h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

When I was a girl living at home, my mother was what we always called a 'nasty nice' housekeeper. The woman never seemed to stop cleaning. That is one trait I certainly didn't inherit. A room that everyone else thought looked just fine never passed muster with her. We used to remark that she was clearly worrying about nothing, the house looked clean to everyone except her. Her reply was always that you never knew when the Queen would drop by for a visit.

It wasn't the only time that Her Majesty was invoked to shut us up. Without knowing it, the Queen was sort of an absent friend or family member, a fact which would likely appall her if she knew her name was bandied about regularly by a bunch of hillbillies.

You also need to understand my mother. She is one of those people, unlike most of my relatives and neighbors, who never believed that you should allow your circumstances, meaning living in the Ozarks, to dictate your lifestyle. Just because we lived in Little DooDah didn't give us a pass. We still had to behave properly. In case we met the Queen.

When I went to church or shopping with Mother, it was always hat and gloves and my socks had to match my dress. You never knew when the Queen would show up and want a picture of me.

I like classical music. My mother is responsible for that. My dad, in true hillbilly style, loved bluegrass and country music. Mother made sure I knew what proper music was. Like every other teenager I wanted to listen to rock. She would turn her nose up and remark that she doubted if the Queen would approve of that sort of thing. We had an agreement. I had to play one classical record for every three rock records.

My reading material was similarly scrutinized. If I were to ever meet the Queen and engage her in a conversation about literature, I would need a working knowledge of the classics. It was fine to read Heinlein or Simek as long as I also read Jane Austen.

The table had to be set properly, even if we were only having a bowl of soup and a sandwich. There was always a crisp, clean tablecloth and linen napkins. In true country fashion, Mother always cooked more food than was needed just for the family, in case friends or relatives dropped by at mealtime, which happened quite a lot. Mother was an excellent cook. Whenever my dad remarked that he didn't think we needed that much food and that he doubdted if the Queen would be arriving for dinner, Mother always countered with, "She has to eat someplace."

On my first trip to England after Frank died, Kelli took me to Windsor Castle. The Queen's flag was flying, so we knew that she was in residence. I was eager to get home and tell Mother that I was in the Queen's home, that she was actually there, and wonder of wonders, I saw her dishes! Given my upbringing, it was almost like finding Avalon. I expected her to be impressed and proud. Instead I got the third degree. What was I wearing? Slacks and a blouse. Harrumph. No wonder I wasn't invited to tea!

Mother is 89 now. She no longer keeps a spotless house and wouldn't be caught dead cooking. Thank heavens for microwaves, or she'd starve. But she still 'fixes up' to go out in public, still appreciates good literature and music, and still feels a bit wistful to have spent her life living in the wrong place. Last Sunday I fixed her a rich stew for lunch and true to form she commented that she imagined it tasted better than what the Queen was having. That is praise indeed.

You know how we often wish for the impossible? My impossible wish is that my mother could met the Queen. What an event that would be.

What a great story. I'll bet she and the Queen would get along, too.

Ya know, she would perhaps find that the elderly Lady could not be the Queen but some imposter. The TRUE one would look far younger at all times ...

I do know of the cook more than you need though. It's something that my wife and I do of our own volition, not any family custom. And as you know, it results in me having some pretty fab lunches for the work day

To be honest, it sounds like your mother and the queen would get on. Shame it probably won't happen, but then imagine being a playfellow (no inuendo intended) of Prince Charles and Andrew. Princess Anne might have been quite fun though, as long as you liked horses.

Princess Anne is quite a looker too. I was to the school of Communications and Electronics of the Canadian military only a few months ago, and the picture they have displayed of her ... (Commander in Chief of that branch)

Mind, it is the same picture that they had when I was first there in '77 ...

My parents, my mother especially, used to make me dress up for all occasions, regardless, even those where it was entirely inappropriate and I stuck out like a sore thumb. But as I get older I like to dress with a degree of decorum, even in the Texas summer heat. I think the current description for what I aim for is smart casual, but with my own stylings. I don't own a suit, or even a tie, and I haven't for a couple of decades, but I can still posh meself up to a good level of respectability. A decent pair of shoes is the foundation you need to build upon. Get that right and everything else follows.

What a fascinating post Hypatia! I am curious as to why the Queen should figure in your mother's thinking so much. Is she of British stock, of does she just like the idea of having a Royal Family rather than a Presidential one?

I am afraid my mother's only concerns were the neighbours, oh, and when I wasn't behaving as I should, Jesus was apparently watching This from a woman who did all the C of E things except attend church, apart from the regulation events - from the cradle to the grave She would have been 107 this year and I sometimes wonder what she would think of today's world.

Incidentally, perhaps you should write to the Queen and explain about your Mum. I suspect you would get a letter back, at least from her staff Even that would please your Mum I suspect. Go on, she likes reading personal, hand written letters apparently!



Websailor

What a lovely story, Hyp.
My parents always said they didn't give a damn about what the neighbours were thinking, but that wasn't true.
We always stuck out in the neighbourhood, although not because of our clothes, because we never had fashionable clothes, but we had to 'behave' and weren't allowed all sorts of things. Plus, we knew it wasn't the stork bringing the babies. That caused quite some uproar at the time, and our friends said we were liars.

Hah! Splendid! A Hyp-story .. what a special treat indeed! ... .. and I love the way you write them ... Hyp-style ... those evocative paragraphs that find their way into the soft-spots of my heart .. ..

and I happen to know she has a few more of these stories tucked away in the corner of her memory .. tee hee ... ...

yes that was a hint ... ..



And what I am also enjoying is the story-snippets .. the little previews ... appearing here in the feedback postings ... now I am totally curious about some of the other family/biography situations/stories ......

yes that was a hint ... ....



but no pressure or anything .. of course ...

hmm ...

H

To answer Websailor's question, believe it or not my mother's father is supposedly descended -- illegitimately, obviously -- from the son of King George III, Prince Edward Augustus, the father of Queen Victoria. So the family joke has always been that we are the Queen's distant hillbilly cousins. So when I said that Her Majesty would be appalled at the connection, I wasn't kidding.

I've never been absolutely certain whether Mother believes the story or not. Certain family members do believe it and some don't. I find it all a bit too dubious to credit. I imagine those who believe the story want it to be true. But it has provided hours of amusement. It also gave my mother an excuse to insist on good manners from her daughters and gave the rest of us a way to tease her gently. Any teasing of Mother has to be gentle. The woman has no sense of humor.

I can certainly see the attraction to a bunch of common folk, struggling to make ends meet, to think that Queen Victoria was their old auntie. When the family joke began about expecting a visit from the Queen, it was Victoria, of course, not Elizabeth. Never mind that she was dead! At least by the time I came along they were cleaning and cooking for a living person.

Not that Mother or any of her family actually ever expected a royal visit. The notion of the Queen visiting the Ozarks is ludicrous.

In a similar vein, the first slightly naught joke I ever learned was told to me by my dad's mother, who was heehawing over Dad's tale about Mother expecting the Queen. She asked me what the difference between herself and the Queen of England was? The answer was that the Queen had a canopy over her bed and Grandma had a can of pee under hers.

Another great tidbit.

I do love reading your family-related stories Hyp!

I'm kind of reminded of my mother-in-law telling me that when she was a little girl peaches were such a rare thing to have in an English household when they *did* have some the whole family had to sit up at the table and eat them with knives and forks!

Ahem. Me in a German restaurant, circa 1974.

Confronted with an orange. On a crystal PLATE. With a knife...

I decided not to try.

German friend, laughing helplessly: 'You don't know how to do it, do you?'

Me, miserably: 'No. I'd like to eat it, but I don't want to embarrass anybody.'

The wonderful thing about Germans is - they give lessons.

They ate an orange using a knife?

I peel it with a knife, but never used one for eating the orange.

Well, Bel, it was like this...

The bottom of the orange was cut off, to facilitate its standing decoratively on the fancy plate.

The top of the orange was scored, so you could use the knife to pull off the peel.

I forget, but I think you were actually permitted to touch the sections with the fingers.

This contrasted starkly with the Southern habit of using the fingernails to initiate a process of removing the peeling with the fingers.

Of course, we are the people who *eat fried chicken with our hands*.

We are barbarians.

Erm, yes. That's the way I learned to peel oranges. Still do. If no knife is available and I have to use my fingers, I think twice if I *really* want that orange now. It's hard to peel. You get all the skin under your fingernails, and the juice in your eyes. And you don't get the skin off properly.

But you are allowed to eat fried chicken with your fingers. Knigge says so.

Progress.

I have a really simple peeler which scores round the middle then allows you to lift the half skin off in one go .... usually Those with thick tight skins do not do so well and you get stuck with an orange covered with pith

Thanks for the family explanation. You certainly have a delightfully colourful background which must give endless entertainment.

Websailor Dragon>

Dmitri's tale of the orange ... Imagine the first time a farm boy of Canada meets escargots in the shell? I am sure that my expressions amused some people.