My Mom
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: part one
Topic: Personal
My mother was born in 1905, and died in 1977, just days after the birth of my older daughter, Chandra. She never saw her grandchild.

She was born in New York state, and her mother died when she was nine. She had one sister and two brothers. When she died, she didn't have their addresses so we could let them know. Not a real close family.

She was the stuff of pioneers. Absolute master of making something out of nothing. When we were so poor that she had to put peanut butter in the soup for added protein, she didn't know she was imitating an African recipe. She could do it all, from plowing a field, to cleaning a chimney, to knitting lace. She braided rugs, made table-top mosaics from asphalt tile, wrought iron-looking decorations from tin cans, Christmas ornaments from cigarette foil--she did her best never to waste anything. She would put the gleanings from her hairbrush out in the bushes for the birds to use in their nests. I am surprised she didn't save them to knit me a sweater!

I have an old, granny-square crocheted afghan that contains left-over wool from a twin set she knit for me when I was four. I can find remnants in there of many knitting projects. Even though it is in pitiful condition, I will never get rid of it; it binds me to my mother forever.

Today
Now Playing: Rain
Topic: Weather
Today it is raining. A cold drizzle that reminds me of England or Vancouver Island. When I was a child in England, girls didn't wear long pants, except for play-wear. I had chronic cold, wet knees. I was a skinny little thing, with no insulation. Discomfort was a way of life.

Here, in Central Texas, this kind of light, persistent rain is a Godsend. It soaks into our thirsty earth, instead of running off and taking a good portion of the thirsty earth with it. It will be a good year for Spring crops, including chiggers, fire ants and mosquitoes.

I don't garden. For a person with an English background, this is tantamount to heresy, and a certain disappointment for my parents. We have nearly an acre of land here, and the only thing we grow is grass for deer. We love deer. We feed deer, probably to the disgust of most of our neighbours. The general feeling in these parts is that deer are all very well during hunting season, but the rest of the time, they are a nuisance. They eat the garden and get tangled in the bumpers of cars. There's a reason for the 25 mph speed limit through our neighbourhood.

Back to gardening. I loathe it. I am blessed with good fingernails, which grow very nicely if I don't abuse them too much. The feeling of dirt under them is abhorrent to me.

My parents were gardening fools. There was a vegetable garden at home, of about 1/4 acre, plus raspberry canes, strawberry pyramids, fruit trees, and the blackberry bush that had to be beaten back every few days. The slogging started in March, and continued until October. The digging, planting, tending, weeding, picking, canning and freezing made a full-time job for my mother, and part-time for Dad. Eventually, they got tired of my griping, and let me keep house and make meals instead. I wasn't real wild about doing that, either, but it was better than scrabbling around in the freezing mud.

Introduction
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Please allow me to introduce myself...
Topic: Personal
Hello, Blog. Nice to meet you. My name is Veronica. I am variously called Veronica, Ronni, Vero, Cary, Mom, or Grandma, depending upon who you are talking to. Or, what mood I'm in. Or the colour of the sky, time of day, or any of a hundred other variables. I'm calling myself Ronni here, because of the alliteration factor. "Ronni's Rants" has more of a ring to it than "Cary's Rants," don't you think? I thought you'd agree.

The entries I will be posting will not always be rants; sometimes they will be observations, snippy comments, politically incorrect statements, cat stories, community theater stories, kid stories, or anything else that strikes my fancy. I just feel that, by titling this "Rants," you'll be prepared for the worst.

Anyway, I just feel the need of a place to vent. Blessed Blog, you are it!