Snerkology
snerk (n): An utterance which suggests amusement/disgust/derision/disbelief.

Archive: May 2011

I grew up here.

I thought I’d take you on a little photo tour of the house where I grew up. This is, as you may expect, a VERY photo-heavy entry.

We’ll start on the outside.

The road leading up to the house, which is hidden behind the trees to the top left. When Grandma and I used to take our evening walks, I would get behind her and push her up this hill, both of us giggling like fools. The road was dirt then – the pavement entered the picture about five years ago.

This is Grandma’s house, which now belongs to my Uncle Fred. This photo (and most of the other exterior shots) was taken during our visit last summer. I didn’t take many outdoor photos during this year’s visit, it was raining the whole time.

This angle shows the in-law apartment that is adjacent to the main house. I wasn’t allowed in here much growing up (my friends and I always wanted to play house, Grandma wanted to keep it tidy for potential visitors), but I lived in this section for two years after I married X(m).

Photo heavy entry! More photos after the jump… - Read More -

Weekend Whatnot

Courtesy of the United States Post Office: Poland Maine Branch

The day before I left Maine, I packed up my scanner to ship back to Arizona. I picked my sister up for our evening in Freeport and asked her where the nearest post office was. She directed me to the one in her home town of Poland. I wish I had taken a picture of the place, now, but it was pouring rain. Suffice to say, it’s a tiny little establishment. Patrons go up to the service window to obtain their mail, there are no lock-and-key boxes. An octogenarian preceded us, and was chatting amiably with the postman. I waited my turn, and as the octogenarian chatted with my sister (she sells her fresh eggs at the post office counter and was trying to give a dozen to the gent, while simultaneously trying to convince him that I was her sister and not her daughter – yeah, she’s never living that one down if I have anything to say about it), I paid my twenty-two dollars and change. The postman said, “Whaddaya wanna to live in Arizona for, anyways?” To which I said, “I don’t! I want to live in Maine!” He replied, “Ayuh, good livin’ up heyah.”

Yeah. I agree with that.

I was assured that the box would arrive in Arizona, “Oh, prob’ly before you die.” We departed with many goodbyes (they sure do like to chat down at the post office) and headed on to Freeport.

The box arrived less than a week later. Like this:

That’s 126 stamps, right there. If you look in the corner of the address label, you’ll see that the postal hub had to add eight more cents to the postage – I guess they didn’t have the heart to redirect it back to Poland (or my uncle’s house, which I used as the return address) after all the effort he put into affixing all those damned stamps. I laughed for a good ten minutes when I saw it, and still giggle every time I look at that box.

———-

A visit to Prescott:

Bill, Robert and I drove up to Prescott yesterday to obtain ammo for the Zombie Apocalypse. Then we headed to Whiskey Row for some lunch. We discovered that an art festival was being held in the Town Square. Remember how I said that I figured the trees would be beautiful with leaves on them? Well, yeah, they are:

May 28th:

January 8th:

Also, one of the bartenders asked Bill if he and Robert were brothers. He laughed and said, “No, he’s my son. But thanks.” No idea where she got that idea, there’s no family resemblance at ALL. See?

———-

Happy Memorial Day

We’re hanging out at the house today, watching National Geographic TV (“When Aliens Attack” is on right now and Bill is taking notes), with the Formula One race in Monaco soon to follow. I’m fiddling with photos from yesterday and from my Chicago/Maine trip, and will probably pound out a couple of articles. And do laundry. And clean the kitchen. Yarg.

The kids have been invited over tomorrow for burgers and dogs on the grill, potato salad, and this recipe for Strawberry Summer Cake courtesy of Smitten Kitchen. I think it will go quite well with Whiskey Brown Sugar Whipped Cream, don’t you?

In Closing

I have apparently added “fog” to the list of things that I’m homesick for. Clearly, there is no hope for me.

Fascinated

One of the primary purposes for going to Maine (other than, you know, HOME) was to sit with my Uncle and go through the family pictures. He’s pretty much the only person left who knows the details behind the photos, and it was becoming increasingly important to me to get that information DOWN. He’s seventy-two. You never know.

Anyway, I bought a scanner (this one, to be exact) and had it shipped directly to my Uncle’s house. I scanned all day Tuesday and all day Wednesday, documenting the anecdotes that my Uncle provided and becoming more and more fascinated by the photos themselves. The clothes. The culture. The evidence of an era gone by.

I have a BUNCH of these photos, and I’ll probably post about them now and again. These, though, were the favorites that stood out.

This is my Grandmother, holding my one-year-old mother. So, this would have been taken in around 1942 and Grandma was about twenty-six. Look at that DRESS. And that SMILE. And that HAIR. This photo is so full of awesome I don’t even know where to begin.

This gangster-looking fellow is my Grandfather at 18 years old. Taken in 1927 in Queens, New York. Check that suit and the attitude that goes with it! I can just picture him holding a Tommy gun. Not that he was ever a gangster, mind you. FULL OF COOL.

This is my Aunt Peggy, my Grandmother’s next oldest sister. She was a Block Warden during WWII and would go out in her assigned neighborhood at night, watching for the faintest peep of light that would violate the blackout conditions that New York was under at the time. Love the notebook and the whistle she’s carrying.

This is a photo of my mother Carol, taken when she was in about sixth grade. So this would have been somewhere around 1952. I’ve got a ton of photos of her, growing up through the 50′s, with the great sense of style you would expect for a girl of her age in those times.

I love this stuff.

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