Through the miracle of Facebook, I got in touch this weekend with somebody I went to college with 45 years ago and haven't seen or talked to in 43 years.
Seemingly unrelated to that: for a very, very long time I have been trying to remember what they called those heavy wool jackets that were cut like flannel shirts complete with breast pockets with flaps. Very popular in the mid-1960's, they were. It was three initials, but I couldn't remember which three, and it would drive me nuts every now and then trying to remember.
Just moments ago while I was reading an email message from this old friend, it came to me: they were called CPO Jackets. I had a brown one. Probably it was the only piece of brown clothing I've ever owned. I would have preferred a plaid one, because I generally don't do brown, and plaid is one of my favorite colors. The brown one probably was on sale. I was a poor college student then.
Now, the really amazing part is the connection -- and there has to be one -- between hearing from somebody after 40+ years and suddenly remembering what those jackets were called. She was from the same time in my life as that jacket.
Ain't it simply astounding the way the mind works?
According to what I see on the Internet, CPO Jackets are now considered "vintage." Yeah, well, so am I, I guess.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
It's a this and that kind of a day
I noticed this morning when leaving for work that it was actually starting to get light out, which means the days are lengthening and carrying me toward spring and warmer weather. O be joyful!
And speaking of which, maybe it's the cold and snow that has prevented some people from taking down their Christmas lights, but what I don't understand is -- why do they keep turning them on at night? Why advertise what a delinquent you are?
Congratulations to my main man Draymond Green of MSU who scored a triple-double last night in the game against Penn State.
After my facetious comment about changing my birthday the other day, I heard from loyal reader Kristin M. of Rochester, MN (yes, my niece) that she and her husband have decided to change their wedding anniversary from the end of May to the end of August to avoid medical mishaps. Don't ask. I didn't.
Did I say in a previous post that I am an official senior citizen? Well, it's really, really true. My first Social Security check was direct-deposited into the bank account on Wednesday. Look out, Value City -- here I come!
And speaking of which, maybe it's the cold and snow that has prevented some people from taking down their Christmas lights, but what I don't understand is -- why do they keep turning them on at night? Why advertise what a delinquent you are?
Congratulations to my main man Draymond Green of MSU who scored a triple-double last night in the game against Penn State.
After my facetious comment about changing my birthday the other day, I heard from loyal reader Kristin M. of Rochester, MN (yes, my niece) that she and her husband have decided to change their wedding anniversary from the end of May to the end of August to avoid medical mishaps. Don't ask. I didn't.
Did I say in a previous post that I am an official senior citizen? Well, it's really, really true. My first Social Security check was direct-deposited into the bank account on Wednesday. Look out, Value City -- here I come!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
If you think I'm kidding, undeceive yourself
You only go there once a year, so when you show up for your appointment, some little assistant takes you into some little room and, armed with a folder full of papers that are all about you, starts with the questions.
Do you still live on Smith Street? Yes.
Is your phone number the same? Yes.
Do you still work for Acme Apex? Yes
Any changes to your insurance? No.
Do you still take a multi-vitamin every day? Yes.
Is your birthday still November the first? What? Uh, no -- I changed it to the Fourth of July.
I know what you're thinking, but I'm telling you: I do not make this stuff up.
Do you still live on Smith Street? Yes.
Is your phone number the same? Yes.
Do you still work for Acme Apex? Yes
Any changes to your insurance? No.
Do you still take a multi-vitamin every day? Yes.
Is your birthday still November the first? What? Uh, no -- I changed it to the Fourth of July.
I know what you're thinking, but I'm telling you: I do not make this stuff up.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Monday, Monday ... so good to me
Almost everybody hates Mondays, I guess, except maybe The Mamas and The Papas.
For years I have suffered from the old Sunday-night-I-don’t-want-to-go-to-bed-because-then-I’ll-have-to-get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work Blues.
However, I am going to be a retired person very soon, so that malady will afflict me no more. Today, in fact, is the antepenultimate Monday of my working life.
This retirement gig is great. Not only do I have only two more Mondays on which I’ll have to get up and come to work, it also affords me the opportunity to use antepenultimate, which I haven’t used in a sentence since my last term paper.
For years I have suffered from the old Sunday-night-I-don’t-want-to-go-to-bed-because-then-I’ll-have-to-get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work Blues.
However, I am going to be a retired person very soon, so that malady will afflict me no more. Today, in fact, is the antepenultimate Monday of my working life.
This retirement gig is great. Not only do I have only two more Mondays on which I’ll have to get up and come to work, it also affords me the opportunity to use antepenultimate, which I haven’t used in a sentence since my last term paper.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Scout's Honor
I just ordered Girl Scout cookies from a co-worker’s daughter who is a Brownie Scout.
I was a Scout. I started as a Brownie Scout in the third grade. I know it was the third grade because I remember the first time I wore my brown Brownie uniform to school on the day of our troop meeting. The uniform included a brown felt hat (sort of like a beanie sans propeller) that was bobby-pinned to my hair, and I distinctly remember asking my third-grade teacher – the alliterative Wilma W. Watkins – if it was all right for us to keep our hats on during class. She said it was.
I said “us” because there were several of my troop-mates in my class, including Kathy Kelly, at whose house the meetings were held. Her mother was the assistant troop leader. Our leader's name escapes me just now, but I remember that she was British – a war bride, I think – and it was fun to listen to her talk. It was especially amusing to hear her call us “gells.” I don't know why the meetings weren't at her house.
After a year or two, I flew up to Girl Scout. It was quite the solemn ceremony. We wore our new green Girl Scout uniforms for that. I see from their web site that Brownies still fly up, except they only fly as far as Girl Scout Junior now. There’s another grade, Cadette, before they get to be Senior Girl Scouts. Perhaps they sell more uniforms that way. I do notice with a serious twinge of wistful regret that the uniforms now come in versions with pants instead of just skirts.
I must have stayed in Scouting at least until the sixth grade, because it was the summer between the fifth and sixth grades that I went to Girl Scout Camp at Rice Lake in Wisconsin. The worst two weeks of my life.
I support the Girl Scouts not just for old times' sake but also because I love the shortbread cookies and the Thin Mints. (Who doesn't like the Thin Mints?) So I ordered two boxes of each. That’ll be $14.
When I was selling them, a box of Girl Scout cookies was 50 cents. And the box was bigger.
I was a Scout. I started as a Brownie Scout in the third grade. I know it was the third grade because I remember the first time I wore my brown Brownie uniform to school on the day of our troop meeting. The uniform included a brown felt hat (sort of like a beanie sans propeller) that was bobby-pinned to my hair, and I distinctly remember asking my third-grade teacher – the alliterative Wilma W. Watkins – if it was all right for us to keep our hats on during class. She said it was.
I said “us” because there were several of my troop-mates in my class, including Kathy Kelly, at whose house the meetings were held. Her mother was the assistant troop leader. Our leader's name escapes me just now, but I remember that she was British – a war bride, I think – and it was fun to listen to her talk. It was especially amusing to hear her call us “gells.” I don't know why the meetings weren't at her house.
After a year or two, I flew up to Girl Scout. It was quite the solemn ceremony. We wore our new green Girl Scout uniforms for that. I see from their web site that Brownies still fly up, except they only fly as far as Girl Scout Junior now. There’s another grade, Cadette, before they get to be Senior Girl Scouts. Perhaps they sell more uniforms that way. I do notice with a serious twinge of wistful regret that the uniforms now come in versions with pants instead of just skirts.
I must have stayed in Scouting at least until the sixth grade, because it was the summer between the fifth and sixth grades that I went to Girl Scout Camp at Rice Lake in Wisconsin. The worst two weeks of my life.
I support the Girl Scouts not just for old times' sake but also because I love the shortbread cookies and the Thin Mints. (Who doesn't like the Thin Mints?) So I ordered two boxes of each. That’ll be $14.
When I was selling them, a box of Girl Scout cookies was 50 cents. And the box was bigger.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Mm-mm good, mm-mm good, that's what loyal friends are
Earlier today in reassuring a friend that her secret was safe with me, I actually said in an e-mail, “Mum’s the word.” An odd expression anyway, but it looks funnier in writing even than it sounds. So, of course, I had to look it up and see if I could find out exactly why the word is mum.
Shakespeare gets some credit, from Henry VI, Part 2: “Seal up your lips and give no words but mum."
But the real origin is said to be from one of the Towneley Plays about 100 years earlier in which is found: “Though thi lyppis be stokyn, yit myght thou say ‘mum’”.
It is thought that “mum” actually referred to “mmm,” as in humming. The reference to lips in both quotations gives some credence to that notion, I think, since humming requires the lips to be pressed together, making speech impossible.
Oh – and the Towneley Plays are English mystery plays (a series of 32 of them, no less) of the 15th Century. These are based on Bible stories and include tableaux and singing (probably including Gregorian chants) and recitations. They were very popular in Medieval churches, meant to edify and entertain the faithful all at the same time.
See where one question can lead you?
And after all that, I am feeling like a really noble friend to have given my word that although my lips are stabbing me, the only thing I will say is mmm.
Shakespeare gets some credit, from Henry VI, Part 2: “Seal up your lips and give no words but mum."
But the real origin is said to be from one of the Towneley Plays about 100 years earlier in which is found: “Though thi lyppis be stokyn, yit myght thou say ‘mum’”.
It is thought that “mum” actually referred to “mmm,” as in humming. The reference to lips in both quotations gives some credence to that notion, I think, since humming requires the lips to be pressed together, making speech impossible.
Oh – and the Towneley Plays are English mystery plays (a series of 32 of them, no less) of the 15th Century. These are based on Bible stories and include tableaux and singing (probably including Gregorian chants) and recitations. They were very popular in Medieval churches, meant to edify and entertain the faithful all at the same time.
See where one question can lead you?
And after all that, I am feeling like a really noble friend to have given my word that although my lips are stabbing me, the only thing I will say is mmm.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Blizzard, Schmizzard
They are saying we are in for a blizzard. They have said that numerous times in the 30 years I've lived in Michigan and I haven't seen a real blizzard yet.
The real blizzard was the Big Snow of '67 in Chicago. There was some technical problem that kept it from being an official blizzard -- the snowfall amount, temperature, and wind speed all have to make some mystical metric for it to be a blizzard, and something was an nth short, which is why they called that one the "Big Snow." It started about 5:00 a.m. on Thursday, January 25, 1967, and 23 inches of snow fell in the next 24 hours. Chicago and environs were paralyzed.
I was on my way home from work that Thursday afternoon around 2:00, the company I worked for having sent us all home. I was driving my 1966 Rambler American from Des Plaines to Palatine, on Illinois-58 (Golf Road) but never got there. Cars stopped and waited and inched ahead, but we were not really moving -- the cars were just getting closer together. I had hope -- I could see snow plough lights ahead, but we found out later the ploughs were stuck in the snow too.
Around 6:30 I finally abandoned my car (which everybody did) and fought my way through snow drifts up to my waist toward a gas station I knew was at an intersection ahead, but I found a farmhouse on the way instead. The people who lived there were graciously and generously taking in everybody who came along. About a dozen of us spent two nights in that farm house, kept warm and fed by those very nice people. The snow ploughs sent in from Wisconsin arrived around 2:00 a.m. Saturday morning to dig us out, and I got home around noon on Saturday after some very nice guys came along and helped me get my car started and out of the snow.
So, bring on your blizzard. It doesn't scare me. I was in the Big Snow of '67.
The real blizzard was the Big Snow of '67 in Chicago. There was some technical problem that kept it from being an official blizzard -- the snowfall amount, temperature, and wind speed all have to make some mystical metric for it to be a blizzard, and something was an nth short, which is why they called that one the "Big Snow." It started about 5:00 a.m. on Thursday, January 25, 1967, and 23 inches of snow fell in the next 24 hours. Chicago and environs were paralyzed.
I was on my way home from work that Thursday afternoon around 2:00, the company I worked for having sent us all home. I was driving my 1966 Rambler American from Des Plaines to Palatine, on Illinois-58 (Golf Road) but never got there. Cars stopped and waited and inched ahead, but we were not really moving -- the cars were just getting closer together. I had hope -- I could see snow plough lights ahead, but we found out later the ploughs were stuck in the snow too.
Around 6:30 I finally abandoned my car (which everybody did) and fought my way through snow drifts up to my waist toward a gas station I knew was at an intersection ahead, but I found a farmhouse on the way instead. The people who lived there were graciously and generously taking in everybody who came along. About a dozen of us spent two nights in that farm house, kept warm and fed by those very nice people. The snow ploughs sent in from Wisconsin arrived around 2:00 a.m. Saturday morning to dig us out, and I got home around noon on Saturday after some very nice guys came along and helped me get my car started and out of the snow.
So, bring on your blizzard. It doesn't scare me. I was in the Big Snow of '67.
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