Watching the political meltdown in the UK has been a thing today.

The Washington Post and CNN say Boris Johnson is expected to resign today.

Dang. Now do Trump. Or McConnell. Or Clarence Thomas.

He’s resigning his position as leader of the Conservative Party. He is staying in the position of PM until the Tories can elect a new leader. He wants to stay on as PM until October.

As someone on another forum I read put it, “He can’t even fuck off properly.”

“He can’t even fuck off properly.”

What the shit, Boris Johnson? Getoutgetoutgetout.

Wow.

Fuck off properly, Boris! You utter piece of shit.

When I was growing up, my paternal grandparents house was a safe haven for us. A calm constant for my father and my uncle's families as they were both in the military and on the move.

There was a framed picture that sat on the TV of my grandparents, Ivan and Florence, from the age when they got married in the 1920s. Two separate headshots of them in a little hinged frame. My grandfather's hair slicked straight back, and my grandmother with a cute little bob.

When my grandmother died, the picture went to my dad, and when he died it came to me.

I sent a photo to my sister last night, showing that we've put up the grandparents picture on our Cabinet of Curiosities and she wrote back this lovely remembrance of their home and time spent there with our cousins.

I want to share it because it's such an evocative memoir of a very specific place and time and culture. Working class German Catholics in Oregon in the 50s. Their place was off a country road with Oregon forests all around, and right off the back yard.

My father was Neal, and his older brother was Noel. Noel was married to my Aunt Dorothy, and they had five kids (two from her previous marriage). Their youngest, my Cousin Toni (who Judy refers to as Tonda) was about 6 years older than me, so I was by far the baby of the family and while I remember the world she describes, I didn't have the dynamics with the older cousins that Judy describes here. Anyway, I wanted to share with my Buffistae:

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They look right at home in your new place. With you looking out for them. Their photos evoke memories …

Grandma would be making a kitchen garden outside, grandpa would cut the grass and make homemade ice cream from a had crank ice cream maker filled with rock salt and ice.

I remember breakfast was grandmas frozen strawberry jam, 1 slice of toast, 1 egg and 1 bacon slice with coffee. Breakfast was in the kitchen. Grandma and grandpa were up before 5 to turn the heat on and start the bacon and coffee. As each person woke up grandma made your egg how you liked it. Everyone had coffee even little kids. It was made with half coffee and half milk. 6 people could sit at the kitchen table so after you ate you left to make room for whoever was next. Breakfast went from 5-8 or till the last one was up.

Their place only had one bedroom so we all slept in the unfinished attic. Two double beds so soft you rolled to the middle as the springs were completely shot. Each kid had a folding army cot and army wool blanket so itchy you would break into hives. The cots were scattered around the attic space near our parents. One window on each end of the attic gave moon light and a breeze. I would lay in the cot and count the knot holes in the wood to go to sleep. The kids would chatter and tired dads would yell “shut up and go to sleep” that only made us laugh louder.

Parents had no power over children at grandma and grandpas. We answered to grandma only. Grandpa kept dad and Noel in line, often pulling them both aside to have a firm talk with them. Dad and Noel’s heads would hang down and they would nod to say yes. Grandpa never raised his voice but always had control over dad and Noel’s behavior.

As children we loved the safety and clarity their home provided. We could be kids. The rules were for the parents not us. The adults were in training when there. The women followed grandma and the men followed grandpa. A gentle word and the adults jumped into action at their command. At their house you knew the system and it was easy breezy. So fun. Safe and free.

There was a swing outside the kitchen window that was hung at least 30 feet up. I was around when the men built it. All projects the men did at grandpas would make the women and kids hysterical. It was like watching a 3 stooges clip. Choreographed perfectly to get the most laughs per minute. We would be hurting from so much laughter. It gave the struggling men no comfort. The day of the swing building project was one of those side splitting, tear filled, snot snorting, roll to the floor days. It took all day. It was such great entertainment. We loved that swing, it was made of rope and wood and wide enough for two people to sit side by side and swing dangerously high. It gave a wonderful breeze on hot days. We would swing in the rain.

We girls played inside the huge willow tree. Blankets on the ground and corn husk dolls we had made that day. Doll furniture made from oatmeal and cereal boxes and covered in scraps of material with wooden thread spools used as legs. Everything else was made from sticks and leaves, rocks and string.

The boys played baseball with dad, Noel, grandpa and Father O’Hara. Right next to the willow tree. We could see them but they could not see us. The willow was soft and cool, swaying in the breeze. Butterfly’s loved the willow and so did lizards and we loved them.

Grandma, mom and Dorothy would be on the porch cleaning and preparing vegetables from the garden. They kept the endless flow of laundry going through the hand wringer washer and hanging and taking down laundry from the clothes line from morning till night. I loved the smell of the clothes and sheets after sunlight and breeze had blessed them clean, clean, clean. The women laughed and talked all day through the chores. The men kept the boys busy with sports and friendly competition.

Showers for all before dinner. When we were small we bathed in a deep laundry sink in the utility room off the porch where the women took care of food prep because it was close to the garden and kitchen. I loved the deep laundry tub. Two tubs side by side. Two kids splashing away. Two moms trying to keep us from spilling out onto the floor. Water and bubbles splashing everywhere. The moms were always soaked and had to change. Mitzi their terrier also bathed with us.

Dinner was in the dinning room. 6 dinning chairs and 6 kitchen chairs if needed. Leaves all the way out with a pad, plastic cover then a linen table cloth set with cloth napkins.

Grandma would make a ham and serve green beans and boiled potatoes with a tray of green onions, tomatoes & cucumbers. We drank iced coffee and water. Tea was very expensive.

After dinner the kids would go to gather… Cream and eggs bartered from the farm across the street where Sandy, Terry and I would go with a wagon and large metal milk containers to get it. The ham, chicken or turkey came from a farm 10 miles away. Donny and Gary would go do that. The only thing bought was the rock salt. Once in a blue moon grandma would make a strawberry and rhubarb pie when they were in season.

The picture and frame you have sat on top of the TV in the living room. We never watched TV. That was for ballgames.

The men and women were only in the same room while in the dinning room for dinner. The rest of the time the men and women were separate. Men watched and trained the boys, women watched and trained the girls.

As we got older we were always in training. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, gardening, knitting, sewing, grooming, childcare for the girls. Sports, garden tilling, building projects, car maintenance, grass cutting, tree trimming, negotiations with neighbor disputes (all the boys went with the men), discussions on religion, politics and the state of the world were for the the boys.

Church on Sunday was 6:00 mass and we were up by 5:00. No breakfast, no coffee, no complaints. Men and boys in suits, women and girls in veils called mantillas and of course white gloves. Polished, poised, obedient and ready for memorized prayers done in Latin with English response. It sounded like “ominiominiominiominiini” the we would answer in English. The church smelled of incense, candles, old wood and linen. No one wore perfume or after shave to church…offensive. That was for the work-a-day world. This world of church was sacred and ethereal. Other worldly. It felt holy, soft and like a gateway to heaven. I loved church and I loved Father O’Hara. We all served at the breakfast after mass.

At noon dad would go pick up Father O’Hara and he would eat and spend the rest of the day with us. Mostly with the men. He was well educated and always up on the current events. He was straight from Ireland. Spoke elegantly, was probably 6’2. He was handsome, generous and very funny. He lost his family in a famine and was raised In the church. He loved life and loved people. He was always kind and protective of his church members. I was told he was an amazing counselor. Grandma and grandpa took care of him his whole life. He was family. They both worked at the church. They cleaned and buffed the floors with big machines. After grandpa died grandma did it all by herself.

They were the center of the family. Everything pivoted off from grandma. Grandpa kept the boys directed but everyone answered to grandma…even grandpa. She was the heart of the family.

You and Tonda were there. You were very young but you were there. You might not remember so I thought I would share♥️

Their place only had one bedroom so we all slept in the unfinished attic. Two double beds so soft you rolled to the middle as the springs were completely shot.

My dad's parents' place was similar. I remember being up in the attic with the off-season clothes and extra blankets. No Army blankets (we were a Navy family), but plenty of quilts. I wonder what happened to them? Gone the way of all textiles, I guess.

Those are some nice memories. Thank you for sharing them.

Gone the way of all textiles, I guess.

Army (and Navy) surplus was a huge thing in the 40s and 50s. After WWII it was so cheap and the government sold off the excess.

Wow, what a great reminiscence! Really evocative.