When we stayed at Andy and Linda’s cabin on Lake Wallenpaupack, PA we did a little antique shopping in nearby Hawley. That was when I saw them. The Indian mugs of my childhood. Memories of sipping sweet, hot cocoa topped with a dollop of Marshmallow Fluff™  drifted up from my subconscious to tickle my brain. I hadn’t thought of those mugs in forever, yet here they were in all their kitschy glory.

The price was a little steep and with much regret I passed them up. After I got home I could not stop thinking about them. They brought back such wonderful memories of my Mom. She always served us hot chocolate in them, and nothing else. I decided I had to have them.

So, I emailed the antique shop and started inquiries with Thom into purchasing them, hopefully at a reduced price. I explained in my email that I had had them as a child and how my Mother (that I had recently lost) always served us hot chocolate in them. That was when I learned they were from the Hazel Atlas Glass Company, a now defunct glass manufacturer in West Virginia, and highly collectible. This particular full set of six were in pristine condition and had hardly, if ever, been used. I didn’t get my hoped-for price reduction, but I did get my mugs.

This past weekend we finally drove back over to Hawley to pick them up. When Thom handed me the box with my mugs he also gave me a small gift bag, saying that it was a little something extra. When I opened the bag I saw six packets of Ghirardelli Double Chocolate Hot Cocoa Mix inside. The tag on the gift bag read: “With my compliments: I hope it’s just like Mom used to make.”

How sweet was that? I have to admit that I could feel the tears welling up and threatening to spill over right there and then, but I managed to check them—only just. Thanks, Thom.  He told me that it meant a lot to him that his things went to people who would care about them. No worries there. Here they are at home:

My sister arrives tomorrow to join me next week in the arduous and nostalgia-filled task of sorting through and packing up our Mom's belongings. I'm sure we will share a cup of cocoa or two as the memories overwhelm us.

For more interesting and detailed information on the Hazel Atlas Glass Company, follow this link.

I saw something last night during the commercial break in Dancing with the Stars that really, truly bothered me. The Rose Petal Cottage. A little girl taking a muffin tin out of a play oven danced across the screen in front of my eyes. Next she was putting the baby down in the crib. After that she started a load of play laundry. Uhm, did I go through a time warp? Isn’t this what little girls did 40 years ago? And I guess they still do today, but this seemed more like brainwashing than play somehow.

Are toy makers trying to subliminally send women a message? That along with the newest reports out that say breast feeding your baby for the first year + makes for better adjusted, healthier babies. Gee, why not make us all stay home and clean the house, bake, do laundry, and nurse our children. Am I being overly sensitive? I am not a feminist by any means, but this is a new century for opportunities for women, isn’t it? No, please don’t take offense if you choose to stay home as your job (because it is a job and a very worthy one at that), but why teach little girls to limit their vision?

I love the press release wording:
“We are truly excited about the introduction of the ROSE PETAL Cottage Collection,” said Kevin Fortey, vice president of marketing for PLAYSKOOL.  “The collection distinctly enables preschool

girls

to actively nurture their imaginations through traditional role-play, in a modern setting that they can make their own.”

Uhm, okay. I think he’s grooming his future daughter-in-law, or maybe a second wife since the first one didn’t work out. [She hated housework.]

How about this:
—“empowers preschool

girls to use their imagination inside and around their very own play space, featuring everything they need to role-play alone or with friends.  From baking muffins to washing clothes to caring for their dolls, girls

now have a place where they can set their imaginations free.”
[Note: underscoring is mine]

No mention anywhere of letting Little Brother Johnny play with the Rose Petal Cottage too. Nope. Not allowed. It only mentions

girls

and not children in general. Little boys are not allowed to set their imaginations free in the kitchen, nursery or laundry areas of the world. So much for future chefs, nurses ... well, you get the idea.

I can’t speak for you, but my imagination isn’t “set free” when I do those chores. Well, maybe my imagination takes flight thinking about what fun things I could be doing instead! Does it “empower” me? Uh, no.  Something about this just struck me as not quite right. What do you think, am I over the top?

I didn’t plan on walking today, it just happened. Before I knew what was happening, I was out the door with my camera in hand, my feet carrying me along seemingly of their own volition. As I penetrated the forest, the wild rose bushes that have overgrown the path reached out to snatch at my clothing with their thorny fingers.  ~ pluck, pluck ~ little girl ... who do you think you are to enter our forest, eh? ~  I ignored them and pushed forward, their thorns leaving tiny pinprick holes in my sweatshirt from their greediness.

The forest is subtly changing. Although most of the leaves are still green, the ground is carpeted with yellow and brown already. As I walk along leaves sift downward on the freshening breeze, making a gentle shushing sound. It’s comforting and restful. The breeze also loosens acorns from high above which come rattling down as they bounce off branches, and my head narrowly escapes a good clonking. Squirrels scurry back and forth amid the thickening blanket of spent leaves, probably collecting those very same acorns. Ah, the cycles of life.

These newly “born” shelf mushrooms look like seashells to me. Such intricacy of coloration.

How did this leaf manage to impale itself on this ragged, upturned tree trunk?

Further down the path I started to notice the vines. Funny what you can see when the thick vegetation of summer is gone. They seemed to be claiming the trees for themselves; making them their own possessions.

I wondered if I stood there long enough, would I be assimilated too?  ~ resistance is futile ... ~  They seemed sinister to me; not sure why.

I walked a bit further, not certain of how far to go. A squirrel came down a tree right in front me, chattering noisily—almost like he was admonishing me to go back. So, heeding his advice, I headed for home, taking my strange mood with me.

I found these grape-like clusters growing close to home. I had never noticed them before. The more I looked, the more I saw! I picked one and broke it open with my fingernail. It smelled very sweet, sugary, grapey, and delicious, but I don’t know if they are edible or not. If they are, why haven’t the birds gotten to them? Does anyone know what they are? New Jersey vegetation still mystifies me!

Until the next time, dear forest. I never know what you have in store for me.

I grew up being fed a steady diet of fairy tales and nursery rhymes. My little imagination would take flight as I was transported into the world of make-believe as the stories were read by my Mother. Do children today even know the basic fairy tales and nursery rhymes? Or do parents avoid them because they think them “violent” and “too scary,” not suitable at all for young children? What a shame. I can’t see where they did me any harm.

I’m sure that’s why this quirky little piece of history nearby in Oak Ridge is now sitting lonely and abandoned. It’s a relic from a simpler time, when children could be easily amused. It’s the Fairy Tale Forest and Storyland which first opened its gates in 1957 and closed in 2005.

Driving by you can’t miss the signature shoe from the nursery rhyme There was Old Woman who lived in a Shoe. You know that one, don’t you?

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do!
So she gave them some broth without any bread,
And she whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed!

Hmm…my guess is that in today’s society she would be arrested on child abuse, but they probably deserved it for messing up the shoe from toe to heel. If you are curious as to the origins of the rhyme, click here. I even found one site where someone had written a ‘kinder, gentler” version of their own—ugh. Nothing is sacred.

The shoe is huge. This is the view as I stand next to it:

I love how it even has big wooden bobbles for buttons, although a few seem to have gone missing.

There isn’t much left to see except for the facade. It’s really sad.

Through this window I could see a knight in not-so-shining armor.

This happy mushroom greets people out by the road. Are you feeling transported back in time yet?

There was an article in our local newspaper about a month or so ago about the Fairy Tale Forest. It was the brainchild of a German immigrant, Paul Woehle, who wanted to keep alive the stories from his native Germany to share with his new country. Woehle made most of the life-size figures that are said to exist in the forest from a plaster, burlap and sawdust mix in a workroom on the grounds. How did he make the shoe I have to wonder? Oh how I wanted to creep around the back and steal away into the childhood realm that lurked behind the locked gate! There are no No Trespassing signs posted, but the article talked of how it was frowned upon to enter the closed site. Next time I think I might get the courage up to ask if I can go in to take some photos. Maybe under the guise of doing a story, after all, it wouldn’t be a lie now, would it? You all would like to see more I’m sure!

I did peek through the gate underneath the shoe, but was disappointed with the view. Nothing to be seen!

I connected strongly with the Fairy Tale Forest. How I wish it was still in operation so I could go through it and relive a part of childhood! You see, when I was a child we visited Storytown U.S.A. in Lake George, New York several times. I remember going in and out of the miniature houses and posing with the statues. If you look closely in the first photo below you can see me and my sister posing amongst the characters. There I am by the skunk and my sister is by the elephant.

Here we are with Paul Bunyan.

Obviously these photos were taken a few years apart since we are both a few years older in the last photo (taken in 1960). Storytown opened in 1954. It still exists today, but was swallowed up and incorporated into a Six Flags theme park called the Great Escape. At least it’s still there.

I hope you’ve enjoyed our little escape back in time. I wish I could end with “and they all lived happily ever after,” but unfortunately for the Fairy Tale Forest in Oak Ridge, New Jersey that is not the case.

 

More...

I love graveyards; the older the better. Sorry, I know many people think they are depressing; death and doom come to most people’s minds. But my mind goes beyond the inscription on the stone, trying to read something into it and thereby gaining some insight into the person that once lived. Morbid? No, not to me.

One of the roads to the cabin was marked Old Cemetery Road, and for good reason. As we drove down this tiny one lane road, here was a cemetery in this out-of-the-way-spot with no church in sight. Why here, we wondered? One look at all the crooked, leaning headstones and I knew I would be coming back to this spot for a closer look round.

A dramatic pine tree presided over the graves like a benevolent protectress. No doubt about it; this tree was the focal point. Its energy radiated outwards from it.
Lie beneath me and be at peace, it seemed to say.

It was obvious that either there were not trees where there are trees today, or the trees were tiny when the people were buried in hopes that the sapling would lend some beneficial shade to their loved one. The trees have pushed aside the gravestones and seem to come right out of the graves themselves in places, as if the people were reborn into trees. I kind of like that analogy. In some cases, long after the trees have lived their lives, the stones still persist, albeit a bit skewed. Most of them were from the mid-1800s.

One seems to have taken root of its own accord.

In another case, this tree seems to have swallowed the headstone. Intriguing, no?

And, a plaque on the large protectress tree proclaims his death as such:

Some headstones needed more help from others:

Others just spoke to me for other reasons.

In the end there is life co-mingled with death as seen in this photo of a lovely blooming bush.

This sign hangs upon it. I can only hope that it means the blossoms and not the people below.

All in all, I was l left with a peaceful feeling. If this were my final resting place on this Earth, I would feel at peace.

May you all rest peacefully tonight, dear friends and fellow bloggers.