushed in a  herd to the tub. When someone lifted it there were no eggs– instead a hive of angry honey bees.  The kids learned their little legs couldn't outrun an angry bee and got a few stings. All were soon forgotten as the hunt for more eggs  continued. The bees quickly regrouped into a tight swarm  and left to form another hive in a safer place. 

Bees are important pollinators and today they are in trouble because of something called hive collapse.The cause is unknown, but a widely used insecticide is suspected. Can we help? Maybe. Buying organic fruits and  vegatables could help, but the price is often prohibitive. Another way is to contact your congressperson. We  can also encourage the growth of wild flowers such as blue bonnets, cone flowers, sunflowers and goldenrod.. Also lantana, butterfly weed and redbud,  to name a few.  The bee requires a balanced  diet just as we humans do.

Assuming that you’ve forgotten your nigh school biology just as I have,  the  hive consist of three classes of bees: the queen, whose only duty is to lay eggs, the male bees called drones and the worker bees, all female. Besides foraging for pollen which they carry home in little  baskets on their legs, and nectar  which is carried in special glans, sometimes making ten  trips daily, these little females also serve as guards at the hive’s entrance and have hive  cleaning duties. It’s no surprise the  they seldom live longer  than six months.

The more I learn about a hive’s society the more  I  admire  the little  bee–.even its grim custom of  forcing the drones out of the hive when cold weather arrives.

 SUN-RIPENED TOMATOES

https://rockingwithdannie.blogspot.com/ 

      After tasting a slice of yesterday’s purchase of a clump of beautiful red tomatoes, and finding it to be half ripe and tasteless, I took a  trip across the internet to discover what has happened to the tomato of the past.

      First, the seed have been modified. Second machines are generally used in harvesting.  These cut the plants; shakes off the tomatoes, both large and small–green, barely pink and rotten. All are rolled onto a conveyor belt and carried down to human hands for sorting. It takes a tough tomato to survive all that. A ripe  one can’t.

    My memories went back to my childhood in the years of the Great Depression when my dad had to switch from being a cotton farmer to a truck farmer. In fact, he had to leave his cotton crop, unpicked, \in the field, because the selling price wouldn't pay for the cost of having it picked.

     Today's generation may find the term "truck farming" a bit puzzling, but it's an old term from the 1800s referring to carrying fresh vegetables to market in carts and wagons. This continued through the 30s,"and 4os. with many Model T cars adapted for hauling a load of produce–a forerunner of pickup trucks.

     The earliest tomatoes to go on the market brought the highest prices, so my dad planted his seed early in a special bed he built.  It had a roll-up canvas cover to protect the young plants from a spring freeze.

      Rains don’t always come at a convenient time, so those plants had to be watered by hand with a syrup bucket with holes punched in the bottom for a sprinkler.  And the water was pumped by hand, one bucket-full at a time. 

      Finally, the plants were ready to be planted in the field. A big field. Dad dug the holes; I dropped the plants, hundreds of them, and Mother covered the roots of each one. Some years this system was disrupted by a drouthy spring. Then, water was hauled to the field on a horse-drawn sled, and water poured in each hole.

      There was a risk attached to trying for an early crop—Texas weather! Hail or a late spring freeze. There was little a farmer could do to protect a field of young plants from hail, but there were many times we covered the plants with paper tents from old magazine pages. Row after row of plants spaced four feet apart, all needing to be protected from freezing temperatures with paper tents.

      After all this troublesome process, the plants begin to bloom and set fruit, and, finally ripen, and be picked by bucketfuls to be carried to a shady spot for sorting and packing.

     Our house had a long south front porch, and that was where we sorted and packed the tomatoes for hauling to market. Ripe tomatoes were set aside to be packed in baskets for local sales—one day of shipping and they would have turned nto a juicy mush. Scared tomatoes were not packed for sale. Those were commonly called "cat-faced." I never saw one that resembled a cat in any way, but I suppose someone did at some time. A little rain shower would cause a split in the skin and those were also set aside.
    Tomatoes were not tumbled helter-skelter into baskets. They were carefully packed in paper lined bushel or half-bushel baskets, starting with the ones with just a blush of pink, and packed in rings, gradually getting riper as the basket was filled. All perfect. Something to dream of, nowadays, as we visit the produce section of our supermarkets, and pick over ethylene-gassed choices.

     That’s the way it was done on our farm ninety years ago.
      If you've never picked tomatoes, you may not know that contact with the vines turns your hands a dirty-looking green. And I'll bet you don't know that the best way to remove it is by tubbing a ripe tomato over your hands like soap. Why not wear gloves?. Welll folks, gloves cost money, and a damaged tomato didn’t.  In those depression  days every penny was saved. So, no gloves.

         Ah, the good ole days with plenty of sun ripened tomatoes.

 

 

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