I came home from the grocery store the other day and found this:
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A bird viewing platform assembled by the husband for our slightly spoiled but quite adorable cat.
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Consisting of one dining room chair and a filthy, covered in cobwebs, paint stained step stool from the garage.
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was quite pleased with it. I would have been more pleased had he washed off the 10 years worth of dirt the step stool had accumulated in the garage.
Have you heard about the woman they call the Photo Angel? She haunts antique stores and flea markets looking for old photographs and through exhaustive genealogical research, reunites them with their families. I think she’s fabulous!
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If you’ve never climbed your family tree? I highly recommend it. Genealogy is a completely fascinating, sometimes frustrating, but totally addicting hobby. They say you can’t know who you are, until you know those who came before … and a more delightfully quirky way to waste time you’re not apt to find.
Along with some sons of the revolution and a disturbing number of pious reverends ( how did that happen!) I discovered a few characters as well.
The Honorable Jabez Bunting Snowball.
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Yes, I’m related to a Snowball, which somehow seems fitting. He was the husband of my great grand aunt and The 11th Lieutenant Governor of New Brunswick, Canada from 1902-1907. “Snowball and his wife (called “Lady Snowball” by the locals) maintained a splendid residence in Chatham called “Wellington Villa” at the town’s most important intersection, and lived in great style, often entertaining with many servants and fine furniture.”
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He died a wealthy man but his good for nothing children squandered the fortune in one generation. Shame, that. I wouldn’t have minded a servant or two.
Next up is my 8th great grandfather, Sir Adrian Scrope.
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Yo, Adrian! My great, great, great, etc grampa’s claim to fame was this –
“Historically speaking, Sir Adrian Scrope (1601-1660), was one of the 59 signatories who signed King Charles I’s death warrant in 1649. Charles I was accused of being tyrannical and too Catholic by England’s Parliament, and he was ultimately executed for high treason. The monarchy was abolished with Charles I’s death; however, the monarchy was reinstated after the Restoration of 1660, and Sir Adrian Scrope was found guilty of regicide and was hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
Not the most peaceful way to go I’m sure. But he does have a nice memorial tomb to show for it….
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Grandpa Adrian had a nice house as well.
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Wormsley Estate. Can’t say I like the name, but the garden is sweet.
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And I dare say I could fit my books in his library.
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2,700 rolling acres in Chiltern Hills, Buckinghamshire… it’s currently owned by Mark Getty. Yes, that Getty. If I ever visit England, maybe I’ll drop by.
It’s through this line that I can trace my family back to the year 1134. I can’t take the credit, when you have someone famous (or infamous as the case may be) most of the work has been done for you.
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No picture of dear old grandpappy Le Scrope I’m afraid. Back then an Apple was just an apple… no camera included.
Of course when you’re shaking a family tree, sometimes rotten fruit falls out. Like Franz… father in law of my first cousin twice removed.
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When your mother’s parents were born in Austria, this isn’t out of the realm of possibility… but still disturbing to find.
I’d like to say he was the only one. I really would.
My husband is still not enjoying retirement. He’s bored, antsy as hell and no matter how many times I show him the honey do list… is always looking for something to do. When he’s not twitchy? He’s moping around the house and driving me crazy.
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Damn. That sounds perfect! He has a bar in the man cave and knows how to tap a keg … he has experience!
Pardon me while I check airfare prices to Piel Island, County Cumbria.
Stiff was delightfully bizarre. Gulp was disgusting but fascinating. I admit Spook was a tad disappointing. But now? There’s Fuzz.
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The new Mary Roach book that deals with human animal interaction.
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This book is fun and filled with quirky tidbits I’m going to enjoy sharing. Chapter one finds the author in Canada taking classes with WHART.
WHART. Wildlife-Human Attack Response Training taught by the British Columbia Conservation Officer Service.
First up? Examining mannequins that represent people who were killed/mauled by bear/cougar and trying to determine who did what.
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Ya gotta love Canada.
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Now I’ll never be able to eat a plum without thinking of this. Thanks Mary.
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Tampons. Useful any time of the month apparently.
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Bear print long johns? Geesh. That guy was just asking for it.
There was a large section on bears and bear attacks, which are actually quite rare… so in the interest of public service, I’ll share WHART’s best advice should you ever encounter one in the wild.
If a bear is threat displaying (pawing the ground, huffing) in an effort to intimidate you, it’s a bluff and you should back away slowly while speaking calmly to the animal. Maybe something like, “No worries Mr. Grizzly, this little ole blogger is going to sashay back to her car now and post about her near death experience. Follow my site for an awesome close up of those impressive teeth. Kudos to your dentist by the way, they really are pearly white.”
On the other hand, if the bear is in full predatory attack mode…never run. Open your jacket to look larger, yell, scream, throw rocks, stomp. If the bear starts to charge with his ears flat, you’re the one who needs to look scary. If this happens to me first thing in the morning when I wake up… pre hairdo and makeup? No problem. The bear doesn’t stand a chance.
Family Dollars are popping up all over our state and I can’t stand them. They move into small towns, flood the populace with cheap goods and drive all the quirky independent stores out of business. There’s one in the town next to us and I refuse to shop there.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Facebook agree on anything. But the crisis in Ukraine has my far right friends posting the same images as my far left friends… and they all break my heart.
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I can’t even imagine what these poor people are going through.
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And though I know it means less than nothing…
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I posted that photo with hope in my heart that this terrible tragedy will be over soon.
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I could never leave my pets behind. Ever. Hell, I refused to evacuate for a hurricane when the eye was headed straight for us in coastal Carolina. We had 5 cats, a cockatiel and a duck, no hotel on earth accepts that. (And yes, the duck spent the entire storm in the bathtub. Safe, sound and quite happy.)
My husband has a weakness for health food stores. Does he eat healthy? Not unless I force him, but he loves to stroll the weird item laden aisles all the same.
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Whipped cream or whipped rice? That’s a no brainer for me, but I suppose someone might buy that sorry excuse of a substitute.
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I really wanted to buy this bizarre looking fruit… But the husband balked at the price. Good grief, it’s named after a hand.
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If that isn’t worth a little extra scratch I don’t know what is.
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He’ll bitch about high prices but then go get a ridiculously small container of freshly churned peanut butter. Probably because he knows I won’t eat it.
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Worst waste of money that day? This cleverly marketed bag of dried fruit. I love kiwi, so I bought it.
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They weren’t lying, it’s ugly. And completely unpeeled. Who the hell wants to eat that!
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 