Tarpon Springs

We drove to Tarpon Springs on the Gulf of MEXICO (Dammit) the other day.  My Baby Sister and her family rented a large house, and Tom and I went to visit and spend a night.  There were wild little children, my favorite diversion.  

That night after the kids were put to bed, the adults sat in the living room talking and laughing.  Hearing us downstairs, the kids could not get to sleep.  At one point I went up, laid down with them, and sang them my repertoire of children's songs. Most are songs I learned as a child from a record my mother would put on to calm us.  It was all nursery rhymes, and I remember how to sing almost all.  I always sing them in a certain order.  I imagine it was the same order used on that record, over 70 years ago?  

After I left to return to the adults, the kids could once again be heard laughing and talking upstairs.  Excited children on vacation are formidable opponents.

And, of course, they were all up at the crack of dawn the next morning. 

Her personality is as wild as her hair

Old things

I have always been reluctant (a euphemism for unwilling) to throw away old things.  I'm not a hoarder, I do force myself to ditch most junk.  But I have a lot of "stuff" from my ancient past taking up space on bookshelves and in closets.  Not junk, STUFF.

I have begun to imagine my daughter and son-in-law cleaning out our house, getting it ready to sell, after we pass.  From where I'm sitting I can see a bookshelf with photos of all the cats we have had, a battered copy of The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet, Mistress Masham's Repose, and all my high school yearbooks.  I see my 1950's St. Joseph Missal sitting between two of my mother's old bibles.  I'm not a practicing Catholic, you know what I mean?  It's nostalgia. I also have more photo albums than I care to admit.  Oh gee, there's a Fuzzy Wuzzy kitty bank our grandchildren gave us sitting on the third shelf down.  I wonder if I still have that  pink piggy bank that granddaughter E painted for me 18 years ago?  

This is just one bookshelf, mind you.  Yesterday I was texting with friends about Captain Kangaroo, and I asked them if they remembered a book he read on his show, Millions of Cats. They didn't.  I had a copy and ran to get it so I could show them the great cover art.  Then I remembered I passed that book on to a great niece just last year.  I was annoyed with myself, until I realized nobody really wanted to see the cover art.  And if they did, I could google the book title to get the cover art.  

I really have to start thinking about old things in a different way.  And I need to let my daughter know I'm fine with her throwing away all my stuff when I'm gone.  I am just sorry I couldn't seem to do it myself.  

Yep, the third book down is a reissue of
the 1950's era Baltimore Catechism

I'm thankful for history books

I refuse to admit to depression in the face of this wild U.S. roller coaster ride. That's what he wants. My fear, of course, is that the roller coaster hasn't been maintained properly and a crash is imminent. 

I've been amusing myself reading a history of 14th century Europe. It was a time of petty tyrants, violence, and chaos. The book is "A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century" by Barbara W. Tuchman. Fabulous read, albeit a bit slow. I spend a lot of time pulling out my phone to google things like the Beghards, or Charles V. It's quite the learning experience. Why I need to learn anything more is not really clear to me; however, it's fun. (That's the depression I'm pretending not to have speaking. Ignore her).

It's hard to describe why I find this book so comforting. I guess I am reminded that history is cyclical, and time marches on. Things change.  

My foray into the 14th Century has been so encouraging, that I just ordered a used hardcopy of "Europe: A History" by Norman Davies. That one goes all the way back to the cave men. I can't wait. I just wish it was available as an ebook. It's 1200 pages, and going to be physically uncomfortable to read.  

How do you manage reading actual books that are so darn heavy? 

And still there is fudge

I really have to stop eating the fudge leftover from Christmas. It haunts me, enthralls me, and makes me stupid.  There are still 8 pieces left!  

I'm going to start counting calories today.  I'm almost sure of it.