I,too, just read all of this thread. I am sure I will stop by again through the oncoming wintery months. My husband is 75 (I am 62) and he is at a stage where he wants to be with me all the time, shouldn't be alone for very long, and would raise holy heck at the idea that someone come in to "stay" with him while I go out. So I mostly only go places I can go with him. I am so glad the lodge has the annex--a place he can go while I come in here and have some wine and put my feet up and not be peppered with constant questions. No one believes me when I say "constant" questions...but yes, constant. The sound of the fire crackling being the only sound I have to hear for an hour or so is so inviting!
I found this recipe, and though I am not so sure about the raw egg yolks, it sounds like it may be a great try on Christmas Eve. Do they really use raw egg yolks in some salad dressing?
RCAF MOOSE MILK
Ingredients: 12 Egg yolks 40 Oz Canadian Whiskey 40 Oz Rum 5 Oz Kahlua 10 Oz Maple Syrup 40 Oz Milk (homogenized – don’t use skim!) 40 Oz Heavy Whipping Cream (not canned) 1 Cup Sugar Method: Beat yolks until fluffy and well mixed. Add sugar and beat mixture until thick. Stir in milk and liquor Chill at least 3 hours. Best if can sit overnight. Then: Whip cream until good and thick (canned whip cream will go flat, so avoid canned cream) Fold in whipped cream (it will appear as if it has totally thinned out, but don’t worry, that is normal) Chill for another hour. Sprinkle the top with nutmeg and cinnamon.] Should be kept chilled because of the raw eggs. This should not be a problem as Moose Milk disappears quite quickly.
Welcome OregonRita! As you now know because you read the "Lodge" thread this is a wonderful place for support and fun. My husband has been on the dementia journey (bvFTD) for officially 6 years now. There's no way I could have made it tis far without the wisdom and support from these wonderful members.
Will it be on the menu at the lodge? I love ceasar salad.
We always had Moose Milk at the Mess during the Christmas season and I never knew the recipe until now., but it sure is good. Just a small amount is enough.
Do you put pine cones on the fire to make it crackle?
I'm looking forward to meeting everyone that drifts in and out.
Ceasar salad is on the menu. I haven't made it in years.
-two egg yolks -one to two cloves garlic minced -one half teaspoon mustard powder -one third cup olive oil -one dash of red wine vinegar -one half teaspoon worchestershire sauce -one half teaspoon pepper -two table spoons fresh squeezed lemon -one third cup parmesan cheese
-one to three anchovies finely chopped optional
Stir until thick and creamy and always taste with your finger. If too sharp add oil and cheese. If too creamy add oil or lemon. If too dull add mustard powder, wooster sauce, pepper. Crouton or bacon to taste. Try toasting a piece of bread until it`s golden brown, butter it liberally (I use Becel salt free), and sprinkle garlic powder on it while the bread is still warm and the butter is melting on it. Slice it into smallish pieces on a cutting board. Toss into the salad.
Secondly, pinecones are in the dustbins by most of the fireplaces. Jon Yonson the lumberjack from Wisconsin chops the wood in the summer and stacks it in the coach house where it tends to sit for three years or so first. He likes throwing some applewood and birch into the mix. He lives in one of the cottages on the grounds but if you`re looking for him in the mornings try the stone oven in the old kitchen. Just follow your nose because that`s where he likes to bake his breads since the cook threw him out of the main kitchen.
If you pop in early, please whatever you do don`t upset Hildy the Snow Goose. She`s in a snit these days and is taking it out on everybody`s ankles - even Bernier the Saint Bernard runs away when she waddles up honking like she owns the place. She`s downstairs right now after somebody. I can hear her. Maybe she has a burr under her bonnet. She`ll have left by the time snow comes. Hildy doesn`t like snow which would be odd for a Snow Goose if this wasn`t the lodge.
Welcome to my website. I started this website in 2007 because I couldn't find anyone who would talk about how I felt - I thought I was the only one feeling the way I did about what Alzheimer's Disease was doing to my marriage. I needed a place that dealt with my unique issues as a spouse of an Alzheimer patient. This site is now a place of comfort for spouses/partners who are trying to cope with the Alzheimer's/dementia of their husband/wife/partner. The issues we face in dealing with a spouse/partner with this disease are so different from the issues faced by children and grandchildren caregivers. We discuss all of those issues here - loss of intimacy; social contact; conversation; anger; resentment; stress; and pain of living with the stranger that Alzheimer's Disease has put in place of our beloved spouse/partner.
The message boards are only part of this website. Please be sure to log onto the home page - www.thealzheimerspouse.com - and read all of the resources on the left side. I recommend starting with "Newly Diagnosed/New Member" and "Understanding the Dementia Experience".
Do not miss the "previous blog" section. It is there you will find a huge array of topics with which you can relate. There is a "search" feature on the home page that allows you to look up different topics that may have been explored in a previous blog. Log onto the home page daily for new blogs; news updates; important information.
I just found a very good recipe for fruit cake. It takes ten eggs, fruit, nut and rum. I think I will drop some off at the lodge. I guess a little hot toddy might be nice. Not to much, just a tad!! I'm really happy it will be open again this year. It's somewhere special to drop in when I'm lonely.
I see pictures on Facebook, Pinterest & Tumblr of log buildings in snow- covered forests, with lights gleaming from within & it is just what I think a Christmas lodge should look like. On the inside a roaring fireplace, of course.......dreaming......sigh.
There are many lodges and lodges are usually pretty good. I'm not sure where the term lodge comes from unless you include the lodging that carpenter and his wife were looking for where I'd have to look up how they phrased it. I can't right now because I'm too busy turning the lamb chops over. They're stinking up my fridge with the olive oil, garlic, and rosemarie marinade where the mushrooms better not absorb any of that because they are for pub night tomorrow. Large fresh calabrese buns with that lifelong friend minute steak smothered in an unseemly pile of mushrooms and sauteed onions swimming in Woostershire sauce.
I looked up Rosemarie and didn't know it was originally called 'sea spray' or 'sea dew' by the Romans. Rose Marinus. Which the English as is their fashion butchered into Rosemarie. I wonder how many people knew they were naming their girl Seaspray? Sea Spray Clooney. Not that catchy.
History is like that which a tour through Khris Kringle, Christmas, Christmas trees, Reindeer, Christmas carols, and Santa Clause shows. They are all on the advent calendar for December. Of course no one has to listen or join in the prattle or wonder what gemütlichkeit in dein weltanschauung means. It means fellowship in our outlook in this context. In the case of Mr Bilbo Baggins, late of Hobbiton, it often meant falling asleep in front of the fireplace and that's both completely different and exactly the same thing.
I have begun the wardrobe preparations for my first visit to the Christmas Lodge this year. So excited! Buying cute quilted vests with expensive (yet faux!) fur trim and that will match my cute new snow boots. I know it will not be too windy at the Lodge because I don't like to venture out in the snow when it's blowing and windy. Looking forward to the Christmas morning amble through the snowy, sunny woods, then heading back in for another cup of hot coffee. I know the Lodge will be full of simple pleasures and culinary delights. Can't wait.
I knew as I was trampling through the grey woods that it would be there however lost I might actually be and I wasn't wrong when it loomed ahead of me on the edge of the forest. I opened the large wooden door and tramped the snow off my feet. I could smell the fireplace faintly and smiled. This is the place within and it is always safe and welcoming and ready. There are even hot water bottles which you rarely see these days but I want to so they're there and I don't have to look for them either.
It isn't that the lodge is perfect. In fact I had a conversation about that where the fellow said he didn't understand this lodge thing and I asked him if he had ever gone somewhere and had a pretty good time where it felt comfortable and relaxed. He said of course he had and I pointed out that he did know then what it is. Besides it's better when we realize we have our own ideas and thoughts and that doesn't matter any more than that bowl of walnuts over there.
It's December and the lodge has opened not because of Christmas but during Christmas where not just weary travellers but anyone can come in and put their feet up in front of a crackling fire or nose around anywhere in the rambling place. One of the defining aspects is the fellowship available where we might just want to tuck into our beds with a hot water bottle. Or an electric blanket for that matter which is another thing you don't see much anymore.
I've seen sleigh rides. Of course you have to get out there into the country in the winter but people have them all over the place in north America except on the beach in Miami. I've been on a couple in my lifetime and it's cold I remember but the jingle bells were nice and there were thermos bottles of hot cider or malt wine. The best part of it was going back into the warmth usually with a roaring fire where everybody had ridiculously red cheeks.
I personally think one of the things about remembering gleeful moments like that is coming as we can to understand that good things are in and amongst bad things which seems simplistic but is absolutely true. The fact that many moments were and so are past doesn't diminish their value or their meaning. It's often the opposite. The Sistine Chapel is a wet plaster wall fresco which has no business surviving into today and which got so sooty (centuries of lamp oil) that cleaning it was torment to decide and an outrage to some but the colors are vibrant now. Perhaps Michelangelo would storm off in a huff. We don't know because he's in the past too. The difference between the Sistine Chapel and my sleigh rides is nothing. I value both. And the difference between my valued memories and those of a random Hutu in Africa is nothing too because that person values their memories just as much.
Or not far from the same time William was penning up there in Stratford on Avon no doubt with the occasional fireplace going and asked the question "Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Which is a pretty good question in some ways and kind of retarded in others. He was putting bums in seats at a farthing a go which is different from not knowing what a farthing is or how long ago. It's analogous to the half glass of water where the answer is both. It's both half empty and half full at the same time and so is William's question because if you think you would love someone but you can't have them then you didn't love but you didn't not love either and you could spin around a few times before realizing the real answer is "it's what you believe".
I'm so sad clowns break into tears just walking by me and I've had a life so rich in love and so devastating in loss that I have spent time spinning on Shakespeare's question. And my answer is to re-write Bill's ditty there and make it stark. Is it better to have lived and died than never to have lived at all? Ah. Well, put me down for $400 there Alex because I'm going out on a limb here and saying yes.
Yes, as miserable and difficult as the Alzheimers journey was…and as the surviving spouse journey is…I could not even imagine not having had him in my life. Here in the Lodge, as I sit at our big kitchen table and have that first cup of morning coffee--I made a full pot--so everybody help yourselves--I think about some of the things he did in his life that I can try to emulate. He wasn't any kind of saint or deep thinker…just a normal, neighborhood, NYC boy who was very church and family-oriented…liked TV, liked his pipe, liked to read, liked to be with people, liked that Manhattan every afternoon around 4pm. Not a cook…the man could barely boil water. A long record of hard work and service…the Army, the NYC police department. He was a very handsome man, and although he wasn't vain, I always thought he had an awareness of how he looked. He used to encourage me to look nice, and would say, "It pays to look well." I think that is good advice, because…why not? It is all too easy in this vale of unhappiness we're all dealing with, to let ourselves just not bother…I personally have to make a huge effort to even put hand lotion on, and have hardly put make-up on since 2012. So I'm going to try to buff myself up a little bit. His first wife was killed in1975…then his 36-year-old son (his only child) dropped dead of a heart attack in 1990. He had been extremely close to his three brothers, who all died suddenly years and years before DH. He missed these people dreadfully, but did a good job of re-inventing himself and moving forward. One thing he always told me (and that he did) was that you have to structure your life…get up at a decent hour, shower and shave (for a guy…I guess for ladies the equivalent would be to fix our hair), and get dressed. For him, it was to get up and be ready for his day--reading the paper and having his cup of tea--by 8:30 am. So I am going to try to follow those tenets…not look like a frump, be ready for my day, and try to at least hook up with church people or activities and see what happens. I don't really care--would rather just vegetate--but I don't think DH (Larry, or "Lar" as I usually called him) would want me to do that. I am starting to have a weird feeling that he is watching over me. For all that I took care of him in the final years, I think he is taking care of me now. Somehow. OK, this coffee was delicious. So nice talking to everyone this morning. Let's have some breakfast--I can do some eggs for us--and then maybe bring in the firewood for tonight, and go for a walk.
This morning everything's white around here again. I got the newspaper and there on the front cover of the life section is a picture of a team of horses drawing a sleigh. It was a story of a man three years younger than me who unfortunately passed away and how he used to hitch up the team and take people for rides in the winter. Told you.
In another part of the paper was the story of Millie and Clem Mintz who married in 1934 when she was fifteen and are said by some to be the longest married couple at 80 years. Even though Millie is now in a dementia ward of the local nursing home and Clem lost his leg in WW2 and is now 100 years old, he commented that the success of their marriage was that he learned to say "yes" a lot.
It takes me to a world where if you wanted to get heavy work done you used horses because there wasn't anything more powerful to do work with. In the 1800's our continent and all it's towns and cities full of horse powered everything without a railroad in sight anywhere and long before Orson Wells came on the radio scaring everyone about Martians invading where even electricity was magic still - there actually was an invasion by aliens.
Over less time than your lifetime, town after town met the steam engine. Huge monsters made of metal of all things making enormous rackets and blowing fire and smoke and MOVING by themselves. It scared people half to death to see one for the first time. It stupefied them to see what really were monsters at the time because it had been unimaginable such a thing could be made to exist. That changed life forever because before you could hitch up eight strong horses together and work a team with a total of eight horsepower (where a horsepower is the accepted standard work one horse can do). Steam engines could do hundreds of times that and never tire like animals do.
It's not the history that is fascinating so much. It's sitting on the porch one day hearing a horrible noise the like of which you never heard in your life and watching what looks like a metal stove literally making the ground shake as it rumbles by spewing billows of smoke. Of course crowds gathered around and horse drawn carriages tried to follow them to the sheer terror of the horses who were also years away from relaxing around monsters. Not the same in Robert Frost either.
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here Though he may hear me if he is remotely near
“Larceny in the Woods on a December Evening” [Posted on December 4]
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To steal his firewood in the snow.
Forest critters must think it queer To hear the sound of chainsaw near In the dark and off the road The coldest evening of the year.
My aged truck sags with the load Of fuel the forest has bestowed My cash was paid to Santa Claus For my kids, to whom joy is owed.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have children warm to keep And logs to split before I sleep And logs to split before I sleep. - - - - - - -
“Stopping By The Lodge on a Snowy Evening” [Posted on December 5]
Whose lodge this is I have no clue. But I’ve reserved a room with view Above the woods and frozen lake It seems too perfect to be true.
Some say we we'll be served fruit cake And Moose Milk, of which I’ll partake. And Caesar salad and Molson beer All so flawless it might be fake.
We talk of those whom we hold dear But who cannot be with us here But in spite of that, we don’t cry Because their spirits are so near.
The lodge’s magic I can’t deny Is it real or is it a lie? There is more here than meets the eye. I do not want to say goodbye. - - - -
“Shopping at the Mall on a Winter Evening.” [Posted on December 10]
This mall’s been here for many years When I was young I worked at Sears What I yearned for then was love And the approval of my peers.
When I grew up I heard the news That love was free for me to choose I chose to be by love enthralled And disregarded others’ views.
My lover's loss I could not forestall And over me it’s cast a pall But it's better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
Now I stand in this same store Alone now as I was before But I’ve been changed for evermore Maybe that’s what love is for. - - - - - - - -
“At the Veteran’s Home On a Winter Evening” [Posted on December 31]
On the mountain is a domicile from which I can see for miles. Here live those who with honor served for whom this view is well-deserved.
In spring, when I go to visit I gaze at a scene exquisite. In the summer, the valley's hot but on the mountain it is not.
In autumn, nature shows its beauty to those who served a tour of duty. Orange, yellow, green and red, across the hills, its hues are spread.
By winter, though, the wind is brutal and any thought of warmth is futile. The flag that flies for those who fought Snaps in the air like a rifle shot.
A summer soldier I am not so I visit, as I ought. Winter, summer, spring and fall. To see my love, I brave them all.
Nice work Myrtle. I saw your first stanza earlier. I would expect something to be happening LFL and I'll put your name in. It's quiet still because the blue, blue, blue, blue Christmas mood is not here yet - but it will be.
I had heard that Charles Dickens when he wrote A Christmas Carol did it in weekly chapters like Sherlock Holmes and other novels of the period which weren't actually novels. They were collected weekly entries into the local rag or broadsheet. I'm not sure if that's true yet. I do know that it was Prince Albert, Victoria's German husband who had popularized Christmas trees in England around 1821, just 20 years or so before Charles Dickens wrote that story. Kris Kringle is apparently another English mangling of foreign words where the real name was Christkindl which means Christ Child in German. Untangling that tradition gets harder where the original Christmas tree is probably Norwegian and it became part of the celebration of the birth of Christ possibly somewhere in the 1700's.
Here's why I think history is a form of comedy. In 1843 when Dickens published that, the English were dumping their potty bowls out the windows into the streets so the rain could wash it all away. Uh huh. While in Rome about 2000 years earlier, they had public lavatories that were connected to underground sewers that constantly ran water through them with gradual sloping and gravity.
In 1843, England was in a big Christmas celebration mode. It's then that the Christmas card came into being and the popular 'fad' at the time was to exchange home made good wishes cards and it was also then and there that Christmas carols became popular again though that has an older tradition.
So how did all the elements of Christmas come together? Charles Dickens sitting in front of a fireplace in an otherwise frosty house in London in 1843 wrote an endearing story about the fad that was already happening where Tannenbaums and Carols and greeting cards and scrooge all came together.
No mention of a steam engine but A Christmas Carol has never been out of print in over 150 years and all those traditions that got exported to the puritans over here because that mixture struck such a chord in the human soul. It's documented that Scrooge and his feelings about his life before waking up is autobiographical in many parts with Charles Dickens' own experiences.
All those things fused with Santa Clause which is the oldest part of the tradition except for the birth of Christ. It goes all the way back to 325 and Saint Nicholas which is the reason Christians made it. Constantine was made emperor of Rome and his mother was secretly a Christian. She converted him and when he tried to make Christianity the formal religion of Rome he found it was a mess. It had been underground because Christians didn't particularly want to be eaten by lions or anything else and it was fragmented. It's here that the Gnostics come into play. That part of DaVinci Code was largely correct even though almost nothing else was. Constantine held a big pow-wow where he demanded one coherent Christian story after proclaiming the Edict Of Milan in 325 ending formal Christian persecution.
St Nicholas who benefited from all this by not being persecuted had a well documented habit of giving gifts. There. You now know more about Christmas than most people. It's one of the more potent traditions.
Thanks. This is the first poem I ever wrote. (Uh! I mean the first one I ever plagiarized.) I plan to keep revising it as the need presents itself. So if you check back in a few days it will be different. In the first version I was trying to pay homage to your story about the steam engine but I don't think it worked. My next revision will delete the engine references and may be a tribute to Canada, if I can figure out how to fit the words "RCAF Moose Milk" into the piece. But who knows where the muse will lead me?
I have printed out your history of Christmas and will take some time to read it. The season has already started to bear down since all of a sudden the veteran's home seems to have performers almost nightly, singing and dancing to Christmas music. The residents enjoy it but I don't know how I'm going to get through it. Oh well, I guess that's what the lodge and the Moose Milk are for, eh?
While Myrtle commits larceny serious women poets aren't as much rare as less known. One interesting American poet was Sylvia Plath. Born in 1932 she first tried to commit suicide when she was 21 and actually did when she was 30. She was an extremely bright student and did well in painting as well as writing. Her best known book is The Bell Jar but she is most regarded as a poet.
Here is a taste entitled Circus In Three RIngs :
In the circus tent of a hurricane designed by a drunken god my extravagant heart blows up again in a rampage of champagne-colored rain and the fragments whir like a weather vane while the angels all applaud.
Daring as death and debonair I invade my lion's den; a rose of jeopardy flames in my hair yet I flourish my whip with a fatal flair defending my perilous wounds with a chair while the gnawings of love begin.
Mocking as Mephistopheles, eclipsed by magician's disguise, my demon of doom tilts on a trapeze, winged rabbits revolving about his knees, only to vanish with devilish ease in a smoke that sears my eyes.
I believe it's a trapeze artist, a lion tamer, and a magician. But it's the whirlwind of imagery and jump from one transformation to another which may be one suggestion of what was going on inside her.
Defending my perilous wounds with a chair while the gnawings of love begin
And if I were to do a little larceny of my own I might change that just a tiny bit
Defending my perilous wounds with a chair while the gnawings of feeling try to begin
Which may not make you think of Morgan Freeman but it does me. Shawshank Redemption was a movie that explored the ideas of freedom and imprisonment in different forms (as one aspect). The warden was as much a prisoner of his own demigod self image as Morgan was after he was free and still couldn't go to the bathroom without asking.
That movie has a Sylvia Plath scene in it but Morgan turns from the two easy roads which were raising himself high on the roof beam or staying safely inside his prison. He didn't take them. He wanted more just enough to go on the treasure hunt and so ended up by the deep blue sea in Mexico with his friend both free to be.
I understand these people and their tribulations. I was in that room once and I left too. I went to the lodge which is that I will be making coffee again tomorrow and next week and next month and next year and each day I will look across the horizon where all the players and all the actors and all the writers and all the critics are and I remember the part that Socrates and Hegel and Kant and Freud and St Augustine and on and on in the hundreds all puffed themselves up like overfilled balloons and flew away in the plein air. While one writer in one fiction scene summed it all up.
"If you look for the good in people you will surely find it. And if you look for the bad in people you will surely find it."
last night, in Alzheimerville, I felt as if I was truly in the "circus tent of a hurricane". Long tiring work week then a hellacious poop incident that took seemingly forever to clean up and yes, I lost my cool a bit. which I almost never do. But the holiday season holds some treachery for caregivers and I succumbed for a few minutes to some lonely friday night poop-smelling, poop-cleaning, tears. Nothing too dramatic. Then put DH to bed and decided, what the heck, and went to bed myself @ 8:30. Holiday fun in caregiver land! So today, upon awakening, I decided to visit the Lodge. I am especially appreciative today of the delightful scents I find here! As I approached, I inhaled the healing scent of nature's pine. As I opened the door, the delicious cinnamon coffe cake baking in the oven combined with the coffee with just a wee touch of hazelnut totally cured my olfactory depression. Ahhh! It's a wonderful life!
I prefer dark roasted beans fine ground and then eat it with a spoon. It conserves water. Olfactory overloads like that are like a seal team assault at night with uzi's. I remember being stunned by it's power at times.
I also agree it's a wonderful life. Some years that felt very far away and when that got close again the life I knew in argyle socks and a sweater had turned into Chicita Gonzales doing the rumba with a fruit salad on her head. Which was frankly unrecognizably stranger than I remember which dovetailed with everybody else around me being stranger than I remember.
Speaking of stranger, I'm going to a sunday brunch party where I'm not allowed to talk about the future because two (that's right two) of them have asked me not to because talking about time passing and how old we're getting is so unnerving that referring to the truth while talking about my own unknown future is uncalled for.
Two years ago I would have seen that as another huge letdown of my own needs and last year I did talk about it because I wanted to and this year I won't because I don't need to.
What will we allow ourselves?
Take my father (please). I had a tumultuous relationship with him. His life was ridiculously hard but that was no excuse for the beatings I got not because I deserved that level of abuse - but because he was out of control. I still have a scar across my knuckles where one day I put my fist right through the wall beside his head. Yes sir. And parts of me would love to have dad around so he can see you don't have to be mean to others to feel adequate inside. But the day came when I realized at some point my problems were my own and I had easily as many important things he taught me. In our last years together we talked about everything. The nazi's sticking a rifle in his hand at fourteen and watching his best friend get shot in the head in the first week by actual men who were now veterens. The time I ran away from home for one night. The fist into the wall. We talked about all of it sometimes crying. And when I had him where I wanted him in the last year frail and weak where I was big and strong - I knew this was exactly our relationship in reverse. Now I could abuse him back if I wanted to. Instead I accepted my life and let it go.
I don't need Alzheimer's to teach me that, although it taught me many things. I have never done a better thing than I have done for my partner. It cost us most everything and it cost her everything but AD likes to turn the survivor into a stumpy victim and I am having none of that.
What will you allow yourself? Everything. In time.
Ahh. The Lodge! The fresh squeezed OJ! Deep breath. Thank you both. I am enjoying it here. I just turned around to admire the Lodge on my sunny walk, and there was my husband peering out of the beautiful Lodge window, watching and waving at ME! He was focused and deliberate and smiling. Best......
Well, my daddy left home when I was three, and he didn't leave much to Ma and me, just this old guitar and a bottle of booze. Now I don't blame him because he run and hid, but the meanest thing that he ever did was before he left he went and named me Sue.
Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke, and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks, it seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I'd get red and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head, I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean. My fist got hard and my wits got keen. Roamed from town to town to hide my shame, but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars, I'd search the honky tonks and bars and kill that man that gave me that awful name.
But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had just hit town and my throat was dry. I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew. At an old saloon in a street of mud and at a table dealing stud sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me Sue.
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad from a worn-out picture that my mother had and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye. He was big and bent and gray and old and I looked at him and my blood ran cold, and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do? Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.
Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down but to my surprise he came up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair right across his teeth. And we crashed through the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when. He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile. I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin', he went for his gun and I pulled mine first. He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.
And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along. So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'. I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's that name that helped to make you strong."
Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've got the right to kill me now and I wouldn't blame you if you do. But you ought to thank me before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit in your eye because I'm the guy that named you Sue." Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?
I got all choked up and I threw down my gun, called him pa and he called me a son, and I came away with a different point of view and I think about him now and then. Every time I tried, every time I win and if I ever have a son I think I am gonna name him Bill or George - anything but Sue.
Hi, everyone. Just needed to run over for a minute or two, because I'm decorating my tree alone…first Christmas without Larry…should have known better. Thought I was tougher than I am. Wolf and Moon, your voices sound good together. How about a Christmas carol? Oh, thanks for the eggnog…it is spiked, I hope? Excellent. And who made these candy cane cookies? Yum. OK,let me get back into my boots and get back home. Gotta get those ornaments on my tree. No, I'm not crying. It's just the smoke from the Lodge fireplace. Cheerio!
The reverend Charles Dodgson. Not a name we might recognize unless we go by his writing name Lewis Carroll. He was also an early photographer where one of his favourite models was a young girl named Alice Liddell. She was on a boating trip with him in England when she asked him to tell her a story. From that start, Alice In Wonderland evolved. This is from another book he wrote called Through The Looking Glass (and what Alice found there). I abridged it slightly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: "If this were only cleared away," They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year. Do you suppose," the Walrus said, "That they could get it clear?" "I doubt it," said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!" The Walrus did beseech. "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head-- Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat-- And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet.
The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages--and kings-- And why the sea is boiling hot-- And whether pigs have wings."
The Blue Riband. It's the unofficial and highly sought trophy for sailing a passenger ship across the Atlantic in record time. It came into being around 1900 when men weren't constrained by wind and the courses they had to set; but, could just plough across the ocean in their streamlined steam and then coal ships. Once it was just bigger, stronger, faster the countries sailing the Atlantic competed with each other to be the fastest to get across.
Because the gulf stream, which is a large ocean current moving up the east coast of the USA and Canada and then meandering over to Europe, flows some seven miles an hour towards Europe and because ships left and ported at different cities they didn't measure the fastest time. They measured the fastest average time. Average speed per hour as logged was what won the bragging rights.
You didn't get the Blue Riband going to Europe. It was only acknowledged to be won when going to America (and therefore against the gulf stream current). It was highly sought where ships were built by both the Cunard line and the White Star line to try and win it. The customers liked the faster transit times; but, that was only part of the reason ships kept getting faster. This was 1910. Europe was about to be plunged into WW1 where absolutely every country was sabre rattling and engaging in brinkmanship. Millions of dollars were spent just to have the bragging rights even though there was no real trophy. It was acknowledged by peers when someone beat the record. There are 35 ships on record who each made that crossing faster than anyone else up to that point.
Now I take you to Southampton in England on a cool April day in 1912 where Captain Edward Smith is preparing to take a run at the prestigious and non-existent Blue Riband. His ship is full of the wealthy and famous because passage on this ship unless you were in the cattle decks cost a handsome ransom.
I know you're with me by now. There were reports of icebergs by ships who had just crossed (wireless was very recently invested by Marconi). The sea was perfectly flat and every wetback, greenhorn sailor learns early that icebergs do not give off any sign when there is no moon and no waves. Black iceberg, black background, black water, black sky.
But this was the Titanic and it had been designed in a very flawed way to be unsinkable.
You have to understand that Captain Edward Smith didn't give a damn about the rich and famous and you can understand that when you realize that he believed any collision with an iceberg wouldn't sink the ship. It would send every person on the ship tumbling - but what was that to taking the Blue Riband?
Why was he at full speed in a straight line on a black night with no moon in an area full of icebergs that couldn't be seen until you were on top of them (at full speed)? Because of ego. I'm sure everyone is proud that up to that point he was maintaining an average speed that would have won the Blue thingy.
Here. Have a cocoa. There are marsh mellows in it. They look a bit like little icebergs.
Been looking forward to coming to the lodge again. I remember how much I needed the lodge and all my cyber friends last year. This year my grief is somewhat less although still very near and can overwhelm at the most unusual times. No Christmas tree for me but I do have a few small decorations. My sister has a large Santa collection I took several to her room at the long term care facility and some of them I put on my buffet. I admire all the lovely decorations at the lodge along with the smell of cinnamon and spice mixed with wood burning in the fireplace. What a great place to be! Pull up a chair, relax and enjoy!! Happy Holidays to all and Merry Christmas.
Well, I thought it was time to stop by for an eggnog (spiked of course), put my feet up and visit with friends. I was met in the great room by Wolf who was decorating the moose head antlers with flashing, mulit-colored lights (maybe just plain white next year, eh?), Elizabeth* playing her harp, Coco who decided to brave the cold and join us and brought her sumptuous homemade coconut patties. Jazzy,bdq and Amber brought beavertails! Looks like the season is shaping up nicely.
I see abby* lounging in a big char with a faux fur blanket reading her book with a glass of wine on the table. "Hi abby*, I'll stop by soon to catch up". "Hi myrtle!, come join us by the fire and share your new poem. Can I bring you a beverage?" Oh Florence, do come in out of the cold....we have beautiful santas all around the lodge and help us with the decorating, it's not quite finished and we can use your help.
The lodge is such a warm, comforting place - the smell of wood burning in the fireplace, the smell of the evergreen tress, mulled cider and wine, laughter of true friends. Wait....is Wolf putting together the games???? OMG, I hope the participants from last year come to defend their crowns....Carosi, AuntB, Vickie, and all the others. Please join us dear friends, we couldn't have made it this far without you. Besides, we've missed you and long to catch up.
Oh my, eggnog is finished and I have to get back to DH, but trust me, I'll be back soon. Hey Wolf, you promised I could participate in the games this year, so you better put me on a team!
Could I sneak into the lodge for a little bit, have a cup of cappuccino and sit by the fire? I can't stay long because we've entered the pee and poop stage I'm trying to learn how to deal with it.
Just popping in from the "My Poop Story" thread! This Lodge is such a welcome relief for my olfactory system. How delightful the air is here! Ahhhh! And yes, I will take a bit of that eggnog and look!, there's a cozy seat near the fire! I hope you won't mind if I just close my eyes for a few...........zzzzzzzz.
I hope it is ok, I am going to come this morning to the lodge and stay all day. How's the weather. I could use a nap, walk, glass of wine, good conversation. The children come tomorrow so I could use this to get ready. Let me know what anyone would like to eat. I am open to fixing a nice dinner. Then some wine by the fire.
Hi guys, pull up a chair. I'm going to learn how to make my own corn bread. I haven't started yet and could use a good but not fancy recipe. Sometimes when I can't find a comfortable position in bed and have trouble drifting off, I think about what I can do for me. Drifting around through food ideas is non-combative for me and a couple of nights ago I remembered how much I've always liked corn bread whenever I've had it.
I've also had a few days to think about the sack race I did last year. Frank had just said hi and I was looking for something where of course when I came up with the idea of a race it was the finish by Frank it was centered around. This year I've thought about that and I realize that whatever I do - I will be creating winners and losers which I pick. I won't do that, I'm sorry.
The fireplace is going. I'm here now until after the new year usually puttering around. All are welcome as you please.
Come all you fair and tender ladies take warning if you’re at the lodge there, like a headache in the morning Moose Milk is something you should dodge.
If I had known before I drank it about the booze in Jazzy’s recipe I’d have avoided this drink so snazzy and would have stuck with a cup of tea.
So beware before you taste it it’s a delicious RCAF grog but for civilians it's pernicious you'll be passed out or in a fog.
Way to go Myrtle. Somebody's coming out. Let's see who is it? Myrna? No. Oh, I know this. Miriam? No. I'm really close on this one. Myrtle? RIGHT! Go to town girlfriend!
Like I always say people, (or person if there's only one - whatever), if you're walking past a piano plink a few notes. Hey, you never know.
Nice double rhythm buried. I don't know my arse from a tea kettle but if you're going for the Canadian/English idiom where they drank more high tea or sherry and wine not so much and you've already got RCAF and grog so the door is wide open to do:
Good and easy cornbread: 1 pkg Mrs Collander's Honey cornbread mix....add water...bake! Wah-la! Done!!! I love it because it is sweet. I know a lot of folks don't like sweet cornbread so it may not be for you. Great for me and my sweet tooth. Plus, that's about as much cooking as I do! (Can be done in the microwave but really not as good that way.)
Wolf, Glad I could put a smile on your face. Of course, this poem is plagiarized, like all my poems. I use the rhyming structure and meter from someone's else's poem or song and just plug in new words. (By the time I wrote this one, I was getting sick of that Robert Frost poem; it had become like one of those songs that plays on a continuous loop in your brain.) The buried double rhyme in this poem is in most versions of the song (Carter Sisters, Emmylou Harris). Per your suggestion, I've taken out "wine" and replaced it with "a cup of tea." Also, replaced "ye" with "you," to downplay the Appalachian influence. I welcome any other ideas about revisions. Maybe it will be ready for a formal reading when we get together to toast the New Year.
P.S. Jazzy, If you are not comfortable with having your name in a poem, just let me know and I'll change it.
Must run. Have finished folding my husband's clean laundry so it's time to head up the road to see him. BTW, Wolf, that cornbread you made with Aunt B's recipe is fabulous. Thanks, Aunt B.
I may have to transport myself to the Lodge. Dish Network dropped Fox News and my only sanity and break from insanity is watching Fox News all night long. Hope they settle negotiations soon or I may go into the Twilight Zone.
There's room for every one. Some have canopy beds and their own little fireplace. There's also a Jacuzzi shaped like a sea shell in at least one of them on the second floor.
Aunt B, I don't think that's how they did it on Andy Of Mayberry. I'm pretty sure Aunt Bea made the cornbread from scratch.
Now where the heck are those hot water bottles? I remember mom boiling water at night and filling all the hot water bottles. We each got one and stuck them in our beds before we got ready for bed. I can remember moving it with my feet and then snuggling into the hot spot. I want to recreate my youth without the parents (sorry but,). In fact I don't want to recreate my youth - I want to create the youth I never had. I wonder what it would cost to have an ice cream vendor hang out at the bottom of my driveway this summer?
Need to come to the lodge tonight. Kept re-running bad scenes while trying to sleep last night. None of that action allowed at the lodge, I'm sure. I'll just slip into this big soft chair by the fire and watch the flames and remember happy Christmases past.
Just stopping in to book a room for the night of the 25th. I'd like one with a view of the lake. Also, I would like a cat on the bed -- the color doesn't matter but it must be fuzzy and have a good motor for purring.
myrtle! You amaze me - your poems are awesome. I am so privileged to be spending Christmas at this lodge with so many smart people who have also had their butts kicked by life, but still come out smiling through the tears. Mostly I'm glad to be in a place where I can sob and sob and no one will say "What's wrong?" I don't mind regular Earth People saying that, but it galls me when the social worker at the Alzheimer center asks me that as I'm leaving in tears. Agggghhh!