There are many things to love about our town, Putnam, CT. But one of the things best loved by many is Deary Brothers/Mike's Stand. Open from April through September, Mike's Stand serves up ice cream, fried seafood, burgers, chowder and clam cakes to its adoring patrons. The stand is located on a side street off Route 12, originated in 1937 and has been family owned since then. In fact, old school Coca-Cola signs and lights still adorn the tiny red stand, which is kept as good as new by current owner, Mike Deary. The stand was an offshoot of the Deary Brothers dairy, which was formed in 1913, and offered home delivery of bottled milk and dairy products. Today, the stand's fresh food and friendly service, delivered by perky local teenagers, is excellent, but equally enjoyable is the gestalt of the place, and that means: the customers.
At any given time, a swarm of people form loosely formed lines for ordering meals, and ordering ice cream. And among those people are farmers in overalls, businessmen in suits, young mothers and babies, an elderly lady with a toy poodle in her arms, bikers in leather, teenagers in goth black, high school jocks, aging hippies, middle-aged couples. The rich, the middle class, the working poor, oldest and youngest, conservatives and liberals are mingled together without regard for their differences. Sitting at one of the shaded picnic tables, you know you're part of an American scene...an old-fashioned one, full of good values and mutual respect.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Gardening and Life
I guess it must have been the winter of our discontent....I've been AWOL because I have felt compelled to be outdoors in my every waking moment that I'm not at work. Despite the blanket of pollen that has persisted into late June, I've pruned, planted, added some new shrubs and perennials, expanded the vegetable garden. As in life, there will be successful and unsuccessful ventures, and that's OK....although I hope my efforts yield beauty, nectar for birds and insects, and healthy food for us. I did again plant some squashes although the squash beetles always seem to get the better of the crop by August. I researched some potential solutions for this year.
Last week, a big turkey found its way into the vegetable garden. I suppose it must have just walked through the opening in the fence, which is just one of those low, white wire decorative garden fences that probably doesn't really keep much out. Tom Turkey kept walking around the inside perimeter, looking a bit alarmed although it certainly could have probably hopped over the fence with little fanfare. Finally it got to the mulch pile, and made its escape. I'm expecting that there will be a new wild turkey generation soon.
We have a sweet little dooryard with flowers and herbs, including a New Dawn rose that was planted by the prior owner's wife in 1951. That just started to bloom. The rosa rugosa is blooming too; these are the indestructible "beach roses" which I have since learned are banned in some states because of their propensity to spread. They are considered a "nuisance plant". I had willingly planted a few that my father had purchased and quickly saw that they were spreading like mint. Only they are armed with the nastiest thorns, like needles, making them quite challenging to remove. I can see they are not going to give up!
Gardening is so much like life: live and learn. Laugh at mistakes, try to do better next time, love the imperfect.
Last week, a big turkey found its way into the vegetable garden. I suppose it must have just walked through the opening in the fence, which is just one of those low, white wire decorative garden fences that probably doesn't really keep much out. Tom Turkey kept walking around the inside perimeter, looking a bit alarmed although it certainly could have probably hopped over the fence with little fanfare. Finally it got to the mulch pile, and made its escape. I'm expecting that there will be a new wild turkey generation soon.
We have a sweet little dooryard with flowers and herbs, including a New Dawn rose that was planted by the prior owner's wife in 1951. That just started to bloom. The rosa rugosa is blooming too; these are the indestructible "beach roses" which I have since learned are banned in some states because of their propensity to spread. They are considered a "nuisance plant". I had willingly planted a few that my father had purchased and quickly saw that they were spreading like mint. Only they are armed with the nastiest thorns, like needles, making them quite challenging to remove. I can see they are not going to give up!
Gardening is so much like life: live and learn. Laugh at mistakes, try to do better next time, love the imperfect.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
This Somber Holiday
It's Memorial Day. The kick off to summer, a long weekend, time to plant the tomato plants. And lest we forget, a time to remember all the heroes, alive and gone, of America's wars.
I still can vividly remember a day in June, 1967; I was eleven, playing outdoors with my neighborhood friend, Janet, when her mother came outside, crying, and told my friend that her cousin Billy had been killed in Viet Nam. He was in a tank that was hit by enemy fire and exploded. He was 20 years old.
Viet Nam: My husband's father, from a farming family in northwestern Rhode Island was there at the same time, a Sea Bee. He survived, but struggled when he returned and died young, probably at least in part to exposure to Agent Orange. My cousin, Frank, now 70, also exposed at Agent Orange, who did two tours as a chopper medic. He's living in Florida, happily retired and enjoying frequent cruises and jaunts in his RV with his wife. He won't fly again, ever. He is an American hero but doesn't like to talk about his days in Nam.
My Dad is a Korean Conflict veteran. He's still alive, but his name is already on the WWII Memorial in his home town, where he still lives, still married to the woman, my mother, who waited for him to return. Like Frank, he doesn't talk about the time he spent overseas, either. He is part of "the greatest generation" memorialized on that monument. We've asked him if he would like to participate in the Memorial Day tributes; he always declines.
Last night, my husband talked on the phone with our young neighbor, the age of my oldest daughter. He was in Iraq; he went there thinking he would be working as a plumber, his civilian occupation, and found himself holding a gun in combat instead of a plumber's wrench. And he is struggling. I heard my husband say "thank you for your service, sir" before he hung up the phone.
This weekend, have fun. Be safe. And remember all our heroes. They are usually almost invisible, trying to just have a good life like we all want, sometimes succeeding and other times needing a helping hand, an acknowledgement, a kind word.
I still can vividly remember a day in June, 1967; I was eleven, playing outdoors with my neighborhood friend, Janet, when her mother came outside, crying, and told my friend that her cousin Billy had been killed in Viet Nam. He was in a tank that was hit by enemy fire and exploded. He was 20 years old.
Viet Nam: My husband's father, from a farming family in northwestern Rhode Island was there at the same time, a Sea Bee. He survived, but struggled when he returned and died young, probably at least in part to exposure to Agent Orange. My cousin, Frank, now 70, also exposed at Agent Orange, who did two tours as a chopper medic. He's living in Florida, happily retired and enjoying frequent cruises and jaunts in his RV with his wife. He won't fly again, ever. He is an American hero but doesn't like to talk about his days in Nam.
My Dad is a Korean Conflict veteran. He's still alive, but his name is already on the WWII Memorial in his home town, where he still lives, still married to the woman, my mother, who waited for him to return. Like Frank, he doesn't talk about the time he spent overseas, either. He is part of "the greatest generation" memorialized on that monument. We've asked him if he would like to participate in the Memorial Day tributes; he always declines.
Last night, my husband talked on the phone with our young neighbor, the age of my oldest daughter. He was in Iraq; he went there thinking he would be working as a plumber, his civilian occupation, and found himself holding a gun in combat instead of a plumber's wrench. And he is struggling. I heard my husband say "thank you for your service, sir" before he hung up the phone.
This weekend, have fun. Be safe. And remember all our heroes. They are usually almost invisible, trying to just have a good life like we all want, sometimes succeeding and other times needing a helping hand, an acknowledgement, a kind word.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Cat Owners' Corner: The Gift
I've always owned pets, cats and dogs, and for awhile, horses. Currently, we have two cats and a dog, but this post is devoted to Oki -- "Orange KItty". Oki is a rangy old cat who came our way via my youngest daughter, who reported that this skinny stray was hanging around her then-boyfriend's house and his parents were planning on taking the cat "for a ride in the country". Needless to say, I inherited another pet. That was about ten years ago. And we didn't know how old the kitty was then. Oki has earned his place as "best cat ever".
About a year ago now, Oki had a major health scare and a very expensive week long stay at a premier animal hospital. After that, Oki had to lose about ten pounds and is down from 22 to 14 pounds but is now an insulin-dependent diabetic kitty, requiring injections morning and evening. We also learned that Oki -- who we thought was a "she" -- is a "he", a neutered male. I guess our local vet never looked that closely and neither did we. It has been an adjustment calling Oki "he" and "him"! But that did explain HIS randy behavior around our petite female cat, neutered or not!
Frequently troubled by insomnia, I was particularly displeased last night when Oki jumped on the bed, meowing loudly and persistently. I think it was around 4 a.m. Diabetic cats get hungry and I kept trying to push Oki off the bed or at least quiet down so I could get just a little more shut-eye. Finally, the cat decided laying on my bladder would be comfy and I gave up on any more sleep. Being extremely near-sighted, I grabbed my eyeglasses from the nightstand and headed for the kitchen and coffee.
About ten minutes later, my husband was cursing and muttering....as he walked out of the bedroom holding a very fat and very dead mouse in a Kleenex. Eeeeeeeeeeew!!!!!!!! The carcass was laid neatly between us......an apparent gift from the fearless hunter.
So today I am washing a lot of bed linen. Now, when you own an old house with a fieldstone foundation, you need cats but......next time, Oki, could you just leave the vermin next to the bed? Or near your feed bowl? I don't think this incident is going to help my sleep problems!
About a year ago now, Oki had a major health scare and a very expensive week long stay at a premier animal hospital. After that, Oki had to lose about ten pounds and is down from 22 to 14 pounds but is now an insulin-dependent diabetic kitty, requiring injections morning and evening. We also learned that Oki -- who we thought was a "she" -- is a "he", a neutered male. I guess our local vet never looked that closely and neither did we. It has been an adjustment calling Oki "he" and "him"! But that did explain HIS randy behavior around our petite female cat, neutered or not!
Frequently troubled by insomnia, I was particularly displeased last night when Oki jumped on the bed, meowing loudly and persistently. I think it was around 4 a.m. Diabetic cats get hungry and I kept trying to push Oki off the bed or at least quiet down so I could get just a little more shut-eye. Finally, the cat decided laying on my bladder would be comfy and I gave up on any more sleep. Being extremely near-sighted, I grabbed my eyeglasses from the nightstand and headed for the kitchen and coffee.
About ten minutes later, my husband was cursing and muttering....as he walked out of the bedroom holding a very fat and very dead mouse in a Kleenex. Eeeeeeeeeeew!!!!!!!! The carcass was laid neatly between us......an apparent gift from the fearless hunter.
So today I am washing a lot of bed linen. Now, when you own an old house with a fieldstone foundation, you need cats but......next time, Oki, could you just leave the vermin next to the bed? Or near your feed bowl? I don't think this incident is going to help my sleep problems!
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Can YOU Do It?
Can YOU Do It?
Over the last few decades, so many skills that we baby boomers thought were basic knowledge are now a dying art. Like writing and mailing a letter. Having an engaged conversation in a restaurant without an iPhone. But that isn't what I am talking about.
I'm talking about DRIVING A STANDARD SHIFT CAR! Yes, folks, that's right. A vehicle with a CLUTCH and up to six speeds! I have been reminded a little too frequently lately about how not too many folks can drive one anymore. Recently, I brought our Mazda 6 six speed in for tires. I witnessed one tough and tattooed young man attempt to get said car from its parking space into the garage bay. After multiple stall outs, I finally had to stop the torture of my vehicle and drive it into the bay myself.
A related pet peeve is also a reflection of generally bad driving habits and cluelessness about what it is to shift a car. You know how folks nowadays just love to tailgate, way too close? Well, when you shift a manual transmission there can be an oh-so-slight hesitation as you switch gears. Not good when that Yukon is inches away from the rear bumper.
It's pretty hard to even get a lot of vehicles with a standard transmission now. Too bad. Driving a standard offers improved control and handling, and an overall better driving experience. We have four vehicles -- all standard transmissions.
So I throw down the gauntlet. Can YOU drive a standard?
Over the last few decades, so many skills that we baby boomers thought were basic knowledge are now a dying art. Like writing and mailing a letter. Having an engaged conversation in a restaurant without an iPhone. But that isn't what I am talking about.
I'm talking about DRIVING A STANDARD SHIFT CAR! Yes, folks, that's right. A vehicle with a CLUTCH and up to six speeds! I have been reminded a little too frequently lately about how not too many folks can drive one anymore. Recently, I brought our Mazda 6 six speed in for tires. I witnessed one tough and tattooed young man attempt to get said car from its parking space into the garage bay. After multiple stall outs, I finally had to stop the torture of my vehicle and drive it into the bay myself.
A related pet peeve is also a reflection of generally bad driving habits and cluelessness about what it is to shift a car. You know how folks nowadays just love to tailgate, way too close? Well, when you shift a manual transmission there can be an oh-so-slight hesitation as you switch gears. Not good when that Yukon is inches away from the rear bumper.
It's pretty hard to even get a lot of vehicles with a standard transmission now. Too bad. Driving a standard offers improved control and handling, and an overall better driving experience. We have four vehicles -- all standard transmissions.
So I throw down the gauntlet. Can YOU drive a standard?
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Remembering Easter Finery
Remember "back in the day" on Easter Sundays? My sister and I would usually be wearing matching outfits....fluffy dresses and white straw hats, tights and patent leather shoes. There was a sense of excitement as we would accompany my mother on a shopping trip in the weeks before Easter. My father worked in Worcester, and we would annually stay out of school for a day, and make the drive from Somerset to shop at the new mall down the street from "the office". After purchasing our new outfits, we would all go to Spag's and my brother would get to buy some Matchbox cars.
I still remember Easter Sundays at St. Thomas More Church. There was always an extra large crowd and a lot of overpowering perfume and rather outlandish spring hats. I couldn't concentrate on the Mass because I would be too busy gawking at everyone and in particular, the ladies. At the time -- probably around 1962 -- mink stoles were the rage and I was both horrified and fascinated by the stoles that boasted the actual little feet of the mink! Wouldn't be politically correct nowadays! The hats of course would rival some of the British royal fashion. There were a lot of flowers and ribbons in a dazzling array of pastels. One year, in the late '60's, the nautical look was in and my sister and I sported royal blue and white maxi coats. The church parishioners looked more like a band of sailors, lots of red, white and navy blue and less flowery hats.
My paternal grandparents who lived next door would always come over to see us in our Easter dresses. Pictures would be taken, sometimes, and we would all enjoy a nice ham dinner after church. And then, of course, the requisite chocolate bunny after that. And then we would put on our "play clothes" and go outside; the grass would be greening up and the spring flowers blooming.
Wonderful memories!
I still remember Easter Sundays at St. Thomas More Church. There was always an extra large crowd and a lot of overpowering perfume and rather outlandish spring hats. I couldn't concentrate on the Mass because I would be too busy gawking at everyone and in particular, the ladies. At the time -- probably around 1962 -- mink stoles were the rage and I was both horrified and fascinated by the stoles that boasted the actual little feet of the mink! Wouldn't be politically correct nowadays! The hats of course would rival some of the British royal fashion. There were a lot of flowers and ribbons in a dazzling array of pastels. One year, in the late '60's, the nautical look was in and my sister and I sported royal blue and white maxi coats. The church parishioners looked more like a band of sailors, lots of red, white and navy blue and less flowery hats.
My paternal grandparents who lived next door would always come over to see us in our Easter dresses. Pictures would be taken, sometimes, and we would all enjoy a nice ham dinner after church. And then, of course, the requisite chocolate bunny after that. And then we would put on our "play clothes" and go outside; the grass would be greening up and the spring flowers blooming.
Wonderful memories!
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Happy Place
I suppose everyone has, hopefully, "a happy place".....whether it is participating in a sport, hobby or just daydreaming. I spent a good part of my weekend in my "happy place" -- browsing Pinterest, and crafting some cool new items for my micro-store at an antiques/craft collective in northwestern Rhode Island.
By yesterday evening, the kitchen counter was piled with horseshoes, burlap flowers, spring-colored ribbons, cork, stamps and ink pads, lavender, muslin bags, packaging materials, and the trusty hot glue gun. By bedtime, most of the end products -- horseshoe wreaths and lavender sachets and dryer bags, were neatly stacked in boxes. I like to experiment with packaging, too, because sometimes that makes all the difference in sales.
I am satisfied with the end result. Sometimes, I'm not....but it's OK. Part of this hobby is about trying to identify what people want...and I am moving toward more "upcycled" and vintage with an edge. I don't make my living doing this, so I am not unduly distressed if something doesn't sell. It's always an experiment. A friend of mine occasionally chides me about losing money....and I guess I am....but spending time in "a happy place" is surely worth something.
By yesterday evening, the kitchen counter was piled with horseshoes, burlap flowers, spring-colored ribbons, cork, stamps and ink pads, lavender, muslin bags, packaging materials, and the trusty hot glue gun. By bedtime, most of the end products -- horseshoe wreaths and lavender sachets and dryer bags, were neatly stacked in boxes. I like to experiment with packaging, too, because sometimes that makes all the difference in sales.
I am satisfied with the end result. Sometimes, I'm not....but it's OK. Part of this hobby is about trying to identify what people want...and I am moving toward more "upcycled" and vintage with an edge. I don't make my living doing this, so I am not unduly distressed if something doesn't sell. It's always an experiment. A friend of mine occasionally chides me about losing money....and I guess I am....but spending time in "a happy place" is surely worth something.
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