Treasure Chest Thursday – Something Near & Dear

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Presently I am riding in my car as I type this post.  No, I am not driving!!

One of the reasons I wanted to try typing this using my iPhone is because the treasured object I am sharing with you today happens to be an old tin that once contained a typewriter ribbon.  Now, if you’re under 40, you might not even know what a typewriter ribbon is!

Well, back in the day, before personal computers, when we had to do things manually, there was a machine called a TYPEWRITER.  It was similar to a PC, in that it had a keyboard with keys that you had to strike hard to get the letters to show up on the paper.  Yes, paper.  No  screen preview beforehand either.  If you messed up and couldn’t fix it, you had to start over with a clean sheet.  You have to remember, there were a lot of trees back then & not many tree huggers!  But the typewriter was “green” in a sense since it did not require electricity to use it.  Like I said, it was operated manually.  So, you would type, striking the keys & the keys would strike against the inked ribbon which would apply the letters to the paper.

Ah, the ribbon!  That was a pain to change when the old one no longer had any ink left.  I don’t know of anyone that didn’t end up an inked mess!  And it seemed the ink would stay on your hands (& clothes) forever!

My paternal grandfather, Robert O. Ballou, was a writer.  You can read more about him in my post, True Blue Ballous.  When I look at this little tin that sits on my computer desk, I picture Grandpop in his tiny studio apartment in Manhatten, typing away on his old Underwood.  I imagine the sound of the paper as he rolls it in the typewriter and the “ding” the machine makes when he reaches the end of a string of sentences.  And, I imagine the black ink on his hands provided as much satisfaction to him as the dark, rich soil in his garden did, as he tended to his vegetables and flowers on the weekends he went back to his Connecticut home.

So, I wonder what he would think of me, in this 21st century, typing away with just my index finger on a computer screen about 3″ wide & when I’m finished, with just a “tap,” I can send it immediately to people all over the world?

Wordless Wednesday – Party Girls! (Post Your Caption)

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My cousin, Jean Renee, and her friend, Sarah Anne

What do you think would be a good caption for this picture?  Post your caption in the comments section!

Jean – “I wish she would take the picture so I can get this stupid paper plate off my head.”

Sarah – “Oh, my gosh, this is tied so tight…just smiling is cutting off my oxygen!”

Maritime Monday – Grandpop’s Ashes

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My maternal grandfather was Henry Edward Fountain, although he always said his name was Edward Henry.  It didn’t really matter because he was always referred to as “Ed.”

Grandpop was a boat builder (civilian) for the Coast Guard.  He retired in 1962 at age 54 with a great pension.  He then became, in his own words, a “professional loafer.”

Grandpop loved the water, especially the Chesapeake Bay.  He took his boat, the one he built himself, out on the water, fishing and crabbing, every chance he could.  I loved going with him, especially when we went crabbing.

So, it wasn’t so far-fetched of an idea that after all of the years of being out on the Bay, that Grandpop thought he should give something back.  He decided that after he died, he wanted to become fish food.  Maybe he spent too much time in the sun or read too many “Save the Bay” bumper stickers.  I don’t know.  But that was his wish, nevertheless.

Well, Grandpop died in January of 1991 and was cremated.  His two daughters, my mother and my Aunt Jackie, were in their 50′s at this time.  It was going to be their “job” to give Grandpop his dying wish.

Here, I must interject that my mother and my aunt are two very different personalities.  My aunt has a very hard time making up her mind.  She wants her decisions to be just right, so she won’t have any regrets later.  (She once got a book on how to make decisions.  I asked her how she liked it and she told me she couldn’t decide whether to read it or not!!)  My mother is more impulsive.  She wants to get it done NOW, and move on to the next thing before she has to think about it.  Also, Mom is a lot like my grandfather while my aunt is more like my grandmother.

So, back to the story…

Mom and Aunt Jackie decided to drive, with Grandpop’s ashes, over to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, hoping to find “just the right spot” on the shore.  In order to get to Eastern Shore, they had to drive over the Bay Bridge and pay a toll, both coming and going.  Now, remember, this is January.  It’s cold, windy and there aren’t a lot of “lovely spots” near the Bay at this time of year.  Of course, they couldn’t decide.  So, back over the bridge they go.  Still couldn’t decide…so, back across the bridge.  Then, back again.  I guess by this time, my mother had had enough.  They decided they would go to Sandy Point State Park.  (I’m sure the park was closed in January so they didn’t have to pay the entrance fee, thank goodness!)

So, there they got out of the car, Aunt Jackie grasping the urn…holding on one last time.  It was bitter cold and windy on this January day.  It seemed fitting somehow.

The two women huddled together for warmth. Mom tied her scarf a little tighter.  They slowly fumbled across the sand and out onto some large rocks.  This was their final farewell to their Dad.  A solemn time.

It was decided that Aunt Jackie would open the urn and the two of them would hold onto it together, raising the ashes and watch them fly off into the Chesapeake Bay, into the wind and waves.  They probably pictured Grandpop waving goodbye from his little boat…but wait…Aunt Jackie can’t get the lid off.  “Give it to me, Jackie,” Mom said impulsively.  Mom had had enough.  She wanted to go home and take a nap!

So, Mom struggled with the lid.  She couldn’t get it off either!  She banged the urn on the rocks like she used to bang the lid of the peanut butter jar to get it open.  Finally…it came off!

These two sisters looked at each other with a final farewell in their misty eyes.  Mom gently placed her hand over her sister’s and the two of them, in complete synchronization, raised the urn up high in the sky and jerked their arms to release the ashes out over the wide expanse of the Chesapeake Bay.  However…these two daughters of this man, who spent his life boating on the Bay, failed to notice the direction of the wind…and in the very same instance they both, in complete synchronization, discovered it, it was too late.  The wind spewed the ashes into their misty eyes, in their hair, over their clothes, in Mom’s teeth.

Coughing and spewing, they managed to brush themselves off and tried desperately to regain some kind of composure.  Mom turned to try hurriedly to get back to the warmth of the car. “This whole experience was for the birds!” I’m sure my mother thought to herself.

Aunt Jackie quickly called, “Rosalie, shouldn’t we say something?”

“You say what the hell you want, Jackie.  I’m going back in the car,” said Grandpop…I mean, Mom.

Share Your Story – The Cowboy & the Cat (Winnetoon, NE)

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Gayle Neuhaus shares a more personal Winnetoon story…I know you will enjoy it as much as I do!  AV

GeneaBloggers prompt for stories of childhood pets. I did have many as a child, but this is my favorite pet story. GN

 

Daily, as I worked in the flower garden, she would lay about five feet from me.  The stray cat had long beautiful dark fur with lighter and darker markings.  Each front paw sported six toes.  As the days passed, the cat edged closer, scooting away, if I tried touching her.

Repeatedly, I told her, “Cat, go home!”, until I realized she had kittens hidden in Ed’s John, one of the outhouses in Privy Path.  Well, a mother needs nourishment to raise her babies.  I offered a breakfast of generic dry cat food.  She haughtily refused it.  I switched to expensive canned food.  This suited her culinary taste.

Several weeks later, I was allowed brief pats at her discretion and “Mitten” moved into the workshop.

Cowboy Joe, who had worked with me for years repairing furniture, detested cats – Mitten, more than most.  Joe was straightforward and down to earth.  Mitten had an attitude—she was QUEEN!  The cowboy and the cat formed an edgy relationship.

Two years passed with the three of us sharing the workshop.  Then, Joe became ill, missing many workdays.  On his last day here, Mitten disappeared.  While he was still well enough, Joe and I talked on the phone each day.  He told me he’d seen Mitten on a load of hay just before it pulled out of town.  Knowing how attached I was to her, he said, “I didn’t like her sneaky ways, but I hope she comes back.”  I replied, “I’d rather have the cowboy than the cat.”

It was lonesome in the workshop.  Joe was hospitalized with terminal cancer.  Still, no sign of Mitten.

Just ten weeks after he was hospitalized, I received the dreaded call.  Joe had passed away.  With tears streaming, I fumbled my way through the open door of the workshop.  In the shadows, something moved.  Mitten came forward to greet me!  I grabbed her up and sobbed, “Joe, you sent Mitten back to comfort me.”

As the cowboy was on his way to heaven, did he whisper, “Cat, go home…”

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Mitten is a Maine Coon Polydactyl, an “Ernest Hemingway Cat”.  The QUEEN refuses to pose for a portrait.  So, check out this link to see what she looks like, along with a picture showing the paws with thumbs. This link explains Ernest Hemingway’s connection with these cats.

When Mitten returned from her 10 week trip, she was a very changed cat…never a loving lap cat, she became obsessed with sleeping on my lap for hours.  She would follow me everywhere, even waiting outside the restroom door.  Mitten seemed to know I was depressed and needed comfort.  She also needed to know she was really home.  Who knows what terrible experiences she had, besides stormy and rainy weather.  In fact, so much rain, the ditches and culverts overran.  As an aftermath of the storms, Mitten became afraid of thunder and loud noises.  She was in remarkable condition except for ear mites, fleas and ticks.  One front leg had a tear almost to the bone.  One side must have been hurt, as she still complains when it is touched.  Wish she could relate her adventures.

It took several weeks for Mitten to relax and almost become her former independent self.  When she originally moved into the shop, I was the only one who could touch her, but only for a moment.  After her return, she gradually accepted the brief attention of others.

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March 2009

Two years ago, the 19th, Mitten disappeared, returning June 5th.  Over this period, her attitude has completely changed.  Maybe partly due to the fact that her grown kitten, Boo, was taken by someone on Christmas Eve Day, 2008.  She loves being “THE CAT” in residence and letting everyone know she is “Queen”.  Now, she demands attention from most every customer coming in the door, following them around, asking for a pat.

She has her own toy box on the front counter and is either sleeping in it or throwing out her toys.  An identical box sits by my computer, where she sleeps or intently watches the mouse and other moving objects on the screen.  This box used to be Boo’s.  Mitten refused to use it, until I changed the bedding.  Her favorite sleeping spots are the $350 baby carriage and the $500 baby cradle.

Boo spent a lot of his time taking over Mitten’s favorite resting spots.  This miffed her greatly.  Now, it’s all hers.  Wonder if she had something to do with Boo’s disappearance?  Willard claims she took him off to where she was and said, “Now, see if you can find your way back.”  Boo did not have Mitten’s smarts.  Joe always called him the dumb cat, but he was so much fun.  Once, Joe dug a hole for me to plant a tree.  I saw Boo with all but his back legs and tail in the hole, spinning round and round.  Something scared him badly one day, then, for two weeks he refused to leave the workshop.  I would carry him to the store and back in the evening.  The ceiling fan terrified him, sending him under the workbench.  Chasing bugs was a great pastime.  Boo loved to lie in my arm like a baby when I was on the computer.  If I was using Dogpile and the dog would bark, he was instantly awake and gone.  Boo would always answer with “Pert” when I called.

Mitten only answers if it pleases her.  If I can’t find her, all I have to do is open the big garage door.  When she hears that, she comes running. The same with the Museum front door.  Mitten is a terrible snoop and has been locked in buildings several times.  Last winter, I was working in the store one evening and I could not find Mitten.  Finally, I unlocked the postal drawer and there she was!  She still crawls in there.  Now, I know enough to look.

These past few months, Mitten has become very vocal, actually demanding.  When she wants outside, she nags.  When she wants inside, she nags.  If I don’t jump immediately, she hangs on the front door and looks in the window, nagging.  There are certain people, she depends on to be her doorman.  Carol is one.  Mitten saw Carol go towards the bank, ran after her, nagging.  Carol asked, “Do you want in?” Mitten nagged some more as she ran to the store’s front door, knowing Carol would follow and open both doors for her.

Mitten hates getting her feet wet.  As I scoop snow from the store to the workshop, she follows along behind, waiting for the snow to be removed.  Then, she daintily pads down the walk to check out her pet door in the shop.  Jon had made a loft for Mitten and Boo, so they could lie and look out the window.  They both loved it, but would not share.  Now, with Boo gone, I find Mitten there quite often, enjoying the sunshine or keeping out of the rain, while watching the street activity.

Mitten has her favorite people and mail carrier, Lyle is one.  When she hears him, she jumps from the computer tower to the top of the carrier case to see him.  She spends quite a bit of that time, dusting his cased mail with her tail.

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