Bummer

Everyone hosts their own pity-party now and then, but I really try not to feel sorry for myself. I'm a lucky person! And when I'm down, some things can snap me out:

1.  Doing useful work around the house.
2.  Recreational shopping.
3.  Looking at pictures of Amanda, Nova and Maya.
4.  Cooking something complicated.
5.  Blogging.
6.  Having a glass of wine (if it's after 4 pm.)
7.  Horses.

But this morning, I was just too bummed to even write about it. Here's the story. Yesterday I drove my new car out to North Bend to the barn. Oh, it was fun showing off to my friends and I don't get a fancy new car very often.  But as I used to tell Amanda:  Pride comes before the fall... 
(There must be a streak of Calvinism in this family.)

It was the very first time on the freeway. Wow.  Our old Honda CRV isn't a horrible car, but it's pretty noisy, bumpy and needs memory foam seat cushions if you sit in it for more than a few minutes. You get the picture. There's just no comparison to smooth-as-silk, powerful Mr. Avalon.

Anyway, I was driving home down I-90, blameless as daylight, 70 mph which felt like 50, listening to iTunes on Bluetooth and enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of isolated luxury when WHACK! out of NOWHERE! a rock hit the windshield right in front of my face, leaving two big nasty chips with cracks. NO! This can't be happening.  How could I be so unlucky? Mr. Avalon doesn't even have 150 miles on the odometer!

Well, that first ding on a new car is the hardest, but on the bright side at least I got it over with now.  This morning I sadly and quietly (no happy music playing) drove Mr. Avalon up to the best auto glass shop I could find in Seattle to see what they had to say.

Fortunately, the chips were small enough to be "fixable." The thought of putting a after-market windshield in my 5-day old car was almost too much to bear, so that was very good news. The bad news is, if you've had rock chips filled on a windshield, you know it is never going to be completely invisible. The boo-boo is there, but I'll learn to ignore it.

Just a little reminder that bad stuff happens. Mr. Avalon is now slightly flawed, but I love him as much as ever.

A glut of tomatoes

Having more tomatoes than you know what to do with is a wonderful "problem."  I'm amazed how many we have on just two potted plants, but the summers have been so hot in Seattle lately and that makes all the difference.  

I also think the early varieties are getting better, and we can thank genetic plant tinkering for that.  I give them some special tomato fertilizer, and they grow on the blistering south side of the house where they have to be watered once a day all summer long, and in August the ship finally comes in. 

It takes a few hours, but the Romas are delicious slow-dried in the oven.  I lay the halves on parchment with a little non-stick spray and bake them in a 250 oven until they look like this.

If you can resist gobbling them right off the pan for lunch, they're wonderful in all sorts of dishes and sandwiches, too. 

I had all the right things on hand yesterday (basil, garlic, capers and dried Greek olives) to make one of our favorite pastas.  This is especially good for hot weather, when you don't feel like cooking up a big pot of red sauce.

The roasted tomatoes go in the saute pan with some olive oil, chopped garlic and a touch of Italian seasoning.  Then toss in the cooked pasta, basil, a handful of cheese and dinner is ready in a jiffy.

The old farm

 

Bucks County,  Pennsylvania 1908

"Grammy's" Farm

About 15 years ago, our cousins in Pennsylvania did some detailed genealogy work on the Bleam family tree.  Along with the research, they scanned several hundred old documents and photographs collected from relatives on both sides of the family. This amazing photographic archive ranges from 19th century portraits of unidentified ancestors, to family snapshots dating from the time my dad was growing up and after that-- when we were kids in the 1950's.  

The Pennsylvania cousins copied this photo treasure to CD's, and gave the disks to family members who attended a reunion in about 2003. I wasn't there unfortunately, so I was thrilled this week when dad sent me his copy. I uploaded them to my computer's growing collection of old family images.  So far, I haven't found anyone who closely resembles the daguerreotype man.  The mystery continues?

Many of the black and white snapshots were taken on the farm where our dad was born. His mother (Grammy) was born there, too.  The farm had already been in the family for several generations by the time I knew it.  Our dad, along with his five brothers and sisters, were all born and raised there, but many other relatives called it home over the centuries. This farm is where my brother, sister and I played with our cousins every Sunday afternoon, after church and a big Pennsylvania Dutch dinner. 

In the summer, everyone sat on the porch in the afternoon and talked. In the winter, it was the parlor, where uncles smoked after-dinner cigars and Aunt Doris sometimes played the piano.  Kids were always quiet and polite around grown-ups, but we pretty much had the run of the farm.

Can you imagine a time without a single distraction of technology, other than one house phone that rarely rang?  If you think it sounds like a Currier and Ives or Norman Rockwell picture, you would be correct. This was our early upbringing and the home of our first family memories.

What is it about farms, that imprint so strongly on memory in childhood?  Not just images, but the sounds and smells. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the spring peepers, see lightening bugs on the dark lawn, smell dusty hay in the loft and fresh cut grass when my cousins ran the lawnmower.

So, I've just started to label and organize these wonderful old photographs. It's a big project, but I'm going to work on putting together some albums. In the meantime, the family members who read the blog might like a sneak peek.  I know that my nieces Julie and April have never seen any of these photos.

,

Grammy is second from the left in the back row, she's the dark-haired lady sitting next to (I think)  her parents.  Dad is in the front row left, sitting next to his little sister Doris. His older brother Clarence is right behind him. The little girl in the middle is Helen, another sister.  I don't know the girl in the chair with the baby.

Front row on the right, dad with his sisters Helen and Doris.  Grammy is second from the left standing next to her mother (I think.)

The front porch...and the front yard, scene of countless summer picnics and family weddings. Oh, I wish I knew exactly who all these people are.

New wheels

Happy birthday, Nova!  Sounds like you had a wonderful 5th birthday yesterday at the water park.  What a super new bike with cool, white tires. And special wishes to Amanda-- it's her birthday today. We love you all, and we're so proud of our family.

Hey, and I got some snazzy new wheels this weekend, too...

Meet Mr. Avalon, born in Kentucky 2014. 

It took us about 5 minutes to make the deal at Toyota of Seattle, followed by 4 hours of hanging around the dealership making small talk and waiting for "paperwork."  Finally, we drove our sleek new car off the lot, leaving behind John's old Ford truck.

And what a nice ride-- quiet, roomy and comfortable, but not too big for congested Seattle traffic. Toyota put in just the right amount of electronic bells and whistles for our demographic. Bluetooth, doors that unlock automatically when I stroll up with the key in my purse, a nice sound system.  I feel a road trip coming on.

And then there's the "trickle down" effect.  John just left for work in his "new" Honda CRV. 
He's commuting for the first time WITH air-conditioning on a record hot August day.  I think everyone is happy this morning.

The final step

Since great-grandad kicked her out of his old daguerreotype frame...

A lovely lady like our Grammy deserves a pretty new frame of her own.
:-)

His rightful place

Regarding the post I wrote a few days ago, now that Grammy's wedding portrait is safely scanned, I decided to take the old frame apart one more time to put the old daguerreotype back in front place.

From what I've learned, this might be a true antique daguerreotype, because of the way the image flashes between positive and negative when you turn it. No matter what, it's too beautiful and mysterious to hide away.

Perhaps an art conservator could remove some of the metal tarnish, but I don't think it detracts much, since most of his face is still quite clear.  The little frame itself is a marvel of delicate engineering, with the way the pieces fit together so precisely. A real challenge for my clumsy fingers, and I've vowed not to open it again.

My dad says that mystery man is probably his paternal grandfather, and that would be my great-grandad, and Grammy's father-in-law.  Dad doesn't remember him because he died before he was born, but he does remember his own father talking about him.

Great-grandad lived in Haycock Township in Bucks County Pennsylvania, where he made and sold boots and shoes. Dad said his father took him there once when he was a boy to look at the old family store.  Great-grandad was also a local personality who played the violin at community dances and gatherings!  I've never seen it, but his old fiddle is apparently still in the family-- one of my Pennsylvania cousins, a blue grass musician, has it to this day. A wonderful thought.

Family treasures link us together in a deep and personal way, but so many things are lost over the years. Other things, like this little frame, miraculously make the journey from one generation to the next. Think of that long journey, from 19th century Haycock Township to 2014 Seattle? And we might have never found great-grand dad's image, if I hadn't pulled the frame apart for scanning.

But when all is said and done, it's really the stories behind the treasure that give it meaning and can never be lost, as long as we keep telling them to our children.
Thanks, Dad!