Saturday, August 16, 2014

Wonderful Feel-Good Summer Photo

This photo just makes me grin!

That is a wonderful hat, too!  And the pup looks like he had to work hard to keep up with those young ladies that summer.

Pile of Boys and a Dog

 Summer is summer, even if your pop is president!

This pile of boys are Roosevelts at Sagamore Hill on Oyster Bay, Long Island, NY.  
The cool thing about this 1904 photo is the photographer is Edward Curtis

Thursday, August 14, 2014

1928 Stormy Weather Flapper Pup!

Library of Congress image

 "Flapper galoshes" for the Pup, Peter Pan, wire-haired terrier pet of the personal Secretary to President Coolidge  arrived at the White House today attired in "flapper galoshes".  

I don't know about you, but when I think of flappers from 1928 I certainly don't imagine galoshes!!  I wonder if there were flapper styled galoshes???  Let me look around...

OK - Here is what I found.  Galoshes are in the story!  The quote I like from the following NY Times 1922 article is "You feel sort of swashbuckley when you walk...".

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

John Philip Sousa's Dogs!

Why is it so interesting to see the dogs a famous person had?  
This is 1922;  Sousa looks as if he needed his dog's company.  

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

First Morning of Day Camp Excitement

Everyone is all wound up about Jerry's first day of day camp!

This was taken in 1935, and Jerry's story was on the back.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Alex the Dog Goes for a Drive

Alex is being a good dog and going along with the photographer's request to drive the car, even though it makes him nervous knowing he can't reach the pedals.

Library of Congress image, identified dog as Alex

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Summer Friends

Blessings on thee, little man,
       Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
       With thy turned-up pantaloons,
    And thy merry whistled tunes;

Until I went looking for Whittier's poem for here I had never read it all.  It's what one would wish for all children.

The Barefoot Boy

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,—
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,
Of the wild-flower’s time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole’s nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;
Of the black wasp’s cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks,
Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,—
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O’er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!