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xiphiasFriends of the family are in town from Indiana this week, and my Dad's parents had them and us over for dinner tonight. That is, this past night, Thursday night. It's now Friday morning, but the sun hasn't yet quite risen, so it's still tonight.
Anyway, Nonnie mentioned how attitudes towards alcohol had changed over her lifetime. She mentioned that, when she was twelve, she had her tonsils out. The doctor told her parents that she was going to be in some pain so swallowing would be difficult, but that she was likely to also be very thirsty. They asked her if she wanted anything. She croaked out, "Yes."
"What would you like?"
"A beer," she croaked.
The doctor told her parents that, if that's what she wanted and she'd drink it, she should go ahead and get it.
My grandfather's comment was, "And I've been paying the price for that ever since."
My grandfather has a tendency to be rather snarky at my grandmother, but it's meant to be humorous, and, more to the point, she finds it funny, so it's okay.
The beer in question, by the way, was brewed by her father, who also apparently made a wonderful ginger ale and root beer, besides beer. My father tells a story of sleeping over at his grandparents' house, and, in the middle of the night, hearing, "POP!SMASH!. . . .POPPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOSMASHCRASHTINKELESMASHCRASH" as one beer bottle in the rack blew up, and took the rest of the rack with it.
Apparently his wine press is still in the family, and is in the possession of my (second) Cousin Jimmy, who enters the local wine competition with it every year. Hasn't won anything yet, but has scored pretty well.
Nonnie also told another story I'd not heard before, about when she and Jean Osmond (who is the wife of Roger Osmond, who is one of my father's cousins) went to Norway to seek out Jean's ancestry.
Apparently, at one point on this trip, they were looking through headstones in a graveyard to see if they could find mention of people with her maiden name. They saw a big building nearby, which looked town-hall-ish to Nonnie, so they went in. The woman who lived there was rather surprised to see them and wanted to know what they were doing in her house, so Nonnie explained that they were looking for information on Jean's family. The woman said that she recognized that last name, and that there were gravestones with that last name, but she didn't think they were the same branch of the family, but if Nonnie and Jean wanted to look around the local church, the woman was the caretaker, and she could show them around, even though the church was closed to the public, because it was the oldest wooden building in Europe.
So they wandered in and looked around. The entire building had been built with no other tool than axes, including the decoration, and the words hacked into the walls. They didn't find any information about Jean's family, but it was neat.
But the caretaker suggested someone else who was computerizing historical geneological records, and gave them directions. So they took a couple boats across a couple fjords, and dropped in on this guy, who looked Jean's family up, and traced her family back to the fifth century, and told her which village her family came from. And how to get there.
So they took some more boats across some more fjords, and, when they approached the village, they saw that most of the village had turned out to greet the boat. The mayor was there, there was a band, and they gave them a big welcome. Jean met some of her cousins, and they couldn't say a word to each other because Jean speaks no Norwegian, and they spoke no English, but they had a good time anyway, and Jean got to see the ancestral family home, which was, in fact, still owned by her cousins.
I mention this story to point out that my grandmother is the sort of person who can wander into somebody's house uninvited and have that person let them into a restricted archetectural site, just 'casue.
Lis reminded me that my grandmother at one point managed to park in a restricted loading zone in Logan airport, come out to see their car being put ON THE TOWTRUCK, and talk the cop and the tow truck driver into giving their car back without paying any money. It was partially done with my grandmother pretending to have senile dementia, and my grandfather acting all long-suffering and snide as he usually does.
And it worked. My g'parents just PLAYED them.
Anyway, Nonnie mentioned how attitudes towards alcohol had changed over her lifetime. She mentioned that, when she was twelve, she had her tonsils out. The doctor told her parents that she was going to be in some pain so swallowing would be difficult, but that she was likely to also be very thirsty. They asked her if she wanted anything. She croaked out, "Yes."
"What would you like?"
"A beer," she croaked.
The doctor told her parents that, if that's what she wanted and she'd drink it, she should go ahead and get it.
My grandfather's comment was, "And I've been paying the price for that ever since."
My grandfather has a tendency to be rather snarky at my grandmother, but it's meant to be humorous, and, more to the point, she finds it funny, so it's okay.
The beer in question, by the way, was brewed by her father, who also apparently made a wonderful ginger ale and root beer, besides beer. My father tells a story of sleeping over at his grandparents' house, and, in the middle of the night, hearing, "POP!SMASH!. . . .POPPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOSMASHCRASHTINKELESMASHCRASH" as one beer bottle in the rack blew up, and took the rest of the rack with it.
Apparently his wine press is still in the family, and is in the possession of my (second) Cousin Jimmy, who enters the local wine competition with it every year. Hasn't won anything yet, but has scored pretty well.
Nonnie also told another story I'd not heard before, about when she and Jean Osmond (who is the wife of Roger Osmond, who is one of my father's cousins) went to Norway to seek out Jean's ancestry.
Apparently, at one point on this trip, they were looking through headstones in a graveyard to see if they could find mention of people with her maiden name. They saw a big building nearby, which looked town-hall-ish to Nonnie, so they went in. The woman who lived there was rather surprised to see them and wanted to know what they were doing in her house, so Nonnie explained that they were looking for information on Jean's family. The woman said that she recognized that last name, and that there were gravestones with that last name, but she didn't think they were the same branch of the family, but if Nonnie and Jean wanted to look around the local church, the woman was the caretaker, and she could show them around, even though the church was closed to the public, because it was the oldest wooden building in Europe.
So they wandered in and looked around. The entire building had been built with no other tool than axes, including the decoration, and the words hacked into the walls. They didn't find any information about Jean's family, but it was neat.
But the caretaker suggested someone else who was computerizing historical geneological records, and gave them directions. So they took a couple boats across a couple fjords, and dropped in on this guy, who looked Jean's family up, and traced her family back to the fifth century, and told her which village her family came from. And how to get there.
So they took some more boats across some more fjords, and, when they approached the village, they saw that most of the village had turned out to greet the boat. The mayor was there, there was a band, and they gave them a big welcome. Jean met some of her cousins, and they couldn't say a word to each other because Jean speaks no Norwegian, and they spoke no English, but they had a good time anyway, and Jean got to see the ancestral family home, which was, in fact, still owned by her cousins.
I mention this story to point out that my grandmother is the sort of person who can wander into somebody's house uninvited and have that person let them into a restricted archetectural site, just 'casue.
Lis reminded me that my grandmother at one point managed to park in a restricted loading zone in Logan airport, come out to see their car being put ON THE TOWTRUCK, and talk the cop and the tow truck driver into giving their car back without paying any money. It was partially done with my grandmother pretending to have senile dementia, and my grandfather acting all long-suffering and snide as he usually does.
And it worked. My g'parents just PLAYED them.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-06 09:01 am (UTC)Bootlegging
Date: 2004-08-06 10:37 am (UTC)SMASHCRASH" as one beer bottle in the rack blew up, and took the rest of the rack with it.
Heh heh heh. My mom has a very similar story from her childhood when she visited her grandparents in Ohio. But I think that popping in question was moonshine, not beer.
Gotta love the old days!
Re: Bootlegging
Date: 2004-08-06 11:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-06 10:55 pm (UTC)One question leaps to mind: Was your grandmother born between 1907 and 1921? If so, she would've been 12 during Prohibition, meaning the beer would not only have been of questionable propriety for one so young but actually illegal for your great-grandparents to have (and, therefore, make).
(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-07 07:54 am (UTC)