Tag Archive | Family

How to Roast Perfect Marshmallows: A Family Tradition

Plus a bit of history about this delicious treat

June 10th

If you have ever wondered how the marshmallow got its name, just read a bit further as we explore this tasty treat, most associated with being roasted during summer nights around a campfire with friends and family.

The fluffy round white confection made of sugar, water, gelatin, and a coating of cornstarch, is nothing at all like the original marshmallow. For our purposes we will call the original a marsh-mallow, as it is a plant which is native to Europe, North Africa, and Asia. As the name indicates it grows in wetlands and the roots proved to be an effective medicinal for treating coughs and sore throats.

According to the Infallible Wikipedia, there is evidence that the plant was used by ancient Egyptians some 4000 years ago. Now that’s staying power!

The entry tells us:

“Whether used for candy or medicine, the manufacture of marsh-mallows was limited to a small scale. In the early to mid-19th century, the marsh-mallow had made its way to France, where confectioners augmented the plant’s traditional medicinal value. Owners of small confectionary stores would whip the sap from the mallow root into a fluffy candy mold. This candy, called Pâte de Guimauve, was a spongy-soft dessert made from whipping dried marsh-mallow roots with sugar, water, and egg whites. It was sold in bar form as a lozenge.

*Campfire Marshmallows have been a favorite for over 100 years.*

Drying and preparation of the marsh-mallow took one to two days before the final product was produced. In the late 19th century, candy makers started looking for a new process and discovered the starch mogul system, in which trays of modified corn starch had a mold firmly pushed down in them to create cavities within the starch. The cavities were then filled with the whipped marsh-mallow sap mixture and allowed to cool or harden. At the same time, candy makers began to replace the mallow root with gelatin, which created a stable form of marshmallow.”

Eventually, the modified marshmallow – the one which did not contain any of the plant – made its way across the ocean. It was in 1956 when an entrepreneur by name of Alex Doumak invented an extrusion device where the ingredients were sent through a tube and long ropes of marshmallows came out the other end. From there, they were cut in to the fluffy white rounds known as marshmallows.

*Our family favorite marshmallows are the Jet-Puffed brand*

The Infallible Wikipedia tried to figure out when, exactly, the roasting of marshmallows over a campfire began, but the origins are iffy. They were able to find a reference to it in a New Jersey newspaper from 1892. I imagine it probably started by accident when someone accidentally browned one and thought “Hey, this tastes really good.” Thus, the tradition of roasting marshmallows began.

There are any number of variations on how to use marshmallows: cooks have used them as toppings on Jello, added at the last minute to Thanksgiving sweet potatoes, floating on a steamy mug of hot chocolate, or taking the roasted campfire varieties and sandwiching a couple between two graham cracker squares and a hunk of chocolate.

Marshmallows also find their way into a variety of children’s craft projects such as gingerbread houses and winter snowmen.

I am, however, a traditionalist. While I will have a s’more at a beach or camp fire, I find that I prefer a perfectly toasted marshmallow eaten in a very specific manner.

*Family at a Long Beach marshmallow roast, circa 1998*

Here’s the recipe:

Start a campfire. Let it burn hot for about 45 minutes until coals accumulate at the base. Let the flames die down enough that you can sit about a foot away from the fire. Using a stick you have found, whittle the narrower end into a point with a pocket knife until the white wood shows and the bark is removed (make sure to pick a non-toxic wood!).

Sit on a log, camp chair, or old blanket. Open a bag of 1 inch diameter marshmallows, remove one from the bag, and press it firmly onto the pointed end of the whittled stick.

Study the coals to determine the perfect spot to cook the marshmallow. Turn it so one side is about two to three inches from the hot coals. Hold it next to the coals until the skin starts to turn gold then rotate your stick a quarter turn and toast the second side. Repeat until all sides have been roasted.

Remove the marshmallow and evaluate. If there are white spots, return it to the coal area and give it a couple of seconds to brown.

Finally, tip the head of the marshmallow toward your coals and cook the top until it puffs up and is golden brown.

If you happen to lose control of the cooking process and, heaven forbid, your marshmallow erupts in flame, remove immediately and wave in the air, and then offer it to the lazy person who doesn’t want to cook their own.

*Brother, Mom, Dad, Uncle, Aunt, sister, and cousin – author in the middle wearing the blue ski sweater – enjoying a marshmallow roast at the beach. Photo taken by the author’s grandmother.*

Repeat.

When you finally have the perfectly roasted marshmallow, it is time to pull the roasted outer layer up and off the stick, and eat just that thin layer. Once eaten, it is back to the fire to roast the gooey middle and then eat it too.

It’s a funny thing, when I started thinking about this topic, I could not remember a time when roasting marshmallows was not a part of my family’s annual vacation to Long Beach, Washington, for two weeks each summer.

So long as it wasn’t raining, after dinner was finished and everyone was dressed appropriately, we would walk down past the dunes and onto the beach for our nightly fire. In my minds eye I can see my mom in her pedal-pushers, head scarf, jacket, and keds, walking ahead of me (in a single line as the path was narrow), the bag of marshmallows in one hand and a half dozen roasting sticks in the other. My dad would lead the way with newspaper, matches, and a shovel, ready to start the fire.

We kids were assigned the task of searching for pieces of wood to serve as kindling and, if luck was on our side, we’d also retrieve the occasional larger pieces left behind by some other campfire builder from a previous night.

Soon my dad had the fire going and the adults would tend it while the kids built sandcastles or played hide and seek in the nearby dunes.

*Marshmallow roast 1995. The participants shown are the author, my kids, two of my nieces and my dad – aka Grandpa*.

Just as the sky got dusky (in Washington state the sun sets as late as 9:14 p.m. in mid-June making for longer light filled evenings) it was time. We’d all assemble around the fire, jockeying for the best ‘spot’ and my mom would push a marshmallow onto the end of our sticks.

After we had our fill and the sky was fully dark, the uncooked marshmallows would be safely stored in their bag, and then my dad would shovel sand onto the remnants of the beach fire. Soon we reversed our earlier trip, following the beam of the flashlight my dad now held as he led the family back through the night to the rented cabin.

It was the simplest of traditions, but also the best. For the price of a bag of marshmallows everyone was entertained for the evening. No cell phones. No TV. Just two glorious weeks of fun at the beach capped off each night by roasting marshmallows around a fire. It doesn’t get much better than that.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marshmallow

A Fasten-ating Beginning: Velcro

May13

The Velvet Hook

May 13th

I suppose that this Tuesday Newsday topic falls in the category of ‘Geeky Musings’ as I doubt this product, which was patented in 1955, is ever given much – if any – thought for most people. It was on May 13, 1958, when the term ‘Velcro’ was trademarked by its inventor.

Inspired by burrs which clung to his dog, the inventor spent over a decade in search of how to replicate one of nature’s stickiest plants. The Infallible Wikipedia tells us:

“The original hook-and-loop fastener was conceived in 1941 by Swiss engineer George de Mestral, which he named velcro. The idea came to him one day after he returned from a hunting trip with his dog in the Alps. He took a close look at the burs of burdock that kept sticking to his clothes and his dog’s fur. He examined them under a microscope, and noted their hundreds of hooks that caught on anything with a loop, such as clothing, animal fur, or hair.”

What followed was a period of trial and error as he sought to make his tiny hook and eye concept a reality. Also from the Infallible Wikipedia:

“The fastener consisted of two components: a lineal fabric strip with tiny hooks that could ‘mate’ with another fabric strip with smaller loops, attaching temporarily, until pulled apart. Initially made of cotton, which proved impractical, the fastener was eventually constructed with nylon and polyester.

De Mestral gave the name Velcro, a portmanteau of the French words velours (‘velvet’) and crochet (‘hook’), to his invention, as well as to the Swiss company he founded; Velcro SA.^”

At first, the applications for Velcro were astronauts space suits and then for ski clothing. For me, however, Velcro really came into its own when it was incorporated into children’s shoes and clothing. It was, for mothers everywhere, a game changer.

When I was a child there was no greater accomplishment than learning how to tie my shoe laces, or being able to buckle my shoe strap, somewhere around age 4 or 5. My mother mostly put me in slip on tennis shoes, thus avoiding the tedious task of tying and then re-tying the laces of shoes on small children.

*Even small girls can enjoy Adidas shoes with velcro fasteners*

As I was contemplating Velcro, I could not recall any exact moment or time when it came into my conscious, although it was probably when my children were babies. While the first shoes my son had when he started to walk did have laces, my daughters footwear featured a hook and loop fastener. At some point both my children learned to tie their laces but nowadays I do wonder if that is a skill which has been lost with the proliferation of Velcro fastened shoes.

*David Letterman attached to a wall with the aid of Velcro.*

The first shoes I recall having Velcro were a pair of black Skechers in a ‘Mary Jane’ style. Instead of a buckle on the narrow strap, it was secured with Velcro. Which worked fine for a time, but eventually it started to fail as the Velcro lost its stickiness. The technology from those early 2000’s pair of shoes to now has been greatly improved. I easily have a half dozen pairs of sandals, particularly, which all have Velcro straps and none have the failure problem like those early Skechers.

Of course, Velcro is not just for shoes. As I look around my house I find it in a variety of applications. Like the narrow strips I have in my office to control unruly cords. Or the ones which hold our Good-To-Go pass to the windshield of our vehicle. There’s Velcro on the pockets of bags and cases which I use daily. I have a Ziplock bag full of hook and loop fasteners in various colors and sizes as one never knows when they will be needed.

*Taking outdoor inflatibles to a new level with velcro ‘barfly’ suits*

Back in the 80’s a phenomenon known as ‘Velcroing’ became popular when late night TV personality David Letterman featured it on his program. The concept was simple, a person wears clothing with one side of the Velcro facing out and then using a trampoline jumps up onto a wall with the other half of the Velcro connection and becomes attached to the wall some 10 to 15 feet high.

It has since become entertainment for parties and in drinking establishments and is known, colloquially, as “Bar Fly” or “human wall jumping.” What could possibly go wrong? But leave it to people to always come up with new and innovative ways to use a product, especially one like Velcro which has stuck around for 70 years and shows no sign of loosening its grip anytime soon.

So cheers to George de Mestral whose curiosity and dogged persistence led to the invention of Velcro, a creation we might be able to live without, but should be thankful we don’t have to.

*My friend Roger shared that he used Velcro to attach his vinyl album collection to the wall of his office. Very creative!*

A few links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Velcro_Companies

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hook-and-loop_fastener

https://scholar.lib.vt.edu/VA-news/ROA-Times/issues/1992/rt9201/920127/01250332.htm

https://knockoutentertainments.com/bar-fly/

https://youtu.be/-SGhBvwLGIs?si=0b0EikqUtRW-41k1 (David Letterman show)

World’s Most Popular Song? The Story of ‘Happy Birthday’

Mar4

Everyone’s sung it at least once!

March 4

*My son’s first birthday… and singing Happy Birthday to You.*

This song, arguably the most popular one ever written, never reached number one the Billboard Hot 100 and was never nominated for a Grammy Award. In fact, no one is 100 percent certain as to the origin of the tune or the lyrics. Yet today pretty much every American aged 5 and over has sung it many, many times and it remains a cultural icon.

The song? “Happy Birthday To You.”

It was on March 4, 1924, when the song was published in a songbook by Claydon Sunny (Clayton F. Summy Publications) at the behest of Jessica Hill, the younger sister of kindergarten teachers Patty and Mildred Hill.

The song has its origins in the late 1800’s when the two sisters composed an easy to learn song for their classroom titled “Good Morning To You.” It is speculated that the sisters put the song together based on several other children’s song melodies, popular at the time.

The lyrics were thus: “Good morning to you, good morning to you, good morning, dear children, good morning to all.”

So far, so good as it was just a couple of Louisville, Kentucky, kindergarten teachers using a cheery song to greet young children each day.

In 1893 the sisters, with their pioneering ideas on early childhood education, published the song in a book titled “Song Stories For Kindergarten.” No one can say for sure ‘when’ the birthday lyrics were substituted but there is evidence that they were first published in 1912. It was, however, Claydon Sunny’s publication which set the song up for copyright challenges which persisted for decades.

As you might expect, the Infallible Wikipedia fills in the details:

“The Summy Company registered a copyright in 1935, crediting authors Preston Ware Orem and Mrs. R. R. Forman. In 1988, Warner/Chappell Music purchased the company owning the copyright for US$25 million, with the value of ‘Happy Birthday’ estimated at US$5 million. Warner claimed that the United States copyright would not expire until 2030 and that unauthorized public performances of the song were illegal unless royalties were paid. In February 2010, the royalty for a single use was US$700. By one estimate, the song is the highest-earning single song in history. In the European Union, the copyright for the song expired on January 1, 2017.

*My daughter’s Ballerina themed 5th birthday party*

The American copyright status of ‘Happy Birthday to You’ began to draw more attention with the passage of the Copyright Term Extension Act in 1998. The Supreme Court upheld the Act in Eldred v. Ashcroft in 2003, and Associate Justice Stephen Breyer specifically mentioned ‘Happy Birthday to You’ in his dissenting opinion. American law professor Robert Brauneis extensively researched the song and concluded in 2010 ‘it is almost certainly no longer under copyright.’ Good Morning to You Productions sued Warner/Chappell for falsely claiming copyright to the song in 2013. In September 2015, a federal judge declared that the Warner/Chappell copyright claim was invalid, ruling that the copyright registration applied only to a specific piano arrangement of the song and not to its lyrics and melody. In 2016, Warner/Chappell settled for $14 million, and the court declared that ‘Happy Birthday to You’ was in the public domain.”

*I love this photo of my children taken on my daughter’s birthday circa 1997*

Like pretty much everyone reading this, I cannot recall a time when I did NOT know this song. When my family inherited my grandmother’s piano – I was 7 or 8 – and I first sat down to experiment, this was likely the first tune I was able to pick out with the keys.

Some of my earliest memories are of my mother bringing out a birthday cake for one of her four children, candles ablaze, and her leading everyone in singing ‘Happy Birthday To You.” She would enter the dining room from the kitchen, bearing her signature chocolate cake covered in white frosting, with “Happy Birthday” written in either blue or green icing. This was followed by the birthday child blowing out the candles and making a secret wish.

The now 101-year long tradition (or longer) of singing happy birthday has been carried on for generations and, as soon as its discovered that it’s someone’s special day, a group of people will nearly always sing the song.

A moment in time…It was my mother’s 32nd birthday. I’m not quite sure ‘who’ took this photo. Likely my grandmother who often came to help with the four of us. I’m not pictured as I was only three months old at the time. My siblings, ages 9, 4, and 2 are also pictured.

As I was researching for this article, I wandered off into the weeds, perusing various YouTube videos of people singing/playing ‘Happy Birthday.’ And then I saw it. A nine-minute video of pianist Victor Borge having fun with the song in the style of about 10 different classic composers. The link:

https://www.youtube.com/embed/hkkHz8xq7lE?si=UBogXMHjmkPc4qZk

This was familiar, I thought. And then I recalled I had experienced Victor Borge perform at the Capitol Theatre in Yakima when I was a teenager. Sure enough, on March 31, 1973 – together with my parents and my sister – we attended his concert. According to what I wrote in my diary “It was a very good show. I enjoyed it.” Not exactly an expansive review but I was 15 and, perhaps, did not appreciate that moment in time. To this day, however, I can see him on that stage, regaling the audience with his comedic take on classical music. I am positive he performed ‘Happy Birthday’ similarly to what is shown in the attached video. Enjoy!

*My dad’s birthday circa 1997 pictured with his two youngest granddaughters.*

Yet, when I think about “Happy Birthday To You” I am amazed at the cultural reach of such a simple tune and lyrics with humble beginnings.

So, there you have it. No more copyright infringements or companies claiming the song belongs to them. You are free to sing “Happy Birthday to You” anywhere and everywhere without having to worry about paying royalties or getting sued. Ultimately, the song has returned to its roots, as a simple and positive way to give glad tidings and, perhaps, brighten someone’ day if only for a few minutes. Just the way I imagine Patty and Mildred Hill would have wanted it.

A few links:

Click to access 03-04-1924-Happy-Birthday.pdf

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_Birthday_to_You

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victor_Borge

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capitol_Theatre_(Yakima,_Washington)

It’s A Wonderful Life

Jan7

Angels Among Us

January 7, 2025

A Tuesday Newsday Classic

*Cover of the 60th Anniversary DVD featuring George and Mary Bailey and three of their children*

This film, officially released in theaters on January 7, 1947, was plagued with missteps from the start. Its history of challenges, actually, seem appropriate as it is a film about failure and redemption and has become one of the world’s most beloved Christmas classics. The movie: It’s a Wonderful Life.

Its story begins in 1939 when Philip Van Doren Stern writes a short story he titles The Greatest Gift. Unable to find a publisher, Stern self publishes 200 booklets which he gives as presents to friends during Christmas 1943.

The story ended up being read by Carey Grant who was interested in adapting the story into film with him as the lead. RKO, a movie studio, purchased the rights in April 1944 to do just that. Work commenced on the screenplay. For whatever reasons, Grant went on to other projects and the partially completed script was eventually sold to Frank Capra’s production company in 1945.

Capra – recognizing the potential in the story – hired a writing team to work on the script. But there were problems. From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“Capra salvaged a few scenes from Odets’ earlier screenplay and worked with writers Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, Jo Swerling, Michael Wilson, and Dorothy Parker (brought in to ‘polish’ the script), on many drafts of the screenplay.

It was not a harmonious collaboration. Goodrich called Capra ‘that horrid man’ and recalled, ‘He couldn’t wait to get writing it himself.’ Her husband, Albert Hackett, said, ‘We told him what we were going to do, and he said ‘That sounds fine.’ We were trying to move the story along and work it out, and then somebody told us that [Capra] and Jo Swerling were working on it together, and that sort of took the guts out of it. Jo Swerling was a very close friend of ours, and when we heard he was doing this we felt rather bad about it. We were getting near the end and word came that Capra wanted to know how soon we’d be finished. So my wife said, ‘We’re finished right now.’ We quickly wrote out the last scene and we never saw him again after that. He’s a very arrogant son of a bitch.’

*George telling Clarence he wished he’d never been born*

Later, a dispute ensued over the writing credits. Capra said, ‘The Screen Writers’ Arbitration committee decided that Hackett and Goodrich, a married writing team, and I should get the credit for the writing. Jo Swerling hasn’t talked to me since. That was five years ago.’ The final screenplay, renamed by Capra It’s a Wonderful Life, was credited to Goodrich, Hackett, and Capra, with ‘additional scenes’ by Jo Swerling.”

In order to make the film ‘Oscar’ eligible it was released at the Globe Theatre in New York on December 20, 1946 rather than wait until early 1947 as originally planned. The change likely cost It’s a Wonderful Life a Best Picture Oscar as the competition for 1946 was much more difficult. Best Picture winner was a movie titled The Lost Weekend, a movie now pretty much lost in time. It’s a Wonderful Life ended up with five nominations including for Best Picture and Best Actor for Jimmy Stewart.

The movie was under water some $525,000 at the box office.

It wasn’t until the late 1970’s when the copyright expired and the movie was ‘discovered.’ Also from the Infallible Wikipedia:

“The film’s elevation to the status of a beloved classic came three decades after its initial release, when it became a television staple during Christmas season in 1976. This came as a welcome surprise to Frank Capra and others involved with its production. ‘It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen’, Capra told The Wall Street Journal in 1984. ‘The film has a life of its own now, and I can look at it like I had nothing to do with it. I’m like a parent whose kid grows up to be President. I’m proud … but it’s the kid who did the work. I didn’t even think of it as a Christmas story when I first ran across it. I just liked the idea.’ In a 1946 interview, Capra described the film’s theme as ‘the individual’s belief in himself’ and that he made it ‘to combat a modern trend toward atheism’.”

The house at 5417 40th Ave SW in Seattle as it looks now. When we moved there the right side of the yard had been dug out and turned into a driveway that heaven help you if you took a wrong step at the top.

*The hubby covered in dust after an evening blowing insulation into the attic*

It was in December 1981 when I first saw the movie. The hubby and I had purchased our first house six months earlier. It was a 1910 fixer upper in West Seattle and a hodge-podge of never-ending projects. Our initial weekend in the house involved ripping out pet urine-soaked carpets and removing part of the narrow, with a 90 degree turn staircase, in order to get our queen size bed up to the bedroom. Behind the 1960’s era kitchen cabinets we unearthed a painted over window with the curtain rod still attached to the wall. Unfortunately, the curtains – mostly rags – also still hung there. The fix list went on and on. During the time we owned that house, it was one critical project after another.

Our cat, Porsche, was peering through the kitchen window watching as I worked with some steak and we inadvertently captured those horrible old windows, painted at the bottom and half covered up by ill-fitting counters.

Forward to the week before Christmas 1981. I was home sick from work with a bad cold, puttering around our drafty old house, doing what I could to get ready for the holiday. I had the TV on to keep me company when this old black and white film appeared.

Within moments I was hooked and soon I gave up my puttering and snuggled up on the couch under a blanket. I watched the whole thing. The already dim afternoon light faded to night just as George Bailey descended into his own winter solstice crisis. There I sat, commiserating with poor George over a house that needed constant fixing and worried about how he was going to find the money that Uncle Billy lost. I could relate as money was tight for a pair of house poor, married barely a year, kids.

*The townspeople of Bedford Falls coming together to help George*

There’s a moment in that film which sums it all up. It’s when George arrives back home – alive once again – and hugs the kids but cannot find Mary, his wife. The bank examiners arrive and tell George they are going to arrest him and his response is just the best. He tells them how wonderful it is for no other reason than because he’s alive and that is enough.

Just then, Mary bursts through the door, she and George embrace and he tells her how much he cherishes her. But she has a surprise for him – the community has come to their rescue and raised more than enough money to cover the missing funds.

It’s this scene which had me bawling. What a gift it is to be so loved, so valued, that your friends and family will do anything to ease your burden. Every time I watch It’s A Wonderful Life I hold it together until that scene comes on and George receives a gift from his Guardian Angel, Clarence, with the following sentiment:

“Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence.”

As always – the links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It’s_a_Wonderful_Life

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Greatest_Gift

The Sigma Kappa Connection

Dec10

The actual place which inspired the fictional Gamma Alpha Beta Sorority

*The Sigma Kappa sorority house at the University of Washington is on the National Historic Site.*

The Sigma Kappa sorority house at the University of Washington is an enchanted place. The grandeur begins outside the front of the house with its classy brick façade and a stunning mix of Victorian and Tudor architecture. Truly notable is the three-story high round turret.

Once inside, the turret does not disappoint with its centerpiece being a wide and sweeping circular staircase which invites all eyes upward towards a magnificent crystal chandelier.

For a starry-eyed child, that staircase invited you into a place of fantasy and daydreams; up the stairs one would climb and promenade down them as if a princess, creating stories in one’s head.

*Photo of the staircase as found on Pinterest*

My first visit to this magical place was likely in the early summer of 1963. My grandmother, Alma DeVore, had taken a job as the housemother and, with the students gone for the summer, invited my family to come visit her at her new job.

I have no idea how many days we stayed, or if we even slept at the house. My older by two years sister says we stayed nearby at our uncle’s house. I was five at the time and I remember little about the visit to Seattle and the Woodland Park Zoo and more about the Sigma Kappa house.

There was a skybridge which connected the formal living areas to the dining hall and kitchen. In the basement were all sorts of mysterious rooms including one painted bright purple which we were told was the chapter room. Around every nook there was another cranny.

*The author captured on a grainy video from 16 mm home movies 1963*

Hallways were lined with closed doors to, undoubtedly, the private rooms of the members. At the very top level was a long sleeping porch with parallel rows of bunk beds where all the members slept. There was a back staircase leading to new and interesting spaces. It was the ultimate place to play hide and seek as you could scurry up one set of stairs and down another and through different corridors.

Through photos and documents which she had kept – and are now in my genealogy collection – I’ve determined that my grandmother must have arrived as the housemother beginning in January of 1963.

In 1946, the opportunities for women to earn a living were limited. On September 17^th of that year she found herself a widow. Here she was, 46 years old, and with – at most – a high school education; she had no marketable skills beyond having raised three children: my uncle Lyle, my dad, Vince, and their younger sister, Arlene; and managing her own household.

Fortunately for her, she lived in Walla Walla, Washington at the time and was hired as the housemother for the Tau Kappa Epsilon (TKE) fraternity.

*My grandmother with the TKE fraternity members at Whitman College in late 1962 at her Farewell party.*

The TKE years were good ones for her from what I’ve been told. She enjoyed the young men who were members and there was a camaraderie with the other housemothers. I can’t say for sure why, exactly, she left Whitman and took the job at the Sigma Kappa house except that it brought her closer to my Uncle Lyle and his family who moved to the Ravenna neighborhood in Seattle in the mid-1950’s. Although my parents lived in Walla Walla after both graduating from Whitman and by oldest brother having been born there, my family had left the community shortly after his birth as my dad had been transferred to Moscow, Idaho with his job at National Cash Register.

*Cook Anna Blomgren in the Sigma Kappa kitchen 1965*

*Valentine’s Day ‘Gay 90’s’ shared dance with the Zeta Tau Alpha sorority February 1966*

The only other time I know for sure we visited her there is in March 1965. That winter, in Yakima, Washington, where I grew up, the entire town is abuzz. Competing in the State AA Basketball playoffs were our crosstown rivals: D.D. Eisenhower (Ike) and A.C. Davis high schools.

The University of Washington was, I suspect, the best possible choice to be closer to one of her children and family and be able to support herself.

My dad, who had left National Cash Register 1961, returned to college to get a degree in Education, now taught Washington State History to ninth graders. He loved teaching and was invested, particularly, in the local sports community. At the end of the Region 4 semi-final round on March 13^th, Ike lost to Davis who was now poised to play at the Seattle Center Coliseum the next Friday.

Although neither of my brothers went with us – my oldest brother attended Ike and would not have anything to do with Davis – my Dad was undeterred and my sister and me – now ages 9 and 7 – were loaded in the 1960 pink Dodge station wagon, and drove with our parents to Seattle on Friday, March 19^th.

While I don’t recall a lot of the details, I do know that it was the UW’s Spring break, so the house was empty of sorority girls. And I got to live out every fantasy I had about that house. I was in heaven.

*My older sister (left) and me on the Sigma Kappa sleeping porch March 19, 1965.*

That evening, while our parents went to the basketball games, my sister and I stayed with our grandmother and even got to sleep on the sleeping porch!

Davis won and would be in the championship game the next evening! Once again, we hung out with grandma while my parents went to the game, my dad thrilled when Davis beat Roosevelt 66-49 for the 1965 AA state basketball championship.

Sometime late that evening, our parents arrived back at the Sigma Kappa House, and put my sister and me to ‘bed’ in the back of the Dodge station wagon. We traveled home that way, snuggled in sleeping bags with our heads on pillows that let us look up at the sky while we drove through the dark mid-March night.

My last memory of that trip is of looking up at the snow falling that night on Snoqualmie Pass, swirling in mesmerizing chaos, with the thick flakes illuminated by car headlights shining through the window behind our heads.

*Not the DeVore family car, but ours WAS this same pink color and, apparently, those children also rode without seat belts in the back of the wagon.*

My grandmother, born March 15, 1900, seems to have retired at the end of the 1966 academic year. Some 15 years earlier she had bought a house in Spokane. She had it converted to a duplex which she rented out for all those years when she was a housemother! In going through her papers, it was apparent that, despite not having a college degree, she was a determined woman who did not wallow in her grief, but pulled on her work boots to insure her own future. She retired to Spokane and lived in the left half of the duplex, renting the right half out until her much too early death in January 1970.

I have never gone back to the Sigma Kappa house. I think if I did it would seem smaller and less grand than my memories. Instead, it has morphed into the Gamma Alpha Beta sorority, as much a ‘character’ in ‘The Darling of Delta Rho Chi’ as Elise, Riley, Jack, and Virginia.

A few links:

Designation as a National Historic Site:

Click to access sigma-kappa-mu-designation.pdf

Have to have one from the Infallible Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sigma_Kappa

A link to the official chapter page: http://washington.sigmakappa.org/

Program from the 1965 State AA basketball championship: https://issuu.com/tacomasportsmuseum/docs/2018.29.02

Article from the Yakima Herald Republic:

https://www.yakimaherald.com/sports/college_sports/wsu_sports/foundations-legends-reunion-lives-up-to-billing/article_76803f3c-1195-11e5-bed5-2bcf0f84fa42.html

The First Thanksgiving

Nov26

The Fourth Thursday In November

November 26, 2024

A Tuesday Newsday Classic

The celebration of harvest by setting aside a day of ‘thanksgiving’ is a tradition long observed by people the world over. Most Americans embrace the idea that the first Thanksgiving was held in Plymouth, Massachusetts, by the pilgrims who settled the wilderness there in 1621.

But a historical look at ‘thanksgiving’ celebrations indicates a more haphazard approach. In fact, colonists in Virginia also held feasts of ‘thanksgiving’ during the early years of European settlements and a number of years before the New England events. In subsequent years such feasts were declared from time to time, occurring whenever it seemed a good idea for a few days of eating and celebration.

It was George Washington, as the first president, who by proclamation made Thursday, November 26, 1789, a ‘National Day of Thanksgiving.’

From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“As President, on October 3, 1789, George Washington made the following proclamation and created the first Thanksgiving Day designated by the national government of the United States of America:

Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor, and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me ‘to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.’

Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be.’”

Although additional ‘days of thanksgiving’ were proclaimed over the years, it was during the Civil War when the last Thursday of November became the traditional celebration date. And, in a coincidence, it was also November 26^th for that official celebration.

Controversy arose, however, when – during Franklin Roosevelt’s term as President –there was a ‘fifth’ Thursday. Also from the Infallible Wikipedia:

“On October 6, 1941, both houses of the U.S. Congress passed a joint resolution fixing the traditional last-Thursday date for the holiday beginning in 1942. However, in December of that year the Senate passed an amendment to the resolution that split the difference by requiring that Thanksgiving be observed annually on the fourth Thursday of November, which was usually the last Thursday and sometimes (two years out of seven, on average) the next to last. The amendment also passed the House, and on December 26, 1941, President Roosevelt signed this bill, for the first time making the date of Thanksgiving a matter of federal law and fixing the day as the fourth Thursday of November.

For several years some states continued to observe the last-Thursday date in years with five November Thursdays (the next such year being 1944), with Texas doing so as late as 1956.”

*Royal Doulton china similar to my Aunt’s set of dishes*

Eventually, however, everyone got on board with the change which, of course, made the planning of parades, retail sales, and football games much easier.

For me, Thanksgiving was always a long-anticipated day. My family moved to Yakima in 1961 and, as a small girl of four years, I had no prior memories of the event. All my recollections are of the two holidays – Thanksgiving and Christmas – being spent at either my family’s house or that of my cousins.

Being that my cousins’ house was a short walk down 31^st Avenue, it became tradition that our two families of six each – along with my maternal grandparents – would spend Thanksgiving together.

*My uncle owned a piano and organ store for a time. While he didn’t sell these, there was an antique pump organ in their basement.*

I loved going to their house for the holiday for a number of reasons, the first being that my Aunt Helen set the most gorgeous table. Even as a child I loved china and hers was exquisite. It might have been Royal Doulton Country Roses – or a knockoff – but I recall it was bold, fussy, and beautiful. She had enough place settings to accommodate 14 people but not enough seats at the main table… so the five younger children (2 boys, 3 girls) were relegated to the kitchen table WITH the pocket door closed. It was glorious. Behind that closed door, mischief abounded with my brother – who was four years older than I – the main mischief maker. There were jokes told, inappropriate noises, and much laughter. We thought we were the lucky ones not having to endure the boring adult conversations which seemed to center on who was sick or had died that year.

The third, and my favorite, reason I loved going to the cousins’ house was because of their basement. After dinner (which was ALWAYS served at 1 p.m. and over by 1:45) we were sent downstairs. That basement was the one place in my fastidious Aunt’s house where we could play without concern over too much noise.

*In 2018, a year after my mother’s death, we had Thanksgiving in Yakima with my dad. Shown here is my mother’s china which I used to set the table that year.*

Oh, the adventures we had! Like the time we set up the Ouija Board and invoked spirits (of the dead relatives discussed at dinner) only to have the basement window bang open at the exact moment of contact. And the time that my sister and cousin Tim put on a play in the basement, complete with a curtain and props, and a surprise ending. My uncle had an old pump organ down there which fascinated me as I pumped the pedals and pulled on knobs to create different sounds as I ‘played’ the instrument. We never ran out of things to do and I was always sad when the hour grew late and we had to return home.

When I think of my many blessings in life, I’m especially thankful for my childhood and those special holidays I spent with my siblings and cousins. At the time I did not appreciate the transitory nature of life and thought it would always be that way.

I’ve come to cherish Thanksgiving and have to say that it’s truly my favorite holiday. At no other time do we pause to give thanks for all our blessings and the people who make our lives richer and better.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving.

As always, a link:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanksgiving_(United_States)

The Energizer Bunny

Oct29

Still Going…

October 29, 2024

A Tuesday Newsday Classic Updated

In the world of advertising, this campaign was particularly brilliant. The story begins in 1983 when Duracell featured a dozen stationary, identical light pink bunnies, all battery powered, drumming on snare drums. The announcer intoned that the one with the Duracell battery would last longer. Eventually, all the batteries die with the exception of the one powered by Duracell.

On October 30, 1988, however, a new bunny emerged on the advertising scene and stole the show from Duracell.

The Energizer Bunny was also pink but instead of being one of a crowd which outlasts the others, this rabbit had attitude. It wore hip sunglasses. It was hot pink. It moved around the room on blue flip flop sandals. And it had a big ole bass drum with the word “ENERGIZER” emblazoned across the surface. In short, it had important elements of a great advertising campaign in that it was memorable and humorous. The bunny has appeared in over 100 commercials and has been featured on TV shows and in movies.

From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“Commercials after the first started out with the Bunny leaving the studio it performed the ‘Drumming Bunny’ ad in, then wandering into the sets of a couple of realistic-looking commercials for fictional products, interrupting them. As the campaign progressed, many of these ads were standalone (for fake products such as ‘Sitagin Hemorrhoid Remedy’, ‘Nasotine Sinus Relief’, ‘TresCafe Coffee’, ‘Alarm’ deodorant soap, etc.) (snip) only to have the Bunny march through, beating his drum, because he was ‘still going’. Eventually real-life products and icons would do a crossover with the Energizer Bunny (Michael J. Fox doing a Pepsi ad, and the opening of TV shows such as Alfred Hitchcock Presents and ABC’s Wide World of Sports). The Energizer Bunny has appeared in more than 115 television commercials.”

A fun look at how the Energizer Bunny got a makeover in the 2000’s

The Energizer Bunny has come to represent something or someone which keeps going and going, seemingly without end.

In late November 2010 I was in Yakima staying to take care of my parents who were in crisis that week. My mom – who had dementia and mobility issues due to a stroke a year earlier – needed round the clock assistance. Between my dad, a part time caregiver, plus help from both my sister and me, they had been managing okay.

*Dad and Mom in 2015. By then my mother lived at Apple Creek Adult Family home. Always devoted, my father visited her every day, usually twice a day.*

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, however, Dad collapsed and was discovered by the caregiver. 9-1-1 was summoned and he spent three days in the hospital. A difficult patient, he convinced the doctor to release him earlier than the Doc thought prudent, and arrived home on Friday, November 26^th proclaiming he was just fine.

A little after 10 p.m., he went in to take a shower. I heard him calling for help a few minutes later and rushed in to discover him collapsed on the floor. After many struggles I was able to get him up onto the seat of my mother’s walker, but he was slumped to one side. He objected to the thought of calling 9-1-1 (again!) so I called my sister who, along with her husband, came over. Eventually we did call the medics who arrived and discovered his heart was pounding at about 200 BPM and suggested he go to the hospital.

No way was he agreeing to that and kept insisting that the medics just put him to bed. Which they did. Convinced by the EMT’s that he might not survive the night, my sister and me took turns with an all-night vigil.

*Dad didn’t like using a walker, but he had places to go and using it was better than falling. Pictured here on his 96th birthday in 2019 with my brother*.

Around 8 a.m., and with Dad still with us, I was up and out in the kitchen contemplating how to cope with two parents in need of assistance. A noise to my left drew my attention. I looked up and here came my dad, using my mom’s smaller aluminum walker, advancing with purpose and determination and seemingly unfazed by all which had happened. That entire day he moved with frenetic energy, straightening things, switching from one thing to another, hardly sitting down all day.

I described the whole thing to my sister this way: “Dad is like the Energizer Bunny.”

For the next nine years, this has been the way we’ve described our dad. There have been countless episodes of the pounding heart which takes him down for a day or two. When he’s recovered, though, watch out! Because it was always back to Energizer Bunny mode.

Eventually, however, even the strongest, most durable batteries run out of energy. And so it was for my father on October 24, 2019. His strong heart – in spite of what I am now certain were Tachycardia events – was the battery which kept him going to the age of 96 and a half.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years since we said goodbye to our Energizer Bunny. My sister, brothers, and me, often find ourselves reminiscing and laughing over the many stories of our dad – who we also refer to as “hell or high-water Vince.” He was truly one of a kind, nearly impossible to manage, but never boring.

When Covid shut down the world in 2020, I was glad my dad was no longer here. He never would have been able to stand the social distancing, the masks, or – most of all – the forced isolation.

During the year following his death, there were events and moments when we felt as if his spirit was still with us. From the time in August of 2020 when we saw his beloved Mustang a half mile from my sister’s house (EEE 161 Rides Again https://barbaradevore.com/2021/03/09/eee-161-rides-again/) to the next day when visiting the cemetery – after looking at headstones for several hours – and being hit by a literal whirlwind as we were deciding what color granite to choose; it felt as if he still had a hand in our lives and decisions.

When the internment business was finally able to be completed – with the installation of his and our mother’s headstones – on October 24, 2020, things have been much quieter. I think, perhaps, he was pleased with how we honored them both.

The links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Energizer_Bunny

https://www.shawandsons.com/obituary/vincent-devore

Cherries!

Jul2

One of summer’s best fruits

July 2, 2024

A Tuesday Newsday Classic Updated

*A few cherries purchased, not picked, at Fred Meyer.*

The item which caught my attention for this week’s blog is the amusing ‘contest’ of cherry pit spitting. Yes, it’s a thing.

Held annually in Eau Claire, Michigan since 1974, the record ‘spit’ of a cherry pit is 93 ft 6.5 inches. The competition has been dominated by one family with the patriarch, Rick Krause, holding the record for longest spit (over 72 feet) until 1993. Since then, his son, Brian ‘Pellet Gun’ Krause has won 10 times with his record breaking discharge occurring the first week of July in 2003. In recent years Brian’s sons have also competed.

Others have stepped up to put their spitting skills to the test, but the Krause family continues to dominate.

*Cherry pit spitter-champion Brian ‘Pellet Gun’ Krause*

It is appropriate, therefore, as we celebrate all things red, white, and blue this week, to pay tribute to one of my favorite red things: the cherry.

Every July I can hardly wait for the harvest of this fruit to begin in the Yakima Valley. For there is truly nothing better than picking a cluster of the ruby orbs and (after they’re washed off) biting into the soft, juicy flesh. As a fan of the sweet varieties such as Bing and Sweetheart, an explosion of flavor reminds me how much I’ve missed them since the previous year.

The cherry has a long history of cultivation with evidence that the fruit has been grown since prehistoric times. From the Infallible Wikipedia:

“The English word cherry derives from Old Northern French or Norman cherise from the Latin cerasum, referring to an ancient Greek region, Kerasous (Κερασοῦς) near Giresun, Turkey, from which cherries were first thought to be exported to Europe. The indigenous range of the sweet cherry extends through most of Europe, western Asia, and parts of northern Africa, and the fruit has been consumed throughout its range since prehistoric times. A cultivated cherry is recorded as having been brought to Rome by Lucius Licinius Lucullus from northeastern Anatolia, also known as the Pontus region, in 72 BC.

Cherries were introduced into England at Teynham, near Sittingbourne in Kent, by order of Henry VIII, who had tasted them in Flanders.

Cherries arrived in North America early in the settlement of Brooklyn, New York (then called ‘New Netherland’) when the region was under Dutch sovereignty.”

In the United States, the first record of cherry trees being planted was 1639.

Sweet cherries are grown most successfully in Washington, Oregon, California, Wisconsin, and Michigan (hence the location of the cherry pit spitting contest). Most sour cherry varieties are grown in Michigan, Utah, New York and Washington.

To successfully grow cherries, the climate must have cold winters although varieties have been developed recently which have allowed California to compete in cherry production.

My relationship with the cherry has not always been an enjoyable one. In the 1970’s, my grandfather divested his properties to his two daughters and my father took over managing a cherry orchard. The orchard was repayment to my grandfather – a banker – from a loan gone bad some years earlier.

My Dad had never been a farmer but during the summer – when not a Junior High School history teacher – he was a hands on orchardist. It was natural, then, that my first summer ‘job’ as a teenager was picking cherries.

*My Dad – schoolteacher turned orchardist – caught by a loaded cherry tree in Selah, Washington, circa 1980.*

By early July in Yakima, summer is in full force and the weather usually turns quite warm. It is common for there to be a spate of days when the thermometer inches into the upper 90’s and low 100’s. It’s then that the cherries ripen and harvest begins. For the pickers, work commences shortly after daybreak while the orchard is still cool.

One early July morning, with my then boyfriend and his younger sister, I arrived – along with all the migrant workers – to begin my job. Each person was assigned a tree, given a ladder and a bucket. Now when I say bucket, we are not talking about a pail like those favored by children at the beach. Nope. The metal buckets I knew held a lot of cherries, some four and half gallons worth. It took FOREVER to fill one up.

Different fruits require being harvested in certain ways. Picking cherries, it turns out, is quite the delicate operation. You must grasp the fruit at the very top of the stem where it is attached to the branch and gently twist so that the stem is removed from the branch without pulling the ‘spur’ off the tree. Then you place – never drop – the fruit into the bucket. Lather, rinse, repeat. My rough estimates are thus: a gallon is about 80 cherries. Multiply 4.5 gallons times 80 which is about 360 cherries for one bucket. For those who have never picked said cherries, it takes a long time to pick 360 cherries. Then there’s the ‘tree’. While about half of the first bucket can be picked while standing under it eventually you have to climb up a ladder – up to heights between 12 to 15 feet – while balancing your bucket of heavy fruit and reaching for the cherries.

*A requirement to pick cherries – a tall ladder.*

Now what, you may ask, is ‘the spur’?” It’s a flexible knobby growth at the end of a branch or stem and if it’s pulled off, that spot will not produce cherries the next year. My father the orchardist was rather persnickety about those spurs being preserved, so I was careful. And slow.

By noon time – now having been there working since 5 a.m. – the heat would have arrived and I would have picked… drum roll please – seven whole buckets of fruit. That’s 2,420 cherries each day of harvest… and be paid seven whole dollars. So one dollar for a bucket of cherries. Some of the seasonal migrant workers could pick up to 200 buckets a day. I’ve never figured out how.

Yes, the job truly sucked. Although seven bucks went farther in nineteen seventy something than it does today. But it wasn’t a lot of money even then. I was lucky if I could pick for six or seven days and earn in the vicinity of $50.

I will say that a couple of summers as a cherry picker made me appreciate the delicious fruit even more. In the early 1990’s, my sister and her husband took over the reigns of the orchard which meant that each year there were delicious cherries to be had. More than once she brought a bag of the freshly picked delights to me.

A few days ago I broke down and purchased a bag at my local Freddies as I was not willing to wait until a visit to Yakima in a couple of weeks. I jealously guard my cherries, making the bounty last until late July or even early August. As luck would have it they are not the hubby’s favorite fruit.

By the time August rolls around I will have satisfied my craving for the fleshy fruit for another year. Maybe.

But the best part? I didn’t have to pick them!

A couple of links for you:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry

http://memory.loc.gov/diglib/legacies/loc.afc.afc-legacies.200003151/default.html

Dominoes: From Childhood Memories to Modern Gameplay

Aug9

An ancient game still popular today

August 9

From the time I was a wee tyke, this game was part and parcel of my life. There was something fascinating about these little black tiles with white dots on them. No doubt they helped me learn to count and add.

*A typical set up for a game of traditional dominoes.*

Additionally, they were often employed as bricks for tiny doll houses and set up in rows only to be knocked down.

The domino was first mentioned over 700 years ago. It is, no doubt, one of the oldest games known to man.

Yes, the Infallible Wikipedia has a page devoted to it:

*The cover of a domino box which we discovered among my parents’ things. The inside box cover (below) is signed and has a date of 1910 in it.*

“The earliest mention of dominoes is from Song dynasty China found in the text Former Events in Wulin by Zhou Mi (1232–1298). Modern dominoes first appeared in Italy during the 18th century, but they differ from Chinese dominoes in a number of respects, and there is no confirmed link between the two. European dominoes may have developed independently, or Italian missionaries in China may have brought the game to Europe.

The name ‘domino’ is probably derived from the resemblance to a kind of carnival costume worn during the Venetian Carnival, often consisting of a black-hooded robe and a white mask. Despite the coinage of the word ‘polyomino’ as a generalization, there is no connection between the word ‘domino’ and the number 2 in any language. The most commonly played domino games are Domino Whist, Matador, and Muggins (All Fives). Other popular forms include Texas 42, Chicken Foot, Concentration, Double Fives, and Mexican Train.”

Now, on the minute chance there are readers who are not familiar with dominos, the most common configuration features a set of 28 tiles. Each tile has two faces featuring from zero to six ‘spots’ on either face. The lowest denomination is double zero (blank on both faces), while the greatest is a double six (a six at either end). In between is every single combination of numbers such as one-five, three-four, two-six, etc.

The traditional game I learned was that each participant drew seven tiles and the one with the highest double would start the game by laying down their tile face up. The person to their left would either play a domino which matched their number (For example, if they played a double five, then the second player had to also play a tile with a five at one end) or draw if they did not have a play.

The game continued until one person was able to play all of their tiles before anyone else.

I have a distinct childhood memory of playing dominoes with my mother and grandmother at the family cabin. My grandmother was a keen game player and, it seemed to me, that she always won. But I’m certain my mother won her fair share also. As a kid, I never stood a chance against them!

After my mother’s dementia had taken over her brain, dominoes was the last game she was capable of playing and my sister would often get out the dominoes set which had been acquired just for Mom and engage her in the activity.

*The set of dominoes acquired for Mom after her dementia diagnosis.*

More recently, my sister, niece, and my niece’s hubby, introduced me to a domino game which I would describe as being on steroids. The game: Mexican Train.

Mexican Train, however, uses dominoes with zero up to twelve dots on each face, so there are 91 tiles. We turn to the Infallible Wikipedia once again to learn how the game is played:

“With a standard double-twelve set the double twelve is placed in the station. In each successive round the next lower double is used until all doubles are used. The double-blank is the final round.

Play continues to the left. Each person lays one legally placed domino per turn, or two if the player’s first domino is a double. If they are unable to, they must draw a domino from the boneyard. If they are able to lay that domino, they must do so immediately. Otherwise, their turn is over and play continues to the left, each player trying to place all their dominoes by playing matching dominoes one at a time, end to end.

A train can be as long as the players can make it; it ends only when all dominoes that could match its endpoint have already been played. As a result, trains can become quite long, especially with an extended domino set. It is acceptable to ‘bend’ the train 90° or 180° to keep the train on the playing surface, as long as it does not interfere with the endpoints of other trains.

All trains begin the game as ‘public’, and all players may play on them. When a player plays a domino on their train it then becomes ‘private.’ When a player draws a domino and is unable to play it, they must mark their train as ‘public’ by placing a marker on their train.

The Mexican train is an additional train that anyone may play on during their turn. They can start the train by playing a domino matching the engine (i.e. the double played at the beginning of the round) or add to the train.”

I must admit I was curious about how it became known as Mexican train. One last blurb from the Infallible Wikipedia:

*The new Mexican Train dominos set up and ready for customers*

“‘Mexican Train’ is a name typically used only in the United States. It is believed Mexican Train Dominoes is a variation on a Chinese game called Pai gow, which means ‘make nine’. Chinese laborers brought the game to Latin America once they began working in sugar fields in the mid to late 1800s. Cubans and other Latin American players adopted the game to use dominoes and called it ‘Domino Cubano’. It later arrived in the United States around the 1860s once Cuban laborers began working on U.S. railroads. Americans began referring to the game as ‘Mexican Train Dominoes’ because of its growing popularity among Cuban, Mexican, and other Latin American laborers brought to the United States.”

Playing the game with my sister and her gang has become one of my favorite things to do when we get together. This is in spite of the fact that the final score of the first round of 13 I ever played resulted in me taking high score honors. Oh, did I mention that you are trying to earn the ‘least’ amount of points? Exactly.

My high score – which was somewhere in the high 600’s – has not, to my knowledge, been eclipsed by anyone else in our quartet. My niece tried hard to get there last week when the four of us spent a few days at the beach. I have yet to check with her to see if, from the past score sheets which are kept, if she is the new high score champ.

In years past, she has brought the Mexican train set she owns with her on the annual trip. But this year it was accidentally left behind. As fate would have it, the first day we were there was my birthday and, after a stop at Fred Meyer, there appeared a shiny new metal tin full of dominos as a gift.

Now one might think that since it was my birthday week, they would at least let me win the game. One would be wrong. Despite my best efforts, it was my sister who came out on top for this two day round of Mexican Train, followed by her son-in-law, then me, and then my niece.

Since I started playing with them, however, I would say each one of us has been the victor at least once.

Ultimately, however, I always come away from the game feeling as though I’m the winner, regardless of the score. For me being able to experience the joy of simply playing games with family and friends is the real win.

As for the new set of tiles, I opted to leave them in the owner’s closet at the family condo for all to enjoy when at the beach.

The links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominoes

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mexican_Train

If you have a few minutes take a look at this YouTube video of dominoes set up and then getting knocked down. I don’t possess the patience to do something like this.

Disneyland

Jul20

The Happiest Place On Earth

July 20, 2021

Where oh where to begin with this week’s topic? For those of us born from the mid-1950’s on, there was never a time when this, the ‘happiest place on earth’ did not exist.

We learned about Disneyland via Sunday night’s Wonderful World of Color which featured Disneyland’s Sleeping Beauty’s castle against a back drop of colorful fireworks. It was an aspirational sort of thing, I suppose, instilling in our Baby Boomer hearts the desire to go to Disneyland and find our own happiness there.

*The crowd running towards Sleeping Beauty’s castle July 17, 1955*

It was the third week of July 1955, when the park officially opened, one year and one day from when construction began. Walt Disney’s concept came while sitting on a bench at a park one day and watching his two daughters play. Instead of parents just observing from the sidelines, he mused, wouldn’t it be great to have a place where kids and parents could have fun together?

It would be nearly 20 years before Disneyland would finally become a reality.

The Disneyland most people know today would be nearly unrecognizable to Disney himself. The first rides were, for lack of a better term, rather bland. There was not a roller coaster to be found anywhere within the park. It’s most popular early attractions were “Jungle Cruise,” “Autopia,” and “Rocket to the Moon” (later to Mars). Guests strolled along Main Street, hopped aboard the Disneyland Railroad, or sailed the raft over to Tom Sawyer Island for fun. There were a few carnival type rides but by today’s standards those would be considered ‘kiddie’ rides.

Opening day was a disaster. From the Infallible Wikipedia:

*Walt Disney and his grandson taking a break from the 101 degree temperatures on opening day*

“Traffic was delayed on the two-lane Harbor Boulevard. Famous figures who were scheduled to show up every two hours showed up all at once. The temperature was an unusually high 101 °F (38 °C), and because of a local plumbers’ strike, Disney was given a choice of having working drinking fountains or running toilets. He chose the latter, leaving many drinking fountains dry. This generated negative publicity since Pepsi sponsored the park’s opening; disappointed guests believed the inoperable fountains were a cynical way to sell soda, while other vendors ran out of food. The asphalt that had been poured that morning was soft enough to let women’s high-heeled shoes sink into it. Some parents threw their children over the crowd’s shoulders to get them onto rides, such as the King Arthur Carrousel.

In later years, Disney and his 1955 executives referred to July 17, 1955, as ‘Black Sunday’. After the extremely negative press from the preview opening, Walt Disney invited attendees back for a private ‘second day’ to experience Disneyland properly.”

Despite the inauspicious start, Disney persevered, never resting and always looking for innovative ideas and opportunities to improve the park and thus the experience for paying guests.

The first roller coaster, the now iconic Matterhorn, opened in 1959. It was eventually joined by a second coaster, Space Mountain, in 1977.

*The Matterhorn under construction 1959*

Although many of the original attractions are still a part of Disneyland, the Disney company has never been afraid to update and upgrade to keep pace with the changing technology or the desires of the public. Many of the attractions kids of the 1960’s and 70’s remember fondly are long since gone.

As a child – and knowing about Disneyland – it was a place I wanted to go. For my family, however, it was not within reach. It was only after the passing of my grandmother in January 1970 that the wheels were set in motion for a trip which took my Dad, Mom, Sister, and me south to Anaheim. I chronicled my first Disneyland visit in a previous blog post https://barbaradevore.com/2020/05/26/the-great-american-road-trip/.

Having gotten a taste of the Disney experience, I was excited when – along with the Rainbow Girls – I had another day at the park in late July 1976. And much like the first visit, it was a one day visit. The rides were few and mostly I recall riding the Matterhorn and meeting the Big Bad Wolf.

It was after the hubby and I had been married for nearly eight years when we hatched our ultimate Disneyland plan. We flew to California in January 1988 to spend three entire days at the theme park. While there, we agreed, we would ride EVERY ride they had to offer; see every show; eat all the food. We would immerse ourselves in all Disney, all the time.

A few things stand out from that trip. One, when we arrived at John Wayne airport it was probably 8 or 9 p.m. and 60 degrees. To us, coming from 40 and rain Seattle in January, it seemed like summer. We laughed at a woman standing near the open air luggage carousel who was, literally, wearing a parka, fur hat, and big mittens.

Second, we videotaped pretty much every ride. Alas, without the magic of the machine which can convert VHS those tapes are consigned to a dusty box in the Harry Potter closet. (see article here: https://barbaradevore.com/2020/06/30/winchester-mystery-house/) One of these days I do plan to get those old tapes digitized!

Third, it was truly one of the best vacations the hubby and I took. We were 30 and 31 years old, did not yet have children, could afford to pay for whatever we wanted, and for three days we got to act like teenagers but better. Not only did we go on ALL the rides (yes, even the ‘kiddie’ rides), but we did several of the best ones multiple times. Space Mountain? check/check. Matterhorn? check/check/check. Haunted Mansion? check/check/check. Big Thunder Railroad? check/check/check/check/check.

In the years since, we’ve taken our children to Disneyland a couple of times and to DisneyWorld once. The hubby and I even had a solo day at Epcot a few years ago. But I’m not so keen on roller coasters any more. Those are, sadly, more the province of the young and less fragile among us. Even so, I think it would be fun to return to Disneyland with our adult children (neither of whom have any children at this point) during a time of year when the crowds are reduced and we can once again ride any ride we like as many times as we want. That, to me, would be magical.

*Hubby and me with the two littlest ones on the Disneyland railroad 1995*

*Hubby and kids waiting for Big Thunder Railroad roller coaster circa 1998*

As Walt Disney said on opening day in 1955:

“To all who come to this happy place: Welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past, and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disneyland