Your friend Jim George thinks you'd be a great addition to Ricochet, so we'd like to offer you a special deal: You can become a member for no initial charge for one month!
Ricochet is a community of like-minded people who enjoy writing about and discussing politics (usually of the center-right nature), culture, sports, history, and just about every other topic under the sun in a fully moderated environment. We’re so sure you’ll like Ricochet, we’ll let you join and get your first month for free. Kick the tires: read the always eclectic member feed, write some posts, join discussions, participate in a live chat or two, and listen to a few of our over 50 (free) podcasts on every conceivable topic, hosted by some of the biggest names on the right, for 30 days on us. We’re confident you’re gonna love it.
Heh, and then there is this starting about 9:00:
This is the Quote of the Day, the easiest way to start a conversation on Ricochet. If you’d like to join in the fun, sign up here:
http://ricochet.com/752667/quote-of-the-day-may-signup-sheet/
Maybe after the Great Collapse we could go back to tally sticks to control TP hoarding—an 18-roll pkg of TP could be a thumb-sized cut, down to one of a swollen barley corn for a single roll.
As soon as I saw this post, I was thrown back to 1964. We were moving to Pittsburgh, where Dad had been offered a position as an instructor in Duquesne University’s Institute of African Affairs, and because we didn’t know if this was going to be permanent or not, we were hoping to rent a house for a year. We looked at several possibilities, and then we found a house in Bethel Park, belonging to a wonderful middle-aged couple, Jacques (a Swiss chemist) and Alice (a wonderful hippy-type artist) who were proposing to tour Mexico for a year and looking to rent their house while they did. A more mismatched couple couldn’t possibly be imagined. But, dear friends and lovely people.
It was a lovely house, described as “Pennsylvania Dutch farmhouse for the first story”, and “Swiss Chalet for the second”, which they’d built themselves in 1941. It had a wonderful garden, and slightly more than an acre of property, including a pond which we’d skate on in the winter.
During the “tour” of the house, I noticed a lot of pencil notations on one of the door frames. Yes, it was a tally stick of the heights of the family and neighborhood children over the decades. One of those children was Barbara Feldon (“Barbara Hall” at the time), of Get Smart, Agent 99 fame. She lived, and grew up, next-door-but-one to Jacques and Alice. (Yikes. Glory be. Barbara Feldon is 87. Bless.)
A year later, when it became clear that Dad would stay at Duquesne, we bought the house next-door-but-one that Barbara Feldon grew up in. And we lived there for thirteen years.
A great place to grow up. I’m glad we lucked into it.
Our family measured the growth of the children on a door frame from about 1951 when I was six. When the grandchildren came, they, too, were measured there, until they became adults. The house finally had to be sold nearly 50 years after that tradition had begun. Saying goodbye to that doorframe was part of the sweet sadness of the transition.
Cutting off thumbs seems a little overboard – I was thinking beatings.
Clan Toad has lived here at Toad Hall for 19 years. Here is our pantry:
Humans are so clever. I bet some of them figured out how to game the system.