That Fool Hoover
December 6, 2009
Filed under politics, writers
Tags: Great Depression, Dear America series, Kathryn Lasky
November 25, 1932
Indianapolis, Indiana
The day after ThanksgivingMama and Papa believe in cold. That’s why I tell Lady we have nothing to fear. You see, Mama and Papa have toughened us up on the sleeping porch. That’s where we sleep with no heat and just screens, and not just in summer but all through the fall and beginning again in early spring.
This paragraph opens a book from the Dear America series called Christmas After All: The Great Depression Diary of Minnie Swift, Indianapolis, Indiana 1932 by Kathryn Lasky. I’m a firm believer in children’s books when it comes to taking the first step in learning from history. Not only does this book befit the season, it befits the current economic climate as well.
One detail I like is Minnie’s loathing of her mother’s Au Gratin meals: stretching food out with cheese and flour to make enough for everyone. Potatoes Au Gratin sounds yummy but imagine it with cauliflower. “Ten on the Vomitron scale,” Minnie describes.
Lasky doesn’t stay away from the subject of suicide. Characters in the book take their lives just like they did back then. Depression-era comedian Eddie Cantor once requested a room on the 19th floor of a hotel. The clerk asked, “Is it for sleeping or jumping?”
The worst tale so far in the book was President Herbert Hoover’s treatment of the World War 1 vets. They camped out wanting their bonuses for fighting the war. Not only did Hoover ignore their pleas he sent the police after them. Minnie’s dad called him “That Fool Hoover.” Now THAT was the worst president.
Today, some people think we are living in a bad time. There were much worse times. After each era ended, we stated such as after the Holocaust, “Never again.”
We fear terrorists destroying the country today but remember the Cold War? Look at the fear we had during the life of the Berlin Wall. We thought any sign of aggression a bomb would destroy our planet and we’d live in a nuclear winter for the rest of our lives. Look at the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 when JFK’s officials went to bed not knowing if the country would still be there in the morning.
I grew up during the Carter era with lines for gas miles long. And it got better. During that time, we suffered disco music and polyester leisure suits. Then along came Reagan with the rise of the personal computer and the fall of communism. Think about it. We threw away our lava lamps and took up the internet. We evolved.
And we’ll keep on truckin.’
the smallest act
November 30, 2009
Filed under writers
Tags: Fall of Freddie the Leaf, Leo Buscaglia
- Image via Wikipedia
word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act
of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life
around.
– Leo Buscaglia
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and how was your thanksgiving?
November 29, 2009
Filed under non-fiction
Tags: American football, Christmas, Cooking, Garbage disposal, Home, Plunger, Roasting, Thanksgiving
Here’s how mine went:
Out of all the things to forget for Thanksgiving dinner, I forgot a roasting pan. My husband Tim reminds me of this while he starts the dinner during the football game. I said, “No problem, I’ll run out and get one.” He said, “No, I can work with a baking sheet.” We use the most awesome invention ever called Reynolds Oven Bags. He said we’ll check on the turkey periodically, drain it and tie it back up and it’ll work just fine.
Meanwhile, mom stuffs potato peelings down our garbage disposal
. It backed up and our sink looked like stinky potato gunk soup. So we try a plunger which makes the peelings spurt out the other drain. My dad loosens up the screws on the pipe and lets it seep out slowly. This doesn’t work so my dad and Tim take the sink apart and snake out the drain in the backyard, filling the yard up with potato peels.
While that’s happening, I notice smoke coming out of the oven. I open it and flames come out. I scream and Tim runs in from the backyard, yelling, “WHAT?” and I say “FIRE!” so he opens up the door, gets a pan, grabs the turkey, cuts a hole in the bag and lets it drain. Crisis number one averted.
Then, as Tim was about to put the sink back together, he noticed a screw missing and he asked my dad if he saw it. Dad said he drained a bucket down the toilet and Tim said, “The screw was in there.” So he had the not-so-pleasant task of searching for a screw in the toilet. Luckily, my dad went through a very unorganized tray of nuts, bolts and screws and found the perfect one. Crisis number two averted.
The turkey and everything else was saved, saving us a trip to Panda Express ala Christmas Story.
Other than that, my day was awesome! How about yours?
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light a candle
- Image via Wikipedia
decide will not leave us weeping.
we bear no grief so whatever you do
it won’t leave us grasping for door handles
slipping off unable to turn.
we understand no celebration, no
thankfulness. too early to hang wreathes
scented with pine and cinnamon.
but as years go on, you crawl like a
baby again then stand upright lighting
a candle.
we are no longer inhabitants but
guests waiting for the light to invite us
back in like a visitor for the
holidays.
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cupcakes and carrier pigeons
November 19, 2009
Filed under non-fiction
Tags: Cancer, Carrier pigeon, Grief Loss and Bereavement
- Image via Wikipedia
There’s nothing a child can say that’s insensitive when we lose a loved one. A few of the cards read, “I hope your family is all right.”
Another card read, “God blesses you.” Not “bless” but “blesses” because he’s already done it. Other kids wrote “Happy Thanksgiving” with pictures of turkeys because they didn’t know what to write, which is also perfectly okay.
It’s when we reach adulthood we feel we have to have the most perfectly chosen words to say to someone suffering a huge loss. I have that problem too even though I lost a brother myself. I can talk to children, though. Words come a little easier when comforting kids.
As our pastor read the cards, one girl who lost her dad 2 years ago held onto him crying. I requested a hug from her. And then I felt like her daddy embracing her. As we shared tears, I said, “Your daddy is SO proud of you.”
The thing is, I never knew her dad. He passed away shortly after I started attending this church. I wasn’t sure how he passed away, I knew it was fast like my brother’s passing from a brain aneurysm.
Grief is God’s way of hanging onto memory. If we had no grief, we’d lose the memories of those who’ve passed on. If we fight the sadness then it’s just like closing the door or forming a wall around these people. If there’s a way for me to keep those doors open and avoid the bricks and mortar, then I’ll do it. Consider me a carrier pigeon.
Another girl walked up to us and wanted to know why the girl I embraced was crying. I said, “Because she misses her daddy.”
The girl asked, “Why are you crying?”
I said, “Because I know how much she misses her daddy.”
Our senior pastor lost his son to murder last year. I never knew what to say to him in person. I knew how to form his words into poetry, but never knew what to say in person. Until Wednesday night, I only managed “Hello.”
This time, I had an excuse to talk to him. I grabbed a few trays of cupcakes I brought for the kids and walked into his classroom where he was about to teach his adult class. I peeked in and asked, “We have way too many of these things for the kids, it’s too much sugar. Would your class like them?”
“Sure,” he said.
Maybe it wasn’t exactly what I thought I’d say. Instead of saying, “I’m so sorry your son left this earth this way. If he were here, I know he’d tell you how proud he is of you of not only carrying on with your work as a church pastor, but standing upright. He’d say you’re a great example to everyone out there who suffers such horrible losses,” it came out as, “Um, do you want a cupcake?”
Not quite his son’s carrier pigeon message, but still, I broke the silence.
After the class I came and picked up the treats, all seven trays of cupcakes under my chin, feeling victorious for finally breaking the ice and falling through.
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how much is that dead dog puppet in the window?
November 15, 2009
Filed under poetry
Tags: Arts, Charles Bukowski, Kids and Teens, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Literature, poetry, Poetry reading, San Fernando Valley, Ventriloquism
- Image via Wikipedia
In the mid-90s, I decided to get over my stage fright while living in the San Fernando Valley by attending poetry readings. I loved the camaraderie of the poetic gatherings because it was the only place in that area where we didn’t know what was in store for us – comedy, tragedy, or drama. I never met anyone quite as eccentric as the Dead Dog Puppet Lady.
The first time I saw her she walked in with crazy hair, dangly earrings and a squeaky black crate on wheels. It looked like the boxes used to transport musical equipment. She took out these incredibly realistic Rottweilers, stuck her hands up their backs and they performed her poetry for her.
She had conversations with the dogs like a ventriloquist but it wasn’t a ventriloquism act because her lips moved the entire time. So I wasn’t sure exactly what category to put her into: Poet? Puppeteer? Performance Artist? Possibly a Patient?
As I sat transfixed, a fellow poet leaned over and said, “Those are her real dogs.”
“What?” I said in a stage whisper.
“Yeah,” he stage-whispered back, “when her dogs died she took them to a taxidermist and had them stuffed.”
After that I couldn’t hear a poem she said. Or what her dogs barked. I mean, she had a litter, not just one.
She came to readings every weekend always late. We cringed whenever we heard those wheels scratching on the sidewalk; like nails on a chalkboard but not quite as soothing.
The rest of us came with our Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Charles Bukowski-type poems, filled with angst and mad at the world type of poems. Her poetry was just too cute and trite to fit in.
I thought that a gathering of kids might better suit her. But I feared children asking her where she got the puppets. Imagine her saying, “Well, these were all my dogs at one time. When they died and went to doggie heaven, I had them stuffed and made into puppets.”
There’d be more crying and gnashing of teeth than the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem.
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don’t go breaking my heart
I watched this video with my 6-year-old. She said Elton John is in his pajamas, and Kiki Dee is still in her baby clothes.
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good things
November 11, 2009
Filed under religion
Tags: Augustine of Hippo, God, Religion and Spirituality
- Image via Wikipedia
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the life we planned free from worry…
November 8, 2009
Filed under non-fiction
Tags: John Chancellor, Meteorology, Severe Thunderstorm Watch, Television, Thunderstorm, Tornado, Weather, Wisconsin, Wizard of Oz
is not exactly what’s in store for us.
- Image via Wikipedia
“We must let go of the life we planned in order to accept the life that is waiting for us.” ~Author Unknown
The phrase, “You want to make God laugh? Tell him your plans” is attributed to many people. I believe it came from the late John Chancellor, a news anchor I watched every evening while growing up in Wisconsin in the seventies.
I watched the news to hear the weather report to make sure no destructive tornadoes came to flatten our house or send it spinning in the air like in The Wizard of Oz.
That’s when I first learned what anxiety meant. The first day of third grade I told the teacher I was sick. Mom came for me just because it rained and I didn’t know if the school had an emergency plan in case a tornado struck.
Yet home didn’t help because we were the only family in Wisconsin without a basement. Believe you me, the sight of the first rain drop had me running for the nearest house with a basement. My escape plan was to bolt when the Severe Thunderstorm Watch beeped loudly on our television.
A watch is not the same as a warning. A watch means conditions are favorable for a tornado but one hasn’t been spotted. That beeping sound scared the crap out of me. Imagine playing with dolls and Legos on a sunny day and a BEEP BEEP BEEP wakes you out of your smiling Ken and Barbie enjoying their drive along the beach in the convertible.
A crawl reads SEVERE THUNDERSTORM WATCH FOR THE NEXT 6 HOURS. To a kid it might as well read TAKE SHELTER NOW OR ELSE YOU AND YOUR FAMILY ARE GONNA DIE! BUT YOU GOT NOWHERE TO HIDE BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO BASEMENT! THERE’S NO HOPE FOR YOU! KISS YOUR BUTTS GOODBYE!
I stored Ken and Barbie safely under a bed in my Barbie Townhouse hoping they wouldn’t end up pile-driven into a maple tree after the storm. I walked over to our neighbor Mrs. Garcia’s house. She let me in, no questions asked, and let me sit in the kitchen while she baked pies. I didn’t tell Mom because I knew she’d say no, then she couldn’t find me. My worry turned into her worry.
This proves worry is genetic. My oldest daughter had ear tubes implanted when she lost her hearing from fluid build-up. One time she got some water in her ear which caused a lot of pain but more importantly, fear. Now she’s afraid to wash her hair, so I try to help calm her fears by helping her in the shower. I say “try to” because I’m not always successful.
I now understand my mom’s frustration with me as my worries and fears popped up every time it rained. I can’t plan my days hoping what causes fear and worry to never happen. I can only learn techniques to deal with that worry to lessen fear.
God told us not to be anxious for tomorrow because tomorrow has enough troubles of its own. God won’t give us what we can’t handle. No matter how many storms come our way.
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dennis miller is to the obama administration…
November 2, 2009
Filed under politics
Tags: Elections, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, hunter thompson, politics, Presidential, Richard Nixon, Washington
I see a glimmer of Thompson in what Miller wrote here for the Washington Examiner. I predict Miller will write his own Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail for the 2012 election.
“It never got weird enough for me.” ~Hunter Thompson
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