In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
The parents liked fresh meat and they believed it was cheaper to purchase a pig (or cow or chicken), slaughter and butcher the animal, and freeze the parts for when you wanted to cook. Because the cost of purchasing a pig was high, the parents often bought it with one or more friends. They didn't bring the pig to the butcher though, as part of the pig-buying event was the camaraderie among the men as they slaughtered and butchered the pig in our backyard. A bottle, or two, of whiskey also figured into the festivity. Every part of the pig was used. Everything. For instance, the blood was directly drained from the pig into a pot. The right amount of vinegar was added to the blood and it was beat with a hand mixer until it coagulated into a thick pudding. The blood was used for a pork dish known as dinardaraan, which the Filipinos would call Chocolate Meat as they served it to children or non-Filipinos. Along with the whiskey, Daddy always served his compadres a meal of the fres
Update : May 20, 2013 Today, I decided to merge the old and new blogs. There are just too many posts from "This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then" that I want to keep alive. ~Su- sieee ! Mac It has been over two months since my last post. I have mumbled several times to the husband, "I'm going to stop blogging This and That . Each time, he replied, "I thought you already have." Yeah. Well. I finally am. This is it. My last post. For this blog, that is. I've decided to start another blog. The husband will be surprised. The new blog is called Don't Be a Hippie. . . Now and Then . Its focus is more selfish. I shall be revealing as much as I dare about myself through my memories, stories of my elders, and everyday experiences. At least that's what I think. Thank you Dear Readers and fellow Bloggers for your kindly visits and generous support. I hope you'll stop by my new blog. ~ Su- sieee! Mac
This was originally published in November, 2010 at my experimental "Don't Be a Hippie" at Wordpress.com. The one and only post. Today's version has been slightly revised. I don't know why you need to know. About 40 years ago, on a particular day, I was getting myself ready to go hang out at school. Not high school. But, community college. I was 18 or 19 and living at home. The daddy was retired. He happened to be home on this certain day. He may have been getting ready to go out to hang out with his retired buddies. I was in my bedroom doing whatever, when the daddy stopped at my door. I looked over at him, and he said, "Don't be a hippie." Before I could respond, he walked away. I had no idea he knew there were such things as hippies. Most of all, I didn't think I had it in me to be a hippie. I was not very good at being part of a group that had a moniker to it. Still. I wonder what may have caused my dad to reach the conclusi
Steve the Hypnotist This is what happens when you grow older: You volunteer to get on stage at the county fair and agree to be put under and possibly do some silly things in front of a crowd of people of whom most you don't know. It also helps that you are with a friend who has also temporarily forgotten to put her brakes on her sense of decorum. Yeah. It starts with said friend, aka the Evil2win saying "I want to see the hypnotist perform." And, then saying "I'd like to be hypnotized." And, me saying, "Me, too." So, slowly, we and our companions‚ all six young old fogeys, mosey over to the main stage just in time for Steve the Hypnotist to introduce himself. He proceeds to test the audience's potential to see who is easily gullible. Our friend, Davey Hogg, who says he can't be hypnotized easily did what was suggested. Ha! Not me. But, I went up anyway. I've done hypnotherapy so know that I can follow the swinging gold watch. As I we
I heard these three Mama-isms quite often when I was a small child sitting at the kitchen table: "Don't lean on your hand. God will get mad." "Don't sing at the table. God will get mad." "Don't play with your food. God will get mad." The husband told me he was told similar things as a kid. Just not the part about "God will get mad." His parents usually said something like: "Don't lean on the table. That's not polite." Since the Mama had to remind me more than once about not doing certain things at meal time, I must've figure God wasn't mad at me at all. And, look, I still sometimes play with my food.
"I like to pick tomatoes," the mama said, looking up as she continued picking cherry tomatoes from the depth of the green vines. "They should hire me." Yesterday morning, the mama, the husband, and I picked tomatoes at a local organic farm. It was having one of its few U-pick days for the season. We discovered this opportunity a couple of years ago. We don't pick a lot of tomatoes. Just enough to freeze to last us until the next growing season. For us, that's about 25 to 30 pounds, which is about equivalent to what the Mama used to get from her tomato plants. With each year, the yield has gotten less, so finding a place to get a deal for organic tomatoes is really perfect. This year, the Mama wanted to tag along for the picking. She doesn't like to go out much so it made the adventure an extra treat. She was really enjoying herself out there amongst the rows of tomatoes, plunked in the warm sun on her green plastic bench from home. The Mama had worked
How many book challenges did I sign up for at the beginning of the year? Whatever was I thinking? Oh, yeah, that I could and would read books for pleasure, at the same time as I'm doing research crazily about 500,000 different professions. hahahahahahahahahahaha. Yeah, I'm hysterical. No, serious, I am hysterical. I started off fine. If you were to look at my book list , you'd see I've read a dozen so far. C'est la vie. Just the fact that I piled up all the books that I want to read, rather than scattered throughout our space is a win for me. And, for the husband. Poor guy. Once upon a time he organized and managed a very large warehouse of paper and office supplies for a California state agency. It was very clean and orderly. It in fact rivaled the cleanliness of the Mama's garden. (The woman picks up leaves and sweeps the ground every day that it's not raining. ) What was I talking about? Book challenges, yeah. There is one I did complete: The Cozy Book