DON'T IT TURN MY BROWN EYES BLUE?

Since the time of the Pilgrims, New England has been steeped in many traditions. One of these traditions came to mind this morning as I prepared a pot of Boston baked beans to go in the oven for a traditional Saturday evening "supper." My grandmother also came to mind as I prepared my beans because she always told us that she put bluing in her beans. For those of you who don't know what bluing is/was used for; it was to get white clothes white. I guess before bleach was around people used bluing. Of course, my grandmother didn't actually add bluing to her baked beans, but she told us she did so "we all would fart a blue streak!" As I stood there, I lovingly smiled as I remembered my Nana.

As a child we would sing this ditty and giggle:

Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat, the more you toot
The more you toot, the better you feel.
Then you're ready for  another meal...

What exactly is it about a fart that makes it so funny? And so embarassing?

I looked up bluing and found this additional use for it and got even more tickled and thought maybe my grandmother did add a drop or two of bluing in her beans since our bloodline is descendants to the Salem witches. Of all the people who were accused, imprisoned, tried and executed for witchcraft, I am directly related to over 40 of those people. I've been doing genealogy research for almost 30 years and have done a couple DNA tests. It's truly amazing what you find out when you start digging...

Obviously, my grandmother had her own method of cleansing a house of evil spirits.

THE WORLD AT 55

At 55, we are branded "mature" (at least most of us are). At 55, the world no longer is viewed in terms of black and white. Shades of gray drown out the black and white as we find very few absolutes in life. At this crucial point in our lives, many of us decide to rediscover or reinvent ourselves. For many, this is the first major decision as we travel into the autumn of our years. Why can't this segment of our lives be as colorful as the trees in New England as the become ablaze of colors decorating the landscape? Why can't these years be filled with less regret and more urgency to do all the things we wanted, but never did because life kept getting in the way? Why isn't the light at the end of the tunnel a stronger, brighter beacon guiding us along the way? 

At 55, we are no longer invincible and immortal. Many of us are drowning in all the mundane things in which life is filled. We rarely take time to have fun, be happy or treat ourselves to an occasional goodie. At 55, our nest is filled with items of comfort that keep us from venturing outside to explore. Yes, we know we should treat ourselves better, but most of us have spent a lifetime of putting others before our own needs so we are clueless when it comes time to think about ourselves. I often wonder what would happen if I suddenly let that wild hair that was so much a part of my make up in my younger years loose again. Instead of cave-dwelling, what would happen if I squander my time and money and aimlessly wander? 

Isn't going out in a blaze of glory better than slowly fizzling out? Would living on the edge and flying by the seat of my pants feel any different now than it used to feel? As I watch those around me grow old and die, these at the things I wonder at 55. 

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for each age I've been for with each age comes new realizations and truths.

* Reposted from October 13, 2010 

THERE'S A TRAITOR IN THE HOUSE!

Lately, my mindless distraction has been doing genealogy research. This isn't something new for me. In fact, I started poking around in my family tree back in the 1990's. Since then, I've found many interesting facts regarding my ancestry and a lot of not so interesting facts. I guess you have to take the good with the bad!

Since my family is all from New England finding out I had ties to the Mayflower and the Salem witches came as no surprise to me. In fact, I'm related to a dozens of the witches. Elizabeth "Goody" Proctor is my 9th great grandmother.  She's the one the book, The Crucible was written about so when it's a full moon and I get a yearning to rip my clothes off and dance naked in the backyard now I know why or at least I have a story I can tell the police when they come to get me. Speaking of books and authors...Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House On The Prairie) is a cousin, also, but I don't think I have that prairie thing going on, but Mildred definitely can rock a witch's hat!

Today wasn't a great day for discovery. Benedict Arnold popped up. I know all families have skeletons and scalawags, but traitors??? Okay! I guess I'll have to own it. It's not a close tie. He's like a 4th cousin 8 times removed. That doesn't even qualify as a kissing cousin, does it? Who of you out there understand the generational relationship when someone says so and so is 2nd cousin 3 times removed or 2 times removed? Anyway, I'll take Benedict Arnold just as long as I don't find out I'm related to Donald Trump. I know there's a fat chance of that happening because all my DNA is planted in the British Isles. I better shut up. He might have a smidgeon of Irish or Scottish tucked up his fat ass somewhere and it really would make me cry if I found out we're kissing cousins.

Speaking of crying, yesterday while sitting at a traffic light I had my one of my "moments." There was a lone bird sitting on a wire and as I watched it, I started crying. Now, as I type this I'm starting to cry again. My mother used to tell me that all birds sit on wires in the same direction. I used to tell her she's crazy. Every time I'd see birds, I'd always look and they'd never be sitting the same way. Where she got that idea I never knew, but it became a standard joke my kids and I would tease her about. Yesterday, there was just one little bird sitting alone and it made me cry. The flood gates opened and I cried all the way to the doctor's office.

I went there because I haven't been feeling well. That was an ordeal! No one there knew my mother had passed away. No, I don't want anything to help me to sleep! No, I don't want an anti-depressant. I just want my stomach to feel better (I have serious digestive issues) and I want my blood pressure to behave itself. My doc changed my blood pressure med and decided to let my gastro doc handle the other issues since I had an appointment with her today. Maybe I'll be able to sleep better and actually eat food once in awhile. That'll certainly improve my whole outlook or at least make my digestive system do a happy dance. Does anyone remember what it felt like when you were a kid and you just felt good? Well, that's my goal! I want to remember what good feels like. Not great, but good. I know there's going to be days when I hurt, but I'm tired of this "golden years" bullshit that we get fed and then we get here and it's a bunch of lies and bullshit. 

My goal tomorrow is to do some more work on the bedroom so I can work towards getting it ready to move into it EVENTUALLY. My kids are worried that it will bother me to move into my mother's old bedroom, but I think I'm okay with it and of course, my dogs are okay with wherever I am as long as they get at least 75% of my bed. 

OUT OF THE FISHBOWL

There's no place like home!!! But what if home is filled with ghosts and horrible memories? Or what if home is a safety net keeping a person from going out in the world and spreading their wings? We all tend to idealize things, especially when things are remembered through the eyes of a child, but for me, my younger years hold no such ideals. I left home many, many years ago because my only real choices were to leave and live or to stay and die.  I chose life! I really never wanted to return again and stayed away for over 20 years. After being out in the world, the more I saw and learned, the pain became dull and the wounds healed leaving minimal scars.  Home was just that and although it was far from being perfect, it definitely was one of the biggest factors of what has made me who I am today. 

When I left home, I immediately suffered from severe culture shock.  Moving from New England to the South was like moving to another planet.  Now many years later after blending into my environment here on The Redneck Riviera, I still feel like a fish out of water.  It seems I always gravitate towards people from the North....why? Some unknown, unnamed force draws me to them. It's not that I feel they are better in any way.  It just seems that the same roots that make me who I am seems to run in their blood also.  We share unspoken truths and common ground.  We share a common outlook on life for the most part.  Leaving home not only gave me a chance for survival, but it helped mend the wounds that would have never healed by staying. Distance  gave me a chance to develop a deep appreciation of the place I was born and raised and of the people who really are my kindred spirits. 

Comments:

William
DECEMBER 20, 2004 AT 6:42 AM EDIT
Know how you feel about transplantation and being out of place. I live in Missouri, and the family loves to go to Branson for vacation. It’s like Vegas, but with Jesus.