The Sick, Edible Horror of 1959

Hello Dear Readers! 

Today we are going to put away our mirth, store our humor in the overhead storage compartment and put a lid on our collective jar of Hardy Har Hars — so that we may take a serious look at a trend from 1959 that is so disturbing, so bizarre, so downright twisted that, frankly,  we really don’t even want you to read the rest of the post . . . okay fine go ahead and read it . . . but you were warned!

The Edible Horror of 1959

As you can see, this 1959 cook book is trying to pass itself off as an innocent Metropolitan Cook Book featuring foods that are not only delicious and nutritious, but also, foods that appear to have a wonderful outlook on life, a cheerful disposition and an enviable outgoing vivaciousness that would light up a room!

But even though things seem innocuous enough on the surface what these pictures are actually depicting is the sick, brain-washed, utopian edible world of 1959 wherein innocent foods have been programmed into wanting to be eaten . .

As evidence, let us take a look at this unsettling illustration:

Here we have meat that has been obviously drugged so that it can be paraded before the eyes of carnivores — by its very own offspring as they wave parsley in an attempt to draw attention to their very own parent’s deliciousness!  What in heaven’s name was going on in 1959?

And in another equally troubling illustration we see this:

Here carrots, radishes and onions are happily waiting in line to be dipped into a boiling caldron of soup!  Notice the mindless smiles and the blank affectations in the eyes of indoctrinated vegetables as they so willingly and cheerfully give their lives to this 1959 Orwellian soup du jour!  Oh the vegumanity!

And it just keeps getting worse:

Here we have an apple throwing a pie in its OWN face in some sort of sick prelude to the eating of a pie made out of itself!   Thank the good lord, cruel practices such as this do not go on in the present day (except maybe in a few third world countries)!

And finally we must insist that all children be out of the room before scrolling down to this final example of 1959 edible horror:

Family Cannibalism!  Here we see a strawberry about to take a big bite of sorbet made out of Sister Strawberry!  We witness Pear munching delightedly on Brother Pear Pudding and Apple enjoying applesauce made entirely of Mother and Father Apple!

These are images that will forever sully the once pristine synapses of our heretofore innocent brains.  I’m sorry Dear Readers to have to do this to you!  But you were warned!

Until next time . . . I love you

Let’s Just Say It’s Friday and Be Done With it!

Hello Dear Readers!  Welcome to National Slacker Day.  The national holiday I just made up!  And in observance of National Slacker Day I am rerunning a post that I wrote when it obviously wasn‘t National Slacker Day.  I hope you enjoy this sampling from the archives entitled:

How to Drink A Castor Oil Sandwich in 1949

I found this little 1949 booklet at the thrift store the other day.

Apparently, back in 1949, before Facebook was invented, people had to make friends with whomever (or whatever) they could scrape up.

Alright fine, but how hard up does a person have to be to count Pure Bicarbonate of Soda as one of their friends?

I’m talking to you people of 1949! What were you thinking making Bicarbonate of Soda your friend?  Hello?  . . . ok, fine don’t answer me.

I’ll make something up and say it’s true. That’s what you get for ignoring me!

Let’s start by pretending we live in 1949.  What else were you doing today anyway. (I mean besides pretending to be working).

As you know, the first thing to do when pretending anything is to rush over to Google and start asking a lot of unnecessary questions:

What was the cost of a first class stamp in 1949?   

Google says: $.03

Who was the President of the United States in 1949?

Google says: “Harry S. Truman”

Why did Newfoundland join the Canada Confederation?   

Google says: “You’re joking right?”

How do you write 1949 in Roman Numerals?  

Google says: “Get outta here kid, ya bother me.”

Well apparently Google got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So let’s try to conjure up 1949 by using this picture from 1951 that I found in my baby book and subtracting 2 years from it in our minds.

Me and Mom (I’m on the right)

As you can see from this picture of me and Mom, 1949 was rather bleak, stark and dark. On the upside, they did have doilies (one) and lamps (one) and a window (one).

And even though you don’t see any “friends” in this picture, I’ll bet you anything if you were to go into the kitchen, you would have found Mom’s besty, Pure Bicarbonate of Soda, relaxing on the kitchen shelf, at the ready for Mom should she suddenly need Dear ol’ Carby.

OK, now that our minds are firmly ensconced in 1949, let’s just pretend something came up, and we are going to need our new BFF, Dear ol’ Carby, to come to the rescue.

Let’s say we were in need of . . . oh I don’t know maybe a . . . CASTER OIL SANDWICH?

Apparently back in 1949, there was some weirdness going on. First, that a Caster Oil Sandwich was actually on any menu at all, and second, that  it was a sandwich  you were suppose to :“Drink while effervescing.” 

I don’t know about you, but I rarely effervesce when I drink sandwiches . . . but that’s just me.

What’s say we toddle back  over to Google, shall we?  And let’s ask Google why anybody would want to drink a Caster oil Sandwich:

Under what circumstances would someone drink a Caster oil Sandwich?

Google says: “Get outta here kid, you bother me!”

Fine be that way!

If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Dear ol’ Carby preparing a Caster oil Sandwich for our new besty, Goog.

Eww!

Until next time . . . I love you

Pushing Spanish Olives Down Our 1958 Throats

Hello Dear Readers! Today as a special treat, we will be revisiting the Imported Spanish Olive Industry of 1958 through the pages of this glorious pamphlet:

The Magic of Olives with 35 delicious new recipes from 1958!

How the Imported Spanish Olive Industry all Began

Legend has it that back in 1958, a brave Madison Avenue Advertising Executive hitched a ride on a steamboat to a land called Spain where he promptly fell into a siesta (which loosely translated means asleep) under a Spanish Green Olive Tree.

When he awoke, he was famished and picked a Spanish Green Olive off a branch of the tree, thinking it a very strange little Spanish apple of some sort and popped it into his mouth after which he exclaimed “Ay Carumba!  And viola! just like that the Imported Spanish Green Olive Industry of 1958 was born!

The next thing you know, Imported Spanish Olives of 1958 were spicing up practically every dish in America, Canada, and most of Nova Scotia in concoctions like Hacienda Chicken.

This dish is called Hacienda Chicken which loosely translated means Hacienda Chicken

In this dish, we are experiencing the joy of Imported Spanish Olives as they siesta (see above for translation) atop an unmade bed of rice — lending much-needed pizazz to the orange objects which deductive reasoning tells us must be the Hacienda Chicken!

Next up we have Olive Salmon Noodle Ring:

This dish is called Olive Salmon Noodle Ring which loosely translated means Hacienda Chicken

In this dish, North Americans of 1958 could experience the magic of  the noodle-salmon- olive teaming the likes of which hadn’t been experienced since the Spanish Conquistadors threw After Conquer Parties in the corridors of the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria!

And notice how the Imported Spanish Olives lend an air of importance to the  salmon.   Surrounding it as if to say, “I’m circling you Mr. Senor or Mr. Senorita!

And finally there’s this shameless blatant shout out to the Spanish Olive:

What this sandwich lacks in imagination it makes up for in Imported Spanish Olives!  The idea being that even the simplest of North American dishes of 1958 could be made just that much better through the stacking, piling and/or slathering on of Imported Spanish Olives!

And if this doesn’t make the average household of North American want to run to (or possibly from) the dinner table, the Imported Spanish Olive Industry of 1958 doesn’t know what will!

Until next time . . . I love you

How to Calm Your Nerves and Relax

Dear Readers!  As Lucy Ricardo might ask, “Are you tired, run down, listless?  Do you poop out at parties?  Are you unpopular?  The answer to all your problems is in this little bottle book that I just happened find while rummaging around in my favorite thrift store:

For faster results, read while drinking one bottle of vitameatavegamin

This little volume was edited by the staff of Journal of Living in 1952 about the same time that Lucy  Ricardo was pitching for Vitameatavegamin.  Let’s take a look inside to see what 1950′s wisdom awaits us, shall we?

In chapter one, writer, Betty Pratt, tells us about her visit to  Dr. Rathbone’s Scientific Relaxation Class!

Obviously, brave writer, Betty Pratt had no idea she was taking her life into her own hands by entering into the fray of Dr. Rathbone’s Scientific Relaxation Class.  All this tautness relieving in the form of face screwing and arm swinging was probably downright dangerous!

Next, Dr. Rathbone relayed to Betty Pratt his rules for sleeping.

Dr. Rathbone told Betty Pratt he would like people to start getting ready for bed right after breakfast, but if that is not possible then somewhere in the  neighborhood of 10:00 a.m. should give the sleeper plenty of time to leisurely prepare for going to bed, Dr. Rathbone stated after looking at his watch and noting the time to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 10:00 a.m.

Dr. Rathbone could not stress enough to writer, Betty Pratt, what a big mistake tearing off one’s clothes is under most circumstances.  If, however, a person happened to be a romance writer doing research then it would be considered a perfectly reasonable approach. He then asked Betty Pratt if she was planning to write a romance novel any time soon to which Betty Pratt responded by soundly slapping Dr. Rathbone’s face .

Dr. Rathbone responded to Writer Betty Pratt’s slap to his face with the following bit of advice:

Shortly after this Betty Pratt’s husband, Brawny Pratt, showed up to calm and relax Dr. Rathbone’s nerves by physically persuading him into a coma.

Which is really is the most effective way to calm one’s nerves and relax.

And don’t worry.  All Dr. Rathbone needed was a couple of bottles of Vitameatavegamin and he was  back to his old self in no time.  Attempting to scientifically calm and relax women’s people’s nerves day in and day out!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Edible Horror of 1959

Hello Dear Readers! 

Today we are going to put away our mirth, store our humor in the overhead storage compartment and put a lid on our collective jar of Hardy Har Hars — so that we may take a serious look at a trend from 1959 that is so disturbing, so bizarre, so downright twisted that, frankly,  we really don’t even want you to read the rest of the post . . . okay fine go ahead and read it . . . but you were warned!

As you can see, this 1959 cook book is trying to pass itself off as an innocent Metropolitan Cook Book featuring foods that are not only delicious and nutritious, but also, foods that appear to have a wonderful outlook on life, a cheerful disposition and an enviable outgoing vivaciousness that would light up a room!

But even though things seem innocuous enough on the surface what these pictures are actually depicting is the sick, brain-washed, utopian edible world of 1959 wherein innocent foods have been programmed into wanting to be eaten . .

As evidence, let us take a look at this unsettling illustration:

Here we have meat that has been obviously drugged so that it can be paraded before the eyes of carnivores — by its very own offspring as they wave parsley in an attempt to draw attention to their very own parent’s deliciousness!  What in heaven’s name was going on in 1959?

And in another equally troubling illustration we see this:

Here carrots, radishes and onions are happily waiting in line to be dipped into a boiling caldron of soup!  Notice the mindless smiles and the blank affectations in the eyes of indoctrinated vegetables as they so willingly and cheerfully give their lives to this 1959 Orwellian soup du jour!  Oh the vegumanity!

And it just keeps getting worse:

Here we have an apple throwing a pie in its OWN face in some sort of sick prelude to the eating of said pie.  Thank the good lord, cruel practices such as this do not go on in the present day (except maybe in a few third world countries)!

And finally we must insist that all children be out of the room before scrolling down to this final example of 1959 edible horror:

Family Cannibalism!  Here we see a strawberry about to take a big bite of sorbet made out of Sister Stawberry!  We witness Pear munching delightedly on Brother Pear Pudding and Apple enjoying applesauce made entirely of Mother and Father Apple!

These are images that will forever sully the once pristine synapses of our heretofore innocent brains.  I’m sorry Dear Readers to have to do this to you!  But you were warned!

If it’s any consolation

Until next time . . . I love you

A Glimpse into the Food Lives of People From the Past

Dear Readers!  What fruitful weekend I had at the Thrift Store.  I was lucky enough to find this Heinz Ketchup cookbook from 1957!

You see, back in 1957, before life was unnecessarily complicated with Twitter, Facebook and the radio alarm clock, people would stay home and cook dishes that required a lot of Heinz Ketchup.

Let’s take a peek inside the pages of these 1957 Heinz Ketchup Prize winning recipes and see if we can get a glimpse into the food lives of people from the past:

 

It’s Red Magic! Hey wait a minute! In 1957, during the height of the cold war against communism, it seems a little odd that Heinz Ketchup would bill their product by saying “It’s Red Magic.”

And the fact that Mother seems to be flirting with a gigantic tomato man wearing a manacle isn’t helping Heinz Ketchup’s credibility either . . .  oh well let’s just keep moving.

 

Okay, here we have Mother cooking with what looks like a radio-active bottle of Heinz Ketchup. But there’s probably a simple explanation.

Mother’s husband, Father, is probably a Nuclear Physicist who sometimes brings home radioactive isotopes from the office to put in the Ketchup bottle to freak Mother out!

That Father always with the pranks!  (Too bad Mother didn’t even notice!)

 

The only explanation for what Mother is doing here is that Father told Mother to take a long walk on a short pier.

Ha! That Father!  Which Mother did, of course, and while she was at it decided to do a little fishing.

Of course, as you can see the radioactive isotope has caused the Heinz Ketchup bottle to fuse permanently to Mother’s hand.  Father. Could. Not. Stop. Laughing.

 

Here are Mother and Father’s children, Boy and Girl. They are eating minced ham and bean sandwiches that Father made for them.

Oh that wacky Father!  He made both Boy and Girl  these Ketchup bean sandwiches and is now hiding behind the Frigidaire spying on them as they try to eat their Ketchup bean sandwiches.

Right about now Father is probably thinking about how he should see if Milton Berle needs any more comedy writers!

 

Hey who’s this?  Why it’s New Mother, of course.  Old Mother had a drowning accident when she was unable to paddle to safety after falling off a short pier due to the Ketchup bottle being fused to her hand. 

But that’s okay because Father found and married New Mother later that day!  And New Mother has just cooked Father a tasty dish of  Green Beans with Ketchup!

Little does New Mother know that Father has just stuck two radioactive isotopes into the casserole dish she’s holding and Father can’t wait to see the look on New Mother’s face when she tries to set the dish down but finds that it’s fused to her hands!

Unfortunately Father didn’t get to see the look on New Mother’s face because just then the phone rang and Father ran to answer it because  — who knows — it might have been that all important call from Uncle Milty!

“I need a new comedy writer. Find out if Father’s available.”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, a glimpse into the food lives of people from the past.

Until next time . . . I love you

Dumb Things We Did in the 50′s

My dad, my brother and me in 1953.

Flipping though the pages of  the TV Guide yesterday brought back a lot of memories.  Here are some  things I haven’t thought about in years:

Smoking

When I was a little girl growing up in the 50′s and 60′s, my grandfather smoked Chesterfields and my mother smoked Salems and my dad smoked Camels.  Of course, everybody smoked everywhere.  In the house, in the car, before, during and after meals, in movie theaters, airplanes, buses and department stores and probably even at death-bed vigils.

Men used to hold cigarettes on the side of their mouths and smoke them hands free while they mowed the lawn or pumped gas. (It was the 50′s version of multi-tasking.)  If there wasn’t an ashtray people would just drop their cigarettes on the ground and step on them.

Drinking and Driving

When I was a kid I thought nothing of it when my dad would drive around with a can of beer between his legs. He drank Olympia beer.  I remember once when I was really little  going for a drive with my dad in the country.  He was driving with a can of beer between his legs, and his shotgun right beside him at the ready.  (I was also in the front seat.)  Every once in a while my dad would slow way down,  reach over,  grab his shotgun and then shoot at a pheasant from the car window.  This was a perfectly normal and natural part of everyday life. (He always missed by the way!)

Olympia Beer always claimed it was “the water” that made their beer so good, but I suspect it was the alcohol.

Helmets and Seat belts

When I was growing up, the only people who wore helmets were human cannon balls. They were the only people to wear capes too now that I think about it.

“Golly, I hope this wind doesn’t put out my cigarette!”

And seat belts?  Forget about it!  When they started making cars with seat belts everyone totally ignored them or tucked them into the seat so they wouldn’t be in the way.  I don’t even think the astronauts wore seat belts. (Probably because it would have restricted their cigarette smoking.)

Cooking

When I was a kid the term fast food meant somebody dropped a watermelon down a hill and it was rolling too fast to catch it.  Of course, I lived in a small town of a thousand people and there certainly weren’t any fast food places in that town.

My mother cooked every meal everyday and on Sunday afternoon, she would fix a big Sunday dinner.  Of course, all the stores were closed on Sundays, so if she forgot to buy an ingredient, she would have to borrow it from the neighbors or make do without.

My mother kept a coffee can of bacon grease to cook with in the cupboard above the stove. I distinctly remember this because one time when she reached to get it down, she spilled it all over herself and the stove. Boy was she mad . . . I think it might have put out her cigarette!
Until next time Dear Readers . . . I love you

The Government Helps 1956 Mom Kill The Lonely Hours of Her Day!

In this 1956 government issued Bulletin No. 10, the government suggests 1956 Mom go about killing the lonely hours of her day by freezing some strawberries!

Isn’t it adorable?

To that end, the government has transformed the simple task of placing some strawberries in the freezer into a complicated, time-consuming ordeal that is guaranteed to take 1956 Mom all day long!

Step One

First, 1956 Mom needs to wash the strawberries, then gently lift them out of the water where they will be ready for contemplation (as pictured).

To kill as many lonely hours as possible, the government is suggesting 1956 Mom contemplate the berries for two hours minimum — the same length of time she was instructed to contemplate her navel in the previously issued government Bulletin No. 9 entitled 1956 Moms and Their Navels.

Step Two:

1956 Mom now needs to remove the hulls from the berries which is easier said than done.  1956 Mom knows that she doesn’t exactly know what a strawberry hull is  — which means a trip to the local library where she can study the anatomy of a strawberry and sketch it into her Things I Once Froze diary for future strawberry freezing reference.

Step Three

1956 Mom is happy to finally get to the high point of her day, the sprinkling of the sugar! Oh what fun she will have!  But the fun doesn’t end there. She also gets to turn the strawberries over and over in the sugar for as long as her little arms will allow –giving nary a care to carpal tunnel syndrome — which, in 1956, hadn’t even been invented yet!

Step Four:

The next step is to pack the berries into a container. This step is  self-explanatory.  To find out more about things that are self-explanatory, 1956 Mom will have refer to previously issued government Bulletin No. 7 entitled The Government Explains Things That Are Self-Explanatory.

Step Five

Next 1956 Mom is going to need to press the lid on the container firmly making sure it’s on watertight — which means 1956 Mom will have to go to the garage, locate Father’s fishing gear, then find the nearest body of water in which to throw the container.  Then quickly fish it out, open the lid and check carefully for wet strawberries.  Phew! What 1956 Mom won’t do to kill the lonely hours of her day!

Step Six

Finally, 1956 Mom has made it to the very last step of her herculean strawberry freezing project.  It was touch and go there for a couple of hours!  But thanks to 1956 Mom’s perseverance, the only thing left to do now is label the containers with the name of the fruit (that’s easy . . . strawberries!) and the date she froze them.  For this, 1956 Mom will carefully pen  1 9 5 6.  Because if there’s one thing 1956 Mom knows, it’s her name!

Of course 1956 Mom might want to take a calligraphy class first to kill a few more hours of her lonely day — but that’s another government issued bulletin for another government issued day!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Further Wackadoodle Adventures of 1956 Mom

Dear Readers, here are some more tips from the pages of this 1956 Betty Crocker Cookbook (see earlier tips here) that I got at — guess where? That’s right! The thrift store!

Anyway, I noticed when compiling these tips that the “tip section” is prefaced by this cheerful poem written to inspire 1956 Mom to keep working like a dog no matter what!

If you’re tired from overwork,

Household chores you’re bound to shirk

Read these pointers tried and true

And discover what to do

–1956 Edition of Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book

As you can see, comfortable clothing for 1956 Mom consisted of a pencil skirt, and apron tied tight enough to cut off circulation to the kidneys and shoes that one’s heel didn’t fit into.

Which was a big improvement over the comfortable clothes Betty Crocker suggested for 1955 Mom which was a sturdy pair cactus needle pedal pushers, a cardigan sweater woven entirely of straw and wooden clogs.

Oh that Betty! She knew 1956 Mom needed to conserve her energy so that she could keep working from the crack of dawn to the stroke of midnight and what better way than to alternate sitting and standing!

If you look closely at the big roller that 1956 mom is operating, it looks as though she may have inadvertently flattened her right arm! 1956 Mom is still smiling though because she got to be sitting down while she was doing it!

Frankly, when giving this tip, Betty Crocker seemed to be slacking off a bit by leaving off both the illustration and the punctuation –but hey, maybe she was trying to get 1956 Mom to use her own imagination for once.

Well, at least Betty managed to assign “head work” for 1956 Mom while 1956 Mom keeps her hands busy dusting, sweeping and washing! For instance, 1956 Mom can be planning family recreation or planning the garden or planning how she will run away from home and never ever come back.

As you can see in this tip, Betty Crocker is pointing out to 1956 Mom that with a little planning and organizing, she can train her family to help with different jobs.

Young children can clear the table or, perhaps, get a job in the textile mill down the street for 12 hours a day; while the older ones can cook or, perhaps, plow the fields and chop wood til the sun goes down because Betty Crocker knows that chances are the Child Protective Services of 1956 will more than likely never know.

That Betty has a heart as big as all get out! Just when 1956 Mom cannot wash one more dish or vacuum one more floor or think up one more plan for her family’s recreation, Betty Crocker has suggested that 1956 Mom actually sit down and close her eyes and just relax her muscles!

That’s right 1956 Mom. Betty Crocker says it’s OK to let your arms, hands and head fall limp. There now. Don’t you feel better now 1956 Mom? . . . .1956 Mom? . . .   1956 Mom answer Betty!  . . .

Hmm . . . apparently 1956 Mom is too tired to revive just yet — but rest assured Betty Crocker will keep trying . . . for there are so many more household chores still to be done!

And for crying out loud, she hasn’t even started the cooking yet!

Until next time . . . I love you just as much as Betty Crocker does

The Electrical Adventures of Mother From Space Age of the Past

“At least he died doing something he loved: being electrocuted.” – my favorite tweet of all time –tweeted by Rob@imaudihere  Which brings us to the topic of today’s post:

Your Guide to Better Living Through Electricity

I was rummaging around the vintage book section in my house (the one that used to belong to the thrift store but now belongs to me) and I came across this:

Don’t you just love everything about it?  I do.  I love that Mother from Space Age of the Past has baked a humongous bowl of cookies (at least I hope they’re cookies) for Little Billy.

I love that she has her hand on the oven door, at the ready, should little Billy deem the cookies tasty enough for her to cook another humongous bowl for her husband, Big Billy.

I love that even though Mother from Space Age of the Past spends the majority of her life baking cookies; she apparently doesn’t eat any herself so she can continue to keep that crisp white-ruffled apron tied snugly around her two and three-quarters-inch waist.

Let’s turn to a page at random, shall we?

You don’t have to read it.  I already did and I’ll tell you what it says. 

Basically, Mother from Space Age of the Past hasn’t got a care in the world now that she’s living her life, electrically.

This is due to the fact that her home appliances which she refers to as her  ”tireless electric servants” do most of the work.

She fails to mention what the names are of  these “tireless electric servants”  but I’d be willing to bet a big bowl of cookies,  she’s talking about Little Billy and Big Billy.

Mother from Space Age of the Past, Big Billy and Little Billy

The article says isnt’ it nice that today’s electrical servants handle all the mechanical cooking chores automatically leaving more time for Mother from Space Age of the Past!  And all that is required is that she  open the broom closet door  every now and then and throw Little Billy and Big Billy a cookie?

It’s all here in black and white:

Ok, now that we suspect what’s really going on with the “electrical servants” let’s test our theory by taking some of the actual text as written and simply replace the code words “portable electric servants” with Big Billy and Little Billy.

“These small, lightweight, and sleekly-styled Big Billy and Little Billy are  making housekeeping more efficient . . . Big Billy and Little Billy are multipurpose. Big Billy panbroils, fries, braises and bakes, while Little Billy will pop corn . . . in addition, Big Billy and Little Billy have good table manners because of their fine styling, low table-top temperatures and cool-to-the-touch handles.   

Do you have a Big Billy and Little Billy tucked away on a shelf forgetting that they are designed to save you time and effort throughout the day?

Oh sure, that Mother from Space Age of the Past might have been crazy, but she was a crazy like a fox!

Until next time . . . I love you

Things Flushed Down the Toilet I Have Been Privy To

I don’t mean to brag, but I have been using “the facilities” on my own now for over fifty years, and I know, firsthand, some crazy things that got flushed that hadn’t oughta.

Once, when I was four, my mother bought a batch of the most beautiful red apples you ever saw and displayed them on the table.  I asked for one, and my mother gave it to me.

I was an apple lover from the get go!

I took one bite and spit it out.

That’s because this apple was a deceitful type of apple, the kind that looks like it’s going to be delicious but, instead, tastes like dry, sandy-mush.

A couple of days later, I must have forgotten how horrible the apple tasted because I asked my mother for another one.  And she agreed, but only if I promised I wouldn’t take just one bite and spit it out. Who me?  Heavens no! Mother! Please! Dont be ridiculous! She handed me an apple.

I took one bite and spit it out.

Even Eve didn't have so much trouble with an apple.

Later in the week, I happened to walk by the beautiful red apples that were still sitting on the table (now we know why) and asked for another one. My mother wisely said no because there wasn’t any questions in her mind, by now, what I was going to do.

Well for some reason, I was set on it.  I began begging dramatically.  ”Please Mother! Please!  I won’t spit it out! For the love of God,  I beg of you! I must have an apple if I am ever going to thrive!”

My mother acquiesced, handed me yet another apple along with a stern warning that she better not find this one in the garbage with one bite out of it; then left.

I took one bite and spit it out.

Ok, now I had a big problem on my hands.  Where to dispose of a big, beautiful red, sandy-mushy apple with one bite out of it.  I had to think, think! And quickly before my mother discovered the truth!

I made an emergency executive decision to flush it. So I went into the bathroom, looked both ways, threw the apple with one bite out of it into the toilet and pushed down the handle.

I was amazed when it actually went down!  Fabulous!  I dusted off my four-year-old hands and resumed playing.

Later that day I happened to walk by the bathroom just as my father was lifting the entire toilet, itself, off the floor.  I was flabbergasted!  I had no idea it would “do that!”

I still hadn’t put two and two together until I saw him reach his hand down the pipe and pull out a big beautiful red apple with one bite out of it.

Uh oh . . .

Shame quickly set it.  I couldn’t have felt worse if I would have gunned down Santa. But that’s another story for another day.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been privy to lots of things that got flushed that hadn’t outta — but it all started with that beautiful red apple with one bit out of it.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Taffy May Incident

Hello Dear Readers.  Is it Lazy Friday Rerun Blog Day already?  OK!  Who am I to argue with the calendar!  (except I do think a week should have 8 days and 3 of them should be a three-day weekend -  but apparently my calendar wouldn’t give me the time of day.)  Here’s today’s rerun:

Taffy May I Hardly Knew Ye

When I was a little girl, the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow was a horse.

I had no preference as to style, make or model.  If it had four legs and knew how to gallop, I’d take it!  We lived in a small town smack dab in the middle of an ocean of wheat, so there were lots of girls who had horses and rode them everywhere.  It would rip my heart out to see a gaggle of girls atop their sterling steeds clip clopping all over town.

“Clip clop clip clop clip clop clip . . . etc.”

I really only voiced the question of my getting a horse to my parents a couple of times, knowing full well that the answer would be no, and, as a matter of pride,  I’d ultimately have to run away from home or –at the very least — stage a runaway as in the following true scenario:

“Look at this Janey,” my father remarked to my mother, “I found Linda’s yellow shorty pajamas in this little 45-record case in the bushes just outside her window when I was mowing the lawn.”

Oh I was going to run away alright . . . eventually.

Ok, fine . . . if I wasn’t going to get a horse, at least I could try for a kitten.  This is how I went about it: 

Step 1:  Convince my parents that I was head over heals in love with cats.  To accomplish this,  I colored umpteen pictures of kittens and scotch taped them to my circa 1959 pink wall.

Step 2:  Wasn’t even needed because Step 1 worked like a charm.  Next thing I knew I was picking out my very own gray, long-haired kitten from a batch of five.

In my excitement, I failed to notice that this particular kitten had issues.  It suffered from the world’s lowest kitty IQ.   Maybe that’s why the name I chose, Taffy May, seemed to fit her so well.

Taffy May was the perfect cat for a little girl to bond with.  Being nearly brain-dead, she allowed me to pick her up and carry her around without protest. 

She slept with me all night under the covers which I thought was because she loved me so –  but more likely she just couldn’t figure a way out.

Taffy May had one batch of kittens – if three can be considered a batch.  But being the little dummy that she was, she managed to lie on all three of them during the night and  in the morning the only one left breathing was my beloved, Taffy May.

Perhaps it was Karma (I know there was a car involved) the day Taffy May shuffled off this mortal world.

I was on my way home from school without a care in the world.  When I rounded the corner, there stood our across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Huey, holding a lifeless Taffy May up by the tail.

I don’t know how many times Taffy May had been run over, but judging from the fact that she was literally as flat as a pancake, it would be safe to assume more than once. 

I screamed and ran into the house where I was inconsolable well into the night.  I never got another cat of my very own, out of respect for Taffy May, who will always have a place in my heart . . . about two feet wide and one and one-half inches deep.

Until next time . . . I love you

Strange and Eerie Unexplained Jello Phenomenon

I was just wandering around in reality as I used to know it, hanging out at my favorite thrift store and going about my life as though the laws of physics still applied, when suddenly I came across this little know pamphlet depicting in great detail, the forbidden knowledge of the strange and eerie Unexplained Jello Phenomenon.

Gulp!

Oh sure, on the surface this little cookbook looks perfectly harmless:

Joys of Jello? Well that’s what they would LIKE us to think anyway.

And I’m sure innocent 1950′s moms bought it because they wanted to whip up a big ol’ batch of innocent Jello for their big ol’ innocent 1950′s families.

But lurking inside these mild-mannered pages are mysteries so unexplainable, so counterintuitive, so very very hard to explain that it just isn’t explainable no matter how many thesaurus’ a person owns (btw, I only own one thesaurus – as you may have guessed already).

Anyway, getting back to the strange and eerie Unexplained Jello Phonomenon. Let’s start with Exhibit A, shall we?

Obviously the government or something eerily government-like wants us to believe this is Jello.

Please!  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that this is actually a bona-fide real-life UFO that is obviously utilizing the thrust from an ion antimatter, strawberry propulsion system so that it can zip around planet earth causing havoc all OVER the place . . . hello! 

And if that isn’t enough to convince you that the laws of physics as we know them are totally bogus, may I present, as further evidence,  Exhibit B:

Jello? Are you kidding? Do I really look that naive?

I hate to be the one to have to break it to you, but this seemingly ordinary Jello Upside Down Cake, isn’t fooling anybody (except for maybe you, sorry).  

For  this, Dear Reader, is actually a crop circle.  A crop circle depicting the most beautiful and profound mathematical equation in the history of arithmetic, or failing that, in the history of Upside Down Cake.

As a matter of fact, this crop circle calculates the exact date the world will end while, at the same time, managing to make your mouth water.  And if that’s not proof of cool, other-worldly intervention, I don’t know what is. 

 And now for the final proof.  May I present: Exhibit C.  An exhibit, I might add, that puts the ex in hibit like nobody’s business.  See for yourself:

Can this get any more self-explanatory?

This strange and eerie Unexplained Jello Phenomenon is so blatantly obvious, so glaringly conspicuous, so flagrantly in your face, that I absolutely refuse to  insult your intelligence by explaining it. 

Besides I only own one thesaurus.

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Your Incomprehensive Guide to Exercise

It’s the new year which means it’s time to commit to that exercise program!  So what better time to present My Incomprehensive Guide to Exercise:

History of Exercise: 1950 to 1959

The only kind of exercises that existed in the 50′s were jumping jacks, deep knee bends and squats and nobody did them without being forced to do so by a P.E. teacher, a football coach or a Drill Sargent. Those were the good old days when people ate just about anything they wanted and only went for walks to commune with a pack of Salem Cigarettes.

“It’s really pretty here when the smoke clears!”

History of Exercise: 1960 to 1969-ish

In the 60′s, exercise  boiled down to a little globule  of a man named Jack LaLanne.  Every day millions of everyday women would stand in front of their television sets to watch tiny Jack LaLanne cutely dressed in a teeny-weeny, one-piece jumpsuit, doing deep-knee bends while singing the praises of vitamins and veggies.  He is still alive to this day but, unfortunately, has continued to shrink  little by little over the years and, sadly;  is now only visible through a microscope.

Here’s Jack trying not to shrink out of his tux.

History of Exercise: 1970-ish to 1980-something or other

Somewhere around in here we got Jane Fonda. Jane was a busy Seventies Gal running around in her shag haircut winning academy awards, making aerobic videos and being against the Viet Nam War.

Everywhere you looked there was Jane Fonda shagalistically shorn in her leotards and leg warmers stretching, reaching, pulling, clawing and cloying.  Looking back it was quite Hanoi-ing.  But she single-handedly started the Aerobics Craze so you have to hand it to her — or trip her whichever you prefer.

Can it get anymore Hanoi-ing?

History of Exercise: 1980-something to somewhere in the 90′s on up

Somewhere in here Richard Simmons skipped onto the scene. What Richard Simmons had going for him was a heart of gold combined with an uncanny ability to sweat to pop songs that weren’t popular anymore.

Richard won over the hearts of  Americans by crying tears of happiness about how he used to be fat but wasn’t anymore; and he didn’t want you to be fat anymore either because it made him cry because you’re so, so fat and he’s not fat anymore.

Lately however Richard Simmons seems to have fallen off the face of the planet — or was pushed.

Richard Simmons, Sweating Professionally Since 1979″

Present Day Exercise: 2011 to To- Be- Determined

In the interest of brevity, let’s be brief.  Exercise in 2011 boils down to one word:   Bicycling.  But not the old-fashioned kind of bicycling we all knew and loved in the 1950′s.  When bike riding simply meant hopping on our bikes wearing jeans and a tee-shirts and riding around the block while smoking  Salem Cigarettes.

“Hey! I think somebody stole our bikes!”  “Don’t worry, they can take our bikes out of the country but they can’t take the Salem out of our lungs!”         “I love you!”   “I love you too!”

In the Year of Our Lord 2011, Riding a Bike is Groovy!

There’s a new, groovy way of riding one’s bike called cycling.  When cycling one must take up an entire car lane and pretend that one can pedal as fast as a car.

This is hard to pretend without the proper “pretending apparel” called cycling apparel which is a necessary technical piece of equipment necessary to make you comfortable technically while pretending to ride your bicycle as fast as a car can go.

It also helps if you make a “vroom, vroom” noise under your breath as you pedal along.

” Vroom! Vroom! I’m a blur!”

The New Groovy way of riding bikes can be a bit dangerous in heavy traffic, sure, but not too worry.  For every bicyclist that is run over by a car, a pedestrian somewhere in the world is being run over by a bicyclist.  So you see, it all evens out in the end.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Wackadoodle Adventures of 1956 Mom

In 1956 Betty Crocker Cookbooks not only cared deeply about 1956 Mom’s cooking; they cared deeply about her life.  As proof, here’s some hints from the “Special Helps” section.

Let’s start with this little gem of a helpful hint:

Apparently in 1956, it was perfectly acceptable for Mom to lie down on the kitchen floor to  relax and/or fall asleep for as long as 3 to 5 minutes without anyone thinking she was completely out of her gourd.
It’s not clear if this odd form of  “relaxation” was reserved only for the kitchen floor or if one might come across 1956  Mom relaxing on, say, the floor of the Post Office or while waiting in line at the bank.

But a wise 1956 Mom would have  kept this handy little tip bookmarked should  she ever need to explain to dinner guests why they  found her lying down on the kitchen floor after sampling,  god forbid,  one too many Brandy Alexanders.

1956 Mom gets all her thoughts from Betty Crocker!

Not only does Betty Crocker want 1956 Mom to harbor pleasant thoughts while scrubbing the kitchen floor so clean she’ll be able to lie down on it for 3 to 5 minutes, she is even giving 1956 Mom some suggestions about what these thoughts might be.

Such as relaxing on a tropical island for instance.  Or dancing one-legged with a guy whose center of gravity is somewhere around his knees.

Or maybe 1956 Mom could distract herself from her work by thinking about  a sailboat with a dangerous starboard list that perhaps the guy with the low center of gravity just happens to be sailing on.

But chances are what 1956 Mom thought was the pleasantest of all these suggestions was thinking about  her husband holding her golf bag  waist-high for her while  she leisurely takes thousands and thousands and thousands of practice swings.

If only 1956 Mom could find a kitten in a tree . . . it would be hilarious!

This tip is a little more tricky, however.  Betty Crocker is only suggesting 1956 Mom find a kitten in a tree so that 1956 Mom will have something –  anything to talk about – besides relaxing on the kitchen floor and  thinking about cookbook-suggested topics.

This is just a suggestion because searching for a kitten could be dangerous to 1956 Mom’s health.  Obviously, it took 1956 Mom hours and hours of uninterrupted hiking to happen upon a kitten in a tree.

Which means by the time 1956 Mom found the kitten in the tree, she was horribly emaciated and her waist had dwindled from its normal  circumference of 7 inches to a measly 5 and 3/4 inches.

Of course, maybe it was well worth it because, in the end, 1956 Mom did  have a wonderful story in her brain about finding a kitten in a tree to tell to her family at dinnertime and — when the time was right — she managed to tell her story with good humor and aplomb.

It was a story that her family would  have found uproariously funny too had they not already left the room.

Until next time . . . I love you