Yes-vember

November is my grandmother's birth month.  

I never liked Thomas Hood's old poem:

No sun  --  No moon

No morn -- No noon

. . . 

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruit, no flowers, no leaves, no birds...

November!

...though it certainly describes my perception of January: 

No fruit, no flowers, no leaves, no birds...

January!

Okay, that just doesn't work.  But neither does Hood's version.  

November is delightful: the hope of Christmas before the rush, the memory of summer before the vines freeze and the ground gets crunchy, the time for thanks and food. Emphasis on food.  

And my gramma's birth month.  

• Alva Bell Kroll, 1935
  
• same lady around the time of my wedding, 1969
  
• Magu (named by Timothy when he was 3) holding Kasey, the child who most favors her, 1977
  
• Magu, having been decorated by Kelly and Kasey, 1979
  

...and this last one.  Magu on her birthday with the kids in bed.  Travis is clearly competing for attention.  Mullet-haired Kasey is supplying that need.  Magu and Kathryn are watching something more interesting on television.  Probably Golden Girls.

On her lap is a quilt she hand-stitched in the 30's or 40's.  Images of potted flowers.  Flowers are supposed to be an archetypal representation of children.  Here she is surrounded.

 Happy Birthday, Magu.

Not Sure How They Met Up...

I have often observed that Meriel thinks the word "cry" is a transitive verb, the significance of which varies the traditional definition in the following way:


Merriam Webster: to cry... shed tears
Meriel Ryan: to cry... make someone suffer


She told me yesterday that a playmate had made her angry. Assuring me she had exacted revenge, she simply said, "I cried at her."


If you've been cried at by Meriel, you know exactly where she's going with this.

Though approximately a decade old and a continent away, and never having actually met Meriel face-to-face, Taylor Bastian
must accept responsibility for teaching her cousin this emotional leverage. I can't explain how she did it. But she is the only person I know who could have done it. She set the standard for assault-crying long ago.



Romans had battering rams. Driven at the right speed, they could tear down castle walls. Sometimes legionnaires would cover them with tar and set them on fire during an assault, doing untold damage.


Meriel and Taylor, of course, need only cry.




Taylor, as I mentioned, set the standard for assault-crying. By age 3 1/2 she could melt down a
mountain. I've seen her do it.


I will limit myself to one example.


I had the privilege of accompanying Taylor and her ever-perfect brother, Carter, to church one Sunday by myself. A boy and girl their respective ages took the liberty of joining us on the pew. I agreed to this arrangement conditionally: If they were the slightest bit disruptive, I would separate guilty parties.

The boys hunkered down into some serious relatively quiet boy-play, the nature of which I preferred to keep a mystery.

The two girls, on the other hand, were a handful. They started off by exchanging clothes, or attempting to. They got as far as putting on each others' shoes. I gave them Warning #1. I hated the shoes Taylor was suddenly wearing: thick, heavy cork heels. Why do mothers let their little ones wear these things? Why not just go directly to foot binding? I opted for the status quo and let her wear them.


Warning #2 was the result of a color crayon dispute.


Warning #3 followed a breath away, and I handled it calmly and with class. I stood briefly and slipped myself between the two girls. Problem solved.

Then I heard a gasp and glimpsed Taylor's face. She was sucking in air preparatory to an eruption. She was going to cry at me.


We were in the House of the Lord. There was a full congregation. I had to think fast. and move as best I could while she was still in this preparatory state. So I whisked her up in my arms and started down the aisle between the pews trying not to run.

It was too late. A car alarm, a police siren, Mt. Vesuvius, a thunderbolt of mighty Zeus... nothing compares to this tiny, beautiful child. I was only half-way out of the chapel when she went off.


And, to my horror, so did the thick-soled shoes as, in her rage, she flipped her feet up over her head and both shoes twirled a good 15 feet into the air over the unsuspecting heads of the congregation, landing squarely on ...well, I don't know who they landed on because, by the time they returned to land, I was on the other side of the building.


All the time, she was crying at me. This, I thought to myself, is what being beat up is like. The sound echoed down the corridor as I tried one classroom door after the other trying to find a muffling place. Finding one unlocked, we slipped in. It was a small storage room with a window. I set her there firmly and said, "When you stop crying, we can talk." I'm quite sure she couldn't hear me. I left her there and waited on the other side of the door.


A young woman from the congregation had apparently followed me. She said, "Would you like some help?"


What I would have liked was for her to self-destruct. I couldn't believe some stranger would think she could better handle my granddaughter than I could. I told her things were under control.

She pointed out that I had just put my granddaughter in a closet.


I told her that was probably unfair to the closet, but that these were desperate times. She left unconvinced. The noise behind the door vibrated the cinderblock walls.


Then ...it stopped.


I opened the door.


She was sitting exactly where I had put her, not a tear on her face, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Done?" I said.


"Yep," she said, jumping from her perch. She took my hand, and --I'm not making this up-- hummed a primary tune on the way back to the chapel.

Taylor and Uncle Tim, Meriel's father.

Does Size Matter?

Well, the answer is ...yes, it does.  The bigger the squash, the tougher the steamed vegetable.  But my mother didn't care.  Worse, she seems to have talked my dad into taking this picture of her and her favorite cat, possibly to illustrate how big the squash was, or how big the cat was.  Not sure.

This particular squash was baked and stuffed with hamburger and rice on the night it was picked.  The squash was pretty much the consistency of rhino hide, only sort of green.

I ate the hamburger and rice.

We had red jello for dessert, which I got none of because I didn't eat the squash.  Rules are rules.  

Mimi, Squash, and TDC; Folsom, CA, 1963

So this year, after several years of garden failure, I have finally had a good year.  This is thanks to my sweet husband who spent hours installing a watering system, knowing that, by July, I no longer care what thrives and what dives.

We had 8 4x4 boxes of vegetables and herbs.

This is what I learned from the experience:

1.  The stuff you don't particularly like will reap a record harvest.

2 .  What you are crazy about will die out quickly after an initial, anemic crop.

3.  Your oldest son WILL eat eggplant if you batter it, bread it, fry it, and call it purple squash.

4.  Certain vegetables will hide out behind lush leaves until they rot just like they do in the refrigerator after you cut them.

5.  The garden attracts children and big, fat bees.

6.  Pumpkins are fast-growing, territorial, and aggressive.  You can use this to your advantage by draping the vines over the fence separating you and your least favorite neighbor.  

7.  Pumpkins will not die even, as evidenced by the picture on the left, after your husband has mowed thoroughly between the vine and the root.  The one you see here has been decapitated for several weeks in the heat, and the leaves are still green.

8.  Lemon cucumbers are not as much fun to peel as the English variety.

9.  The fact that you successfully grow the ingredients for salsa does not in any way ensure that you will ever actually make the stuff.

10.  Going out to the garden in the early morning of a triple-digit day is really a lovely experience.  It's also pretty much over for this year.

It's An Amplified Supersonic Signal

There once was a couple named Leber

As close as the flu and a fever.

Spelled backwards it's "rebel."

And at that they could excel.

Together they were a superheterodyne *receiver.

Hal and Jeanette 1946, Oakland

Better known as Mimi and Ardy, she outranked him when they first met.  It occurred to her she could order him to kiss her.  Which she did.  Which he did.  

*He loved to play around as a Ham radio operator, leaving and responding to cryptic messages the rest of us kids sort of tuned out.  As usual, though, she jumped in to the experience.  Later, after we had grown, when he went on the road for the Army (they were both Marines in WWII, not to be confused or diminished), she sold the house, bought an Airstream, and went on the road too.  When he bought an airplane, she learned how to fly.   

Hal and Jeanette, 1980, Sanger

Star: an incandescent body in the night sky

There once was a daughter named Kasey

Who didn't like wearing things lacey

She made me feel like a frog

'Til I caught up on my blog.

But then it was I who first called her "Spacey."

Kasey in her Stars outfit.  

                      1985, California

 

Kasey, California 2005 

(20 years later)

Kasey is responsible for making me do this blog.  She registers her disappointment if I fall behind.  

I know I am spinning my wheels trying to catch up to her on any level, but the ride is always fun, always substantive, and always, always worth it. 

So, to the list of new experiences (Stars, Oral Interp, Drama Club, stained glass, the "Dannys", Florida (I really loved going to your book club with you), "Miss Judy" and that lanky, good-looking, slow-moving southern boy, the one-woman Primary ("Will you just play the piano for me?"), well, more than can be mentioned here ...I add blogging.  Something I don't think I ever would have done otherwise.  And, like the others (except maybe that dreadful Drama Club up all night in my living room) I love it.

Thank you, Spacey, for yet another adventure.

One Word: "Gotcha"

Okay I've been tagged by Krista and the Gage Cage.  She made it a triple header including Kathryn and Irene.  Kathryn has already responded but she broke the rules by including more than one word.  Where does she get this kind of defiance?  I apologize on her behalf.  And I apologize for Irene who is probably watching her grass grow right now.  It will be interesting to see, if she responds to this, if she includes the word, "ARRRRRGHHHHHH!," as featured in her last blog.

1. Where is your cell phone? ....................protected
2. Your significant other?.......................in a baseball uniform
3. Your hair?....................................falling out
4. Your mother? .................................a Marine
5. Your father?..................................another Marine
6. Your favorite thing?..........................books
7. Your dream last night?........................fuzzy
8. Your favorite drink..........................acai supercharger
9. Your dream/goal?..............................having all my children in one place 
10. The room you're in?..........................back porch
11. Your children?...............................noisy, all of them, every single one, and all their children
12. Your fear?...................................having all my children in one place
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years...........next to Tim
14. Where were you last night?...................babysitting
15. What you're not?.............................short
16. Muffins......................................yes, thank you
17. One of your wish list items?.................worm farm
18. Where you grew up?...........................California
19. What you read last..........................."Mysteries of the Middle Ages"
20. What are you wearing?........................a tiara
21. Your TV?.....................................annoying
22. Your pets?...................................cared for by Rheanna
23. Your computer? ..............................Mac
24. Your life?...................................crazy good
25. Your mood?...................................curious
26. Missing someone?.............................East Coast Ryans
27. Your car?....................................needing an oil change
28. Something you're not wearing?................makeup
29. Favorite Store?..............................Amazon.com
30. Your summer?.................................short
31. Like someone?................................Krista, despite this
32. Your favorite color?.........................orange
33. Last time you laughed........................at Finn 2 minutes ago; he's trying to scare me
34. Last time you cried?........................I don't cry (and I don't have gas)
35. Dislike?..................................ruffles
36. Like?...................................the smell of linseed oil

I had a friend in the 70's, a woman I taught with, who told me she wrote off friends by sending them a chain letter.  When I moved out here, I sent her a card and she sent me back... you guessed it, a chain letter.  And I never heard from her again.  So, Krista, if this is a modern-day chain letter, I only have one word for you:  "ARRRRRRGHHHH!"

Almost Anonymous

I always loved this picture.  Don't know what they are doing down there, but I'm sure it was something I had to clean up.

STR, m.m.s, and Timothy; Citrus Heights, CA; 1979

The jeans on the right are Timothy's.  The underpants on the left belong to STR, my middle son.  This is what I am reduced to calling him because, though he claims to love my blog and swears he is reading it, he refuses me permission to use his full name.  Probably terrified someone will google him and find out he belongs to us.  Blown cover, and all that.  This e-mail explains the parameters of our arrangement, and, though he says he isn't making fun of me, he, of course, is:

I love your blog.  But please don't use any combination of my name that would 

show up on google.  Luckily there's a TV drama couple [with my name].  

They are even more disgusting than the porno team [with my name}.  

I'm not making a joke about ANY of this.  It is really true. 

 Anyway, you're the one that brought up internet porn in that 

last limerick.  I know I can conjure up a run-on sentence.

 

 Lemme try: ...,  ...,  ..., nope.  What kind 

of Ryan child am I?

But really.  I love the blog and the pictures and the secular genealogy and everything.  I wouldn't be able to deny you anything specially under the current circumstances with the TV drama/porno couples giving you so much room to work with

before my name becomes a grease stain on the info highway and there's your run-on sentence.

Guess I'm a pretty standard Ryan child after all.  I need to get on that blog.

One more need realized.  You're on the blog.  Where you belong.

The front end (STR) 1976

STR, m.m.s., at Kathryn's wedding, 2005, with the other bookend brother, Travis.