The New Codgers

Even retired guys like me get a day off, today was mine. I stayed away from the computer & blogs from this morning until this evening. I just knocked around all day.

Carl (retired Army, Retired Ford Plant assembly line foreman) with his excellent sense of timing, stopped by the house as I was putting the finishing touches on a couple of New York strip steaks that I had been broiling on the Weber.

“Where ya been all day,” he asked with an eye on the steaks, “I called several times.”

“Well, let’s see,” I replied, “this morning after breakfast, I went over to the storage place to tuck in the old Ford for the winter. Shot the breeze for a time with Shelly. Business is down a bit for her—not so many collectors wanting her climate-controlled storage service any more, it seems.”

“Where they puttin’ their cars?”

“Just in those secure-storage places you see here & there around town,” I said, “not climate-controlled, but less expensive.”

“I thought ya had to store ‘em in a heated place”, he replied, as we went into the house.

“There’s some disagreement about that,” I said, grabbing the now baked potatoes out of the oven, “I use Shelly’s ‘cause that’s where I’ve stored the old girl since I retired her 20 years ago. Shelly’s never raised my price.”

“OK, so after that where’d you go?” the nosy old friend asked, as he go out some plates and silverware and put them on the table, “Like I said, I’d been trying to get aholt of you all day.”

“Went over to the Boardmans to visit my little buddy Daisy,” I answered, “grabbing the salad and dressing out of the fridge. I offered to take her over to the off-leash park. I intentionally asked Jack in front of the dog, she’s a smart little thing, and got all excited. Jack could hardly say no—so off we went.”

“How long didja stay there?”

“ ‘Til about an hour ago,” I mumbled through a mouthful of the most tender succulent steak you can imagine. “I checked my voice mail, and I did get your messages.”

"So why didn't you call me back?" 

‘Tis done & submitted to Teresa. And again I had a bit of difficulty with the axe, adze, ploughshare---thingy to my victim’s dismay!  Folks…let’s not have a turkey dressing or tree-trimming contest…please? OK? Aw c’mon…I can’t help myself, I would have to enter, and be sooo tempted to use Photo Shop, and be caught, and embarrassed yet again!

Medford’s been so smug with his entry—just wait ‘til he sees my new one.

Anyway, here it is in all its non-artistic gory:

Jay Merton

OK, so my pumpkin was disqualified because I cheated. To add insult to embarrassment, MEDFORD entered the contest with his entry: “Bugged.” And upon close examination, I’ve determined his is legitimately done in MS Paint. Bonnie Erickson entered twice (or so I’m led to believe). Lisa Dunn has entered a Twin Cities themed entry!

Well—watch this space—I’m sharpening my axe, ploughshare…or whatever, and starting over—this time totally in Paint!

I’m MOTIVATED then—you betcha!

Jay

Wednesday morning when I arrived at the coffee shop, I couldn’t help but notice the (misspelled) hand lettered sign in the front plate glass window: “CODGER’S DON’T MEAT HERE!” Nothing like announcing to all where we do meet!

As I made my way to the table, the guys all had their eyes buried in the morning paper and (I thought) didn’t notice my arrival.

“Mornin’ boys,” I announced as I pulled out my chair.

“Oh, hello Jay,” answered Harold, at this point barely able to suppress a grin, “howya doing?”

“Something on your mind, Jay?” asked Carl, “you have that look on your face.”

“The sign!” I exclaimed.

Med answered, too quickly: “What sign?”

“THE ONE NEXT TO YOUR FACE!” I replied, “The misspelled, quotation marked, misplaced apostrophed, hand lettered sign!”

“Oh that sign,” the now laughing Fred said, “we thought you might appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” added Carl, “considering your Quixotic single-handed campaign to improve written English.”

Tuesday morning I drove over to the coffee shop, instead of walking, as I had some errands to run after out meeting. As I wove my way to our usual table, Fred, whose nose is normally buried in the morning newspaper, piped up: “Where’s yer Ford? You don’t go anywhere without you old pick-up.”

“I do in winter,” I said, sitting down at my usual place next to Medford.

“It ain’t winter yet!” Fred replied, folding up his paper, “you put it in storage already?”

“He blabbed about it on AR,” said Medford, “and there is at least one Active Rainer who knows the city, and implied she knows where we meet.”

“Good move, Jay,” said Harold, the retired barber, “now we’ll have to sit somewhere else away from te window!”

“Naw, Jay usually walks anyway,” said Carl, “besides, if he drives, that silver (censored) he drives in the winter is as nondescript as any car on the road.”

 (Could this be Jay's car?)

“Hey,” Fred asked, “how’s that Cyber Café thing you’re doin’ comin’ along?”

“We’ve had a number of visitors stop by and look around, and later today we’ll suggest a topic for discussion.” replied Medford.

“Can we participate?” asked Fred.

“You’re a part of it,” I said, “we’ll review the comments made by our guests with you guys, and if you have something to add, we’ll place it in with our comments.”

“That’s because,” Medford the geezer-geek added, “you old computer-illiterate Luddites refuse to enter the computer age, and not only don’t have email, you don’t have computers!”

“What a kind thing to say,” said Harold, ending the conversation for this day, “you’re not usually so free with your compliments!”

Jay

I was a little late when I arrived at the coffee shop this morning, the gang was already gathered in their usual places around the table by the front plate glass window. Fred and Carl were on one side with Carl by the window, and Med in his usual chair next to the window, my place was next to Med, and the guest chair opposite the window.

“You’re late,” Fred said looking up from his morning ‘Pioneer Press’. We almost started without you.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” I said, sitting down next to Medford, “you’ve started without me here before.”

“We have,” replied Med, stirring cream into his shade grown, organic free-trade French roast coffee—completely ruining the full-bodied, yet slightly bitter flavor of the brew, “but you get so testy when we do.”

“On Mondays,” added Harold, the retired barber, “Jay’s testy whether start with him or without him!”

“Who wouldn’t be testy,” I countered, taking my cup of very dark Guatemalan blend coffee, also shade grown…you know the rest, “looking at your mugs so early in my day.”

“I read in Sunday’s paper that the Republican National Convention that we’re hosting here in aught-eight, is gonna tie up the cities good & proper.” Harold, starting today’s conversation, said, “paper say they’re gonna lock down both cities—for security, and…”

“…That’s not exactly what they said, Harold,” Medford interrupted “they talked about what we might expect based on Boston’s 2004 Democratic Convention, where they closed freeways as far as 10 miles away each afternoon, along with tunnels, bridges, transit stations, and several downtown city blocks…”

“But here,” I happily interrupted Med, “the Excel Center is not right on a freeway, like the convention center is in Boston…”

“…Still," Med, yet again interrupted, “they will be traveling back and forth between the two downtowns, which will be a major hassle.”

“The paper said they will probably close the Mississippi to traffic,” added Fred, “the downtown airport may be closed, all roads to the area, including the two interstates, and I might add our West 7^th Street, will be closed, and many downtown blocks will be fenced off—that’s really gotta hurt the businesses downtown.”

“What about us,” said Carl, “we all live in the shadow of the ‘X’ (Excel Center), what does this mean for us?”

“$150 million,” I said, “or so the organizers claim, but like all these big events, they end up costing a bundle, and what benefit we actually receive is a good deal less, I think.”

“Maybe there’s someone out there in cyberland, whose been through a national convention that knows?” speculated Fred.

"Maybe"

Medford & Jay

It’ 4:40AM CDT, and as usual I’m seated at the computer, a TV above my head (mounted on one of those brackety things like you sometimes see in motel rooms or sports bars) with the national network news droning away, and attempting to write a post for AR. I have until 6, when I need be at the coffee shop to meet up with the codgers.

After the coffee shop, I’ll drop by the Boardmans (my young, not yet 60, friend, Jack & his lovely young bride of 26 years, the REALTOR®, Teresa) to walk their beagle-with-the-big-ears-and-long-legs, Daisy. Her tail nearly wags itself off her body when she sees me—she knows she’s going out to sniff her way through the neighborhood.

After my delightful time “walking Miss Daisy,” I head for the Minnesota History Center (except on Mondays when the research library is closed), and spend some hours of quality research time—lotsa grey-headed folks there doing the same.

Then, it’s back home and back to the computer and enter into my family history database any new information gathered, or just spend time doing on-line family research. I’m a news junkie, so the little radio beside the computer is always on & tuned to NPR, where I get the news in-depth, not just sound bites or useless promos “the hidden dangers of microwaves—details at ten.” I absolutely do not listen to commercial talk-radio, I hate the ads almost as much as I hate the talkers (from the right or the left) telling what to think! (OK—off the soap box Jay!)

Now, I must find time to work on our “Café Conversations” blog (what was I thinking?). It still needs some fine-tuning, it doesn’t yet funnel comments into the “waiting to be moderated” queue. That should be corrected today.

The really neat thing about being retired is that I can vary my daily schedule the way I want to! Now, however, I gotta get dressed and amble over to the coffee shop.

People don't can anymore. It is easy to do. I like to can apple butter, pickles and tomatoes. I have made strawberry Rhubarb jam. Grandma used to make choke cherry jam or jelly and I would too if I knew where to get a choke cherry. One thing I wonder about is food poisoning. When I can food I use the FDA guidelines to determine how long I should process the jars and I am very diligent about sterilizing everything and keeping people and animals out of the kitchen during the process. Did they have much of a problem with food poisoning on the farm? Canning was relatively new in the 30's but my grandmother,who lived with us, knew the older ways. Cabbage, as sauerkraut, and cucumbers, can be pickled in salt and vinegar and would keep for months in open crocks. Some things such as beets, string beans, even watermelon rinds were pickled and then canned. Roast beef was canned in gravy. Many farms still had smoke houses for curing ham and bacon. Apples from the farm orchard were cut up and dried in the sun on window screens. They were good in school lunches.

Potato harvesting time! This task was usually accomplished on a Saturday in order to utilize child labor. Since this was field work and not chores, lasted only a day or two, and came only once a year it was sort of fun. First the potatoes were dug by a horse drawn machine that we called a potato digger, and then we tossed them into a wagon to haul them to our cellar storage bin. Potatoes were not a cash crop but during the depression our city friends and relatives were more than happy to help out for a sack of potatoes. Unlike vegetables, spuds needed no special processing, but kept all winter in the unheated cellar of our farmhouse.

Medford

Here is my entry into Teresa Boardman’s contest. Unlike my old colleague, Jay, I DIDN’T CHEAT! This effort was done completely in “Paint.” Take that y’old reprobate!

I don't blame Jay, though, Paint is not very user-friendly...still, I think mine's better...whaddaya think? Boy, am I gonna pay for this, come Monday at the coffee shop!

Medford

Jay’s entry…Photoshopped!

The codgers did not meet on Tuesday, so we return to the History of St. Paul, Minnesota, at least one little part of it. My young (not yet 60) friend Jack has written for our consideration, an interesting history of his home:

“In November 1858, Minnesota had been the 32^nd state for seven months, my great-great-grandfather, Timothy Boardman was 48 years old and had moved to La Crosse, Wisconsin a scant 4 years earlier from New York, his son, my great-grandfather Silas, was 24 and my great-grandmother Jane Elizabeth Serviss was 14 years old, my grandmother Dora Ann Congdon would not be born for six years, and grandfather Odessa DeWitt Boardman for 8 years, and for the princely amount of about $400, Howard Ward, noted hotelier and saloonkeeper built our house. Like many homes in the “Upper Town” area of St. Paul, our home has a name: “The Ward-Eggleston House” named after its builder and its most illustrious resident, the Reverend Edward Eggleston (“Upper Town” was that part of the city on the bluff above what was once the “upper landing” on the east bank of the Mississippi River, the second of two major steamboat landings).

It was built in the pre-Victorian, Greek Revival style of architecture, the same style as the southern plantation houses, though on a much more modest scale. Symmetry in the placement of doors and windows, large frame trim outlining the clapboards, and in the larger versions, two story columns supporting the porch roof, mark this style of architecture. The house was built for the “working man,” so it is far less spectacular than its larger plantation home cousins. The house was moved about a block in 1988 to preserve it as its owner was expanding his business and required the space it occupied.

Census records and city directories indicate that the house spent most of its existence as rental property with very few of its owners actually living in the home. One notable exception was Eggleston. A page from the original abstract shows that Eggleston owned the property from 1863 until 1866. Eggleston was a Methodist minister and pastor of the Jackson Methodist Church, the largest church in St. Paul at that time.  He was also Ramsey County’s first librarian, and a nationally known abolitionist.  A well-known writer, Eggleston wrote The Hoosier Schoolmaster, and many other fiction and nonfiction works. He also was reputed to be something of an amateur photographer.

In 1866, Eggleston sold the home to Electa and Isaac George. Electa George subsequently sold the house to her nephew, Jason Gardner. It is interesting to note the coincidence that the house is now, after being moved, located next door to the Gardner Row House, built by Jason Gardner. No evidence exists that the Georges ever lived in the home.

According to the 1880 census, seventeen members of the Maurice Murphy family lived in the house. The Murphy men were employed by the railroad, and the adult women were dressmakers (When all four of us resided here, it seem a bit cramped, the Murphy family must have ate and slept in shifts).

During the 1988 renovation of this home, two tickets to the “Third Annual Ball Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen” 1880, were found in an interior wall. Stephen Murphy, son of Maurice, worked as a locomotive fireman, the tickets were no doubt his.

In the early part of the 20^th century, the house was clad in artificial siding, and the porch rails enclosed. The house lost much of its “Greek Revival” detailing. When the siding was removed during the 1987-88 restoration, the detailing was revealed.

After 50 years under the artificial siding, the original wood siding had developed significant dry rot. Finally, after seepage through the siding on the dormer caused interior damage, we decided to re-side the house. We researched both wood and vinyl and for a number of reasons (all of them financial—real wood is expensive!) chose vinyl. A contractor willing to side the house with sensitivity to the unique details of the architecture was selected. When the old siding was removed we discovered, in addition to a gaggle of hand-made square nails, German and English language newspapers in the spaces between the boards as insulation, but they were too fragile to remove, so we left them in place. The only detail lost in the re-siding was some fascia molding, the bulk of the original detail remains.

Our 19^th Century “blue collar” home has entered its third century and second millennium. Teresa & I are already the longest-term owners, and expect to remain so well into our retirement…whatever & whenever that is.” (Source: Jack Boardman)

With many thanks to Jack for taking me off the hook,

Jay