Oh, Bologna!

 

So, then. We are watching YouTube and finding entertainment, some chuckling. It's a switch from vacuuming and laundry.

Here is one you might enjoy.  

YouTube, about 3 minutes long

We will sometime have Bologna for supper. It is a break from our usual fare. Did you know that Fridays are "Fried Bologna Fridays". Give it a shot. Mark your calendar, Friday is tomorrow.

Live well, eat well, walk around the block. Read good books, change out of pajamas.  

God loves us. He is the One in Charge. Don't forget that. Live large.

This is from April 2020.  Try some fried bologna on your own. It is darn good.

YouTube, 3 minutes long: we got eggs now.

The Shivaree

14th century Charivari

The wedding was all that Brenda hoped for and that her new husband Hal was relieved was over. All the planning that Brenda had spent doing was over in ten minutes. Walking down the wooden plank aisle to the pulpit, being surrounded by his and her families, was painless but embarrassing.

And then there was the reception at Aunt Betty's house where the church ladies brought the best potluck any country community could have produced.

But Hal? Forget the wedding cake made by his mother. Forget the beef pot roast Aunt Betty made. Get me outta here. 

When nightfall neared, Hal experienced an eagerness for this night with his new bride. For two months, Hal had dreamed of this night, when clothes came off, when he leaped into the bed with voluptuous Brenda. Oh boy Oh boy Oh boy.

Lights flickered off and darkness fell. Step one, step two, and then--oh boy--step three.

Step three was about to start until outside every window, the worst racket exploded.

Entire farming community was there, beating pots and pans with utensils. Every child raced around the house yelling and screaming as only children can do. It was a hell of a racket that could not ignore.

Barely pulling on clothes before the invasion, Brenda was bright red and Hal was as furious as any new groom could be when step three was about to commence. Then all his farmer friends and wives burst through the kitchen door, carrying leftovers from the reception. 

When the newly wedded couple emerged from their rumpled bed, cheers went up. Men clapped Hal on the back saying vulgar obscenities. The women embraced Brenda and giggled, whispering unknown words.

When the laughing farming community left after a few hours, newlyweds dropped into their wedding bed. Looking fondly at each other, both agreed that tomorrow morning would be better for step three.

*****

When I was an innocent ten year old, I was part of the screaming children group while my parents carried pots and pans. 

Here is a telling from a man earlier in the 1900s telling how the old shivarees were done:

Time for a shivaree

From early 1900s, one Kansan recalls when he married, he was "shivareed good":

"Those shivaree clowns and their wives busted right into our house and dragged us out by force. I fought, but it was no use.

They set my young bride in a wheelbarrow that hadn't been greased for years. And they made me push her in the wheelbarrow down our main street to a beer palace. It seemed like miles.

They forced me, and I mean forced, to treat all that crowd to beer and salami and rye bread and to cigars and candy and so on, in fact to about everything eatable and drinkable in the joint.

Then they put my bride back in the wheelbarrow and made me push her home again..." 

Oh, those good old days. 

Ever been part of a shivaree?  Give details.

What Grows in a Field

Lily and Clara trying to restrain Benjamin, unsuccessfully. He took off in a 2 yr. old run. I barely caught him.

Benjamin was unrepentant, in a cute way.

In 2014 our family joined together in Switzerland to spend time with Mary and Richard McKinley and our grandson Benjamin. It was a fabulous time, just can't tell you how great it was.

John and I stayed at an AirBnB in Kӧnig, a rural area near Berne. We booked it after Mary researched it. What she did not realize at the time that this lovely place had two fairly steep gravel roads leading to the apartment, which was on the second floor.  What she did not take into account was that we were her parents in their 60s.

This farmer owned about 4 John Deere implements, all pristine. 

These gravel roads led to a farm; not just a farm but it was paradise, at least to me. We always stopped at the barn and house where an arch of old barn connected to new barn. We rested for about five minutes because we were knackered before striking out on the next hill.


A farm was complete with cows, apple trees, a garden, and wheat fields. Each day as we walked by the farm, the wheat fields were ripening. What caught me was the red among the green.

So amazing, this lone poppy was a bravely growing flower.  

This is on my sidebar.

Within the second week, we trudged up the first hill and saw that the wheat had been harvested, taking the poppy with it.

It will return next year in another place. Poppies are resilient.