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Archive for the ‘American, Americans’ Category

Protected: 2 am

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-7-2012

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Protected: Peanut Butter And Jelly

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-12-2012

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Protected: Absentee Ballot

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-22-2012

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Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-12-2010

The men in this family do not really like me watching soccer with them, for I talk, I tend to want to pull my hair out. I get very nervous.

But I have told them that I am going to watch America playing and the Dutch team.

America did great tonight. I am always for the underdog- hey, I’m American, it is in our nature. We have a goalie to die for. He is the best goalie that I have seen since Edwin van der Sar.


Sorry, Catherine. Rooney was worthless.

But Ha ! The underdog has done well.

Destin, Florida

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-3-2010

It sounds like that oil might hit Destin.

Destin, Florida is the only place on Earth that I will go into the … I don’t know if it is a sea or an Ocean… the water. The fish swim around your feet, crabs scuttle by, I even saw a shark once, but no one believes me.

At night, we take flashlights and see the tiny, baby crabs. They are white and just walking around.

There are Pelicans flying overheard.

That oil can’t hit Destin, and destroy that beautiful white sand, all of those beasties. That lovely, clear water.

What is retribution going to be ?

There can never be any retribution.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jan-25-2010

How can it be avoided ? I shall not add to the chorus, for who cannot feel anything but utter pity ?

This weekend we had a rather unexpected house guest, one of our oldest friends. The children liked him fine, but felt a bit skewed in their routines. I ended up with The Boy and The Baby, zapping between an Elvis show from 1972 and the big American…. show to raise money for Haiti, in the kitchen.

I suppose that I was feeling very snarky, for I have decided that Elvis actually discovered *bling bling* jewelry and had bad hair. I really should not talk, for suddenly my hair is falling out, breaking off by the handful. And before The Baby came down, I was very snarky indeed with The Boy, commenting about the celebrities who shared my bad hair problems and saying, oh, look ! for 25 $ you can talk to … name your favorite famous person.

I also asked – but did not voice- what on earth did Haiti produce or manufacture, to sustain it’s economy. All that I could come up with was corrupt politicians. And how could all of the money pouring in be managed well. America. But I am a very ignorant woman.

But trundling back to last week or so. One of the students in The Baby’s class is the child of a BN-er ( which means a Dutch Celebrity). So, it was started and decided by this child- very early on- that the children in The Baby’s class would do chores to raise money for Haiti. I made The Baby – spoiled third child that she is- actually do miserable tasks and she was very proud of the 2 Euro that she made.

Until a few days later, when another child in her class brought in 200 Euro. And other children , who lived near the BN-er were in a newspaper.

The Baby lost that good feeling that she had, about helping people and somehow descended into some bizarre maze of competition.

Last Thursday, I received a flyer from the school ( one of a cast of thousands) , announcing that The Baby’s class would be having a *sale*, to benefit…the people of Haiti. Now, this was not to be a rummage sale, a boot sale, no, the items should have some intrinsic value. CD’s, foto frames and colored pens were suggested. Items would be sold at a minimum of 1 Euro.

Now, I still have a pile of nice photo frames, still in their wrappers, but The Baby did not even want to look at them. And while I said this to no one, I was thinking, ok, I am supposed to go out and buy something for like 10 Euro and put it up for sale for 1 Euro. This is not meshing for me.

On Sunday night, The Baby suddenly perked up and showed some interest in donating something for the * sale*. We have one cr*p load of nice things here for my parents were shopaholics , and I had my eye on a Limoges box, very pretty, but I have no emotional attachment to it.

I suggested the Limoges today at lunch ( for the deadline was today) and The Girl entered the scene. She is aware of this whole dilemma, how I feel that if The Baby doesn’t bring * something* it will just look hideous, read : peer pressure, on different levels. I mentioned to The Girl that Limoges was very fine porcelain, China, whatever. And suddenly The Girl said *no way* and rummaged about in our …our…. where we hang the coats, keep the vacuum cleaner, shoes, junk, you name it, it’s in that closet.

And she pulled out a small grayish metal elephant, about 9 inches long. Opens up like a box, it does. Now, we have about 10 of these elephants, in different sizes. We also have a duck, a rabbit or so, a few dragons, a temple dog, a teapot, trinket boxes… you get the idea. We have so many of these items in our house that we no longer see them.

I washed the elephant up with soap and told The Baby very carefully that it was made about 40 years ago, in Northern Thailand. It was made entirely by hand. Sold as silver ( and by the kilo, hence the items scattered about our home ), I thought that it was copper or brass with a silver plate ( based on the only time that I ever used silver cleaner on one of them and it came out shiny gold). The Baby’s eyes shifted to the left and then to the right and she asked to look at the photo frames.

She liked the photo frames so much, that she decided to keep them for herself, and went off to school with the elephant. We set the price at 7 Euro, for- after all- it was in the closet where we hang the coats, keep the vacuum cleaner, shoes, junk, you name it.

The children in her class loved the elephant and not because it might be made of silver, but because it was made by hand ( and no doubt about that). In fact, when The Baby came home, she wanted to bring more of our embossed Thai items to school, but I said no, one was enough.

You can catch an idea of what it looks like here, although I am quite sure that our items are not solid silver.

And so we end our adventure into Haiti, although we donate money every three months to …uh..Doctors Without Borders ? Is that the English translation ?

The Holidays

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-22-2009

We have always done The Dutch Sinterklaas ( on a small scale) and the American version of Christmas on a large scale.

Knowing how all of the good stuff is gone once the days draw closer, I have already bought most of the Christmas gifts. Oh, I am making a lot of things as well, crafty wench that I am, but still, ordered and paid for.

This morning I was informed that we shall not be doing Christmas on a large scale. In fact, only the children will receive gifts.

I am going to try very hard to get back into the holiday spirit.


Anne Boleyn

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-28-2009

My ear actually hurts, from chatting on the phone with Poffertje for so very long. That woman can talk about anything and we simply raced from one tangent to another. And she understood the Anne Boleyn comment that my father had given me only minutes before.

At the end of talking to Daddy, he said that of course, we were blood kin ( he has lived in the south far too long). And that Henry the 8th was kind to Anne Boleyn in the end. Sortof that kin business being factored in was the idea.

At the end of talking to Daddy about how we could vacation together next year, another road trip with a man that cannot walk, how The Boy could help him in those private matters that a handicapped person needs help with, have fun, day dream, he simply says to me in the end that we are blood kin.

I vote from Massachusetts. I think that it says quite a bit that I can actually spell Massachusetts without having to look it up or having to rely upon SpellCheck. Blood kin. Just pull out that glove and smack my cheek.

Which I always, always turn.

And we close our conversation with the image of a swordsman from Calais. Or was it just a swordsman from France ?

This is something that I hope I shall never tell The Father. It would simply ruin any road trip in our future, one that The Father, the children and my father would love.

I have a theme song for my father. I always lay the blame for all of his…eccentricities smack dab on Bucky’s shoulders ( do a search on Bucky here, there is more than I thought about her, or simply see her, here : and you simply cannot see Bucky without seeing Tea, my Grandfather : .. that is a good one ).

And the song is that one which whispers, you only hurt, the one you love… ( and that cannot be a Bee Gees song, it simple has to be someone like Johnny Mathis…)

At Last….

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-6-2008

My computer died a few weeks ago, and I am now working on The Father’s dino of a lap top.

Today, I managed to get a password that would enable me to post here. Uh, everyone will note that I most likely do not have spelll check and will often cringe in horror. Imagine that, I went to Smith and still cannot spell for sh*t.

It seems that there might be two urls for this site. Here is the correct one:

There has been so much that I have wanted to post, but was unable to.

I suppose that Obama is the biggest news.

As we did not go to America last Summer, I was unable to buy those little comfy posters that I had for Kerry, but had to pay 70 $ for a poster to hang in our window.

Oh well, the euro/ $ rate did not make that really too expensive. It is one of those posters made by some *artist*. I saved the tube that it came in, as if all went well, I supposed it might some day become a collectors item, having collected posters for many years.

The people that I meet in town had all seen the poster and knew that I had voted for him ( although, voting from Mass. one always knows that the Democrats will win and that there is always the question of whether or not absentee ballots are actually *counted*)

The people that I have spoken to in town have congradulated me and expressed their pleasure at his win.

Oddly enough, I usually listen to BBC1 as I do my domestic chores. The whole focus was on the fact that he is black. Actually, I favored Clinton, but mostly, I wanted a Democrat in office.

Perhaps it is because of the way I was raised, an Army brat. For me, Americans can have blue eyes, brown hair, have freckles or have brown skin- everyone is diferent, so what.

And once I started working, as a contract Archaeologist, in Boston,( Roxbury, much to my Dad’s horror) I learned that assh*les come in every color.

Much more, like I am being * fired * from my job at the company, The Girl going on *The Pill*, and that a 14 month red tape delay from India is going to leave us having to watch every penny for the next 6 months…uh, Christmas , which we host for The Father’s whole family.

So, what are they going to name the puppy ?

No Red Pencil This Time…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-26-2008
No Red Pencil This Time...

No Red Pencil This Time...