Tag Archives: memories

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Let’s play

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We used to have a big, beautiful, fat and fluffy white cat.

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He was a long haired Japanese bob tail Manx that I let the neighborhood children name when we lived in North Carolina.

They were sweet kids, if not terribly original… hence the name Mr. White.

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Mr, White made the move back to Maine with us and lived a very long (24 years!) and happy life. He’s buried under a tree on our property and thanks to my mother…who loved to brush him and keep his coat silky smooth… parts of him are still with us.

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Yes, I know it’s bizarre… but the coffee table drawer in our living room that holds Lord Dudley Mountcatten’s leash and toys also contains balls of Mr White’s fur rolled into balls by my mother.

It was a running joke that he shed so much fur she could make a pillow with it one day. Or a blanket. Or a hat.

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Clearly she was on to something.

I know I should toss those old fur balls. It’s not like I’m going to knit cat hair socks or a scarf, but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to do it. Weird as it is, they make me smile.

How about you…

What weird thing can’t you bring yourself to throw out?

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Back to boot camp… part two.

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The only place on Parris Island that really sparked my husband’s memory was the parade deck.

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It was a cold and windy day but he wanted to walk the entire thing.

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The fancy grandstand wasn’t there in his day.

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But he remembers being drilled and marched until he couldn’t see straight. D.I.’s screaming, recruits passing out from the heat, being overwhelmed and overtired, getting slapped when he said yes sir.

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He swore he’d forget his mother’s name before his drill instructor’s.

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The required selfie, wind blowing so hard I had hair in my mouth.

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I walked around the Iwo Jima Statue and left the husband alone with his memories.

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Those bricks he’s looking at are memorials. Engraved with the names of fallen Marines. A lot of the boys he went through boot camp with never came back from Vietnam. I think my husband sometimes wonders why he was the lucky one…

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A while later we finished our tour of the base.

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And decided to stop at the PX for a bite to eat.

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Naturally, the food court was closed. But I was cold and wanted to buy a sweatshirt so we shopped.

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The husband really wanted this funky bottle of vodka for the man cave bar.

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We even tried to find a small box and some bubble wrap to smuggle it in his suitcase on the flight home… but no luck. The saleswoman said we could order it online but in Maine it’s illegal to mail liquor.

Boo to that.

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Moving on, the husband checked out the price of Dress Blues.

And when we passed the challenge coins? I had to laugh.

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Two full rows of Trump still for sale, while Obama and Biden were almost sold out.

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It was a good morning.

My husband always wanted to go back and I’ve always wanted to see the place he talks about with such reverence.

❤️

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In which I take an old Marine back to boot camp…. part one.

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Day two of our anniversary trip started with a glorious sunrise.

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And the required selfie with palm tree background.

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We headed out early and pointed the beast south.

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Through low country marsh…

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And those wonderful live oaks. (You’re going to see a lot of them in the days to come because they were everywhere and I love them.)

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More marsh.

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More moss draped trees. (I did warn you)

An hour and a half later, we reached our destination.

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Parris Island, South Carolina. The base that serves as east coast boot camp for the Marine Corps. The last time my Marine had been here was in 1966.

Almost 58 years had passed and he was interested to see how much he remembered.

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Those palm trees lining the entrance road?

Nope.

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The rifle range?

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Yes. Though the brick jersey barriers were new.

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I could tell this was an emotional trip down memory lane for him. The last time he walked these grounds he was fresh out of high school and training to go to war.

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We drove slowly, touring and taking in the sights. Base housing has definitely improved over the years.

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And as we rounded a large bend?

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A beautiful golf course…

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Complete with live oaks…

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Ponds…

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And shore birds.

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Egrets and herons were everywhere.

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As were the moss covered trees.

I asked if the golf course had been there in his day and he honestly didn’t know. During the Vietnam era, boot camp was condensed from 3 months into 2 and every single minute was spent training, drilling or sleeping. No days off. One hour a week to write a letter home and mandatory church service Sunday morning. There was no time for golf.

My husband really wanted to see his old barracks, but they were made of wood and torn down long ago. Modern brick was in their place.

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Just when the husband was feeling disheartened that everything had changed… we saw this.

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New recruits.

Looking lost and scared to death.

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Scurrying to and fro beneath the famous sign.

Turn up your volume for the full effect.

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Now that was familiar.

To be continued…

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Never order food that wears a skirt.

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I remember eating at Friendly’s as a child.

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It wasn’t haute cuisine but the sandwiches were halfway decent and every meal ended with an ice cream sundae so no one really cared.

The other day when my friend and I were out shopping, it was literally the only place around so we stopped in for lunch.

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I vaguely remembered their Big Beef being a sizable burger and decided to take a trip down memory lane.

That was a big mistake.

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What the holy hell!

At first I thought they’d fried an egg on my burger but that was cheese.

A cheese ‘skirt’ to be precise. And though you’d think it would be hard to go wrong with half a plate full of cheese… they managed, because it was awful. Greasy on top, hard as rock on the bottom.

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And the Big Beef?

The only thing Big was my disappointment because the Beef was practically non existent… not to mention well done and crunchy.

The waiter at this restaurant may have been friendly, but the food certainly wasn’t.

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Not to be trifled with.

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Because sometimes recipes make me cry.

Every Thanksgiving I’m asked to bring this dessert, a cappuccino mousse trifle. It’s easy to make and sits well overnight so I can make it ahead of time and not rush the morning of.

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The reason it chokes me up?

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It’s written in my mother’s hand, one of the few examples of her script I have. Yes, it’s old and stained … but to me, it’s precious.

As are the memories of her helping me make it.

If you want to follow along it goes something like this…

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Cube a pound cake.

I like to slice off the top so the coffee absorbs more fully.

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If you have a trifle bowl do three layers, if not… do two like this one. I use Starbucks medium roast instant coffee as it’s much smoother than Folgers.

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Soaked cubes, then coffee mousse layer sprinkled with chocolate. Be sure to use whole milk, not lower fat versions.

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Top with Cool Whip and cinnamon.

I don’t pipe rosettes but feel free to dress it up if you’re an over achiever.

As I said, I make this the afternoon before and find the flavor is deeper the next day.

Enjoy.

😊

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Miscellaneous Maine

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You never know what summer in my state will bring. Last year it was hot and dry, this year we’ve had rain every other day. July was brutally hot and humid but most of August has been pleasant.

The other morning?

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It was downright brisk, which I love… but by noon it was almost 85 degrees, which I don’t. They say if you don’t like the weather in Maine wait a minute. Or in this case 6 hours.

Have you ever had a Facebook memory make you cry? Mine did today when it reminded me we lost our beloved Huffington 11 years ago.

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He was run over by a speeding car in front of our house and I swear I still haven’t gotten over it. I know you shouldn’t have favorite children or pets, but this little guy was special and is still very much missed.

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Talk about overkill.

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I like boats as much as the next girl, but this offends every New England frugal sensibility I have.

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Random backyard woodchuck shots…

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Because I can.

❤️

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Let’s play.

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It won’t hurt, I promise.

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Sadly, I don’t remember a thing.

My maternal grandparents moved back to Austria before I was born and we never visited. My paternal grandfather died when my father was 10 years old, so I certainly never knew him. And though I was 3 when my paternal grandmother died, I have absolutely no memory of her either.

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I’m told this is a picture of her standing in the backyard rose garden of this house….

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But honestly, neither the person nor the house stir any warm fuzzies in my prefrontal cortex.

When my mother died almost a decade ago we took a trip back to my hometown in New Jersey. The state gets a bad rap, and though most of it is well deserved… there are some lovely areas scattered here and there and thankfully I grew up in one.

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We walked north of town…

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Along the river….

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And found my grandparent’s house.

Still in the thick of early grief for my mother, I stood outside this nicely restored and clearly well loved home and cried. The new owners saw me, came outside to investigate and warmly welcomed us … complete strangers! …. inside for a full three story tour.

Don’t believe everything you hear about people from Jersey. This couple was grace personified.

We exchanged stories and histories and they were very sweet to an only child who had just lost her mom. The new owners expressed interest in my old family photos of the house and I promised to email them when we got back home.

So while I don’t have any grandparent memories of this particular house?

I do have nice new memories of the compassionate and caring young couple who live there now…. and that’s fine with me.

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Do you remember….

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I saw something in the antique store the other day that catapulted me back to my childhood. Ten years old, walking down to Browns 5&10 with my allowance in hand ready to buy the newest set of Wacky Packages.

They came in a small pack like baseball cards and included the same awful piece of gum. There was a check list as well because you had to be the first of your friends to collect them all.

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The cards had been around since the late 60’s, but when I bought them in the early 70’s the format had changed to stickers.

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My favorites?

Crust toothpaste and Minute Lice.

What can I say? Kids are disgusting.

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🤣

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Rest In Peace Uncle Donny.

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We were told my husband’s cousin would call us. We thought it would be to lift the ridiculous no family visitors ban he’d implemented at Uncle Donny’s bedside .. but we were wrong.

When he finally did call and leave a message?

It was to tell us his father had passed.

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Uncle Donny.

When we lived in North Carolina he would visit once or twice a year. Our cat Bubba instantly adopted him.

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He was a Vietnam vet with over 20 years in the Air Force. An honest and decent man.

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Seen here with his sister, my husband’s mother.

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If you needed money to pay your rent? Uncle Donny.

If you needed someone to help you move? Uncle Donny.

If your child needed school clothes, a car, college tuition? Uncle Donny.

He was a lovable goofball with a big generous heart.

Though I hold him personally responsible for my spouse’s addiction to yard saling and filling our cellar with crap, I also have fond memories of trolling flea markets with him and enjoying his childlike glee when he would find a “treasure”.

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Rest In Peace Uncle Donny.

You were, quite simply…. a good egg.

And will be deeply missed.

💔

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Do mothers even do this anymore?

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Another treasure made its way up from the basement the other day and while I won’t bore you with the ridiculous amount of minutia my mother recorded during my first year of life in this baby book (Aunt Charlotte gifted us a silver spoon, woot!)….. I would like to point out that at age five?

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I was apparently as round as I was tall.

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I have to admit while the information itself didn’t mean much, holding a book filled with my late mother’s handwriting did make me choke up a little.

Do mothers even do this anymore… or is there just an app? Because I gotta say, fifty years from now when a grown up child finds that? No tears will be shed.

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