The Muffin Wrapper

It’s all stuff and things that have been collected in now two boxes.  Some are papers. Some look like junk, but for various reasons I saved them and they serve as external memories.  But to what end?  Why hang on to these things? I’ve been telling myself for years that they hold stories.  So with NaNoWriMo November 2020 I made a start.  I used the free public scanner at one of Milwaukee Public Library’s branches (all the MPL locations have free scanners) or I have taken pictures when using the scanner was not possible.  There is no particular order.  Just whatever I pull out of the box. Each has its own story, assuming I remember what it is.

My plan is to share an item or two and what I remember of it each week in this blog.

The Muffin Wrapper

Description:

blue used muffin wrapper folded into a tight triangle with pin hole in ruffled edge.

Story:

I grew up in a traditional home.  Mom was a housewife,  Dad was a pastor and he was the man of the house.  If he called, you came.  He would sit in his Lay-z-boy and if he needed something he would call.  Our house had mostly linoleum floors so voices carried.    Before we had a TV with remote control it was not unusual for him to call and you to come and be stuck in the living room flipping channels for him.  We had limited stations and I often committed the TV schedule to memory so I could let him know what was on a station if we encountered a commercial. If he was eating a snack he would call you to take the dishes to the kitchen for him.  Anyway this happened sometime in the late 1980s.  I was in high school and Dad was sitting in his chair eating a homemade muffin.  No idea what sort of muffin, but he ate it, and in his usual fastidious manor had finished it and folded the wrapper and folded it again and made it form a tight triangle.  Then he called.  I came and he handed it to me saying, “Ruth, a gift for you.”  His intention was that I take it to the kitchen and toss it in the trash, but I was a very sarcastic teen and by this point would even dare to tease my father so in my most sarcastic voice I replied  “Really, for me?  Thank you Dad.  I will treasure it always.”  I then went not to the kitchen but to my bedroom where I used a push pin and added it to my bulletin board. 

The bulletin board in my sisters room was filled with awards and certificates, but I did not have so many accolades and had grown very cynical about awards so in high school I changed board to fill it with buttons and art work and all sorts of random colorful bits, like ribbon bows that I took off of Easter bunnies, or the beaded bells that my Grandma made.  So here it is more than 30 years after he ate that muffin, it survived about a dozen moves including a house fire. I still have it. The muffin wrapper.  Perhaps the most treasured muffin wrapper in the world.

A Fan of My Man

We do not have central air in our house.  We have two window units, one in the living room and one in our nephew's bedroom, which when his door is open and our door is open does a good job of cooling both rooms.  Our room has a north facing window and when the nephew goes to bed and closes his door we can usually do okay with a box fan either in or out of the window, depending on how the air is outside.  

I personally am not a fan of window units, they are noisy and the one in the living room blows directly at my chair and after a while my eyes get really dry (another reason I don't want one in our bedroom).

Latif's favorite spot to sit is not in direct line with the air conditioner and I get cold before he gets comfortable, so there is at times a struggle.  Sometimes we compromise, and for the sake of my eyes, I bring the box fan into the living room and point it at him and make do with directing the already cooled and dried air at him.  The fan is also much quieter.  

Wednesday August 7th about 10:00pm when I decided to go to bed, I left Latif watching TV with the fan blowing on him.  About 4:30am I woke up in the bedroom with him next to me and it was uncomfortably warm.  I opened the window and could feel cooler air but needed a fan to pull it in. Problem was that when he came to bed he left the fan in the living room.  So in my semi awake overheated state I stumbled to the living room nearly tripping over our cat, Jazz, who was parked outside the bedroom door and then had some difficulty getting the fan unplugged and carried back to the bedroom so I could get it in the window.  The effect was most welcome but It was not a quiet process and I woke Latif up.  As I crawled back into bed I said to him, "You need to be sure to take the fan with you."  He gave me a sleepy "All right.  All right." And we both fell back asleep.

Fast forward a few hours and we're both up and dressed and ready to head off for day four of Vacation Bible School at Luther Memorial Chapel.  I've got my checklist of things to bring and am already thinking of what I have to do when I get to church and Latif is right behind me carrying our box fan.   I give him a quizzical look as he locks our back door and he asks, "Don't we have enough fans at church?"

"Of course we do" I reply "Six fans were donated a couple of years ago so there would be enough to go around"

"Then why do we need this one?" he asks.

"We don't." I say flatly

"So why am I bringing it?"

"I don't know."

"You said very clearly that I needed to be sure to take it with me."

I start laughing as I tried to explain that I meant not to leave it in the living room when he came to bed.  

"You were very emphatic about my needing to bring it" He says, then also starts laugh.

"Yes, at night, to the bedroom, so it's there when it gets too hot."  

"So not to church," he says.

At that point I'm laughing too hard to give an answer.   The fan was left in the garage until we got home from VBS when he was sure to bring it with him, back to the bedroom.

The moral of the story is never tell your husband something when he is not fully awake.

Jimmy's locked up

 I work at a public library branch and I love my job.  I do not save lives but in many small ways I help people.  Sometimes I locate books for them, like something to study for a nursing exam, or to fix plumbing or an author they want to read.  Sometimes I show off a database that might be helpful.  I relish those times that I get a college student taking online classes and I can put on my old instruction librarian hat and show them how to find peer reviewed articles.  But most of what I do is helping folks bridge the digital divide and print out, fill out, download and upload needed documents to function in the digital world.  There are about half a dozen folks at the new Fiserv Forum downtown that I helped submit applications, download employment contracts, scan and then upload employment documents.  I didn't get them the job, but they needed me to get their employer what was required.  I enjoy helping people.  

Now on a typical day, several hundred people come through the doors of the Martin Luther King branch.  I have never been good with matching names and faces.  It takes me a while and I have to make an effort.  So pretty much the only patrons I know the names of are the ones that are frequently in need of assistance (particularly those who regularly ask me to put holds on items for them so I see their name on my screen) or patrons who have caused trouble and I have had to fill out or read security reports about them.  By far the vast majority of folks I just don't remember.  The regular ones look familiar but I may never learn any of their names.  I'm friendly to everyone, so for the most part it is not a problem.

The branch I work at is not far from where I live.  I can (if I get my act together and the weather is right and I already have my lunch in the break room fridge) walk to work.  This means that occasionally when I’m out walking or shopping I will come across folks that I've met in the course of my work.   More than half the time I don't recognize them, but I assume if someone recognizes me it is because I helped them in some way.  I will engage in small talk and hope they don't expect me to know their name.

The other morning I was shopping at the local Walmart and as I put a pack of toilet paper in my cart an elderly black woman rolled her cart up to me and got a big smile on her face.  "Oh it's you!"

I nodded and smiled figuring her for a library patron.

"It's so good to see you." she said, then she got serious, "You know, Jimmy is locked up…. Yea….He doing a lot better now, but he's locked up."

I nodded and said, "Glad he's doing better"

"Yea.  Yea, He graduated from high School.  I was proud, but he's locked up now…. Still he doing better.  Sometimes he ask if I see any of his teachers…Not really."

I smiled and nodded.

"Well I am so glad I saw you.  I'll tell Jimmy.  This really made my day" and she walked  away smiling.

I have no idea who Jimmy is.  I'm not even sure if this woman knows who I am, but whoever she thinks I am, I'm glad I made her day, and I hope that Jimmy really is doing better.

Giving Latif The Benefit of the Daut

 Latif’s birthday is the first week in January.   I know one of the things he would like more than gifts or cake or even chocolate, would be that folks would help, however they can, to support his younger brother Daut.   So please consider making a gift or share the link to these fund raising pages and help get the word out about my brother-in-law and give my hubby a very happy birthday.

https://fundly.com/daut-s-medical-fund-1/contribute#donate/select

https://www.gofundme.com/dauts-medical-expense-fund/donate

The story of three men and a quest for a pumpkin pie.

It was at a Starbucks in Valpo that pie was first discussed.  This was after the freak mid-October snow squall in Lowell IN, and after the sun came out, and as a way for Pastor Chad Kendall to get some quiet time to finish his Sunday sermon, and Stacie Kendall could enjoy a little peace to prepare supper that would no longer be burgers on the deck because—well freak mid-October snow squall, but rather homemade pizzas.   So we, Latif and I ventured with Isaac and Sam to Isaac’s school to explore the chapel and the library, because, well, why not. 

It occurred to me en route that Stacie had never been a passenger when Mr. Gaba was driving and that perhaps accounted for her willingness to let us take her sons on a road trip.  There were comments made in the back seat about rolling stops and speed limits, but not very convincing ones. Or at least not convincing to the driver. 

At Valparaiso University we checked out the chapel’s lower level since there was a concert going on in the main part, then ventured over to what I consider to be the best designed academic library I’ve ever been in.  My Library of Congress skills came to good use in being able to locate Luther’s Works (BR 330s) and Russian Literature (PGs)  Then it was off to Starbucks.  It was while sipping drinks and talking about the prevalence of pumpkin based products Isaac said he would like some pumpkin pie.  Mr. Gaba then mentioned that it was a personal goal of his to make a pumpkin pie from scratch.   At this point Isaac chimed in that they should just do it.  They should do it that night.  They should totally make a pie that night.  That was the plan. 

That was the plan.  But that was the plan before Mr. Gaba got back in the driver’s seat (after another freak mid-October snow squall) and per his usual method of navigation chose a route back to Lowell that had almost nothing to do with the way we had come.  (With Mr. Gaba it is never a journey.  It is always an adventure—so our young passengers learned.)  Nobody died.  It was OK.  Mr. Gaba got us back to Lowell just a little later than expected.  A friendly clerk at a gas station was consulted and affirmed that if Mr. Gaba kept going on the road he was on, he’d get to another road that would connect to another road that would get us back home—eventually)  All this is to say that the making of pie did not happen Saturday evening.  Thought to be fair, dinner making was still in progress when we got back, so I’m not sure if there would have been time anyway.  The pizzas were quite good. 

Sunday after church, before heading back to the house, there was talk of it being a good time for coffee…and doughnuts, but, alas, no doughnuts.  I casually said, “You could always make pie.” 

First lunch had to be made, then eaten, then cleaned up, and finally the kitchen was turned over to the three of them and their quest for a pumpkin pie.  Of course this had to be a pie that all three could eat, so with various dietary restrictions it had no dairy and no eggs and was made with a lot of organic local type things like the jar of Amish lard that had to be scooped out for the crust.   I (having lived with Mr. Gaba’s culinary adventures) simply sat back to enjoy the show.  Stacie, well it was her kitchen, and she is not, shall we say, well-practiced in Gaba-esque go-with-the-flow cooking, so there was a lot of getting up and advice giving until I encouraged her by saying that it would be OK if the pie was not perfect and she could offer advice when asked but should really just let them figure it out.  That was not easy for her, but rather entertaining for me to watch. 

Mr. Gaba demonstrates measuring salt using the Cajun Cook Justin Wilson’s method.

Consulting the recipe supplied by Stacie

  

After Stacie found it for them, (“Sadly there is no cure for male refrigerator blindness”—Pickles) and they each took artful turns shaking it up, (per advice from Stacie that it requires shaking) Sam carefully measures the apple cider vinegar for the crust with Mr. Gaba's approval.

One crust ready for the filling.  It is time to pose for a picture.

  

It Smells like Christmas

Not wanting to waste anything, extra crust bits were used to decorate the tops.  Let the baking commence.

  Mr. Gaba pitches in with the cleanup and introduces the Kendall household to his own game of dish rack Jenga.

Success.  No- Chad can't be in the picture.  Pie makers only.

But Chad and Latif still need to get a shot together before the pie can be enjoyed

Pie being enjoyed. Time for the Gabas to head home.

Dull Saturday Afternoons and thoughts on Socialism

Back in high school probably about 30 years ago in the era before the Internet, back when I could count the channels that came in on our TV using my fingers.  I was living 10 miles out of town in North Dakota and did not have the kind of friends that I would call on the phone and talk to by the hour. I sat in the corner of my bedroom and perfected my self-taught beading technique that I later learned was called the Peyote or brick stich by making a loop made of gold giant rocaille beads in six rows made with orange string, because that is what I happened to have around.  It was not a bracelet.  It was a toy and I called it: A Dull Saturday Afternoon, or DSA for short. I carried it around and played with it and spun it around on my fingers and would toss it in the air and catch it.  If folks asked me what it was I told them it was a fidget device, not a bracelet!  I had a hard time finding beads to make any more than the one that I would re-stitch when I the string wore out from much play.

When I went to college in Wisconsin I had easier access to shopping and did a lot of searching for the right beads and eventually I was able to get enough that I could make more DSA’s.  I sold them for five dollars.  I would carry several in my pockets and play with them and friends would ask to hold one and eventually they would want one.  I probably sold a few dozen though Concordia University Wisconsin and the hard tiled floor would cause the beads to break if you dropped a DSA just right, so I had to do a lot of repair jobs on the ones sold.  I experimented with different beads and other types of string but on the whole the best feel in the hands was still the cotton string and the glass giant rocaille beads.

Before the Goofus Ball the bestselling product I had ever made was the DSA.  Sometimes a more sarcastic college acquaintance would ask me after paying $5.00 for one if I paid taxes on my earnings.  I would explain that my profits were well below the level of being taxable particularly since 100% of what I earned went towards buying raw materials to support my beading habit. 

Fast forward thirty years, Germany is one country again, the USSR is gone, and It’s a dull Saturday afternoon at Martin Luther King Library and a 20-something gentleman comes up to the reference desk and asks me where the DSA is meeting.  I do a double take, and then he clarifies:  We have a meeting room -The Democratic Socialists of America.    I look at the meeting room schedule to remind myself, and tell the guy that his meeting is in the conference room starting in the next hour.

 The Democratic Socialists of America love meeting in our library and since we don’t charge for our spaces (beyond the taxes folks already pay) it is an affordable space for them to use.  Library meeting spaces cannot be used for commercial purpose, but anyone can put on a program as long as they don’t charge or solicit funds from the public.  There are also restrictions against religious groups doing overtly religious things like a Bible study or a worship service, but if you offer a class based in an Eastern religion, say, a session on mindfulness or Yoga or meditation, that is perfectly acceptable.  Some religions are more equal than others.  But I digress.  So the DSAs met.  There were just a few of them at this meeting, all polite very well dressed Caucasian twenty somethings.  

The thing about socialism is that I work for perhaps the only institution where it sort of works.  That is the thing about libraries.  We offer access to information, in the form of books and internet access that can be fully utilized and fully shared and never consumed.  It is the reason why socialism doesn’t work in any other facet of society.   Think about it.  I can take a book out and read it, meditate on it, take notes from it, gather what I can, and then return it and the next person can get the same or even more out of it than I do. It may be the best value tax dollars can offer because the more people use the resources available the better the value to the public since a book cost the same to the library if it is checked out once or dozens of times.  Same with internet access.  The two hours you spend online in no way diminishes what the next patrons can do on the computer during their two hour session.  There is even a common held practice of information providers like databases and periodical subscriptions to charge prices for the same resource according to the population being served.  Larger populations with more users are charged more for the same information than smaller population groups.  Dare I say, each library pays according to its need, each according to its means?

Try to do the same thing with an apple or prescription drugs, or gallon of gas.  You do not want what remains when I am done with the product.   And if I share it by portioning it, I do not get the same value I would have if I kept it for myself. 

In the library consumables are paid for.  If you lose or damage community property then you are charged for the cost.  If you need paper or toner inks it is .15 for black and white and .50 for color per printed page.  If you need a thumb drive the library will sell you one for a few dollars.  When a book or DVD is no longer seen as good for the collection either because it is worn or just hasn't been checked out for years, it will be offered to general public for a dollar each and the money goes back into the library.

As amazing as this collective use of resources that can be used and not consumed is, none of it would be possible without private individuals and business earning money and being able to pay taxes.  Also important are donations like private foundations and corporations that help with building projects, renovations and even grants for some of the programing. 

There is a propensity in my profession towards a left leaning anti-capitalist thought, but such an environment would be the death of a well-run library.  Without the strong tax base that comes from capitalism we would have to cut the number of books we buy, the staff, cut hours, and ultimately cut access to places where the Democratic Socialists of America could meet for free on a dull Saturday afternoon. 

Librarians from the Mother Land

This may sound self-serving, I am after all a librarian so of course I think librarians are wonderful, but I want to give a particular shout-out to some librarians from Canada: the ones working on digitizing and indexing at the University of Alberta Libraries and librarians from the Reference Section of Millennium Library in Winnipeg.  

This summer I’m finally making good headway on a writing project involving my grandparents.  I’ve got transcriptions of interviews I conducted four years ago, notes from my grandma, and drafts of the fits and starts I’ve made to writing about my grandparents over the years.  To supplement that, I’ve been making use of various databases to help fill in some dates and details.  One thing I’ve wanted to know is the name of the fur companies my grandfather worked for. 

Enter the University of Alberta Libraries and the digitization of the Henderson’s Directories.  These are a wonderful source of info that includes directories for Winnipeg, including not only names and addresses of citizens but also job titles and employers.  http://peel.library.ualberta.ca/bibliography/921.4.html

I’ve had a lot of fun going though the digitized bits.  The only problem is there are gaps in the digitized collection.  Among years that are missing are 1934-1938.  My grandparents got married in 1937 and Grandma’s notes make reference to a strike that Grandpa was involved in that led to him change employers.  I wanted to know who he was working for before the strike, so I searched the catalog of the Winnipeg Public Library in hopes of seeing if they had paper copies of the years in question.  The problem was I couldn’t quite tell from the catalog record if they had the particular volumes I was interested in, so I used their “Just ask" service.  I could have just asked if they had the directories for those years, but I am my mother’s daughter and I know librarians in general like detail so I wrote:

Business Directories from 1934-1938 

I'm doing research on my grandparents Albert and Mary Schaefer and have made use of the online Henderson's Directories, but I'm trying to learn what furrier company(ies) my grandfather worked for between 1934 and 1938.
I may be planning a trip to Winnipeg in the future and am wondering if the library has any business directories that list employees or Henderson Directories for those years in print.
Thank you.

The next day I got word back.  They not only let me know they have the directories, but they looked up the information, and offered to scan and email me the relevant pages.  Cool!  Now I can ask my next question, since I no longer have access to the Winnipeg newspapers. (see Weitzels excel in every form of track )

I wrote back:

Thank you for your help.  

Scans of the pages for the years he is listed would be wonderful.  

If it's not too much to ask, would you happen to be able to find any newspaper articles talking about a strike of Neaman Fur Company employees in 1937 or 38.  In notes that my grandmother made before she died she mentioned him leaving the company due to the strike and going back to work for John Temple.

Thank you again.  I'm proud to be a fellow librarian (I work in a branch of the public library in Milwaukee WI)

The next day a reply.

Hello Ruth,

Greetings from all of us at the Information and Reference Section, Millennium Library in Winnipeg - lovely to hear from you!

Your query has been super interesting, and we were quite amazed at all of the furriers in Winnipeg during the time frame you provided.

I have attached the Henderson directory entries for your grandfather for the years 1934-1937.  It looks like the last name was spelled differently in 1934.

There are also some articles that I will send you in a separate email pertaining to a strike  - I believe around 1936..

Sincerely,
Harriet
Winnipeg Public Library

So there you have it.  Librarians are content creators and generally helpful folks wherever you go.