"One ringy-dingy... snort... Have I reached the party to whom I am speaking?"And I am so old I am a trained PBX manual telephone exchange operator. Apologies if I have shared that before.
"Hold Please"
"Connecting you now"
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"One ringy-dingy... snort... Have I reached the party to whom I am speaking?"And I am so old I am a trained PBX manual telephone exchange operator. Apologies if I have shared that before.
"Hold Please"
"Connecting you now"
To avoid misrepresenting my age, PBX systems were in operation long after direct dial came in. Mainly in institutions that had many phones like hospitals, colleges etc.
I was employed by one of them. Calls coming in to me were direct dialed and then I had to plug them in to the correct extension.
My Grandmother's is hanging on my kitchen wall alongside the matching mini-one I used as a child!
Me too. My grandparents raised chickens and pigs before my time, and they butchered the same. The only things left from that time were the chicken house and pig pen. Anyway, once when I was still in single digits grandpa took me along to get a chicken from some farm, we brought it back and he took me and the chicken out to the yard where he had a piece of telephone pole sitting on end with two nails in it. He put the chickens neck between the nails, chopped it’s head off with absolutely no hesitation then tossed it into the yard where it ran around bleeding out. Surprisingly I wasn’t traumatized and afterwards they taught me how to clean the chicken. I remember that when cleaning the chicken I found a soft egg inside of her. I also remember that chicken tasted PRETTY DAWG GONE GOOD, grandma was a great cook. Still, I have no interest in killing anything………unless it pisses me off. This is actually a fond memory.I'm so old I remember the day I saw my grandfather start the process for preparing a couple of big black chickens for the dinner table. The norm back then was to tie their feet together over the clothesline and then make the cut on the jugular so they would bleed out. Once I saw blood and realized what he was doing I found a better place to play.
I hope nobody got Parkinson’s disease further on in their life either?I'm so old I remember when it was legal for me to walk behind my grandfather in his gardens when he was making a cloud of DDT with his big crank duster killing bugs that were eating his food supply. Wish I could get my hands on a copy of the 8mm movies my uncle made of that. And now to think the entire family survived after eating those vegetables for decades after they had only been rinsed with shallow well water.
Yes, started that downward trend away from flavor and enjoyment to the ‘Soylent Green’ of todays taste treats.I remember -with sobs and a shudder - when they came out with carob bean as a substitute for chocolate.![]()
Until a few years ago, my brother kept chickens on his place then he broke his hip and a lot changed. I'd go up there a couple times a year to visit and usually around the August visit, we butcher some. We'd set a fire under a 55 gallon steel drum of water. While that was getting up to temperature we'd gather 4-6 chickens at a time in a dog crate and bring them out. He had the axe sharpened and the block ready. My job was to grab the chickens one at a time, stretch their necks and hold them still while he played queen of hearts. We let them run it out while we dispatched the rest of the cagefull. Next my job was to dunk them in the barrel to loosen the feathers. Brother would hang them by their ankles and we'd both strip the feathers. I don't quite remember where in the process we dressed 'em but I do remember being fascinated the first time I saw the line of smaller and smaller yolks inside waiting their turn to make breakfast that'd never happen.Me too. My grandparents raised chickens and pigs before my time, and they butchered the same. The only things left from that time were the chicken house and pig pen. Anyway, once when I was still in single digits grandpa took me along to get a chicken from some farm, we brought it back and he took me and the chicken out to the yard where he had a piece of telephone pole sitting on end with two nails in it. He put the chickens neck between the nails, chopped it’s head off with absolutely no hesitation then tossed it into the yard where it ran around bleeding out. Surprisingly I wasn’t traumatized and afterwards they taught me how to clean the chicken. I remember that when cleaning the chicken I found a soft egg inside of her. I also remember that chicken tasted PRETTY DAWG GONE GOOD, grandma was a great cook. Still, I have no interest in killing anything………unless it pisses me off. This is actually a fond memory.Thank You for making me remember this.
Closest I ever did toClosest thing to dying my hair I've ever done.
I remember the scalding, plucking, the smell. Do you butcher now?Until a few years ago, my brother kept chickens on his place then he broke his hip and a lot changed. I'd go up there a couple times a year to visit and usually around the August visit, we butcher some. We'd set a fire under a 55 gallon steel drum of water. While that was getting up to temperature we'd gather 4-6 chickens at a time in a dog crate and bring them out. He had the axe sharpened and the block ready. My job was to grab the chickens one at a time, stretch their necks and hold them still while he played queen of hearts. We let them run it out while we dispatched the rest of the cagefull. Now my job was to dunk them in the barrel to loosen the feathers. Brother would hang them by their ankles and weed both strip the feathers. I don't quite remember where in the process we dressed 'em but i
No opportunity. He cannot get around to take care of a flock and I live in the city where I'm restricted to 3 hens. I have layers. When you have so few, you kinda sorta get attached.I remember the scalding, plucking, the smell. Do you butcher now?