THREADS

Thrift stores can be the beginning of adventure and discovery.  You may not be looking for anything in particular, but many times you will come across an unexpected or unique object that you realize you must bring home.  For some, it’s a piece of clothing or jewelry that reminds you of an earlier time.  For some, it may be furniture to fill in the spaces of an apartment or house. Remodelers can find new sinks or bathtubs, left over from a contractor’s last job, or leftover molding that would be perfect to repurpose as picture frames.  Yogurt makers, crock pots, bicycle helmets, and golf clubs are yours for just a few dollars, as are plates and cups from every tourist spot you’ve never been to.

            My favorite section of the store holds craft items.  If I’m lucky, I’ll discover some yarn.  If I’m really lucky, I’ll discover more than one skein of the same color and weight yarn.  Sometimes the yarn will still be encased in its wrapper.  Other times, it may be rolled into a ball as if it had been readied for a project.  I might find material, perhaps left over from a drapery or upholstering project.  Sometimes the material will only be a yard or less.  Sometimes, I’ve hit the bonanza and found enough yardage to make a pair of drapes or redo several worn-out chair seats.  There may be a plastic box with discarded lengths of ribbon or lacey edgings. Sadly, you come across half finished or half started, depending on the way you look at it, holiday decorations or quilts or crocheted items; a blanket, doll clothing, or a silly, squishy animal that never had its limbs attached..

            Why are these items on these shelves and bins?  Did the owner buy too much material or yarn for their project?  I hope that’s the answer.  Did they just give up because the project became too burdensome or time-consuming?  Well, you bring your stash up to the counter and pluck down a few dollar bills, and walk out, 

            Home, you spend a few quiet moments taking your finds out of the plastic bag and sorting them, deciding what potential project you see before you.  That large ball of pink yarn catches your eye, and you unroll a yard or so and stop!  A red dot, no, more than one dot!  Could this be blood?  Another skein of a different color has a crochet hook nestled inside.  This ordinarily is not uncommon, but paired with what you definitely think is a bloodied skein of yarn, is looking pretty suspicious.  Was the hook used to stab the crocheter, or did the crocheter use it against someone else?  Why is Santa’s head missing from the unfinished Christmas tree skirt?  Is it a clue?  Why is the name Anne embroidered into a quilt patch?  Was that perfectly good crockpot used to simmer a poisonous substance?

            After all items are examined, you put them away for the time being.  Eventually, you’ll find something to do with your newly acquired craft items, but first, you need to sit down and start writing the story of the murdered or murderous crocheter. 

                        Maybe change the yarn. Pink is kinda sissy.

                        Would a steel knitting needle work better?

                        Who the heck is Anne?

Did I really need that crock pot?

   Fiction writing can be challenging but crafty.

   Sharon

Thank you for our Good Old Days

The Stanley Cup Playoffs are finally over and the trophy will be enjoying the good life in Sunrise, Florida, until next year’s winning team is announced.  After watching four rounds of best of seven games, I’ve seen enough Hockey to last me until next season. Most of the “summer games” don’t hold my interest as much so I guess I’ll have to find something else to while away my evenings.  I sure do miss the summers of long ago.

            Bike riding was the number one sport in our neighborhood.  I remember staring out the window watching kids race past my house, a veritable blur of reds and blues.  The cool kids customized their rides with balloons or baseball cards wedged in the spokes of the wheels, making a sputtering, racecar sound.  I wanted to be out there!  I knew I could ride just as fast and be a racer to be reckoned with!

            Hinting, suggesting, out and out begging didn’t work with my mother.  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said.  Do you see any other girls out there?”  The only other girl in the neighborhood was a dweeb who recreated by sitting on her porch steps, watching the cars go by.  We finally got to a “maybe when you’re older” response.  Magically, on Christmas day, a blue girl’s Schwinn bicycle, with training wheels, was nestled next to the tree.  Dreams do come true!

            Unfortunately, December, January, February, etc., usually coincides with lots of snow in Chicago. My brand new hot rod transportation remained in the living room until enough snow melted or got blown away for my mother to allow my lessons to commence.  After a few shaky starts, I got the hang of it and was ready to travel on my own.  Then my mom laid down the rule that I couldn’t go further than my house and the one next door.  That was about as good as driving a Ferrari the length of a swimming pool!!!  My dad intervened and was able to negotiate a deal where I could go to the end of our street, if I was careful.

            Needless to say, the training wheels soon came off and I steadily expanded my territory.  My Schwinn and I roared through the neighborhood, baseball cards clicking and my hair blowing in the wind.  Yes, I did end up crashing into a tree and rearranging the handlebars and bike chain, as well as dinging up the metal and my knees. Was it worth it?  YES.

                A few years later, my boyfriend, Jerry, confessed that he had never ridden a bicycle.  That was a memorable summer, full of laughs and life threatening moments.  Our neighbors never understood why their garage doors had scratches and dents or why their garbage cans were moved.  Somehow, they missed hearing the screams and occasional expletives coming from the alleyways behind their houses. 

            For a final test, I took him to the neighborhood park and let him ride on the pathways.  He started going downhill a little too fast and I found him, bike under him, feet planted on the ground, right at the edge of the lagoon.  We gave up his lessons for a while.  It might have been a problem if he had fallen into the lagoon since he didn’t know how to swim either.  He eventually did get the hang of bike riding and we both looked back on that summer as one of the really best of “the good old days.” 

            I wonder what the writers of the Declaration of Independence would think about their country now that it’s all grown up.  Would they be surprised at what we have become or dismayed?  Regardless, we are a multifaceted people, coming from places unknown in their time, with challenges and aspirations unfamiliar and or similar to theirs.  I personally think Benjamin Franklin, with his scientific mind, and broad sense of humor, would chuckle a bit.  The rest of the signers, I don’t know how they would take us.  All I know for sure is that they gave up a lot for us to be here today.  Five of those signers were captured by the British, tortured and killed. Twelve signers had their homes burned to the ground.  Two signers had sons killed in the Revolutionary War and two signers had sons captured.  Nine signers fought in the war and died for us. 

            These fifty-six men who drafted and signed the Declaration of Independence gave much of their lives so that we can remember our “Good Old Days.” Let us hope that our children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren will have good memories to pass on, and will remember that our freedom was not and will never be free,

Sharon

Hockey

I hadn’t thought about it in years but channel surfing came at the right time this year and I got hooked on the Stanley Cup Playoffs.  It’s a long, drawn-out series of seven games times four to see which team carries home the thirty-four-and-a-half pound trophy and a reasonable amount of money.  Quite a few more teams are vying for it now than when I used to sit at home with my dad and watch the action.  Who would have thought of Hockey games in Miami!!!

            My dad was a seasonal guy.  There was Baseball season, Hockey season, and a season for all other games like Roller Derby, Wrestling, and Boxing. Ice Hockey was my favorite.  The action was non-stop as the players darted from one side of the rink to the other, pushing, pulling, slapping, and hurtling the tiny black puck hopefully into the opponent’s net. In those days, faceguards and helmets were not normally part of the uniform, so occasionally the puck ended up in someone’s face. Concussions were prevalent as well. Sometimes your eyes hurt from trying to get in all the action shown on the small tv screen as you waited for the announcer’s, “A shot and a goal by…”

            My team was the Chicago Blackhawks and my favorite player was Bobby Hull.  Dubbed the ‘Golden Jet," he was a Canadian-born skater who played in over one thousand NHL games during his tenure.  He could skate twenty-nine mph and his slapshot was once clocked at 118 mph.  He could pass, he could score, and could he fight!  There was always a reason to raise up the sticks and pound on each other in a free-for-all! 

            I was working in downtown Chicago and I heard Bobby Hull was going to be at a Florsheim shoe store on Dearborn Street, signing autographs during the noon hour.  I managed to duck out of the office and hike my way over to the store to stand in line for what seemed forever.  Suddenly, there I was, standing across from the “Golden Jet” himself.  Our eyes met.  Well, actually mine were looking further down, admiring his false front teeth.  He smiled, asked my name, which luckily I remembered, and we exchanged pleasantries which I don’t remember.  I walked out of the store clutching my autographed photo and walked slowly back to work.  That evening I showed Jerry my prize.  He never really got into Hockey much but he always understood where I came from with it.

            A year or so after I snagged my Bobby Hull photo, I received one of the nicest gifts ever.  I think it was Valentine’s Day and Jerry had been out working late on his second job.  He walked in with something large wrapped in plastic bags and told me to close my eyes. He told me that he loved me and had wanted to get me a fantastic gift but the stores were closed and he hoped this would be ok with me.  First, he reached into his pocket and gave me a silly, children’s card that he had drawn all over.  Then, out came a Snicker’s bar.  The plastic bag-wrapped gift was handed over and I couldn’t help but laugh.  I tore off the plastic and grabbed my very own Chicago Blackhawk authorized, wooden Hockey stick that he had found in our local convenience store.  That was the sweetest, nicest, most wonderful, most romantic gift a girl could ever wish for!

            I’ve had Bobby Hull’s photo and the Hockey stick both for over fifty years.  The photo is on the office wall and the stick is in my closet.  The stick may have never played in a game but I can imagine the announcer saying “A shot and a goal by Jerry Ahern”.

Sharon

A FEW MORE QUESTIONS

I had some more thoughts about what is going on in our universe today and I wanted to share these thoughts with you to see if any of this concerns you.  If not, I totally understand; maybe I just need a life!

      A big concern right now is the price of eggs.  They have gone from being an inexpensive source of protein to a product you might expect to find on the black market. It's gotten to the point where I've heard some small neighborhood stores are selling them individually.  There isn't much the consumer can do except wait out the bird flu epidemic and hope for a healthy generation of layers to start producing soon.

            While we wait, which is no time soon, we are importing eggs from Canada, Turkey, and Brazil.  Something I found interesting is that forty-two percent of foreign eggs came to us from Canada in 2023.  One of the reasons we were not importing a large amount of eggs before bird flu was we felt other country's eggs were more likely to be contaminated.  Guess what?  Prices aren't going to return to normal for a while but nothing beats scrambled eggs while you yearn for some comfort food.  

            Just as an aside, did you know most commercial egg-laying chickens get taken away to processing plants at the ripe old age of eighteen months?  There they will be turned into ingredients for dog or cat food, frozen dinners, or soup.

            Remember years ago when the words orange juice had FLORIDA in front of them?  Growing up, I watched singer, Bing Crosby, on television shows promoting Minute Maid frozen orange juice, extolling its virtues as a delicious, healthy drink. Of course, he was a stockholder in the company.  He later sold his 20,000 shares for a considerable amount and bought into another similar company.

            I still enjoy a glass each morning and appreciate the convenience of carrying home small cans of frozen concentrate as opposed to lugging heavy jugs of prewatered-down juice.  Have you noticed that there's a slight difference in taste from one container to another? Much of our orange juice is coming in from other countries nowadays since Florida's orange groves are declining.  We get about twelve percent from Brazil and nine percent from Mexico.  Other countries like Chile, Argentina, and South Africa add to the mix.  It seems like our American breakfasts come to us with a little help from our foreign friends.

            My local library has diverse activities every day for bouncing babies to seniors; book clubs to gaming, knitting to gardening, yoga to painting, and Bingo!  Let’s not forget lots of books!  I was surprised to see that they were including classes on cursive writing.  Cursive fell from grace when Common Core Standards removed it in 2010 from curriculum requirements.  Sure, we all use computers for the majority of our correspondence now but, can young people sign their names on a document or read something written before this century?  I thought we were going to keep this information a secret, just like driving with a manual transmission!

            Speaking of libraries, check out INGENIOUS A Biography of Benjamin Franklin, Scientist.  Unlike many of his biographies, this one dwells on his accomplishments as a scientist and his observations over his eight-four years.  Franklin had very little formal education but he had an almost childlike curiosity about the world around him.  We associate him with kite flying and electricity but he was so much more.  He was able to parlay his scientific genius and the respect he achieved in both France and England as well, of course, in our emerging nation, to negotiate funding and military support to help us win our independence.  He was an eloquent speaker and negotiator, a jack of all trades, and well loved by the ladies.  And, as we all know, in 1731 Benjamin Franklin started the first subscription library in Philadelphia. Thanks, Ben.

Sharon

I JUST HAD A FEW QUESTIONS

i think most of the world was happy to see our two American astronauts, Butch Wilmore and Suni Williams, return to earth. Their eight-day mission on the International Space Station was extended, lasting nine months due to several safety issues with the capsule designed to send them home. Everything worked out, with the two extra passengers integrated into the crew’s daily program. Hopefully, there were plenty of snacks to go around!  Kudos to all the people involved with our space program, up in the air and down on the ground. Their work is phenomenal!

  What I don’t understand is why are we so concerned with Suni Williams’ hair color?  These people were confined to the space station for far longer than anticipated.  They were fully trained and capable of doing all sorts of experiments and astronaut ‘stuff’ that we couldn’t even imagine how to do.  Their bodies have undergone changes that may not return to normal for a long time, or never. They left their families behind.  They are heroes!  Anyone who has the courage to strap into a container that’s going to be lifted off the ground by rockets belching flames; anticipate meeting up with a small target miles above and,, living and working in what I would consider a claustrophobic environment, has gotta be dedicated and deserves to be called a hero.  Let’s not care about an astronaut’s hair color.  Let’s just hope they all come back safe and sound!

                   

Have you been reading about Woolly Mice?  A Texas biotechnology firm has been able to genetically engineer mice with the characteristic hair and cold tolerance of the Woolly Mammoth which has been extinct for at least four thousand years.  They are hoping to produce the first elephant calf with mammoth characteristics by the end of 2028.  The firm is saying that these engineered elephants would graze on Arctic tundra and reduce permafrost thaw, decreasing the release of carbon dioxide to slow climate change. Right… Have these people never watched any Jurassic Park movies??? 

I guess the craze of the moment is Emotional Support Chicken Nuggets.  They come five in a pouch, each with a different expression.  I thought this was a joke until going to Amazon’s website.  Not only do they sell chicken nuggets, they have donuts, pickles, and even bunnies. They are small enough to put in your pocket or share with those friends and family you feel are in need of their soft and squishy support.  They may not make you a happier person but I’m sure you make their manufacturer happy that you bought them. 

        

Hope you have a wonderful day!

Sharon