.....and other random stuff......

Friday, July 25, 2014

As Bad As Making You Watch Old Home Movies!

When I cleaned out my parent’s house I didn’t have the heart or the time (or the emotional fortitude) to go through all the papers and photographs.
So I tucked them away for later.
I’ve been going through them little by little over the years.
I usually get half way through a book or a box before I become overwhelmed and just shove them all back into the bowels of the closet.

But I came across my father’s scrapbook the other day.

It has cutouts from magazines pasted in the beginning pages, he must have been very young when he started it.
But it progresses as he ages into more interesting things.
Pictures and newspaper clippings of his exploits.
Who knew he was such a sensation in his little home town!

Anyway…. from time to time I think I might share some of the things I’ve found.

Sort of like saying to you, “Come on in! Sit down! Have a drink while I just loop up these old home movies I’m sure you’ll enjoy!” LOL

Thursday, July 24, 2014


She was a ‘private’ reservations clerk, which meant she handled the big wigs. 
Actors, actresses, captains of industry, politicians…….
She not only made their plane reservations but she coordinated all aspects of their trips…. garnering sought after theatre tickets, reservations at the best restaurants (she was friends with all the maitre d's) hotel accommodations, etc. 
She had connections! 

Her grateful clients would often thank her with gifts like stockings, perfume, and lingerie. 
A fact that didn’t sit well with my father at all! LOL

Wednesday, July 23, 2014


During WWII, while my father was in the service, my mother worked for TWA.
One of the perks of working for the airline was free airfare, which they used to full advantage before he was shipped overseas.
They would often hop a flight just to go to her favorite restaurant for dinner, 
Top of the Mark’ in San Francisco.
Did I mention they were living in New York City?

Who does that…….?

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Friend's Art

My BF (blog friend) Pia Drent is a unique artist with a keen sense of humor in her art. 
I am lucky to own an original piece of hers and now I am the lucky recipient of a set of her whimsical cards! 
I was lusting for them as soon as she put them in her Etsy shop. 

It’s good to have such talented friends!!!!!

Monday, July 21, 2014

Life’s Lessons are Rarely Learned in a Classroom

The charred cross at Pots Rock wasn’t the only burning cross I was to see….

Our neighborhood had a gazillion kids. 
Okay, I exaggerate for emphasis, but there were a lot of kids.

One year we all decided a good way to celebrate the end of the school year would be by burning our notebooks.
The perfect place to do this was at the end of the block where the brook was.  
There weren’t any houses there yet and just in case the bonfire got out of hand water would be readily available.

The plan was set and we all agreed, on the last day of school, to meet at the end of the block.

We came out of our houses and one by one trudged down the block. 
One became three, became seven, became thirteen until we were a mob of kids.

As we crested the hill we all looked towards the brook and there, to our horror, was a BURNING CROSS!

All I saw next were loose leaf papers flying through the air like giant snowflakes as we threw up our notebooks and went running to our homes.

It would have been really comical if it hadn’t been so disturbing.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Pots Rock

Where we lived in Maryland was a suburb plunked down in the middle of farm country on the 
out-out-skirts of Baltimore.
A nice middle class suburban neighborhood surrounded by farms and the less fortunate.
It was also south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
A fact I never fully understood until the day I ventured to Pots Rock by myself.

Pots Rock was a large, recliner shaped rock we liked to play on in the middle of 
Little Gunpowder Falls.
Little Gunpowder Falls was a smallish river, filled with stepping stones. You could have probably walked the length of the entire river jumping from stone to stone.
We played there quite often, but always as a group.

One day I decided to venture there alone.

To get to Pots Rock you had to walk out of the neighborhood, past the run down (scary) shack, across a field of tall grass and through the woods to the river.
Once you reached the river you still had to walk along its edge for a mile or so till you reached the rock.

At one point the river widened and there was a small island in the middle.

We never went to the island because the river got deeper there and the rocks were submerged.

But it had been visited.

As I passed the island I got the feeling someone was watching me and as I glanced over I saw a very LARGE charred cross!
It must have been thirty feet tall, wrapped in rags that were obviously blackened from being burned.

I was about thirteen. Not exactly a child anymore but not what you’d call worldly or sophisticated.
I wasn’t quite sure what it meant but I definitely knew how it made me FEEL.
It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and I was scared as hell!

I turned around and slowly started to walk back the way I had come and when I got about six feet down the path I ran for my life!
I ran the whole way home.

I told my parents what I had seen and they had to explain to me what it was and what it meant. From then on we were forbidden to go to Pots Rock, even as a group.

That day had a profound effect on me.

It also drove home the sage advice my mother taught us; ‘When the hair on the back of your neck stands up, listen to it! That’s millions of years of evolution telling you to get the hell out of there!’

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Throwback Thursday

Let's step into the wayback machine..........way, way back...........
My father circa 1939