Our New England forebears had to make do and solve problems with what they had on hand, and we call that Yankee ingenuity. So, finding himself needing to clean the lake house gutters and without a ladder tall enough to reach them, my husband crafted this beauty. Yes, it is a currycomb and a potato masher all duct-taped to a telescoping boat hook. It worked like a charm, no one fell off the roof, and I don’t like that kind of potato masher anyway.
This weekend was the Mountain Man Rendezvous in Bridgeton, Indiana. We made a U-turn, and went to check it out. One day soon, I will post about morels and more. But today, I will tell you about a charming moment when we were appreciating a potter at work. This darling Hoosier in the red sweatshirt turned to me and said, “I don’t know about you, but ever since I saw that movie Ghost, I’ve wanted to learn how to do that. It’s hot, right?” And the man throwing the pot smiled and said, “It’s always been a favorite at my house.”
Small blue-glazed pitcher that we bought = $12.00. Story = priceless.
Now don’t get all misty on me, when I tell you that this particular little black dog is chasing squirrels in heaven. So then why am I posting this, if I don’t want you to have something in your eye? Because part of getting to know me means you have to know that I’m a softie, who doesn’t mind paws on the table once in a while. Elbows, never. Paws, okay. And also, you can see that I may love vintage tablecloths. And that I was going to do something with liquid starch–oh yes, block doilies. Gosh, I must have been going to dust, too. I don’t know about you, but I’m worn out just looking at this picture. C’mon, Winnie, let’s go fix a drink.
We have a lake house down in the Wabash Valley, so we travel up and down Highway 41 a lot. A couple of years ago, these gorgeous Imperial Storm Trooper wind turbines went up in the fields right around Raub, Indiana. I’m going to say hundreds of them, but I’ve never really finished counting. Anyway, look at the cute lil windmill right there in the middle of them. That old girl makes me smile. She’s saying, “Fellers, I’m a-done with this here wind business. I’m a-gonna rest here and watch you boys spin around fer a change.” That’s what I’m a-gonna do, too, when I’m finished spinning around.
Not what you think. Never assume.
We are a police family, and my daughter and her daddy were sharing some together-time. Cleaning their weapons and baking cupcakes. Mmmm, gun oil and chocolate. Our house smelled wonderful. Like a police home should.
Testing, testing? This is my kitchen. My family was baking cookies with apparent gusto. I like the photo, so I used it for my test blog, to see if I could actually do this thing. It worked, so I am keeping it as a happy memory. Two happy memories in one.
Today would have been my granddaddy’s birthday. William Ellington Kingsley Miller. Granddaddy Bo. I guess he was born around 1907, because I have his 1927 Transylvania University diploma (but not the family Bible or the energy to pick up the phone and ask my mother). He was a dentist for 50 years, until the day he signed off. Big man with a big appetite and big heart. Did free dental work for the Deaf School and the Children’s Home and anybody else who needed better teeth but had no money. I always thought he was rich, and I suppose he was. He bought me enough Bazooka Joe so I could send in my wrappers for a beautiful diamond necklace. He told stories after supper, and before dessert, and we all laughed about the time when he never did learn to milk a cow–and his brothers all thought he was stupid.
ginnygram 