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My Grandpa Armstrong (father’s side) was an amazing man. He died before I could truly appreciate him in the fullest sense of the word. I have the fondest of memories of “stealing” his chair when he got up and being “punished” with tickling upon his return, a game that I believe all children enjoy playing and reminds me so much of him. I remember his stories, ones that the whole family is kicking themselves for not having on some sort of video or tape recording of some sort. I remember the smell of his garage (when garages were still the “his” part of the property). There are precious few things I have to hold and look at and pass on to Ellen. Among them is this napkin holder that he was reported to have made en mass:
I love the handwritten inscription, as it is one of the only, if not the only thing I have in his writing, which I think is not unlike my father’s handwriting.
I have just returned home from a really nice dinner at our friends’ house. Ellen goes to preschool with their twins and she is madly in love with both of them. A fact illustrated upon our speedy and ugly departure this evening. The conversation was just getting good when the children decided to re-appear. Isn’t that always the case? We were talking about racism and other antiquities in our society (which is a sad statement as it is still regularly observed). Part of the talk was about who, if anyone, is allowed to be ignorant in their views based on age. “My Great Uncle So-in-so is really sexist, but he is 80…what are you gonna do?” Grandpa Armstrong (most called him BJ or “Big Jim” since they had a son named Jim also) probably was a racist, and I am sure he probably would not have “approved” of a gay lifestyle, or would probably have issue with much of today’s culture, along with any number of judgmental points of view. His wife, the only living matriarch in my family at 96, probably feels much the same. But I cannot help but think that they would really love the couple that we had dinner with this evening.
Despite their obvious differences.
“easy cut – easy sew” according to the envelope. It really was. I could have finished this in one sitting if I had just tried to. The spring cleaning/house purge is on since I will be having major house guests in May. While we were home before Christmas I did my uncle the service of culling through my aunt’s voluminous stash of fabrics, patterns and ephemera and came home with some real winners. This is the first one I have knuckled down and sewn and I can almost guarantee I will be making more. The pocket was a last minute addition, since I have noticed that we have entered the “treasure collection” phase of her life. I swear, if I wash one more pocket full of stones I will break the washer. Maybe some day I will learn to check pockets first?
When I was little dinnertime was nothing like the fights we have around here these days. Mom made a lot (I am talking 5 out of 7 days worth) of casseroles. Here in Minnesota they call them a hot dish, but the concept is the same: open fridge, choose several items in order of expiration date, mix with a can of cream of whatever you’ve got, bake (with cheese if we were lucky), eat. I just told my mom the other day how the brilliance of this had only now occurred to me (minus the cream soup – I usually lean toward making a roux instead). I am repeating history minus one major thing. I had to eat the casserole (or at the very least, consume a “Girl Scout no-thank-you helping – three bites) and Ellen…well, I am just not in a place for the screaming tired end of day rants that can last up to 45 minutes. I do feel like a marginal parent for not forcing the issue, my greatest fear being that she grows up to eat like my sister (who has a top ten that rotates regularly and consists of little more than mac and cheese and pizza I was just corrected, apparently it rotates between mac an cheese and steak. At least she still eats meat!). I so hope that this will be a phase. I mean, we are foodies for goodness sake!! This is what I call a meal:
I do have to admit, never underestimate the power of the pasta. Last night after deciding she was all done with her dinner after cleaning her plate one time, after two marshmallows (“dessert”), she cleaned up the rest of the pasta. Funny girl.
This image shows my lack of appreciation for the husband’s employer. “I let my martini sweat upon your computer!”
Yes, I love a good martini and yes, I drink them in a rocks glass. Less opportunity for spillage. Another funny thing in this picture (other than the poor framing, which enables you to see the junk behind the computer) is his reverse Polish notation calculator. The first time he said that to me I laughed so hard I almost threw up. What a dork! I guess most people in the numbers industry prefer this type of calculator. I still think it is funny to say.
So Dana gave me a link a while ago to a recipe to make English muffins. Oh my. Thomas needs to work on his skills. These are more doughy with less holes and ever so slightly sweet, despite the fact that there are only 2 tablespoons in the whole 18 muffin recipe. So very yummy.
In trying to capture this picture, I glimpsed the world that Sarah lives in every day. I would take the pic, look at it on the camera, adjust the jar, take another, move the knife…and on and on. I am not in love with this one, but sunlight was not on my side, so I acquiesced. It’ll do.
Much like Suse over at Pea Soup (PS, how do I love those Australians? Let me count the ways. Can I move there?) I am inserting a random picture and then discussing something totally different. I hope that comes off to her as nothing more than a total compliment!! I imagine most of you keep up via Flickr, but for the one (two?) of you who ever keep up with me, I thought a post was in order. Cuz’ y’know. Blog and all.
So.
Remnants of today.
I caught up with Sarah and Dana and I have to say, Easter break was too long. Also here is another thing. As I drove home I really, truly was thinking (as I drove past the Groveland Rec. ) I really will miss winter. Damn if that Minnesota doesn’t settle into the bones.
