By George! Will She Do?
As Mr. Al said in last week’s installment of By George!, Princess Caroline was not at all suitable for the role of wife to Prince George, yet she quickly became the front runner. Wonder how?
If Princess Caroline, of all the available German Princesses, was the least suitable, how did it come to be that she won the “Marry The Prince of Wales Derby?” Consider this; The Prince was easily influenced by those close to him. The closer and more determined the individual, the greater the influence. In this case, I’m speaking of (more…)
A.B.L.E.
I have a problem I admit it freely. I have a bad case of ABLE.
ABLE stands for Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy. It can be applied to all kinds of things from books to embroidery supplies to paint. It simply means you stalk up on more projects than you can reasonably expect to finish in the course of one lifetime.
Specifically, I an a fabricholic. I love the look and feel of fabric. I love the possibilities it presents. A bathrobe for Mr. Al? A princess costume for the girl? A skirt of me? I love having the choice and having the material on hand when I’m ready to make the choice.
But maybe I got a little out of hand a few weeks ago.
I walked into sale at Jo Anne’s Fabrics. I normally shop their clearance section. It’s the only way I could afford my bad case of ABLE. Clearance fabric can easily drop a nice satin from $9 a yard to $4 a yard. This time they had a 50% off sale on everything in the clearance. Instead of $4 a yard for brocade – which is already a steal – I paid $2 a yard.
As you can see, I got a lot of yards.
Do you have ABLE? What projects do you have waiting for you? If you had a million dollars, what would you buy too much of?
The Last of the Girl Scout Cookies
This is it, the last of the Girls Scout Cookies. I have two boxes left; 1 box of Tagalongs and 1 box of All Abouts. Who ever leaves the most comments on my blog between now and 6pm Sunday (Mountain Standard Time) gets them both.
You can leave comments anywhere on my blog, even in last year’s posts, and I’ll know. I’ll go by date stamp, not which part of the blog you leave the comment.
This may be the end of the Girl Scout Cookies, but it’s far from the last contest I will ever run. If there’s something in particular you’d like to see, let me know.
That Better Not Be What I Think It Is
Jill: Jack, what’s that?
Jack: What’s what?
Jill: There, in the drawer behind you.
Jack: You mean the mover’s gloves?
Jill: No, not that.
Jack: The twine? Nails? Felt Floor Savers?
Jill: No, none of that. The OTHER thing.
Jack: Oh. You mean Gin.
Jill: Gin?
Jack: The cat. The cat’s name is Gin. 
Jill: SINCE WHEN HAVE WE HAD A CAT?!
Jack: Uh oh. If you don’t like Gin, I don’t know what you’ll think of Tonic.
Previously in Jack and Jill Support Beam
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Suzie’s House 76: On Suzie’s Mind
Drew followed the sound of pots and pans clattering to the kitchen. It seemed Suzie could draw him in as easily as he could draw her. Except in his case, he simply wanted to know what was bothering her.
She stood by the stove with a cast iron skillet in her hand . Tears ran down her face unabated. When she saw him she rubbed at them with the back of her wrist, and refused to look him in the eye. The skillet hit the unlit burner with a clatter.
“Hey,” he said in soft greeting.
“Hi,” she muttered to the wall.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged away from him when he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nothing you can do anything about.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he suggested, pulling her close.
“Is Ben ever going to be able to come home?” She pulled a chair out at the kitchen table and sat down.
Drew took the seat cattycorner to hers. He wished he could re-assure her that the men who made her send Ben away would be caught soon, but so far the only crack in the case had been a brief moment when the software he’d set up to watch the Smash Master’s web site showed activity by the perp. He’d traced it to an apartment complex on the East side where a woman had found her apartment filled with trash, including some bloody rags. Drew took samples but didn’t hold out much hope for a match with the FBI criminal files. The woman said she only saw one man, but he’d had red hair and a laptop. All of this would be very interesting to Suzie, and none of it could he tell her.
“ Rob and I have a court date at the end of the moth to go over the custody ruling.”
“You mean he’s taking advantage of the situation here?” Drew shoved his chair back, ready to march out the door and pound some sense into Suzie’s former husband.
“No, no.” Suzie kept him in his seat with the lightest of touches. “The court date was scheduled before Miranda talked me into renting out the rooms to any of you.” She looked contemplative. “I sometimes wondered if Rob hadn’t had something to do with my losing my accounting job. He made a lot of comments about how I should sell the house before I defaulted on the mortgage, and kept saying I should give him Ben before I ended up on the street. One day at work I saw him talking to my boss…” Suzie shook her head. “It was probably nothing.”
Drew leaned forward to take her hands in his, offering comfort and support. “If he did, we can fight it. Would you like for me to find out for you?”
“No.” Suzie laughed, her smile still a bit watery, but a big improvement over the silent tears. She shook her head. “If I hadn’t lost the job, I would never have met you. Only, I have to get Ben back. Soon. It’s killing me to see what’s happening to him. He’s changed, Drew. And not for the better.”
“You’ll get him back. I promise.”
She gave him a long, considering look. He was afraid she’d ask about the men who had almost shoved Ben into the back of a Jeep and driven off with him. Twice. He should have felt releif when she turned her head away, though her lower lip quivered.. Instead, he felt less a man because he knew she was disappointed in him.
Was this why Ben never misbehaved?
Well Drew wasn’t Ben. He reached for Suzie, pulling her into his lap where he could put his arms around her and comfort her. She sat, stiff-backed long enough to make him wonder if she was going to push her way free.
Instead, she leaned against him, drawing a deep, shaky breath.
He’d done this to her. He hadn’t meant to, never planned on bringing his work home with him, let alone letting it slop all over her son. It was up to him, and him alone, to fix it. And he would. Soon. Sean or Joseph, whichever one was the Smash Master, had already made a mistake once by going back to his own site. It wouldn’t take long for Drew to track him down.
In the meanwhile, he had Suzie in his arms. He knew he shouldn’t do anything but comfort her, but she turned toward him, pressing her chest against him. Her lips were so close, just a lift of his chin away. She sighed, and went limp, and he gave in to temptation.
Thursday Thirteen #36 : Winnie the Pooh in 13 Words
1. Life
2. is
3. like
4. a
5. jar
6. of
7. honey;
8. sticky…
9. sweet….
10. Ah!
11. There
12. you
13. are.
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By George! Enter Princess Caroline.
If Mrs. Fitzherbert is not the perfect wife for Prince George, then who is?
Up until now the Prince had shown a true talent for making bad decisions. Faced with the necessity of getting really and truly married, one of the biggest decisions of his life, he allowed his talent for making bad decisions to flower into genius. Princess Caroline of Brunswick was so astoundingly wrong for the Prince on nearly every count that one suspects the Prince of wishing, subconsciously, to punish either himself or his parents by making such a bad choice.
I suspect the actual reason is that he didn’t care. Money was the point here. Whoever she was or whatever she looked like didn’t matter. No doubt the Prince fully expected to carry on as before. His wife would get a nice place to live with lots of servants and whatever she wanted. He would stay at Carlton House, drinking himself stupid, having it off with notorious ladies and losing taxpayer money at the track by the wheelbarrow-full.
For Princess Caroline’s part she had no reason to think the Prince had any interest in her. She was the Prince’s first cousin. While there were no legal or religious reasons why they could not marry, it was widely known that King George did not approve of such marriages. Her mother, the Duchess of Brunswick, had no hopes for such a union. The bitter truth of the matter was, she had little hope of ANY man wanting to marry her daughter.
The reasons for this were not far to seek. I appearance she was short with a tendency to be a bit overweight. While certainly not beautiful, had someone with fashion sense taken her in hand she could have pulled off “cute” with no problem at all. And that was the Big Problem. No one had, nor did anyone wish to, take her in hand.
She had a very active libido that she liked to exercise on an alarmingly regular basis. Her education was not on par with that of most highborn English ladies. Her personality was described by a contemporary, with admirable discretion, as “difficult.” And…She never met a bathtub or a bar of soap that she didn’t loathe. The first time her name was mentioned to the Queen as a possibility, Her Majesty shot it down in flames.
The Queen wrote to her brother concerning the matter. “The fact is, dear brother, that the King is completely ignorant of everything concerning the Duke’s (Brunswick’s) family, and it would be unseemly to speak to him against his niece. But it is not at all unseemly to tell you that a relative of that family, who is indeed very attached to the Duke, has spoken to me of Princess Caroline with very little respect. They say her passions are so strong that the Duke himself said that she was not to go from one room to another without her Governess, and that when she dances, this lady is obliged to follow her for the whole of the dance to prevent her from making an exhibition of herself by indecent conversations with men, and that the Duke as well as the Duchess have forbidden her, in the presence of this person from whom I hear all this, to speak to anyone at all except her Governess, and that all her amusements have been forbidden her because of her indecent conduct…There, dear brother, is a woman I do not recommend at all.”
It is unfortunate indeed that the Queen thought it would be “unseemly” to dis Caroline in front of her uncle, the King. When His Majesty heard her name mentioned as a possibility, he wrote to Prime Minster Pitt, “Undoubtedly she is the person who must be most agreeable to me. I expressed my approbation of the idea.”
Fortunately for His Majesty, he would be permanently and irreversibly insane before the marriage of the Prince and Princess would reach it’s denouement.
Rainbow Bridge
Did you ever do something so tried and true it could be called cliche, yet end up getting your sox knocked off? I mean did you ever do something like stand on the boardwalks around Niagara Falls and been surprised to have water spray on you from such a distance you hadn’t realized it was possible? Ever spit into the Grand Canyon and surprise yourself by just how far it could go? Anything like that?
I had one of those moments while on Lake Powell. I’ve known about Rainbow Bridge for a fair chunk of my life, but had never gotten a good view of it before because the best way to get a really good view of it involves a boat. Ok, a boat and some walking.
When it turned out we could go see it, I became fixated on going. It was that or go where the fishermen go, and why bother when none of us fish?
We started our adventure at the crack of dawn by taking the motor boat into the correct waterway. At least we thought it was the correct water way.
Apparently some clown had come along and used duct tape to create an arrow going the opposite direction. We didn’t get close enough to the sign to see that it was fake until we had already gone to the end of the wrong spur. By the time we got a chance to take a picture, the ranger had removed the duct tape, along with some of the paint under it. The correct arrow shows here.
It can be hard to tell which way to go, the water ways got narrow, and you had to go very slowly because it was a “no wake” zone. The slower you go, the harder to steer. Good thing we were in the motor boat and not in too big a hurry. You should have seen the faces of the people who came after us – including a houseboat which had clearly gone the wrong way.
Once you get to the right place, you have to dock, then walk. We’re not exactly sure how far because someone with tape got a hold of the mileage sign too. Either it was 2/3 a mile or a mile and a quarter. Either way was fine by me.
It starts off with a boardwalk that kind of twists and turns, eventually turning into dirt.
There are times when you catch glimpses of it.
You can see it coming for a long way. When you finally get to the base, the thing that stands out the most is that it is really,
really
big.
Well duh. It’s claim to fame is that it’s the worlds largest natural arch. I knew that going it. I knew it was going to be big. I just forgot that I’m not on the same scale.
So how about you? Anything catch you by surprise lately?
Shooting Lake Powell
I took about 500 pictures of Lake Powell, but they all tend to be the same thing over and over, and a lot of them are blurry. So here I give you the cream of the crop.
For example, I must have taken half a dozen pictures of this view at Slick Rock. I really liked it, but they all turned out too dark and trying to color-adjust removed more detail than it revealed. You know, little things like the sky. So here I just picked the best and ran with it.
Same thing happened here, but I kind of like it that way. *grin*
I took a lot of pictures from a moving boat and ended up with railings, or a few times the steering wheel. We won’t talk about the pithy comments my son made about my driving.
There were some great rock formations, strange things like this rolling hump thing. I’d give you the name of it, but my mother has the map. 🙂 It’s located a few miles south of Bull Frog Marina.
The map had all kinds of arches listed but most of them turned out to be proto-arches like this one. It’s hard to tell from this picture, but the rock seems to simply sheared off in arch shaped slabs. I suspect water has something to do with it, but the arches show up in high places as well as low.
And there were holes all over, some large but most itty bitty fist sized things.
Near as I could tell Lake Powell is all about wind, water, and rock. You can see the water and the rock. Now let me tell you about the wind…..
Sorry about the lack of commentary this morning. I posted at 1 am and just wasn’t all there.
Chocolate Wafer Crust
From the Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book
1 1/2 c finely crushed chocolate wafers (about 25 wafers)
6 tablespoons butter or margarine, melted.
In a mixing bowl combine crushed wafers and the melted butter or margarine; toss to thoroughly combine. Turn the chocolate crumb mixture into a 9-inch pie plate. Spread the crumb mixture evenly into the pie plate. Press onto bottom and sides to form a firm, even crust. Chill about 1 hour or till firm.
I have a recipe that calls for this kind of crust. I have but one question. What are chocolate wafers?
Support Beam
Jill: Oops. Uh-oh. Help!!!
Jack: Stop! What are you doing? Do you realize that’s the support beam?
Jill: I just wanted to do a little remodeling. The next thing I knew. Wait, Jack. Stop. It’s all going to come down.
Jack: We have to let it. It’s the only way to get you out of here.
Jill: You saved me. You put yourself between me and all that wood.
Jack: Of course I did. Don’t you know I’ll always have your back?
Previously in Jack and Jill New Toy
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Suzie’s House 75: One Toe Over the Line
When we last saw Ben, he wasn’t feeling very welcome at home. He’s been shaky ever since his parents divorced and is much worse since recent events forced him out of his mother’s house. Lately a young tough named Gene has shown an interest in him.
“Hey, Ben. You wanna hang out.” Gene wrapped one beefy arm over Ben’s shoulders as they walked down the hall at school. He was so big Ben thought he was going to smother him, but instead he just sort of covered everything. It made Ben feel small.
The words, “I can’t,” were on his lips, but never quite made it out. “I can’t,” was what he had always said to anyone when he lived with Mom. Now that he lived with Dad, it was another matter.
Dad would never know. Ben could stay out until midnight and Dad probably wouldn’t notice. What was he going to do at Dad’s apartment, anyway? Dominate Final Fantasy X-2 again? It wasn’t like he was going to do his homework or something.
Gene let his arm drop. “You don’t wanna?” His eyes narrowed. Ben thought about the mechanical pencil Gene had given him. He was still using it because Dad kept forgetting to get another, but he’d have used it anyway. People looked at him differently when they found out he was using Gene’s pencil, as if he were under protection.
“I…” Why not? Why the Heck not? “Yeah. I do.” If Mom could hear him, she’d say he was being belligerent, but she wasn’t here, so what of it? “Um… I don’t have a skateboard.”
“That’s okay. I wasn’t going to skate today anyway. You play X-box?”
“All I’ve got is PS2. Not even a PS3.” Ben stopped at his locker. He shoved in his books and took out his backpack.
“PS3 sucks. Come over to my place. I’ve got Grand Theft Auto.” Gene waited for him.
“I’ve never played Grand Theft Auto before.” Ben followed Gene down the hall to another locker. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with Gene. “I mostly just play Final Fantasy and stuff like that.”
“Oh, you mean RPG. I do too. I’ve got three of the Dragon Quest games.”
“You do?! Cool.”
Gene put his books away, then took a skateboard out of his locker.
“Hey, I thought you said you weren’t going skating today.”
“I’m not. This is my way home.”
“Isn’t it illegal?”
Gene shrugged, totally not worried about it. “It’s either this or walk.”
Ben got the feeling he should worry about it, but he was tired of worrying. Besides, it was Gene who’d be riding it, not him. He shrugged and turned toward the door.
“OK. So, how far is it anyway?”
Thursday Thirteen #35: Renting a Houseboat on Lake Powell
1. Don’t let Marianne train you.
2. The road to the rentals at Bull Frog Marina is not straight ahead on the wide, nicely paved road. That one is for the kind of rich people who can afford to actually own a boat. Rentals are to the right. Follow the road until it turns to dirt. You can park at the bottom by the “bridge” – which looks like a really long peer – but only long enough to get your boat and transfer your load, then you have to find a spot on the hill. Be nice to the porters and they’ll be nice to you.
3. Be absolutely sure when you park that no lights or anything else that might drain a battery are left on. If the only guy in the marina who happens to own his own jumper cables is gone you could end up calling all the way to Escalante to have a tow truck come out and give you a jump start. All I can say is that I’m very, very grateful to the Good Samaritans who gave me a jump.
4. Do rent a little motor boat to go along with the nice, big houseboat. It makes it so much easier to get around, and can be used to help the houseboat get going again if you beach the wrong way
5. Make sure you tie the little boat well back from the end of the houseboat. It seems like you’d want it close, like when towing a car, but it doesn’t work the same way. If Marianne had stayed long enough to show us how to do this, there would not be a bow shaped dent in the back railing of the houseboat now.
6. Don’t expect the air conditioner to work. Temperatures are hot at night and scorching in the day. Luckily, if you keep all the windows and doors open while moving the houseboat it’s fairly comfortable.
7. The water in Lake Powell is too full of silt to see more than a couple of feet down. Snorkels and masks don’t do much. It’s kind of a cross between brown and green, but isn’t anywhere near as deadly as it looks, and will save you from heat stroke if you go ahead and swim in it. The shower is supplied from the lake with minimal filtering. If you try pumping water from the lake while moving, the pipes will fill with junk. No, it did not happen to me! I asked.
8. Our houseboat provided sleeping mats which could be used on the top deck. Even in a high wind, this is better than trying to figure out the jigsaw puzzle of a conversation-pit / hide-a-bed that is supposed to accommodate three people in the main cabin.
9. If you come to a sign – such as the one on a buoy directing people to Rainbow Bridge – and the arrow doesn’t match what the map says, get real close and see if someone has duct taped an arrow over the top of the real arrow. Not that the detour wasn’t worth it.
10. Don’t expect the refrigerator to work, but keep in mind that ice placed in the refrigerator will leek out the bottom and make the floor near it perpetually wet.
11. Keep the motor of the houseboat running until you get at least one, and preferably two of the four anchors set. It can drift while you’re digging.
12. Get those anchors set as well as you can. They say in the book that the anchors should be buried two to three feet deep. That sure would be nice. Unluckily, Lake Powell is made of rock, and sometimes you’re lucky to get even a foot of soil moved. Don’t be afraid to pile rocks on top to make up the difference. It really does help.
13. Waves can make the houseboat shift around, and even make booming noises though it’s grounded so well you can’t back up, but it’s the wind that will drag anchors as much as 10 feet, and make you get out of bed at 1 am to dig holes in the beach.
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By George! She's Had Enough.
Even a Saint has her limits. Let’s see where Mrs. Fitzherberts are and what she does about it.
While Mrs. Fitzherbert had been willing to look the other way on most of the Prince’s affairs, indeed, his romp with Mrs. Crouch and entourage was treated “with ridicule”; one affair caused her to seriously reconsider the whole relationship. The Countess of Jersey was the daughter of an Anglican bishop; himself descended from a long line of famous churchmen. She was married to an elderly gentleman of “courtly manners and fastidious dress.” And the mother of two sons and seven daughters.
She was nine years the Prince’s senior and according to one observer, “clever, unprincipled, but beautiful and fascinating.” Said one historian; ” The Prince- on whom her allurements were exercised with the practiced care of an ambitious, experienced, sensual, though controlled and rather heartless woman- was captivated.” I bet he was!
The two had known one another for years, but true to his tastes, he didn’t really take an interest in her till she was in her early forties. In fact, he became so interested he forgot to pay attention to his wife. Actually, he went just a weensie-bit further. Under the direction of Lady Jersey herself he wrote Mrs. Fitzherbert a “Dear Jane” letter ending their relationship.
Mrs. Fitzherbert was stunned. She would have been more than stunned had she known what Lady Jersey was telling the Prince. That Mrs. Fitzherbert was the source of all his unpopularity; that she never really cared for him as a man, she loved his money and title; the King wouldn’t give him more money because of her; she was having it off with handsome royal refugees from the French revolution. The Prince may have been easily led, but he wasn’t stupid.
He had to fake stabbing himself to get her to agree to marry him. And even then, she ran away to Europe for a year to avoid him. Hardly the actions of a gold digging strumpet. No doubt the Prince agreed with everything Lady Jersey said. As long as he was in her presence. The Facts however point to one conclusion. The Prince wanted both women. Each had something to offer that the other did not.
In Lady Jerseys case, it was the excitement of the new, among other things. Mrs. Fitzherbert offered the comfort of the familiar with the seemingly inexhaustible ability to forgive and forget. Seemingly. The Prince’s infatuation with Lady Jersey was the tipping point. Actually, no other royal paramour had ever tried to come between the Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert. Lady Jersey on the other hand, wanted Mrs. Fitzherbert gone and was not going to let up on the Prince until he had dumped her.
While paying court almost exclusively to Lady Jersey, the Prince found time to send pathetic letters to Mrs. Fitzherbert begging forgiveness. “Stuff it.” Mrs. Fitzherbert replied. He tried again. And again. Eventually, after receiving “messages of peace in numbers,” she began to relent, but only so far. They were friends once more. But when they were together, they would fight. Mrs. Fitzherberts temper on these occasions was described as “violent.” So violent that the Duke of York wrote to the Prince “not to bear with it any longer.” And that he would be better off “out of her shackles.” Yeah, why should a fine fellow like the Prince have to put up with a clingy sorta-wife like Mrs. Fitzherbert?
Lady Jersey wasn’t the only problem Mrs. Fitzherbert faced with her marriage. The Court of Privileges had ruled in early 1794 that Prince Augustus’s marriage to Lady Augusta Murray was null and void. Lady Murray was Protestant, a blood descendant of King Henry VII of England and Charles the VII of France. Also of James the II of Scotland. And…the eleventh century Marquis of Este! Mrs. Fitzherbert was an Irish Catholic from a long line of Irish Catholics. If Lady Murray was treated thus, the outcome of Mrs Fitzherbert’s case was a foregone conclusion.
Her chances of having the marriage declared legal were reduced further by the fact that no one who witnessed the wedding wanted to risk going to prison by admitting to having done so. Mrs. Fitzherberts predicament suited the Prince. He could look himself in the mirror and say “Mrs. Fitzherbert? Who’s that?” Legally, the Prince was a free man.
On the same day, in June 1794, that he sent a note to Mrs. Fitzherbert explaining that he had to leave Brighton for a conference with the King in Weymouth, a note full of ” my dearest sweetie-pie” and “forever thine” he sent her a subsequent letter, to be delivered AFTER he left town, explaining that she could find herself a new boyfriend. They were not married, never had been and never would be. He had big plans for the rest of his life and they did not include her.
Mrs. Fitzherbert wrote in the margin of this letter, “Lady Jerseys influence” She then packed her bags and split. No forwarding address. After a time, the Prince regretted his rash act and tried to find her. No one knew where she had gone. Some believed to Europe. Either way, the Prince viewed her leaving as the final piece of evidence that the cold-hearted bitch never loved him in the first place.
There was only one thing the poor, broken-hearted Prince to do. Pry a lot of money out of the King by announcing to him that Mrs. Fitzherbert was now nothing more than a bad memory and he was ready to settle down and get married.
But to whom?
Secret Vacation Spots
Do you have one?
I’m going to show you one, but it’s not really mine to share so I won’t name it or give you specific directions. All I will say it that it’s between Goblin Valley and Lake Powell and requires the traveling of about five miles of dirt road.
Right after supper in Goblin Valley we hit the road. Following directions from a friend we found a secret spot. In all the dryness and dust, this was an oasis.
Better yet, it was empty. Completely and totally empty.
It reminded me a bit of hitting Cape Cod a week before school let out. Mr. Al and I had no reservations, but managed to land in a beautiful spot made far more comfortable than it would otherwise be because none of the spots around it were taken the whole time we were there. Apparently every camping spot – and they were placed cheek to jowl – had been reserved for several months – starting from a couple days after we left.
This spot by Lake Powell would have been far more comfortable than Cape Cod even if it had been filled because there was plenty of room around each site. It was beautiful.
Do you have a secret vacation spot? You don’t have to tell me where it is. I just wondered if you had one.
