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Did you know…
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I don’t drink Campari, and now I’m twice as glad I never did.
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Vodka cures frizzy hair? It truly is the nectar of the Gods.
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So Walgreens was built on whiskey’s back? Take 2 shots and call me in the morning.
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Good ole George. 11,000 gallons a year probably made wearing those wooden teeth a little more bearable.
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In the continuing series Why does River keep posting this nonsense? I bring you the final squares of the centennial quilt.
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No it hasn’t taken 100 years to complete, it’s just the time span being celebrated by our little town.
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Does your town have yurts?
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Mine does.
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Hats off to creative women.
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And their needles.
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And now, what you’ve all been waiting for… ( or waiting to be over. Either way, you win) .. the completed quilt!
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And may I just say, bravo.
This will hang proudly in our town hall so all can enjoy the fabric wrought history.
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In the continuing series Small Town Life Be Different…. here are the latest missives from mine.
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This was so sweet. Our local UPS man… who distributes doggie treats on his route… is in the hospital with pneumonia, so all his four legged customers posted pictures.
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Because traffic alerts in the country are less about speeding and more about manure.
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Every year the women of the Historical Society sew a quilt with local scenes to be auctioned off.
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The Town Office bought the first one where it still hangs proudly.
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Yes, I showed this to the husband. And no, he hasn’t removed his absolutely no chickens ban.
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Yikes. Critters that crawl under your house and die are the worst. But I can’t say I’ve ever known one to stink of garlic. And speaking of stinking…
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Word to the wise… if you think it’s your year? It most definitely is. 🤢
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As he predicted, this man’s post got a whole lotta hate. He’s new to the area… and I’m guessing he isn’t going to be very popular. Buying a house in a rural part of Maine means generations of the previous owners might still be inhabiting your back 40. A man up the road from us has a cemetery from the late 1700’s on his land. He doesn’t know the family or their descendants, but lovingly cares for the plot all the same. It’s called respect.
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A little bit of this and that for your reading pleasure.
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I really don’t want crabs, but human sized rubber claws are mighty tempting.
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I have to admit I had no idea what the term whisker biscuit meant.
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Well, okay then….
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Underboob funk?
Please, if you can spread this ridiculous product all over your body? How about spreading those ‘ly’ adverbs through your ad copy as well.
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That’s pretty much my take on it. And while I still love Seuss and the crazy creatures of my childhood, if you do your research and check out some of his racist drawings? You wouldn’t want children exposed to them either. It’s not erasing history, it’s learning not to repeat it.
And if that’s too serious a note to end on, here’s one more chuckle.
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Ponder that image for the rest of the day.
🤣
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I’m knee deep in an extremely detailed and comprehensive biography of a fascinating First Lady.
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How detailed and comprehensive you ask?
698 pages worth. It weighs a ton!
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While I don’t usually read biographies, this tome has enough action, scandal, politics, intrigue, and history to satisfy fans of any genre.
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I thought I knew a lot about Nell.
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I was wrong.
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I love me some cannolis…. and at times have gone to great lengths to procure a decent one. So imagine my horror on discovering that one of my favorite desserts is not as innocent as it appears.
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It’s official.
I will now never be able to gaze lovingly on this tasty treat without blushing.
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Sigh.
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So yeah, thanks for that Sicily.
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No, not that kind.
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This kind:
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Ring the Bull is a traditional hook and ring game played in sports bars, ski lodges and quaint watering holes all over the world.
And it has a very long history in British pub culture.
In fact, legend has it that English Crusaders brought the game back from Jerusalem in the 12th century.
If you happen to play Ring the Bull at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, the oldest inn in England (1189 AD), you just might be experiencing the true origins of this game.
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Ringing the Bull (also known as Ring Toss or Hook and Ring) is a simple game in concept, but it definitely takes some skill and requires careful concentration. The hallmark of any great bar game.
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In most set ups, the metal ring is attached to a rope, hanging from a ceiling by a rafter or other means. The object of the game is then to swing the ring and try to land it on the hook.
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This game looks simple but can be challenging.
And after a few toddies? It’s damn near impossible… at least for me.
Of course after a set number of toddies walking and talking is as well, so what do I know?
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While the husband was busy Swiss cheesing his barn walls, I rummaged through the house looking for something my mother had given me many moons ago.
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It’s an odd little self published booklet from 1938 that was left to her by an old extremely wealthy boyfriend.
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To say it’s a scathing rebuke of Franklin Delano Roosevelt is an understatement.
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It positively skewers him and his policies.
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It was put together but a bunch of old money fat cats…
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And could be the Facebook or Twitter of it’s day.
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The more things change…
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The more they remain the same.
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Because it beats actually doing something productive and I’m all about that.
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Damn.
The last show I watched was Secrets of the Dead… which doesn’t bode well for future scintillating conversations.
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Living in the lost city of Baiae is going to be challenging. Located on the northwest shore of the Gulf of Naples, it was basically the sin filled Las Vegas of Ancient Rome.
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I’m sure it was quite something in its day.
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Home to Nero and all his various perversions, sadly most of the ruins are now underwater.
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Fabulous statuary….
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Villas…
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And mosaics…
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All lost to the sea.
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Guess my love of history finally caught up with me. It’s said Julius Caesar visited Baiae… so maybe I can break bread with his ghost. That’s got to be worth a blog or two.
Let’s play!
Your life is now in the last tv show you watched.
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And if there are any other history geeks out there? A little more info on my new digs.
https://timelessitalytravels.com/2013/10/22/ancient-ruins-of-baia/amp/
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It was bound to happen. You can’t evict multiple families of vermin over the course of a summer and not expect retribution.
The other day? I spotted this:
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Do you see it?
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It didn’t look impressive, just a weed growing in the gutter. But when I asked the husband to grab a ladder and remove it?
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We realized it was more like a potted plant.
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With a large amount of potting soil.
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Half of the down spout was packed with dirt and had to be removed.
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Shaken heartily.
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And unclogged with a screwdriver.
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Piles of lovely dark potting soil were packed in there for what I can only surmise were nefarious purposes.
It was momma red squirrel, I know it.
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That bitch has been plotting her revenge ever since I chased her children out of the eaves. And if you think a rodent revolution is ridiculous?
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History disagrees.
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