Happy Thanksgiving!

What are you doing on the computer reading this blog? You should be with your family and friends stuffing your face!  Now shut the machine off and go have a good time!

And if you really think it's better to be on the computer than with your family (are you feeling guilty yet?) You can read a bunch of interesting little known facts about Thanksgiving HERE.

Thankful Things

Happy Thanksgiving.

Of course I am thankful for my husband, Stan, and my sister, Erva and for the air I breathe.

But I'm also VERY thankful for washing dishes.

Washing dishes means:
I have food that makes them dirty
I have hands to wash them with
I have running hot and cold water to wash them in
I have money to pay the water and electric bill and buy the soap
I have a sink to wash them in
I have a window to look out of when I wash the dishes
I have a house with a window



Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury,pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

What are you thankful for?

Thanksgiving 1969 - Part Two

So it's right around Thanksgiving, we've had a big rain and Ethel is planning a big party.

Now the road into Lillie Maho was narrow, steep, rocky and required four wheel drive/low transfer, even on a good day. After most any kind rain it turned into a slick, muddy track that was near impossible to traverse. But we had to get out. We had a business to run, not to mention the fact that my sister, Erva, had to get to her job. So first thing in the morning Mom and Erva went over the hill and cleared the road of the big rocks the hillside has thrown up, and the tree limbs that have blown down. They also filled in, with rocks, the deep ruts the rain had made. Inotherwords, they made the road passable.

At that time there were no telephones out our way. But we did have two-way radio. Telephone calls could be patched in and we could talk to people anywhere in the world. The only draw-back is that anyone who had a radio could hear your conversation.

Thus is was that while Mom was working in the office she overheard a radio phone call between Ethel and a dinner guest who was concerned about getting to her place. After all there'd been a big rain and some roads were washed out. Was the road into Maho passable?

To which Ethel replied, "Well, those people down there got out."

That infuriated Mom. Those people indeed! Like we were lepers or something. Like we were nobodies or were of some inferior class of people whose name was never to be mentioned, untouchables. She stewed and fumed over it all day. By the time Erva got home from work Mom was ready, she had a plan. The Original Rotten Kid was in full swing.

"Come on, kids!" she said. Me, Erva and her best friend Gene, piled into the jeep. Mom wrestled with the steering wheel and we skidded and skated our way over the hill until we got to the "main" road though it too was just another dirt track.

Then we turned around and headed back over the hill into Maho. While Mom drove, Erva, Gene and I followed behind unfilling the ruts, and putting back every bolder and tree limb that had been removed. Inotherwords, we made the road impassible. It was a wonderfully muddy job.

It meant that Ethel's guests would be met with barriers and would have to decide if they wanted to clear the road and get muddy, park their jeep and walk slip/sliding over the hill and get muddy, or turn around and go home.

If I recall, the next day there were noises on the squawk box (that's what we called the radio/telephone) about how difficult it had been to get to the party and Ethel was furious not understanding how it could have happened because she was sure "those people" had gotten out.

Oh we were terrible and still laugh about it to this day!

Grammy, (Erva Hartwell Boulon Thorp) February, 1963 at the gates to Ethel McCully's house which Ethel called, "Island Fancy."

Grammy was a bit Art Deco in her tastes. She wore large jewelry and liked bright clothes as can easily been seen here. I don't know of too many women who could wear a solid red jumpsuit (and shoes) and pull it off, but it goes so well with her beautiful silver hair.

Thanksgiving 1969 - Part One

Directly up the hill from our guest house at Lillie Maho, lived a woman named Ethel McCully. She was a legend in her own mind, someone who acted as if she had been on the island longer than any other white person. This of course was hardly true. She built her home in the early '50s whereas my grandparents had been on St. John since the 1920s.  None the less, Ethel made herself out to be quite the character, which wasn't difficult since she'd been an ambulance driver during World War I and was the author of three mystery novels. She was a tiny little old woman, rather wrinkly and wizened, who clung too long to trying to look young. The hibiscus she wore in her wig was an idea she stole from my grandmother. (Grammy's hair was all her own.) Her bright red lipstick tended to bleed around the edges of her lips and her heavily rouged cheeks made her look somewhat clownish. 

Photo by Peter Ernst


These eccentricities were not annoying, but her peacocks were. She had anywhere from six to twelve of the birds. Large males, with magnificent tails, strutted around accompanied by an entourage of peahens. She let them wander in and out of her house where they left presents on her tiled floors. But worse, they often flew down the hill and landed our roofs where they pooped and were a general nuisance.  And one must remember we collected rainwater off our roofs for drinking, cooking and bathing. Equally, if not more, annoying was the noise they made. Often times in movies that have a tropical setting, or ladies in long dresses are strolling through an English garden, one can hear a peacock yelling in the distant background. I suppose someone thinks it's romantic, shades of India and Rudyard Kipling don't you know. But let me tell you, when they live right next to you, their yelling is anything but romantic. It is a loud, ugly noise that sounds like a woman screaming, "HELP!" 


When asked if I can imitate an animal, I say yes, I can scream just like a peacock! (It's true.)


We had a touchy relationship with Ethel. She came down quite often to have cocktails at our open bar and would insinuate herself among our guests, playing the hostess, acting like the queen bee, and generally stomping all over our territory. She was a nosy busybody we put up with and didn't particularly like.


Every Thanksgiving Ethel held a big dinner party to which she invited all the local color. We, of course were never invited. But that didn't bother us because we had guests for whom we put on a big lovely spread.  


Then, in 1969 a few days before the Big Day,  it rained, and it rained, and it rained some more and we had a flood. 


Come back tomorrow for part two!

Here's to Turkey Day.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

And

A

NaNo update.

43, 501 words!