Over the years I’ve done a bit of genealogy. It’s interesting. Kind of fun to find out where your gene pool is from and what those genes acquired or lost or survived and when and how they died and who they became throughout the eras of life.
At this point you can decide to get in the scuba gear and dive in or just sit on the edge and casually peer into the clear, murky, fun, scary, pool of genes. They came from Scotland and England. Some could write; others used an X for their names. Some turned out just fine; some didn’t. None of them made a big splash in the money pool or the going-down-in-history pool, but nevertheless their ripples continue on down the centuries.
This is my mom and her sisters and brother. The time period is around the early 1930s would be my guess. My mom, the girl on the far left, was born in 1920. She doesn’t look very old here, so I’m guessing at the year.
From the left on the front row is Amy Anita, 1920, Emma Christina, 1906, Minnie Alleen, 1912; the back row is Mary Louise, 1914, and John Clifford, 1908.
As a child, I grew up knowing these aunts and uncles and their children. I stayed with each of them at some point or another, maybe a day at a time or a week at a time.
And I loved them all dearly.
Keely, Ava, and Kate
Last year at this time the pool was empty awaiting the paint that never came, the paint I sent the (unbeknownst to me) evil son (I thought it was the good son) to pick up and deliver back home to begin the morning painting. How that evil son can take over the good son’s body and mind like that (never made it home with the paint) (only came home after many cell phone calls) has boggled my own mind for many years now. The hope is that someday the good son will be the constant victor!!
This year the pool has been opened since May and we have so been enjoying it. The girls are already brown as biscuits. And still skinnydipping!! Although Kate has finally seen the need to wear her suit… and even clothing! I am very proud of her.
happy swimmers: Kate, Keely, Ava
P. S. Since this year has thrown me of course just a tad, I am late getting my birthday gnome out to his rightful owner. Last year’s gnome was such fun, I am going to do one every year. Give one away that is so you can start your own birthday gnome fun. I am going to pick a name out of the people who follow my blog (actually I have a web site that does that for me–I just add the names–they pick) and either mail it to you (if you will send me your address) or drop it by your house.
Nothing like a little summer fun!
This picture gives me the heebie-jeebies. I took it. And let me tell you, it was one of the scariest and most nerve-wracking moments I have ever had during my picture-taking career. The frog looks rather large in this picture, but that’s only because I cropped and enlarged it for the benefit of my devoted readers (whom I hope have not been traumatized by this photo). By really looking at it in all its despicable ugliness can you get the full realization of why I am petrified of the monsters. Thank the good Lord above it did not try to hop and attack me during this photo shot ordeal!
They get in the pool skimmer which inevitably causes one of many frog dilemmas. Do I, as a big person, adult, grown-up, get this teeny, very dead frog out of the skimmer on my own, wearing rubber gloves and using a net, or do I call one of my trusted frog boys/men? And just as inevitably I call one of my trusted frog boys/men because I know that when I am trying to get the nasty thing out of my skimmer it will touch one of my gloved hands, and I will immediately die of a heart attack. (I am only thinking of my children and grandchildren! who need me!)
This is not a fear that comes from a movie perhaps titled “The Frog Attack” when I was small or even by my older brother bombarding me with live and/or dead frogs (lots of other stuff, just not that) or a freak frog phenomenon. It’s genetic. And I know it is genetic because my Cousin Sandy is just as petrified of the stinking things as I am. (She also likes storms as much as I do.)
When I was trying to get the pool up and running, there were three baby frogs in the dry, painted pool. Since I had banged up the fresh paint with one of my brilliant ideas (too tedious to go into), I had to repaint a few places. And since Kate and Ava were here when I was painting those places, I had to buck up and put on my big-girl panties and pretend to love the ugly creatures… and got IN the pool with them and painted. Of course, I had on knee-high rubber boots in the 90 degree weather and gloves as well.
Which just goes to show you that a mother’s and a grandmother’s love and sacrifice knows no boundaries.
Alter Ego Worthless Son
That stinking alter ego worthless son kidnapped my hard-working son!
I cannot believe it! He, the hard-working son, left with my car bright and early Saturday morning to get the pool paint because he was going to paint that afternoon, and I didn’t see him again until 4:30 that afternoon. No paint. What the heck? He tried to explain how and why it was that he had been gone all day long without getting the paint for the pool, but, of course, he could not because that stinking alter ego worthless son kidnapped him. Alas. I shall catch that no goodnik one of these days, and get rid of him forever!
On the bright side, my little grandgirls were in the Kiddie Parade Saturday evening since it was rained out Saturday morning. It was a rather small parade: Kate and Ava and a little girl in the crowd we begged to get in it. They made a circle in the road and that was it. Rain has a way of changing plans and keeping them from getting back on course. That is why I am still working on getting the pool painted: the rain that caused the flooding. But the girls had a great time even if the parade lasted all of three seconds.
The first place winners
Little Ava went to sleep at 4:30, and the parade was supposed to be at 5:30, so right at the stroke of midnight, so to speak, she woke up and got to ride in the parade after all. That three seconds was awesome for my sweetie pies. There were some people gathered for the real parade that clapped, making Kate a star.
Ah, life in a little town.
getting ready to repair and paint
My life revolves around work. Get up and go to work. Come home and work. Go to bed and work to go to sleep. If I were more focused, it wouldn’t take me twice as long as it does anybody else to get something finished. I need Cousin Sandy to come up here and sit on my deck pointing with her cigarette in hand everything that needs to be done. I got soooo much accomplished that day. Or Sis Dar to come down and tear into everything telling me put this here and put that there.
This is just the beginning. By Sunday (if I get the pool paint I ordered) it will be my backyard paradise. I will need it because I will be practically dead from exhaustion. But next weekend will be Sangria Saturday! And I am going to cook some of my voluminous recipes.
As a matter of fact, I will give you all a great dessert recipe we had at book club the other night, via Bridgette. Layer ice cream sandwiches, Cool Whip, and drizzle caramel and chocolate over the top. She used two boxes of ice cream sandwiches for a rectangle pan and about one and a half tubs of Cool Whip. Place a layer of the sandwiches on bottom, cover with layer of Cool Whip, drizzle the chocolate and caramel; repeat. Freeze overnight. It was fantastic and so easy. She has used raspberry sauce with raspberries for garnish. Topped it with crushed Heath bars or Butterfinger. It’s a versatile dessert that you can make to your liking.
Let me know if you try it and what you think. I think I will make it this weekend for the big Paradise Party I’m having. You are all invited. Please bring your own work gloves and rubber boots or old tennies for climbing in and out of the pool. If you don’t want to paint, you can clean the pool house. It only has two years worth of crud in there since I didn’t even go in it last year… I don’t think.
How exciting!! Something different for the weekend. Paradise Party!! It may look like a dump heap right now, but Paradise coming up! Can’t wait to see you (and your work clothes).
It’s getting that time. All the kiddos are asking me when I’m going to open the pool. They are awed by my awesome slides into the pool. If pool sliding were an Olympic event, I’m there.
It starts with “the climb.” Up the ladder that is. That ladder is tall, very tall, especially for a short chick. As the crowd (of kiddos) cheers me on, I put one foot in front of the other until I reach the summit.
success!! I sit at the summit of success (or top of the slide)
From there it is all downhill, literally. All I have to do is simply let go. My fans cheer and encourage me (just let go for crying out loud!) until I begin my descent. The grace of the glide is fantastic!My adrenalin pumps. Hands held high as if riding a roller coaster, off I go to plunge into the blue, cool water.
I’m never sure what happens about halfway down that causes to me to grab my nose and start screaming.