Monday, December 24, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
It's hard to write about Pearl Harbor. I don't feel that I have any words to talk about a day that, honestly, I know nothing about, nor could ever imagine. I simply want to take time to remember everyone who was affected that day, to remember the 2,402 Americans who were killed, and the 1,282 that were wounded.
History - in every century,
records an act that lives forevermore.
We'll recall - as in to line we fall,
the thing that happened on Hawaii's shore.
As we go to meet the foe -
Let's REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR
As we did the Alamo.
how they died for liberty,
Let's REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR
and go on to victory.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
Lana Turner is my favorite actress. Aside from acting, I've always felt her look was the quintessential example of 1940's style. She had a multitude of hairstyles, always perfectly coifed — and the perfect lipstick to complete the look.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Recently I've started sending my Grandma several questions when I write her letters. She's a wonderful Grandma, who humors me by answering all of them! :)
I thought I would share ones that pertain to WWII and the 1940's with you.
1. Where were you when you found out that WWII had started?
I was working as a nanny in Illinois. It must have been my weekend off as I was in a little church on a Sunday night. I was told about Pearl Harbor.
2. How old were you when the war started?
I was twenty years old.
3. Did you set your hair with pink curls, rag curls, or rollers?
Pin curls and rollers.
4. Did you or any of your sisters work in factories for the war effort?
Yes. My sister and I worked at a glove factory, but we did not make gloves. We sewed the lining inside helmets. When the war ended the factory went back to making gloves.
5. When things were rationed during the war, what did you miss the most?
I think the rationing of sugar was felt most by house holds.
6. What is your best piece of advice?
Be a good listener.
Number 6 doesn't have anything to do with the War, but I thought it was good. ;)
Friday, October 19, 2012
Ginger knitting — even more fabulous.
Ginger knitting in a stunning formal with perfect pin curls — indescribable fabulousness!
Would anyone happen to know which movie this shot is from?
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
At $6.00, this is a nice find to put in a stocking for the 1950's lover who is also a crafter, or to make your own paper goods stand out!
Friday, October 5, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
For the knitters and crocheters out there, here is a book of scarf and glove set patterns from the Depression era. Scarves are such a popular homemade gift, but won't your vintage loving friends be surprised when they open up the box to see a reproduction vintage set that you took the time to make?
Friday, July 6, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
We had stopped at this lady's rummage the other year and she had scads of sewing supplies! Her items were clean, super cheap, and extremely organized. She's lovely to talk to — we probably ended up spending most of the time talking more than shopping!
For $6.00, I came away with three zippers, three tape measurers, a gorgeous rhinestone pin, a bundle of safety pins, and a Dritz tracing wheel. This pin was the most expensive item at $3.00. I bought all the tape measurers because I never have one handy when I need one! They seem escape from my knitting bag and sewing box.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
It also is the most convenient way to entertain for those living in extremely small quarters, such as a young couple I know.
He is a divinity student. She is working as a secretary until he gets his degree. They have wisely put current comfort second to ambition for their future, and are living in a one-room apartment. It has a tiny range and sink behind a Venetian blind. She is an excellent cook, but obviously cannot ask more than one couple for dinner. There is no place to put used dishes for more.
"But we can take care of ten after dinner — and without the range and sink staring at us," she said. "And we find that many of our friends like the idea of an after-dinner get-together as much as we do. Some with babies like to put them to sleep rather than let a baby-sitter do it, so they much prefer to join us around nine o'clock when everything at home is under control."
This young friend makes a point of choosing a dessert that is dainty in appearance but fairly substantial, such as a warm fruit pie `a la mode, a chiffon cheese cake, or an elaborate layer cake. One with an exceptionally good filling starts with our White Cake Mix and Fluffy White Frosting Mix. She bakes it the night before her party. When the layers are cool she spreads in this filling:
Friday, May 4, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
QVC has put together a stunning collection of collectables: jewelry inspired by artifacts recovered from the Titanic, replica flatware, replica dinnerware, and a lovely perfume, " Legacy 1912".
"Adolphe Saalfeld was a first-class passenger onboard the Titanic. A British perfume maker, he was on his way to America to realize his dream. Fortunately, Adolphe was a survivor; but he left behind his precious case of perfume vials. These vials, along with the leather case they were housed in, were recovered from the ocean floor, and now 100 years later, Adolphe's dream resurfaces with a new fragrance inspired by his legacy.
Today's perfumers have been inspired by the actual essences found in the surviving vials to create a fragrance Adolphe may well have mastered himself. Delicate lemon and neroli, blushing rose with warm sheer amber — a sophisticated classic perfume designed for today's woman."
Friday, April 20, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Aren't these cute?! These vintage style canisters are by Martha Stewart and are available at Macy's Home. The canister itself wasn't very heavy, but there is a rubber "lip" around the inside of the lid to keep your goods air tight. They are $14.95 each.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I Saw My Boy at the Front
He was my son, but he might have been yours.
That’s why I want to share with you the pride
and anxiety, the joy and bitterness, the impressions
I brought away with me. — Anonymous
We stood in the dark, snowy woods in Germany, this tall young soldier and I. Somewhere below us, out of sight beyond the naked forest, a famous American infantry regiment was jabbing at the Germans across a frozen stream.
Behind us, over the shoulder of a little hill, ammunition trucks grunted past, bringing up the night’s shells for the 105 and 155 guns. We could hear ambulances, too, heavy with double loads, panting up the grade from the dressing stations.
A German 88 dropped somewhere off to our left, and I must have started, for the soldier put his hand on my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Dad,” he said. “They’ll come a lot closer than that.”
The solder was my only son. He was 19, a battle-hardened veteran. He had left the lines only a few hours ago; in a few more he would be back. He was my son, but he might have been yours. That’s why I’m writing this. Because I am one father whose military duties took him for a few hours to where his son was fighting. I want to share with all fathers the pride and anxiety, the joy and bitterness, the impressions I brought away with me.
How did the boy look? How was he equipped and trained? What was he thinking about? What did he need? What were his future plans? Had the war changed him? These questions and a thousand others any father asks himself in a wakeful night.
They boy looked fine. Tough, capable, alert. Thinner than when I last saw him. Taller, I believe. Straighter, I’m sure. He carried his shoulders back, and his rifle, strapped across them, seemed to be a part of him. He was wind-browned and clean shaven. He wore his helmut just off the regulation position. He’s not a parade soldier. He’s a fighter.
One night six months before, I’d said good-bye to this boy. We had met the hour of leaving with a sort of noisy, spurious gaiety. There was no gaiety left in him now. He was dead serious. He stood there in the snow with his feet apart, head tilted slightly forward, and I had the impression that he was listening constantly for sounds I did not hear. All good soldiers get the cautious habit of listening. What was this one thinking about, this boy who, like your own boy, always had liked to dabble in thoughts too big for him; who, like your own, had the independent, exploring, questioning mind of modern youth?
He wasn’t thinking of the Four Freedoms that night on the front. He wasn’t thinking of a happier, better postwar world. He wasn’t making any plans for himself even. Maybe men can do that in the back areas. Here in Monschau Forest this boy was thinking of the only important thing on earth for him at the moment, how to keep himself and his friends alive and how to kill the enemy.
He had met the enemy close up, not thru the headlines of the morning newspaper. He knew them as tough, determined, skillful soldiers. He hated them, as all his mates did. He hated them for what they had done to his own friends. His squad had been hit hard last month.
The big guns rumbled, off to the south, and an ambulance groaned on the steep grade over the hill.
“Cigarette?” The boy pulled out one of those small oblong boxes that come in the K ration can, four cigarettes to a box. But when he saw my own pack, he put his own box away. “Thanks,” he said, “I’ll save mine.”
“How’s the family?” he asked.
I told him all the details I could think of. Then he asked, “How’s Bob?”
Bob is his dog. Bob was fine, I told him. “Ed, up at the farm, tried to put him on a scale and weigh him the other day,” I said. “He got bit.” And for the only time in that hour and a half I heard this boy laugh. He sounded like a kid again for that moment. Then he stopped. It’s hard to laugh when the ambulances are puffing up the grade from your own sector. I quickly changed the subject.
“What’s your outfit like?”
“Great. Best regiment in the Army. Know our record since Normandy? Since Africa? Not many of those first ones left and they’re getting pretty tired. But they know how to make the best of things. You pick it up pretty quick from them. How long do you think this will last, Dad?”
“No one is trying to guess.”
“Well, I know it won’t be Germans we’re fighting next Christmas, anyhow.” He inhaled deeply. “My guess is that we’ll have this job done by the Fourth of July. That’s what we’re all hoping. If we just had more ammunition, big stuff, a lot of 155 . . . ”
I asked him about the food. It is swell, he answered. Hot meals right on the line twice a day, with hell popping all around. “Sometimes I think once a day would be enough,” he said. “We get some casualties handling the steaming kettles up to the foxholes. We could take K ration instead, one of the meals.”
He wasn’t very happy about the few magazines from the States he had seen. “The ads are pretty bad. Particularly the pictures. The fellows get sore, looking at them. Pictures of war, all prettied up. No mud. No stench. Just heroics and attitudes. It gives the people at home false ideas.”
He took another of my cigarettes, and again I watched his face in the flame of the lighter . . . so old for his 19 years, wise, tired, wary but calm, determined. I found that he wasn’t interested in the gossip of Washington. The quarrels between management and labor, rationing, books, plays, songs, all these belonged to a world of which he was no longer a part. His mind was concentrated on this little strip of woods.
“We’ve got to blast them out of the dams,” he said, pointing east. “Going to be tough.”
He mentioned the wonderful nurses in the hospitals, the medical corpsmen working under fire.
“They’re heroes, for my money,” he said. Heroes. It was the only time he used the word. He talked about the fact that he hadn’t been paid for two months, but no, thanks, he didn’t need any money. About toilet paper and what a blessing it was, coming up with the rations. About his rifle and his shoes. The things that counted.
And then the door of the command post opened and a young office called, “Time to be going.”
My son hitched his rifle higher on his shoulder. He stood for a moment and then reached out his hand.
“Good night, Dad. See you at home,” he said.
“Sure,” I answered. “See you at home. Good night, son.”
He saluted and turned on his heel and stepped off into the darkness, toward the little valley where his regiment was fighting Germans across the frozen stream.
I Saw My Boy at the Front was taken from the May 1945 issue of Better Homes & Gardens magazine.