THROWBACK THURSDAY - PART TWO

I can't come anywhere close to the Wednesday ThrowBack Thursday post that appeared here yesterday. The mistake in posting it a day early was mine. So the best I can do is post a photo which I find I posted just about two years ago of a couple of clowns. 

And no, the one on the right is not a young Harpo Marx, though it may be his doppelganger. In truth (and in apology for that crack) it is my granddaughter Christy. She is now a young woman of 30-something who combines two seemingly disparate careers: state prison corrections officer and very talented tattoo artist. On second thought, the two may not be so much unrelated.

I suppose I could also apologize for that puka shell necklace I'm wearing.

But I won't.

Happy (real) Thursday!

DAMN!

What can I say? SWMBO, the author of the post below, just came in and said, "Do you realize you did ThrowBack Thursday on Wednesday? Today is Wednesday."

I said she was smart. 

And I'm an idiot.

So, this week there shall be TWO ThrowBack Thursdays. Read the post below and enjoy it.

THROWBACK THURSDAY - A GUEST!

Today is ThrowBack Thursday and I have invited a guest blogger to entertain you. SWMBO. That's She Who Must Be Obeyed, for newcomers to Oddball Observations. Also known as Judy Taylor, my wife and a talented writer. Take us back, Judy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Former hubby and I were building a house with the aid and comfort of my contractor father. It was on land given to us by my parents. Land that had been in the family for over a hundred years. My grandparents lived in a house in the woods behind us. My parents lived in front of us on the State Road.

Although there were discussions (arguments) now and then, nothing came close to the Sunday morning when it was time to start laying the hardwood flooring in the 16- by 30-foot living room.

I was determined to have my flooring laid on a 45 degree angle, having seen this in a design magazine some time in the past. The two men, my father and my hubby, insisted, "It cannot be done. We already have the material and there would be too much waste cutting all those 45 degree angles every time we reach the other side of the room."

I said, "No waste. The piece you cut over there will fit perfectly over here."

"That won't work."

"Yes it will and that is what I want."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"NO!"

"YES!"

It was a warm spring morning and my mother was outside her house tending to her garden. She heard the clamour and walked down through the woods to see what it was all about.

"What is going on? I can hear all of you from our house."

"I want my flooring laid in a 45 degree angle and they won't do it!"

I was crying by this time.

My mother looked at her stubborn husband and her stubborn son-in-law and said, "This is her house. Do what she wants!"

She turned around and left both men speechless. They put down most of that floor that day. When it was finished my dad, who had fought hard against the idea, began bringing building clients to look at "his" prize project.

Then. We had gone to a marble quarry in southern Indiana to buy window sills for the house. While there we decided the rough marble would be great for our retaining wall. And it would be great for the fireplace in the living room. So we ordered tons of random slabs of marble delivered to our site.

The day came to build the fireplace facing. Hubby was struggling with pieces of marble, trying to set them all alike. Like bricks. I appeared on the scene and said, "THESE PIECES ARE NOT BRICKS! THEY NEED TO BE RANDOM!"

He said, "If you don't like what I'm doing . . then do it yourself."

And I did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

(Catalyst again: I was prompted to ask Judy to write this piece because I had heard the story and because of a blog posting by Val the Victorian the other day. If you haven't read it, read it here.)

SAINTS PRESERVE US

Today bein' March 17th it's the day for the wearin' o' the green. (And corny fake Irish accents.)

So, don a shamrock, grab a pint and join in the fun.

Not everyone has an Irish leprechaun to wish them well. But I do.

His name is Jerry Michael Welsh, better known as Big Jerry. I met him through my good friend Reed. Jerry is truly Irish from his year- round shorts and Hawaiian shirts down to his huge, welcoming smile. His emails always sign off the same way.

Forever and For Always Irish!!!

Yesterday's email included an Irish Friendship Wish:

May there always be work for your hands to do;

May your purse always hold a coin or two;

May the sun always shine on your windowpane;

May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;

May the hand of a friend always be near you;

May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you;

And may you be in heaven a half hour

     before the devil knows you're dead.

Jerry is a kind friend of animals as he is a friend of any man or woman. He is a true leprechaun.

It seems strange to thrust such praise on a man I've only met once in my life. Maybe it's Irish magic.

I had another Irish friend many years ago, a fine news reporter with a dogged and quirky personality. He's gone now but I'll always remember Will Murphy.

To them and to you, I wish a happy St. Patrick's Day.

ON THIS DAY . . .

. . . little Jimmy Madison was born.

Well actually, his given name was James Madison and he was born on March 16th, 1751. He later in life became known as the Father of the Constitution, though he referred to it as a product of many heads and many hands.

Madison served two terms as the fourth President of the United States and, though he tried to keep the country out of war, he was plagued by a second battle with the British for independence known as the War of 1812. The British captured Washington and burned the White House in 1814 but Madison's plucky wife, Dolley, managed to save a portrait of George Washington before fleeing.

They were a pretty good pair, the Madisons. So let's strike up the band and salute them both today.

This next picture has absolutely nothing to do with the Madisons but something about the brilliant display of white blossoms made me think of Jimmy so . . here it is.

The tree is just one street over from my back door and I was struck by it while out on my daily walk the other day.

By the way, today's date also marks the day Judge Roy Bean, the so-called "Law West of the Pecos", died in Langtry, Texas, in 1903. I haven't found a hanging tree to commemorate him. But there is a namesake watering hole in Prescott named after Bean's legendary saloon.

So, maybe after saluting the Madisons, we might all stop off at the Jersey Lilly and raise a glass to the old reprobate, "Judge" Roy Bean.

GO AWAY, SKATEBOARDERS!

Over at the Prescott Valley Civic Center, where government lives, there is a lot of concrete. The plazas and hillsides in the area would be ideal for skateboarders, you might think. But No! There are pedestrians around here and the town leaders don't want them run down.

Hence, the unfriendly sign.

As you can perhaps tell, some in the younger generation have not taken kindly to the admonition.

But the town means business and here is one example of the force of law. A nice curving ramp has had stones cemented to it to deter the rapscallions from using it for an adventure course.

So begone, skateboarders!

But cheer up. There is a fine skateboarding facility designed for your use.

Unfortunately it's in Prescott, eight miles away.

THE BIRDS AND THE BEE(s)

This is our birdbath (and our flagstone walk) in our back yard.

This is a closer view.

Hey! I said BIRD-bath!

Who let that bee in here?

Dear?  There was a bee in our bath and he's left me feeling all fuzzy.

Where is he? I'll take care of him!!!

So ends today's saga of the birds and the bee(s).

What? You were expecting something different?