Summer Re-Run

Thought for the day:  The healthiest response to life is joy. [Deepak Chopra]

According to the calendar, yesterday was the first day of autumn, but evidently, nobody bothered to let Mother Nature know, because around here, it still feels and looks like the middle of summer. Sooooo, why not go with a (ta-DA!) summer re-run? Not that I'm (ahem) lazy or anything, but it's been more than five years since this post ran first time around as Rhymes With Dreams, and most of you haven't seen it. So you could say I'm re-running it out of sheer laziness the goodness of my heart. Yeah, let's go with that. With a bit of editing, here ya go. I hope you enjoy it.

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Thought for the day: Why do people pay money to go to the top of tall buildings, and then pay again to look down at the ground through binoculars? 

One of the few good things I can say about growing up in a neighborhood of row homes is that there were always enough kids around to initiate just about any kind of game you can imagine: games like curb ball, dodge ball, red rover, Mother may I, spud, seven up, and of course, tag. A little convenience store down the alley from our house served as our meeting place, and the big metal pipe at its front corner served as home base for our tag games. Tag games always started by everyone yelling "Not it!" Whoever was slowest, WAS it, and would have to cover his eyes and start counting at that pipe while everyone else ran.

It's been 55+ years since I played that version of tag, but thanks to a very sweet fellow blogger, now I can play a different (more age-appropriate) version. She tagged me IT, so now I get to answer some questions, before tagging some other bloggers. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Here we go:

1.  If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?

It'd be that moment I spotted my husband at the airport when he finally came home from Vietnam. It was sheer magic.

2. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

The airplane spent an interminable hour and a half sitting on the tarmac in Atlanta, and should have already landed in Baltimore by the time it finally got off the ground. My sister-in-law and her husband picked me up at the airport and we drove straight to the hospital, but my mother died twenty minutes before we got there. So, if I could change one thing, I'd make that plane leave on time.

3. What movie or TV character do you most resemble in personality?

I have no idea. Maybe a cross between June Cleaver and Lurch?

4. If you could push one person off a cliff, who would it be?

Geez, I'm boring. Can't think of anyone I hate, and even if I did, I'm not a push-somebody-off-the-cliff kind of person. I'm more of a guns or poison kind of gal.

5. Name one habit you want to change about yourself.

I need to exercise. Unfortunately, owning exercise equipment and a pair of spiffy running shoes doesn't do the trick. You actually have to use the darned things. Doesn't hardly seem fair, does it?

6. Describe yourself in one word.

Vulnerable.

7. Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.

Family-oriented.

8. Why do you blog?

It started out (reluctantly, I might add) as a means to establish a "platform" to benefit my writing future. Now, I do it because I truly enjoy it, and because I've come to care about the people I've "met".

Okay, I'm going to deviate from the original post here, and instead of naming anyone in particular, I'll let all of you guys and gals who are interested snag the blog tag from the top of this page and answer the questions on your blog, and either pass it on to three other bloggers, or throw it up for grabs, like I'm doing. Kinda like a chain letter, but better. No body parts will turn black and fall off if you don't do it. (I don't think so, anyway. Personally, I wasn't willing to take the chance.)

Did you notice that word meme in question number seven? Familiar with it? In answering these questions on her blog, the gal who tagged me said, "What the heck is a meme? I never heard that one before." Since the only meme I'd ever heard of before was the French word, which rhymes with hem and means same, I decided to do some investigating.

It turns out that meme, which rhymes with dream, can best be described  as a basic building block of minds and culture, similar to the way a gene is considered a biological building block. Just as genes transmit biological information, memes transmit ideas and belief information, like catch phrases, melodies, the latest fads, and fashion trends. By extension, an Internet meme would be a concept that spreads via the Internet, like viral videos, tweets, and ... games of blogger tag.

So now we know.

On an earlier post, I told the funny-but-true story of my grandfather using most of my grandmother's clothes as diapers during their long voyage to America. Turns out, my brother acquired a copy of their ship's manifest through Ancestry.com and informed me that their ship didn't sail into Ellis Island, after all. The S.S. Columbia left Glasgow on April 28, 1923, and actually arrived in Boston Harbor eight days later. Eight days. When Mom-Mom described the voyage, she made it sound like so much longer than that, but eight days of seasickness must have felt more like eighty.

Now that I know they entered via Boston, I've been thinking about another story my grandmother told me. She said they lived in New York City for a while before moving on to Baltimore, which is why I thought they'd come into the country through Ellis Island, but maybe I misunderstood. Maybe they actually lived in Boston. Still, wherever they lived, the story was hysterical.

My grandmother could wax poetic about Scottish heather.

She said the temperatures were hot, hotter than what they'd ever experienced in Scotland. And the bugs? They were absolutely horrific, and also something quite new to them, she said. According to her, they didn't  have such annoying bugs in Scotland. So, picture this: they're in a cramped hotel room in the sweltering heat one evening, and the flies and mosquitoes are flitting and buzzing around the room, and about a hair's breadth away from driving my grandfather completely insane. So, Pop starts chasing them around the room with a fly swatter in hand. Bouncing on the bed, swinging the flyswatter like a baseball bat, and cussing as only an irate Scotsman can cuss. And oh yeah, because of the heat, he also happened to be naked. When my grandmother looked out the window, a small crowd was gathered below, pointing up, and having a jolly good time. Seems they found my grandfather's shenanigans quite entertaining.

Now whether or not that story's entirely true, I can't say, but she certainly told it to me often enough. One part of the tale doesn't mesh, though. That part about Scotland not having any annoying bugs? I did a google search to see if that's true. Not even close. There's a wee bug called the Highland midge that is so annoying, it's been known to make grown men cry. Those miserable critters not only bite, but they swarm. Not talking little swarms, either. I'm talking swarms of hundreds, and even thousands, that attack all at once. They've been called the scourge of Scotland.

Still, why ruin a good story with facts, right? My grandmother chose to remember Scotland as a perfect place, with fields of heather and nary a bug in sight. Works for me. I love good dreams. (rhymes with memes)

 rainbow above the highlands

                                  Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

No Skirting the Issue

Thought for the day: Yer bum's out the windae.  [Scottish slang for, You're talking rubbish.]

My bum isn't out the windae when I say I love this picture of our daughter and son-in-law. He cuts a mighty fine figure in his kilt, doesn't he? And their poses? Priceless.

Aye, 'tis no secret that there's something charmin' about a Scotsman sportin' a kilt... no matter how coy he may be about what he's wearing under it. (i.e. She: What's worn under your kilt? He: Nothing, lass. It all works just fine.) Indeed,  the lads seem to enjoy perpetuating the mystery. But, guess what? Thanks to a picture I found on seniorark, I can now provide a definitive answer to that age-old question about kilts and skivvies.

OH, laddies! And a fine cheeky revelation it is!










I shared the following video with you once before, but now that the truth has been laid bare once and for all, I believe this auspicious occasion calls for an encore.

Gee I don't know why, but for absolutely no reason at all, an old Saturday Night Live skit just came to mind. For copyright reasons, I can't share it, but it's a classic skit called... (ahem)...  Schweddy Balls. (If you've never seen it before, you should be able to find a facsimile of it on Youtube.)

This post is a wee bit short, so tell ya what. I'm gonna fill it out with a wee joke:

As the dance was coming to an end, a Scottish lass smiled at a handsome young man and said, "Would it be that ye'd be wantin' to walk me home noo?"

"Aye, it would!" he said. "And how would it be that ye'd be knowin'?"

"Oh, by the twanklin' in yer aie," she said. After a wee walk down the lane, she said, "Oh, and would it be that ye'd be wantin' to hold me hand noo?"

"Aye, it would!" he said. "And how would it be that ye'd be knowin'?"

"Oh, by the twanklin' in yer aie," she said again. A few minutes later, she stopped, and asked, "Oh, and would it be that ye'd be wantin' to kiss me noo?"

"Aye, it would!" he said, moistening his lips. "And how would it be that ye'd be knowin'?"

"Oh, 'tis that twanklin' in yer aie!" After they shared a kiss, she peeked at him through her eyelashes and whispered, "Oh, and would it be that ye'd be wantin' to make love to me noo?"

"Aye, it would," he said gruffly. "And how might ye be knowin'? By that twanklin' in me aie?"

"Oh nae, lad. By the tiltie in your kiltie."
++++++++++++

By the way, never tell a drunken Scotsman he's wearing a skirt. That just might get ye kilt!

                                Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Bend Over, Laddie

Thought for the day:  The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley.  [Robert Burns]

Last Friday, the 25th, was Robert Burns Day, a worldwide drunken celebration of Scotland's favorite son and poet. So, yeah, that would have been a logical time to write a post about him and the annual poetry-reading, whiskey-swilling celebration of his birthday, but as he wrote, sometimes our plans gang a-gley.

Since I opted to participate in False Start Friday last week, why not talk about Burns today, eh?

A lot of people only associate the prolific Burns with Auld Lang Syne, but the truth is, he wrote a LOT of poems. I know, because I have a book filled with every single one he ever wrote. My grandfather's book. A true Scotsman he was, too. He could recite Burns' poetry like a Shakespearean actor, and the more libations he had, the more dramatic his recitation.

Even Pop's before-meal grace came from Burns:

Some hae meat, and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit.

You know what the traditional meat is at the Burns Day celebrations? Something called haggis, a sausage-like dish containing what Scots call the pluck of a sheep: its heart, liver and lungs. (Takes a bit of pluck to eat it, too!) When all the ingredients are combined, they're traditionally sewn into the sheep's stomach for cooking, with the windpipe hanging over the side of the pot. Yum, huh? Modern recipes, however, may call for tongue instead of lung, and sausage casing instead of sheep's stomach. But I've even heard of instances where the sausage ingredients are shaped and cooked in a likeness of Burns' head and served on a huge platter. Talk about a following, huh?

Burns wrote poetry about all kinds of things. This, he allegedly wrote after observing a woman in church looking up the text during the sermon:

Fair maid, you need not take the hint,

Nor idle texts pursue;

'Twas guilty sinners that he meant---

Not angels such as you.

Rather than inundate you with more of Bobby Burns' poetry, let me address the question that niggles at many a fair maiden's mind... exactly what do those Scotsmen wear under their kilts???

Well, here ya go. The little ditty in this video will answer that question quite nicely. Cute pics, too. FYI, the illustrator is a very talented young autistic man, who has been drawing since he was a young child.

Now that you're smiling, how about one more short video? (Where do I get these things, you ask? Why, I pull 'em out of my... um, ear... of course.)

                                         Okay, lads and lassies, that'll be aboot it for noo.

                                               May He who gives the rain to pour,

                                               And wings the blast to blaw,

                                               Protect thee frae the driving show'r,

                                              The bitter frost and snaw.

                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[A photo of my grandmother's cousin Ian. Had I been born with the proper accoutrements, that would have been my name, too.]

Rhymes With Dream

Thought for the day: Why do people pay money to go to the top of tall buildings, and then pay again to look down at the ground through binoculars? 

One of the few good things I can say about growing up in a neighborhood of row homes is that there were always enough kids around to initiate just about any kind of game you can imagine: games like curb ball, dodge ball, red rover, Mother may I, spud, seven up, and of course, tag. A little convenience store down the alley from our house served as our meeting place, and the big metal pipe at its front corner served as home base for our tag games. Tag games always started by everyone yelling "Not it!" Whoever was slowest, WAS it, and would have to cover his eyes and start counting at that pipe while everyone else ran.

It's been 50+ years since I played that version of tag, but thanks to dear sweet Ruby of Blabbin' Grammy now I can play a different (more age-appropriate) version. She tagged me IT, so now I get to answer some questions, before tagging three other bloggers. Thank you, Grammy. Sounds like fun.

Here we go:

1.  If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?
It'd be that moment I spotted my husband at the airport when he finally came home from Vietnam.
2. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?
The airplane spent an interminable hour and a half sitting on the tarmac in Atlanta, and should have already landed in Baltimore by the time it finally got off the ground. My sister-in-law and her husband picked me up at the airport and we drove straight to the hospital, but my mother died twenty minutes before we got there. So, if I could change one thing, I'd make that plane leave on time.
3. What movie or TV character do you most resemble in personality?
I have no idea. Maybe a cross between June Cleaver and Lurch?
4. If you could push one person off a cliff, who would it be?
Geez, I'm boring. Can't think of anyone I hate, and even if I did, I'm not a push-somebody-off-the-cliff kind of person. I'm more of a guns or poison kind of gal.
5. Name one habit you want to change about yourself.
I need to exercise. Unfortunately, owning exercise equipment and a pair of spiffy running shoes doesn't do the trick. You actually have to use the darned things.
6. Describe yourself in one word.
Vulnerable.
7. Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.
Family-oriented.
8. Why do you blog?
It started out (reluctantly, I might add) as a means to establish a "platform" to benefit my writing future. Now, I do it because I truly enjoy it, and because I've come to care about the people I've "met".

OK, time for me to tag three more bloggers. Ladies, you are IT!
Linda, from Visiting Reality
Connie, from A Merry Heart
and Anne, from Piedmont Writer

If you ladies would be so kind, please snag the blog tag from the top of this page, answer the questions on your blogs, and then tag three more bloggers. Kinda like a chain letter, but better. No body parts will turn black and fall off if you don't do it. (I don't think so, anyway. Personally, I wasn't willing to take the chance.)

Did you notice that word meme in question number seven? Familiar with it? In answering these questions on her blog, Grammy said, "What the heck is a meme? I never heard that one before." Since the only meme I'd ever heard of before was the French word, which rhymes with hem and means same, I decided to do some investigating.

It turns out that meme, which rhymes with dream, can best be described  as a basic building block of minds and culture, similar to the way a gene is considered a biological building block. Just as genes transmit biological information, memes transmit ideas and belief information, like catch phrases, melodies, the latest fads, and fashion trends. By extension, an Internet meme would be a concept that spreads via the Internet, like viral videos, tweets, and ... games of blogger tag.

So now we know.

Last Friday, I told the funny-but-true story of my grandfather using most of my grandmother's clothes as diapers during their long voyage to America. Turns out, my brother acquired a copy of their ship's manifest through Ancestry.com and informed me that their ship didn't sail into Ellis Island, after all. The S.S. Columbia left Glasgow on April 28, 1923, and actually arrived in Boston Harbor eight days later. Eight days. When Mom-Mom described the voyage, she made it sound like so much longer than that, but eight days of seasickness must have felt more like eighty.

Now that I know they entered via Boston, I've been thinking about another story my grandmother told me. She said they lived in New York City for a while before moving on to Baltimore, which is why I thought they'd come into the country through Ellis Island, but maybe I misunderstood. Maybe they actually lived in Boston. Still, wherever they lived, the story was hysterical.

My grandmother could wax poetic about Scottish heather.

She said the temperatures were hot, hotter than what they'd ever experienced in Scotland. And the bugs? They were absolutely horrific, and also something quite new to them, she said. According to her, they didn't  have such annoying bugs in Scotland. So, picture this: they're in a cramped hotel room in the sweltering heat one evening, and the flies and mosquitoes are flitting and buzzing around the room, and about a hair's breadth away from driving my grandfather completely insane. So, Pop starts chasing them around the room with a fly swatter in hand. Bouncing on the bed, swinging the flyswatter like a baseball bat, and cussing as only an irate Scotsman can cuss. And oh yeah, because of the heat, he also happened to be naked. When my grandmother looked out the window, a small crowd was gathered below, pointing up, and having a jolly good time. Seems they found my grandfather's shenanigans quite entertaining.

Now whether or not that story's entirely true, I can't say, but she certainly told it to me often enough. One part of the tale doesn't mesh, though. That part about Scotland not having any annoying bugs? I did a google search to see if that's true. Not even close. There's a wee bug called the Highland midge that is so annoying, it's been known to make grown men cry. Those miserable critters not only bite, but they swarm. Not talking little swarms, either. I'm talking swarms of hundreds, and even thousands, that attack all at once. They've been called the scourge of Scotland.

Still, why ruin a good story with facts, right? My grandmother chose to remember Scotland as a perfect place, with fields of heather and nary a bug in sight. Works for me. I love good dreams. (rhymes with memes)

 rainbow above the highlands

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.