Wednesday Morning Whirring

 My day started just before 3:15am, because 3:15am is when I finally said "bother" and got up out of bed.

I have the whirs going on in my brain.  Lets hope that there is a bit of whir left for when I get to work, because they pay me to use my brain.

Part of my whir is that this time in four weeks I will no doubt be whirring madly, as we will be about to board a flight to the other side of the world to visit V's family.

Part of my whir is all of the things that need to happen work wise in those four weeks. 

Part of my whir is all the family stuff that has to happen and that I will have and that I will miss.

Part of my whir is my to do list for the day before.

So instead I got up, made a cup of tea (ahhh, bliss), read a few blogs and applied for a quiz show.

 

 

This is not the photo that I ended up using, because all I can see in that photo is the mess of V's hanging above my head because the house that we live in has a storage issue.   

On the upside, there is no mess of all my sewing to do pile in the background because I did sort that after my whir on the weekend realising that it was my second to last "full" weekend at home before we go.

This falls in the "family stuff that I will miss" - and we will see if my phone photos work any better when I get to the "family stuff that has to happen" because it has really decided to do some retro 70s style stuff of late. 

Anyhoo - off to fix that whole "how to organise a Tuesday 27 days away" thing that got me up in the first place.
 

Any travel tips? 

Doctors dumbfounded and specialists stupefied

 "A Hospital failure cured" reads the headline when searching for a forebear "John Burgess"

I do not think that the gentleman cited is my great -great-grandfather, as he was never a greengrocer.

It was read with great mirth.

Enjoy this advertising extravaganza with me.

From The Bundaberg Mail and Burnett Advertiser - Fri 14 Jan 1898 - Page 3 

 A Hospital Failure Cured.

DOCTORS DUMBFOUNDED AND SPECIALISTS STUPEFIED.

It then goes on to introduce you to a gent who "was cured at last by Dr Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People."

I don't think that this ad would pass the pub test these days.

But maybe they were onto something.

Mr John Burgess, in conversation with our reporter, had "been an invalid for over nine years, suffering from hip-joint disease and sciatica."

(My great-great-grandfather  had also never been "thrown out of a cab" or indeed been to Botany)

After six months at the Prince Alfred Hospital he was deemed incurable.

A hopeless case, to the extent that his third and last doctor  stated that "he did not wish to visit me any longer, as it was simply taking money out of my pocket to put into his, without being able to afford me the slightest relief."

I would quote the whole thing but am not sure of the copyright requirements of an ad from an (a?) 129 year old newspaper.

Anyhoo , he eventually (after a litany of woe) is "induced to try Dr Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People." 

This stuff, after only seven boxes had performed miracles, allowing him to hitch up horse and cart again to rebuild his greengrocer enterprise in a competitive market.

He then most graciously allowed the journalist to print his assertions and attach his name to it.

The ad then went on to extol the virtues and how to not be swindled by poor imitations.

They seem to be good for all that ails you.

I wonder what was in them.

I wish they could work it out, because this stuff was "a specific for the troubles peculiar to the female system, and in the case of men they effect a radical cure in all cases arising from mental worry, overwork, and excess of any nature".

Top stuff, hey?

Globe trotting

 In today's genealogical wanderings I discovered a most wonderful saga.

It began when an Irish widow and a Somerset widower had a drink or two together in their middle years in a corner of the world the other side from when they came.

His childhood sweetheart Esther had given birth to at least 10 children in 20 years and the youngest surviving child to 12 before she had considered her duty here on earth done when she left it.

One of those 10 children she gave birth to whilst voyaging to the new land (having left her oldest at home in the earth, with a toddler at her skirts and a curious girl of six).

That brand new creature was my great -great-grandmother.

But two years on from his wife's death, the majority of his daughters had married or were soon to do so, and with only the company of a teenager he found friends with a bottle.

That friend and he decided to cement such a beautiful relationship with vows.

For a time things went along. She too had older children. 

The Irish woman and the Somerset man had at least two more of their own. A boy and a girl.

Alas there are organs that do not do so well. (perhaps to do with the fallout from a love affair with the panacea for disappointment) The poor Irish woman succumbed to such a fate.

So distraught was he that at least one of their children was omitted from the death certificate a decade later. Or maybe his Jnr wasn't easily pinned down. 

There we news reports of behaviours that screamed intervention required for father and both of his surviving sons - one from each marriage.

He indeed hit the skids for a while and authorities deemed he was unable to competently care for the children so to an orphanage they went. (Obviously they were subsequently reunited as the son is mentioned in the obituary a decade later).

The girl who went to the orphanage never married a man named Smith (the Irish Catholic mother may have spun in her grave) but she took on his name and gave him a half dozen children.

One of whom was born on New Year's Eve 1925 with a movie star's name.

She married a Yankee soldier and took him back to Idaho - or Illinois? Maybe Indiana or Iowa - one of those vowel starting places over there.

Because we enter the US realm with this search, we get to see yearbook photos of similar named people from similar named places. And because they have a whole heap of extra people over there to here, there are a lot of yearbook photos.

The daughter of the movie-star-named girl and the dashing GI - or at least A girl with a similar name from a similar town - has one photo that is the poster child for a mousy dork - no offence, I have a few of those photos in the hoard.

I kid you not, the next photo along is definitely the same girl that is the makeover after shot and she is ROCKING the whole 1950s cheerleader vibe.

What do you reckon - put a bit of polish on it and sell it to Netflix?

A spice by any other name

 I spend a fair portion of my weekends at my parents - they are well into their 80s now and Mum has "memory issues" (because we aren't allowed to call it by the D word in Dad's world, because people write people off if they say that word).

This has put Dad into the position of carer, and he does it as well as he is able - but Dad does have some frugality issues that border on him calling his children crazy about expired food etc.

I mean, I have to give him he is still alive, but I think part of that is because Mum did pay attention to such things for a large portion of it.

He recently ran out of pepper for the table.  Rather than buy some more pepper, he figured that Mum had many spices in the cupboard unused since - well, in some instances since the 1970s (because everyone knows that spices don't go out of date *).

He figured Paprika would work, since it added some colour to what was being seasoned and sounded like pepper.

Inevitably, his paprika ran out - I did pull him up and make him buy pepper in preference to his next choice - Nutmeg...

I don't think that his sense of smell or taste are all that crash hot these days. 

Four photos

I am a terrible blogger - its not that I don't have ideas and its really not that I don't have time - although that is my excuse.  It is that I don't have ideas when I do have time all too often.

 

So to kickstart myself today, I thought that I would find four random photos from the last few weeks and just give them. 

 

This is a photo taken at an afternoon tea that my Dad had for "a few friends with cake" for his and Mum's 60th wedding anniversary.  The few friends numbered 25, which lead to a bit of a mad scramble on my part.  In this photo, Dad is seated and his primary school classmate Laurie has the floor.  Laurie was the postmaster and tennis coach from my childhood, but apparently Dad and he had a few adventures when younger, and he told them with a great deal of wit on this occasion.  We were really there with the tiny trailer and the 60" concrete pipe at this point!

One of the blessings of spilling a half a cup of water on a bench when the drawer beneath is slightly ajar is that the 15 years of accumulated "stuff" has to be taken out and organised.  I am not by nature a tidy person - it takes effort EVERY DAY to not be able to be tracked by the detritus left in my wake - but I consider organising therapy at times.

 

I must admit, this really tickled my fancy - but some people just didn't get it.  Do I have a weird sense of humour?

 It is amazing how much this cat has grown, even since this photo.  She can be very "helpful" in the office.

To quote another blogger that I read today, just got rid of a whole lot of blah-blah-blah that really only needed to escape my head, didn't need to go to yours.

Have a lovely day - its now Thursday here and my mother-in-law's 80th birthday.  HB RB (and Uncle B too)