Happy Holidays - The Black Totes (Picnic-band)

Momma, I Don’t Like Being Old Either

 In a blogpost that mom Virginia published in 2012 at the age of 87, our Mom, Momma, Mother, Memaw, and Daddy's Honey said it best about getting older:

"I Don't Like Being Old.

I've discovered that you go through life thinking every day is a good day, Then you see a few grey hairs show up in your beautiful blonde hair. Then a few tired lines show up around your eyes and the corner of your mouth. That's not so bad as when you notice you've gained a little too much weight, now its time to do something about that. You start a little diet to get rid of the bulge, but that doesn't last long. You've got to eat something because you feel empty inside. So much for the diet, it went out the window.

Next thing you know your eyes are giving you trouble. You can't see as well as you used to. Thank goodness your new reading glasses work really well. You can thread a needle again. Then you find out from the doctor that your blood pressure is way too high. Thank goodness again for the medication that makes it get back to normal. Everything is going to be OK now. I'm over the hump.

Sounds like it's gonna be easy going from now on. So I thought. It was nice doing all the things I loved to do. I went places and did things I'd always wanted to do. What fun, that is until I had trouble with my back and had to have surgery. Now it's down hill all the way.

Now let's get serious. This past year is trying to do me in. I was diagnosed as having Dermatomyositis, an idiopathic, cell-medicated, inflammatory disease of the skin and muscles. It's a miserable disease that has no cure, and the treatment can cause all kinds of bad things to a person. I spent all morning today getting my eyes checked for cataracts. I was having trouble reading fine print. Guess what? My next thing to do is have these cataracts removed. I'm not giving up yet. I've got a long way to go yet." Virginia Darline Ridge Chapman (1925-2015)

Miss you, Momma

❤️Linda

This isn’t my first rodeo (oops,Quarantine)🙄

One of my great nephews calls it “corn team.” Not sure about the corn part, but being on the team has definitely been an important segment of this universal quarantine. I have never done a good job of being a team player, but for the last almost half year I have done my best. So well, in fact, that I am experiencing a “burn out” or something like that .

For most of the last few months, I thought how weird it was to keep a social distance. But then again, I am not so terribly social, so that part was extremely easy. But lately I started thinking about what this quarantine thing was really all about. And I realized that exactly 50 years ago this summer I also spent over four months in quarantine. Lockdown is probably a better word for what I endured.

Oh, I was not ill, nor was I afraid of contracting a novel disease. I was off in lockdown at the Methodist Home Hospital in New Orleans because of what had happened to me and its result, which was not socially accepted in the summer of 1970. From sometime in June (probably before my 22nd birthday) until the first week in October, I was quarantined in a surrounding that was new to me and to the other young women who were staying there with me. That was a time before cellphones, personal computers, iPads, and Facetime. Actually, it was even before color television. So that is how boring life actually was.

I have already written all that I can remember about my stay at the MHH, but after realizing that that stay was a kind of quarantine, it has given it a whole different significance to that time in my long life. I made it through that (sometimes) darkness. Those who knew about my 1970’s quarantine may have had more problems with it than I did. I knew that was what I had to do, just as I know that I have to self-quarantine today. There was an end to that lockdown back then, just as there will eventually be an end to the one today fifty summers later. I have hope, just as I am sure that I did then. Hope that those that I love and care for will come out on the other side of this quarantine and be grateful for the good life that we are given on this earth. And to make the best of every moment we have for the rest of our lives. Or at least until the next quarantine.

Linda

Remembering Survivors

Sometimes it is okay to remember those who fought the fight but came back home. As I know of no one on any sides of my family who died while serving their country, today I am remembering those that survived.  

Over the weekend I found my paternal grandfather’s draft registration. Not in my collection of family ephemera, but on the World Wide Web. I actually found it several years ago, but I did not stop to read it.  This time I noticed that JAC was 33 years old when he registered on September 12, 1918. As I know that WWI ended on November 11, 1918, I then searched the Internet to discover why he had signed up so late in the war. Simple answer was that my grandad (a young farmer and father of six children😳) was drafted. September 12 was the final date of the draft for all American men from age 18-45.  If he had not registered, he would have been labeled a “slacker” and perhaps even detained. 

Now the question is: What did my grandfather do after this? As far as I know, nothing. Five years later my own father was born as child number nine. And my dad and several brothers served our military services during WWII, but they all survived. 

That is why today I remember not only those who gave their lives for our country, but I also cherish the lives of those that came back alive.

Getting Political

When I started this blog back in 2012, I never ever intended it to be political. Times have changed, and so have I.

Where We Were At

Living the country life has been our life since 1988. And keeping up property has never been an easy task for either of us city folks. 
My Dutch husband lived and studied in Rotterdam, one of the largest harbors in the world, and I came from a 40,000 population Louisiana city to join him in 1979. 
Almost 10 years later we bought a really old Dutch farmhouse and took on the task of renovating it into our home for the three of us. Most of the reno was done by “professionals” using our plans, but the job took about eight years of our lives and much of our salaries and our nerves to complete. When we (it) were finished, we were proud and content that we had done what we could to preserve a piece of Dutch history and make a home that we thought would be our “forever”home. Of course, we added our special color schemes and updated insulation standards to meet most needs, but we left much of the character and charm of a Dutch farmhouse from a whole other time period.
When we moved into the farmhouse, the house was connected to the animal/cow stall and actually still housed a few cows until the farmer could move them to their new dwelling on the other side of the village Zoeterwoude . We left the house connected that way, but we gutted the stall (stinky😷) and transformed it into our great room. 
The working farmer who sold the one acre plot and farmhouse and sheds to us had lived there with his wife and three children and many cows.They had only one toilet which was located in the hall connecting the stall with the house, and there was only one shower stall next door to that. That was it for bathrooms! Downstairs there was a small kitchen with meagre appliances and a cramped space for a table and chairs, a minuscule living room, a “master”🙄 bedroom and a very tiny bedroom and closet. In the beginning the tight space was quite cozy, but we jumped right in and started making changes. 
One of the first things we did was to add a complete bathroom upstairs, since there were three tiny bedrooms up there situated over the living quarters downstairs. Even though we had to climb up a very steep and narrow wooden staircase to get up to those bedrooms, at least we had room for storage and the occasional visitor.
Also, another upgrade was a heating system in the house. The large space heater in the tiny living room just did not keep out the damp and cold. When the new heating apparatus got going, then the house began drying out. And so did the stink. Or maybe I just got used to it.🤷🏼‍♀️ Linda

Babies with “Hidden Issues”

Recently I came across a newspaper article about “ drug babies.” I am sure that there are kinder words used to describe babies of mothers (and even fathers) who used drugs before and during pregnancy. But as a non-smoker, usually teetotaler, and a non-pill popper, I will perhaps be humanely incorrect and write about my first awareness of “drug babies.”

As a resident and an assistant to the nurse in the Methodist Home Hospital in the summer of 1970, I often overheard conversations about the health of resident mothers and even of their babies. One situation comes to my mind after all these almost 50 years of a very young mother who gave birth to a child that summer. The nurse casually mentioned that the mother had been on drugs, which I just assumed was marijuana. That was about as much as I as a north Louisiana girl knew about drug use. Anyway, the nurse seemed more concerned about the newborn baby, since the child showed definite signs of drug withdrawal. I remember that she said that the child twitched and seemed very irritated and nervous.

I still don’t know too much about drug abuse and pregnancy, but I have the feeling that there must be more incidences of adoption of babies with “hidden issues” than we will ever know. 

As crude as it might seem, when you adopt a pet you get more information about the parents than when you adopt a human child. 

Is that still the case?
☹️Linda

Boerenkool (Kale) Stamppot Recipe

I just found my blogpost for the dinner I prepared tonight. Click to see my recipe and great food photography: Boerenkool Stamppot recipe click here.

😋😋Linda

Calling All Chapman Family Artists

It has been four years since my mom passed away and that I found the following poem in her souvenir and paperwork. Still no artistic niece or nephew has come forward with a title or illustration for Mom’s cute poem. Let’s try again:

A poem by Virginia Darline Ridge Chapman (1925-2015)

(No Title)

Mama and Papa Turtle were sitting on a log.

They were enjoying the sunshine when up jumped a Frog.

The Frog croaked, "Move over and give me some sun!"

"No," said Papa Turtle, "that wouldn't be much fun."

"We've saved this place for a friend or two-

"We didn't save this place just for you!"

The Frog was unhappy so he took a big leap.

He jumped so high and landed so deep.

He landed upon a big lily pad.

He looked around and was so very sad.

The Turtles looked over and saw him sitting there.

They felt very sorry that they didn't share

Their log with a frog in the bog.

"Come back over," Papa Turtle invited.

"Okay, I will," the Frog said all excited.

They became good friends and enjoyed the sun.

And then it was fun for everyone.

❤️Linda

Love Letter #1 (Rerun)

Let’s start from the very beginning (again😬) of my love letters to my American family in 1979. I will include a link for you to click. Easy Peasy😉 Not sure if I am digging these up again for my followers or for me. Whatever 🤷🏼‍♀️!

Love Letter #1 (Click this.)

😘Linda

Love Letter 40 Years Ago

Love Letter 40 Years Ago (Click this😬)

Forty years ago I moved to The Netherlands to be with my love. I left behind my parents, brothers and their loved ones, all of my friends, and most of my personal belongings. Back then I wrote love letters to my parents and family.

In 2014 I found those letters at my mother’s home where she had kept them for 35 years. I shared a few of those letters here on my Wetcreek Blog, and I would like to do a repeat of a few of them for any new blog followers.

Click on the above mentioned Love Letter and see what I was doing back then.
😘Linda

If You Want to Go Fast

If you want to go fast, go alone.

If you want to go far, go together.

That may have been about all of the wisdom I received from the Democratic hopeful candidates’ debate last night. But the supposedly African proverb gave me food for thought.

A few weeks ago our beagle Flip was very sick, and we thought it was the end for him. He rallied back, but I decided that perhaps the long morning walk around our meadow (2,500+ steps) was maybe too much for the old dog. So from that point until now I basically walk alone every morning around the meadow. Oh, Rocky, our black-mouthed cur goes along with me, but he isn’t on a leash. He goes his way in and out of the forest along the well cut path (thanks to my hubby❤️), and I walk a fast pace in the dew drenched grass. 

Rocky and I make it around the property in less than 30 minutes. If Flip is along on the leash, we have many stops. And in this summer heat even at 7:00 am, the fewer stops the better. Recently I have been exceeding my daily goal of 5,000 steps, and I suppose that it may be time to boost up that number to 7,500.

Several times a week I make a morning walk on our paved road with my sweet neighbor. She calls our walks “walkie talkies.” It gives me a chance to walk farther and a chance for us to catch up on family gossip. Both hers and mine. 😬

Whether I walk alone or walk together with my neighbor or even my hubby who thinks I am obsessed with this step counting, I plan to keep walking as fast and as far as I can for as long as I can. 

#keepmovinglinda

Hiding? Who Me?

Don’t know about you, but I enjoyed the “remix” or “repeat” or “re-something” that I did with this blog yesterday. So let’s do it again. Click here for a rerun of “Do You Put Your Business on the Street?”

This is the house in The Netherlands and the bridge where we put our trash out on the street.

😘Linda

Remember When?

Who says that for an English major that I have no imagination or that I can not write? 

I  recently shared my Wetcreek Blog with friends and relatives who never knew about my blog or maybe just never got around to reading it. Most folks think that I only used my blog to publish all of my mom’s cookbook. Or that I copied old tales of my parents’ lives and my life. But actually there are a few decent pieces of writing in the mix. 

This afternoon I ran across some posts that I am especially proud to say that I wrote. Here is one that I wrote four years ago during an extremely busy summer with my husband away in Europe handling business and taking care of my ill mom and before my life seemed to turn inside out.  Click here: http://wetcreek.blogspot.com/2015/06/did-you-just-say-what-i-thought-you-said.html

Hope you don’t mind the remix on this blog. I am enjoying “remembering when I wrote this.”

😘Linda

Life in the Slow Lane

I know it is my imagination, but I feel fall in the air. I never was much of a summer person, and the older I get the more I complain about the heat. My front porch garden is nothing to write home about, but we have munched on a few cherry tomatoes and actually harvested about four eggplants that I worked through our spaghetti sauce.

As I sat down to add to this blog, I noticed the beautiful pink volunteer pink Vinca that took up lodging where the “never do well” geraniums struggled and died. In the photo, the lovely Vinca plant is on the left. We won’t discuss the Zonal Geranium on the right that was much too expensive and probably not ever being included in my plant purchases again. 

Still trying to conquer this iron deficiency anemia by sipping a hot cup of plain tap water instead of tea or coffee. Enjoying a breezy and partly cloudy Saturday morning on the front porch. Life in the slow lane😬

🥰Linda

Being Ready for Death

Sorry for such a morbid topic on this sunny August morning. But my husband and I thought that we were not ready for death of any kind last evening. And no one or no thing that we know died last night, but our faithful old dog Flip seemed like he was going down that path.

It all began around 4:00 pm when Flip became sick on the wooden floor of our living room. He sometimes drinks too much water and throws it right up, but this was different. We quickly rushed him outside in case there was more, and I cleaned up. He seemed to be better after a while, so he came inside while we ate our dinner. We usually feed Flip and Rocky while we eat, so my husband made their food ready. When he put Flip’s bowl down on the floor in its place, Flip hopped up and his left back hip gave away. He could not manage moving his two back legs. We immediately jumped up to see what was wrong, but he seemed to be as confused as we were. He began hyperventilating and licking his lips and profusely dripping moisture from his mouth. He was going through shock, and so were we.

Flip is not a young dog. In fact, he found us and our home in January 2011. We estimate that he was about a year old when he arrived on our front porch on an unusually cold January afternoon.  Because of his age, we keep him pretty much housebound and never let him roam. So we know about his diet and his activity. But something made him very, very sick last evening.

After his first “stroke” or whatever he experienced, we offered him water and even food. He declined both, so my husband carried Flip to his cot in the hallway and sat on a stool beside him for a couple of hours. In the meantime, Flip threw up a frothy clear liquid at least three more times and continued to hyperventilate and lick his lips. His tongue was purple and his eyes seemed to bulge out from the sockets. Not a pretty sight, but he was definitely not feeling well. 

We notified our son that we had a sick dog, and then my husband and I decided that we would not take our Flip to the emergency vet one hour’s drive away from where we live. And then we waited. We think that he even had a second “stroke/attack.” My husband and I swapped places sitting next to our sick doggy, and just about the time that I needed to step up and recharge my iPad’s battery,  I thought that Flip’s battery had also seen its last days. He lay super quiet and seemed to scarcely breathe.

When I stood up, so did Flip! He followed me to the kitchen and drank water. Then he wagged his tail and walked toward the back door meaning that he needed to go outside. My husband took him outside. Flip sniffed around and took care of some business and then came back inside looking for food. We made water available, but he got no food last night. 

Flip slept peacefully all night. This morning he came out of his kennel ready to walk and later eat. He is sleeping nicely on his cot in our hallway at the moment. He even had a little dream and barked in his sleep.

Guess he is not ready for death.

Whew! Neither were we!

😘Linda

Happy Birthday, Opa Assink

Both sides of my family are huge. My husband’s family is not so big. So when I tell you that many of the important dates (like birthdays and weddings) seem to fall on almost the same date for both his and mine, you will wonder like I do if our union was not pre-planned. Remember, I do not believe in coincidences.😬

Yesterday was my maternal grandmother’s birthdate. Today is my Dutch husband’s maternal grandfather’s birthdate, August 16, 1871. Grandfather Gerrit Jan Assink lived to be 73 years, which happens to be the exact age of my husband at the moment. But just as my husband, Opa Assink was in fine health. He passed away in October 1944 (almost exactly a year before my husband was born) in the Allied (Martin B-26 Marauder—USAAF) bombing of the train station of Hengelo, The Netherlands. 

Although we never met Opa Assink, we do have a few lovely photos of him and lots of stories of how he grew up from being an orphan with his sister and then later on owning a fruit and vegetable shop with a hard-working wife. If you read Dutch or know how to use Google Translate, you might enjoy reading cousin Gerrit Jan’s http://www.assinks. 

Opa Assink is the stately gentleman at the foot of the stairs (center) at my in-laws’ wedding in 1942. 

😉Linda

Happy Birthday, Mammaw Em

My own mother was born before her mom turned 30. That is no great news, except my mom was child number five. And my mammaw gave birth to four more children after my mom was born in 1925. That same grandmother died at the ripe old age of 98 some 26 years ago. 

What do I remember about the grandmother who complained that my parents never let us stay over unless they stayed, too? 

Or who lived in a house without an indoor toilet until probably the late 1960’s? 

Or one who made a mean pot of chicken and dumplings but who seemed to dirty up all of the pots and pans when preparing it? 

Or traveled an eight hour Continental Trailways bus ride to visit us and looked like she had just stepped out of the beauty shop when she stepped out of the bus? 

Or the same old lady at 71 (my age now😬) that I had to sleep with in the same double bed when she came for a visit? 

Or the grandmother who always wore a dress and usually an apron? 

Or the poor farmer’s wife who made her own furniture out of bits and pieces of old and broken furniture? 

Or the seamstress who not only made clothes for herself and her brood, but stitched up quilts that my own mother later remade? 

Or the mother who lived for years with an unmarried daughter and then outlived that child and one other one?

Happy Birthday, Mammaw Emily Francis New Ridge born on August 15, 1895.

❤️Linda

My Comment to Dutch Journalist’s Article about Walmart

Sometimes my old high school debate experiences from 50 years ago just “rear their angry head.” Today I read an opinion of Walmart written by a famous Dutch journalist who happens to live in the US. I did not like what she wrote, and here is my comment to her: 

August 14, 2019
Dear Ms. DeJong, 
Although my Dutch husband and I live in the US, he reads the NRC every single day. Today he ran across your abominable article about your impression of Walmart. As an American who lived (and sometimes still do live) in The Netherlands for almost 30 years, I also am able to read your opinion of one of the most important stores that I visit at least every other week. Thousands and thousands of Americans are happy to shop at Walmart.

To begin, where we live I have never seen a Walmart in a mall. There is always plenty of parking, and they even have begun an order and pick-up service for the convenience of customers who just do not have time for walking through the store. As for the exchange with the greeter, that is just what they are. Greeters! If you needed assistance finding what you needed (a simple sink stopper), you should have asked your question at the Service desk. Most folks I know just look for the general department and then ask an employee for help if they can not find what they want. Most Walmarts are huge and chock full of all sorts of items in all sorts of prices. I never thought of Walmart as being a “cheap” store. Actually The Netherlands does a far better job of “cheap” stores than where I live in the US.

Just as the unfortunate shoppers in El Paso, Texas, I do not feel afraid when shopping at my local Walmart. Or at any grocery store in the US as far as that goes. Instead of demeaning a grocery chain that is doing its best to provide necessities and more for all communities in the US, perhaps you should have written about the gun laws in the US that need to be changed to protect all people—including those with low hanging pants and bathrobes and slippers.

Linda 

Kokedama String Fern

A few years ago I took a Master Gardeners course and became a Master Gardener with all that entails. Recently my hubby and I spent a couple of days demolishing five raised veggie beds that had filled with weeds and the walls had rotted. So except for a few tomato plants on the front porch and whatever plants have survived the Louisiana heat, that is about as much master gardening as I do these days.

I try to attend the monthly Master Gardeners meetings when we are here, but I discontinued keeping track of my gardening hours after my mom died in October 2015. I am just waiting for our LSU sponsor to reprimand me for that delinquency. Considering my health hasn’t been that great for volunteering gardening help or advice to anyone in a while, maybe I have an excuse. Taking care of my own weeds and struggling plants is work enough in this heat.

Today at our regular MG meeting we had a demonstration for preparing Japanese Kokedama plants. I was really planning on just watching the other members do their thing, since I had not signed up to participate. Then I realized that several members who signed up did not show up for the demonstration, so I dived right in.

Here is my result. A fern plant with its root ball wrapped in wet moss and packed in with clear fishing line. The plant can be displayed in a dish like I did or hanging from a string or macrame hanging. Think I will try an orchid next. Now who will water this when I am traveling?😳

🌿🌺Linda