On May 20, 2006, I met my 70th first date at a coffee shop in Portsmouth, Virginia. Less than 90 days later, we were officially engaged to be married. Our wedding date was set for January 1st. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. Being mired in romantic love was every bit as delicious as I’d imagined it would be.

The best part was knowing that my dating days were behind me and also knowing that I’d survived my last lonely Christmas. In years prior, I’d gone to desperate measures to avoid the emotional pain of being utterly alone on Christmas Day. One especially memorable Christmas, I asked my ex in-laws if I could come to their house and watch my children unwrap their many presents. It was awkward and odd, but it was the best I could do that particular year and frankly, it was far better than being alone. (In another post, I wrote about the culture of loneliness.)

And then came Christmas 2006, my first post-divorce, pair-bonded Christmas event. A few days before Christmas, my soon-to-be husband and I walked through Macarthur Mall on our way to the movies. Our youngest daughters (his and mine) walked side-by-side in front of us. He and I held hands as we walked and I leaned over to him and said, “Isn’t it nice to be here with our little girls and be a family again?”

With his voice cracking with emotion he said, “I was just thinking the same thing.”
This man, my 70th first date, my fiance, had been single for 10 years after his divorce. I’m sure he knew about lonely holidays, too.

A few days before Christmas he sent me a text message that said, “It is a sheer joy to have this holiday season with you.”

Ditto.

Christmas 2008 at our home in Virginia

If I’d known how much fun it was to have my own website, I would have done this years ago. As “Administrator” of my own site, I can look at the day’s stats and figure out what search terms people are using to find me. Studying the daily statistics is wholly fascinating and ever-so-slightly addicting.

More than a few people are landing here after doing a key word search with terms such as “Dating Sears Homes.” That always makes me smile. This website was created to promote my newest book, The Ugly Woman’s Guide to Internet Dating: What I Learned from 70 First Dates.”

However, I’m also the author of several books on Sears kit homes so when some lucky duck googles “Dating Sears Homes” it is this website that pops up first.  I surmise these folks are not trying to figure out how to get a Sears Home to go out for dinner and drinks, but rather, they’re trying to figure out how to determine the age of a kit home.

I suppose I should answer that question. Sears homes were offered from 1908-1940, but their main years were the 1920s and early 1930s. Sears Homes were rare before WW1 (aka The War To End All Wars), and sales plummeted about four years into the Great Depression (1933).  In other words, probably 80% of sales occurred between 1919 and 1933.

If you want to learn more about the topic “dating Sears Homes” post something in the comment section (below) and I’ll do what I can to answer your question(s).

Sears Modern Homes were most popular in the 1920s

The older I get, the more I yearn to know something of our family history. My timing for all this  has turned out to be rather poor. My mother and her siblings passed on years ago. My father is still around, but his long-term memory is not. We recently looked at an old picture album together and I remembered more than he did about relatives I’d never met. After I was born in 1959, I became extremely ill and required a three-week hospitalization. My elderly father had no memory of any of this.

After my Aunt Engie passed away a few years ago, I went through an old shoe box I found buried in her closet and found several photographs from the 1920s and 30s. Sadly, there was no information scribbled on the back of the black and white snapshots. Now I can only make educated guesses as to who these people were.

During the years my children were growing up, I faithfully maintained photo albums, replete with names and dates and places. These many years later, those photo albums are the source of much joy. My oldest daughter Crystal told me recently, “If the house catches fire, and you can only save one thing, save the photo albums first! Everything else can be replaced!”

But what to do with all these early 20th Century photos that I found stuffed in a shoe box? These were my ancestors - I think. These were people my mother and her sister loved - I think.

Back in the day, photographs required an investment of time, effort and money. Photos were reserved for important days and special events. Who were these people? And what were the stories? All I know is that these pictures were taken in Rockford, Illinois (early 20s) and then sometime in 1925 or 1926, my grandfather (Edward Brown) moved his children to Alameda, California.

I wish I knew more.

The only person I recognize in this photo is my late mother (center on bottom row).

This is a photo of my mother (youngest girl) with her sister (Engie) and older brother Harry.

This is probably a picture of my maternal grandmother with her first son, Harry. It was probably taken in early 1910s.

Mom (the younger girl) and Aunt Engie with unknown person, perhaps a nanny?

Unknown person at unknown house in unknown place (house is late 1910s or early 20s)

I believe this is my Uncle Harry with his father (my maternal grandfather).

So reads a large advertisement in the 1912 issue of American Carpenter and Builder. I own a number of these architectural magazines from the early 1900s and the majority of advertisers offered products with a connection to the new and modern building miracle:  Concrete.

In 1867, Parisian gardener Joseph Monier was awarded a patent for reinforced concrete, which is concrete with embedded metal.

By the early 1900s, concrete became a hot item in the building trade. The rear pages of American Carpenter and Builder were filled with concrete products and concrete dry mixes and concrete mixers and concrete block makers. Concrete was big money. One of its biggest selling points was the fact that concrete was fireproof. In a time when fire was one of the great threats facing city residents and farm owners alike, creating a fireproof building was a big selling point.

As someone who loves to read old architectural magazines, I thought I’d seen it all - until I found this ad for concrete pine boxes. The ad promises, “Wooden boxes are rapidly becoming a thing of the past.”

Uh, it’s been almost 100 years since that statement was made and it hasn’t proven true.  “Wooden boxes” still abound.

I’d love to know how many contractors made money selling concrete caskets during the slow seasons of their building business.

Concrete pine boxes offer big profits (from 1912 American Carpenter and Builder Magazine)

Today’s headlines report that major marketers are withdrawing their prime-time ads featuring Tiger Woods. And the rest of the media headlines crackle with excitement over the man’s quick fall from grace. Comments posted at blogs and news sites are not especially kind either. In fact, some of them are downright ugly.

There’s a word for this:  schadenfreude.

It’s a German word that means delighting in the misfortune of others. I had never heard of this word until I was doing some research for my book The Ugly Woman’s Guide to Internet Dating: What I Learned From 70 First Dates. Before this, I’d heard it described as “The Crab Theory.”

Put one crab in a five-gallon bucket and Mr. Crab will do everything in his power to scale its smooth wall and crawl out of that bucket. Put two or more crabs in a bucket and when one starts to climb up, the others will grab him and pull him back down into the bucket. Unfortunately, humans sometime exhibit the same tendencies as crabs.

In my own life, I’ve struggled mightily with envy, and I’m sorry to say that too many times, I had a decided leaning toward the crab/schadenfreude side.

And then one day, I read a story in the Christian Science Sentinel about a woman who’d spent a lifetime cultivating the habit of gratitude. She said that her mother had taught her to feel sincerely joyous and grateful for the good things that happened in other people’s lives, and to take it as a personal promise from God that, if it happened for them, it could happen for her, too.

The Buddhist have a word for this: Mudita. It’s the practice of finding joy in other people’s success and happiness.

Tiger and people like him are human beings. And we’re all cracked pots and fallible and prone to foibles and missteps and mistakes and even lapses in good judgment. Who among us hasn’t lost our temper and said something we deeply regret? Who among us hasn’t surrendered to temptation when we could have done better? My point is, maybe the real need is to stop staring so hard at other people’s sins and take a better look at our own shortcomings and work on improving those.

Maybe we need to stop cultivating the habit of schadenfreude and work on mudita.

We’re all doing our best and we all make plenty of regrettable mistakes.  Why not let Tiger slip off the front page and give him some privacy to work out his many problems and shortcomings?

Speaking of which, time for me to slip into the closet of prayer and work on my own mistakes and problems and shortcomings and sins. That’ll keep me plenty busy.

As most single women know, there are a lot of rules for dating, and those “rules” are probably one of the reasons that I had 70 first dates. For instance, a girl should never call a fellow. In fact, when the fellow calls, the girl should ignore him for a time until he becomes more desperate. That’s just the way men are wired. They need to chase. They like to win. It’s a testosterone thing.

Wrong. Wrong, Wrong.

It was these so-called rules that about drove me to drink.  And trying to follow those rules - trying to play a part that wasn’t true to my nature was emotional torture, with extra heapings of misery and angst. It wasn’t until I was ready to abandon those rules that my life became sweeter, simply and above all, authentic.

When I stopped playing games, when I stopped following all the so-called advice, my life turned a corner. And when I found a man that I admired and respected, I chased him like a dog running after a bus.

Women do not need another “how to find a good man” book with more advice on how they should “act.” If you invest your best energies in being real and authentic, there’ll be no need to devote any energy to acting. My friend Pamela was right when she told me, “Exude confidence and peace and joy and men will sense it. Inner beauty really does magnetize.”

In Gloria Steinem’s book,  Revolution From Within, she wrote, “As many women can testify [getting a man to fall in love with you] is alarmingly easy, provided you’re willing to play down who you are and play up who he wants you to be” (p. 264).

She goes on to explain why her marriage, which had been based on playing a part that wasn’t true to herself, ultimately failed.

“Having got this man to fall in love with an inauthentic me, I had to keep on not being myself.”

Current dating wisdom is very focused on getting a man to fall in love with you, even if it means that you have to bind and gag your very soul. Such a relationship is not only unsustainable, but is usually misery for all parties involved, and always miserable for the woman who’s putting on the show. And these mental games take up an enormous amount of space on our emotional hard-drive. Been there, done that, and have the t-shirt, wet with tears.

If you want to glow with a warm, sincere luminosity that has the potential to be irresistible to all men with two brain lobes to rub together, visit that land (or that time) when you were real.

Remember the children’s story, The Velveteen Rabbit? The wizened old Skin Horse was the real hero in that story and he also had the secret to success in internet dating.

The Skin Horse told Rabbit, “Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Beauty - true beauty - is about being real. It’s about becoming the real person that our Creator intended us to be.

Or as the poet Robert Browning said, “No need to make yourself over. Just make the best of what God has made.”

Be real. Be authentic. And ignore those rules.

Worked for me.

Next:  Good Christian Man Wants Good Christian Woman for Friday Night Booty Call!

If you like what you’re reading, please email this link to your friends!

When I finally abandoned all the "rules" for women and dating, in short, when I became authentic and real, I found true love.

When reading men’s profiles, you need to learn to read between the lines. It’s a lot like looking at the real estate ads in the Sunday paper. The advertisement might read, “Cozy cottage in the woods that needs a little TLC,” but you understand immediately that it’s actually a hunter’s shack with a dirt floor and a privy out back.

Salesmen often engage in a little puffery when promoting their product and nowhere is that more evident than when we’re selling ourselves to a romantic partner.

In that spirit, here are some of the phrases you’ll often find in men’s profiles. Following each phrase is its honest interpretation.

I prefer slender women. I don’t care if you’ve had a frontal lobotomy and drool out both corners of your mouth, as long as my drinking buddies get jealous when they see us together.

Hey, I’m a guy. Looks matter. You’ll be replaced as soon as the new sleek models hit the street.

I prefer women with a little meat on their bones. I weigh 1200 pounds and haven’t left my bedroom in seven years.

I’ve lived alone for a time but now I’m ready to share my life with someone special. I don’t know how to change the bag in the vacuum cleaner.

I’m financially secure. I just made the final payment on the Yugo.

My home is spacious and beautiful but so very empty. If you’ll come live with me, I’ll give you money.

I’m recently widowed. I haven’t found the pots and pans yet.

Intelligent, powerful women are a real turn-on. At least one of us should have a real job.

I don’t have a subscription on this site, so please include your email address when you write to me. For our first date, I was hoping you’d meet me at the Quickie Mart, pump number seven.

I feel strongly that women should be treated as equals.  Be sure to bring your wallet on our first date because you’re paying for your dinner.

Looking for a woman who is down to earth and practical. And willing to live off the grid in an isolated mountaintop cabin in the pacific northwest.

Looking for someone who wants to spoil her man. I wouldn’t be at this site if I could teach the dog how to open the fridge and fetch me a cold one.

I have been to college but I didn’t get my degree. One time, I made out with a girl in the parking lot at the local community college.

I’ve had an interesting and varied life experience. They let me out for good behavior after serving only six years and four months.

Looking for a real woman. My inflatable doll sprang a leak.

I’d like to have a partner so that we can work toward common goals. Behind every successful man is an exhausted woman and I’d like you to be my exhausted woman.

My children are my first priority. You’ll fall somewhere between the dog and my favorite remote control.

I’m new to this country. And desperately in need of a green card.

I’m currently separated. And looking around to see if I can find someone better before I give this one up.

My home needs a woman’s touch. The maggot eggs in the kitchen will be hatching soon if someone doesn’t get in there and do some cleaning.

I’m just a regular guy who needs some loving. And I’m sick and tired of paying for it.

Next: Read Rose’s “Little Princess Theory of Beauty” here.

Want to read Rose’s book? Click here!

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. I can’t help but wonder how many people alive today know the full import of this day. For my parent’s generation, it was their September 11th. More than 2,300 Americans died in the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and about 1200 were injured. After Pearl Harbor, recruiter’s offices were full with patriotic young men (and women) signing up to serve in the armed forces.

My mother was one of them. She enlisted in the WAVES.

“When we enlisted, we signed up for the duration plus six months,” she told me. “We didn’t know how or when or even if the war would end. Hitler looked unstoppable. There was talk that the war could go on for years and years. The media called us ‘the lost generation.’ We were an entire generation that missed the years of our youth. That time of our life was lost to those war years.”

Her true love - the young man she’d spent months getting to know and love - also joined the Navy. About a year into the war, his boat was hit by a German torpedo and he suffered severe injuries and required extensive physical rehabilitation. When he came home from the war, he told my mother that he was now only “half a man” and according to my mother, he said that she deserved better and that she should forget about him and find someone else.

When she was in her late 70s, she finally told me this story. And that was only because I found a well-hidden 1930s photo of my mother and this fellow. When I showed this photo to my mom and started asking a few questions, she finally told me the whole story.  When she looked at the snapshot, tears came to her eyes, followed by a soft smile. When she spoke up and started talking, she described him as “the love of my life.”

That’s one couple, and one story. And two lives changed forever by the war. And one of millions of stories, I’m sure.

Click here to read more.

Pearl Harbor

Hordes of people have asked me, “Why do you think of yourself as ugly?”

The fact is, I don’t.

However, during my years in the world of internet dating, at least 30 men (out of 70) rejected me because (they said) they didn’t feel “chemistry” or I didn’t have “The Look.” This is really an indelicate way of saying, “You’re not pretty enough for me.”

I chose the title (Ugly Woman’s Guide to Internet Dating) because I have met *SO* many women who gave up on internet dating because of men’s ugly comments to them. The hits on their self-esteem were persistent and unrelenting. Ultimately, these women just threw in the towel and gave up their dream of life-long pair-bonding and decided to get another cat. I understand their pain.

My book is not about ugly women. It’s about the fact that in this internet dating culture, women are judged first and foremost by their thumbnail profile picture, often to the exclusion of all else. And what can you really learn about someone’s character, spirituality, maturity or goodness by looking at ¾” picture?

Nothing.

Like most women, I’m “average” looking (hence, the term). And in the process of these 70 first dates, I became disgusted with the fact that these men were only interested in women who had “the look.”

So I did a little experiment.

Continued at, “Why do you think of yourself as “ugly”? (Part II)

Buy the book here.

continued from part I.

Like most women, I’m “average” looking (hence, the term). And in the process of these 70 first dates, I became disgusted with the fact that these men were only interested in women who had “the look.”

Out of pure curiosity, I conducted a little experiment. With my daughter’s permission, I posted an ad at an internet dating site, using her beautiful headshots. Her “ad” (profile) was carefully written, and made it clear that she was high maintenance and had serious gold-digger leanings.

Within 24 hours, she had more than 20 emails. By the end of the first week, she had 75 emails from 75 men, pleading for a response. Within 30 days, she had received more than 250 letters from men (ages 25 to 62) who were begging to meet her.

Many men’s emails explained they had “plenty of money, a fine house” and blah, blah, blah. Their message was like saying, “You have plenty of beauty; I have plenty of money. We’re a perfect match.”

That made me angry.

Internet dating is only a little different from posting your picture at “Rate My Face dot com” and asking strangers to rate you on a score of 1-10. If you’re a ten, you get a few emails. If you’re a five (like me) you get six emails in 90 days.

I found the whole process to be hard and harsh and it did a number of my self-esteem. I did have a happy ending, but mainly from what I learned about myself and men. I learned that the opinions of others really do not matter.

And I found myself a nice guy, too. He’s good and decent and kind and patient. And he has a job and he doesn’t sniff gasoline and he doesn’t have any addictions and he loves me with his whole heart. And he tells me that I’m his “eight-cow wife.”

Learn more here.

During the four years that I dwelt in the land of internet dating, I learned a few things about single men and internet dating. Actually, I learned a *lot* of things and the most important “red flags” are delineated below.

Red Flag #1:  Three Strike Rule. If a man mentions the ex more than three times during any one event, he’s out. The opposite of love is not hate (or obsession), but apathy. If a man can’t stop talking about the ex, it usually means that he’s not over her yet.

Red Flag #2:  If a man is mean, run away fast.  It doesn’t matter how much good a man does or how good he makes you feel; if he has a vicious side, that viciousness will taint everything and can ruin anything. Any man who shows a vicious side must be exorcised from your heart, mind and soul. There is no counterbalance to viciousness.

Red Flag #3:  Watch out, sheepies! Some of the most treacherous and lecherous wolves you’ll meet are the men who claim to wear the garment of a Christian. The most dangerous evil in this world is the evil that sneaks into our lives disguised as something good. To learn more, read Chapter Four in my book titled, “Good Christian Man Seeks Good Christian Woman for Friday Night Booty Call.” The chapter title says it all.

Red Flag #4:  Do not trust your body and soul to a man who has not proven himself worthy of trust. It is inappropriate (and immature) for a man to pressure a woman to have sex before she feels emotionally ready. Studies show that casual sex can lead to serious depression and even suicidal ideation.

Red Flag #5:  If a man uses vitriol and contempt and ugly words to describe a woman that he once cherished and loved, he’ll eventually use those same words to accost you.

Red Flag #6: Time in the wilderness. If a man from a long-term marriage has been divorced less than two years, he’s probably not ready for a new relationship. The severance from such emotional and spiritual ties takes time to heal.

Red Flag #7: Childless fathers. If a man is able to sever ties with his own flesh and blood, that doesn’t bode well for his potential as a future mate. Ditto on men who don’t pay child support.

Red Flag #8: Watch out for married men at dating sites. Most studies show that about 20% of the male subscribers at internet dating sites are married men. Be wise and be alert that too many men are not honest about their marital status.

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Next:  Eharmony vs. Match.com - which is better?

Want to keep reading?  Click here.

My 59th first date and I were having a lovely dinner together when that question popped into my head. I believe in guardian angels and I believe that it’s wise to pay attention to those ideas that seem to just “pop into my head.”

Yet to all appearances, this guy was as safe as they come.  He had a prestigious job and he was a member of several impressive social organizations and he seemed to be an upstanding citizens in all regards.

There’s a wonderful book called, The Gift of Fear which I highly recommend as a primer for any woman who plans to date. The author tells story after story where women “knew something wasn’t right” but couldn’t put their finger on it, and eventually came to learn that their intuitive sense had been spot-on. The Gift of Fear explains that we are biological systems hard-wired to survive and that we must learn to pay better attention to those pokes and prods from that “inner-knowing” or natural intuitive sense.

Even having read that book twice, I still surprised myself with my bold question.

As soon as that question had left my lips, I thought to myself, “Holy cow, did I just say that out loud?”

I was even more shocked at his answer:  Yes. His first wife had taken out a restraining order when he tampered with the engine in her car. He was mad, it seems, and he wanted to get even. And then this seemingly calm man launched into a surprise diatribe that began with, “That woman is such a bitch…”

Since then, I’ve asked that question when it seemed appropriate. You might be as surprised as I was at how many men answer, Yes.

In her powerful book Revolution From Within, Gloria Steinem points out that on Valentines Day 1991, a judge in Knoxville, Tennessee issued 30 applications for marriage licenses, 60 applications for divorce and 90 restraining orders.

To read Rose’s book, click here:

During the time I was dating my (now) husband, I had lunch with two women friends, and one of them (who’d never met Mr. Fiance)  asked if I had a picture of the new man in my life. I whipped out my cell phone and showed her a picture on its diminutive screen. In fact, I showed her this picture:

The one in the glasses is mine (1961)

A few days earlier, I’d used my cell phone’s camera feature to take a picture of this old photo, prominently displayed in my fiance’s home.

Once my friend focused on the tiny screen, she laughed out loud and said, “Is he the one in the glasses?”

To which I replied, “Yes, that’s him.”

My other woman friend glanced over and saw the photo. In a very serious tone she said, “Keep in mind, he’s much older now.”

Read more about Rose here.

Wayne all growed up

Somewhere around the 29th first date, I’d figured out that meeting for drinks was a far better plan than meeting for lunches and dinners. Get stuck with a ne’er-do-well on a dinner date and you’re committed to chow down 2,000 calories of fat-laden Shrimp Scampi just so you can make a fast get-away. Too many calories, too much money and way too much time invested in some pitiful man who’s got 101 equally boring stories, all of which begin or end with, “My ex-wife is such a crazy witch…”

But then I discovered that meeting for “drinks” presented its own problems because people usually meet at bars when they’re meeting for drinks. I’m highly allergic to cigarette smoke and it’s hard to be your best charming self when you’re busy trying to surreptitiously sniffle and/or wipe a drippy nose on the cuff of your pretty shirt. Further, I don’t drink alcohol, and I don’t like bars. Being around drunken sots is a lot more fun if you’re one of the sots. Or so I’ve surmised.

So then I started meeting a few guys at public places. I met a couple fellows at parks and I met two guys at a local library. Meeting at the city park was nice and gave both me and Mr. Potential Suitor a chance to walk and talk and admire nature’s beauty. Meeting at the library wasn’t such a good idea. It’s hard to be clever and cute when you’re forced to keep your voice to a whisper.

In the end, I discovered the best meet and greet places were little cafes and coffee shops and outdoor restaurants. For  these quixotic quests, such places were quiet and quaint, just right for a quirky girl, like me.

And in fact, that’s where I met my 70th first date. And while I was impressed with so many of #70’s fine qualities, perhaps the one that impressed me most of all:  He never said anything ugly about his ex-wife or ex-girlfriends.

Once a year, we go back to that coffee shop and sit in the same spot and drink the same drinks and hold hands and gaze into one another’s eyes. It’s wholly delightful.

And so many people have asked me, “Why do you think of yourself as ugly?”

The short answer is, I don’t.

However,  during my years in the world of internet dating, at least two dozen men rejected me because (they said)  they didn’t feel “chemistry” or I didn’t have “The Look.” As most experienced female daters know, this is a frightfully indelicate way of saying, “You’re not pretty enough for my tastes.”

I chose the title of my book with much forethought and care. And I chose the word “ugly” because I know so many women who gave up on internet dating after experiencing the persistent and ruthless assault on their self-esteem. The book, in fact, is not about ugly women, per se.

It’s about the fact that in this internet dating culture, women are judged first and foremost by their thumbnail profile picture, often to the exclusion of all else. That’s what it’s really about.

And what can you really learn about someone’s character, integrity, maturity or goodness by looking at ¾” picture?

Nothing.

Back in the day, we met through church gatherings, the workplace, social organizations or common friends. And in those settings, you could really learn about a person; their likes and dislikes, their integrity and behavior and intellect and capabilities.  And that’s a far better way to get to know someone.

For years and years, we taught our children that one should never judge a book by its cover, yet now we’ve created a system of pair-bonding that does just that. During the time that I was dating, I felt like I was being browsed. I wanted to find a man that’d decide I was worth more than a cursory glance at my “cover.” I wanted to be studied.

And ultimately, I found that man. As I look at this experience in the rear-view mirror, I feel sympathy for my women  friends who did not have the courage or resolve to endure as much rejection as I endured. Finding a suitable mate shouldn’t be so rife with heart-ache, disappointment and rejection. Unfortunately, for the less-than-beautiful woman, internet dating is no fun whatsoever.

And all because - it would appear - that society has taught men that women should be judged by their cover.

In the 1930s, The “Monitor-top Refrigerator” quickly became one of General Electric’s most popular appliances. Its design was based on a sound principle and a highly efficient plan: The compressor sat atop the fridge, and heat extracted from the appliance cabinet naturally moved up and away from the refrigerator.

According to all reports, these were also unusually well-built appliances, with a life expectancy of 25 years - or more. Today, appliance aficionados are always on the look-out for these vintage refrigerators, because with a little work and a few new parts, they can be restored to their original condition and live on - indefinitely.

Heretofore, no one has created a reproduction Monitor Top refrigerator which is a surprise, especially consider how hot these used appliances have become. A thoroughly restored three-door Monitor Top fridge (fully restored) can fetch $10,000 or more.  For more information and detail on these appliances, click here.

When I was researching The Houses That Sears Built, I read 32 years of American Carpenter and Builder, a popular building magazine of the early 1900s. Whilst studying its pages, I found an ad for a Monitor Cupola and a few bells rang in my tired brain. Was this where the “Monitor Top” fridge got its name? The resemblance between this Monitor Cupola and the GE’s compressor was sound. I’ve googled all the terms I can think to google and yet to no avail. I love to know - is this the source of the moniker Monitor-top?

Update: A friend found a link explaining that monitor-top GE refrigerators got their name from the iron-clad Monitor Ship from The Civil War. Maybe that’s where Monitor Cupolas got their name?

Want to read more about Rose? Click here.

Ad from 1915 building magazine showing Monitor vent

An image from a 1930 magazine, showing the GE Monitor Top

Full ad from a 1930 magazine

There’s a wonderful book titled, “The Good Old Days, They Were Awful!” It’s an interesting book with many stories of how life “back in the day” was not all peaches and cream. I agree with that - to an extent - but there were some bonuses to life back then. However, as far as issues of sanitation, we’re miles ahead of our ancestors who lived in the early 1900s.

Here’s an ad from the American Carpenter and Builder Magazine, from 1912. (Story continues below photos.)

1912 American Carpenter and Builder ad

Close up of the modern toilet

Take a better look at this contraption. In short, the (ahem) “human waste products” were dropped into a steel box directly under your house (aka basement or foundation). After a time, you’d stir the (ahem) contents in this box and add chemicals a couple times a week.  See the handle beside the toilet (on the floor)?  That’s your stirrer. And see the large pipe behind the toilet? In a perfect world, that’s a vent pipe that directs odors out of the living space. In a perfect world.

I suppose for those who were accustomed to donning warm shoes and making the long trek to the outhouse in the backyard, this “chemical toilet” was better. I suppose.  But in the real world, that thing must have stunk to high heaven. And what poor soul was charged with crawling under the house and cleaning out the box twice a year?

I love studying the good old days and I love writing about the good old days. However, when I finally learn how to travel back in time, I think I’ll take my modern plumbing with me.

Take a look at this “modern” tub. The picture below is from a 1925 American Builder, a very popular trade magazine of that era. Now I suppose on the face of it, this “combo unit” is a swell idea but c’mon, really?

The best part of a hot shower is relaxing and letting your mind drift away to a happy place. In this shower (see photo below), you’d darn well better keep your mind on the task at hand. It’s hard to imagine that any builder ever thought that this was a swell idea. And more to the point, if such a thing were offered today, it’d come with enough bright-red legally-worded warning labels to wallpaper the most spacious bathroom.

Speaking as someone who loves old houses, I’d love to know - anyone ever see one of these in real life in residential construction? Apparently, there were 60 of these put into the Mira Mar Hotel in Chicago, Illinois on Woodlawn. A quickie search on Google shows that the hotel was still in business in 1951, but I couldn’t find any more information.

Ad from a 1925 architectural magazine

A closer look at the tub/shower

Accompanying text

The time really does go by so quickly. It seems like a couple years ago that my youngest daughter Corey (now 22 years old) was just a baby. When she was little, my dear Mom would drop by our little house on Arizona Street in Portsmouth, just long enough to hug me and hug the baby and drop off a little gift. Sometimes it was a potted mum or sometimes it was a box of Little Debbie’s or sometimes it was a $20 bill to buy ourselves a little treat.

She’d look at my babies and say, “I know this is hard to believe, but this chapter of your life will be over before you know it. In no time at all, they’re grown and gone and what remains are the memories. I know this feels like an intense time of life, but enjoy it. Relish the moments because you’ll have the rest of your life to reflect on and remember these happy days.”

My mother was very wise.

On Thanksgiving Day, my husband and I sat quietly with each other in our spacious dining room and enjoyed our freshly-cooked turkey and home-made stuffing and yams and pumpkin pie. I’m sure we were both thinking about our children. I’ve had a couple Thanksgivings utterly alone and I can tell you, it’s 5000% better to have someone with whom to share a holiday and yet, your thoughts return to those days when there were little kids running around the house making their happy noises.

Corey - about seven months old in this photo

From 2002 - 2006, I had 70 first dates. And I learned a lot about men during this experience. And based on what I’ve observed amongst the current crop of single men, I believe that for many of them, this is their first incarnation on two legs.

If you want your own examples of this swinish behavior, log on to an internet dating site and scan a few male profiles. Just do a search using the keyword, “fat” or “overweight.” Another fun word is “chemistry.” (And if you want to see how unoriginal most men are, look up “Prince Charming.”) Or if you really want to see the ugly side of single men, do a keyword search of “bitch.” (Men freely use that word to describe any woman who does not conform to their twisted notions of Dream Woman.)

“Sorry, but physical appearance is important,” writes a 40-something man in the space where he describes his ideal mate.

Another man writes, “If you are overweight or obese, please don’t waste my time” or worse, “If you are grossly overweight, please get some help.”  And then there’s the kinder, gentler version, “I am only attracted to slender women.”

The part that is almost funny about this is the men’s profile picture. Many of the guys that are making the most outrageous demands for their life partner have serious weight problems of their own. And yet, despite their own glaring inadequacies and defects (and bloated bellies), they have a very perverted and distorted sense of entitlement.

Hollywood fuels the fire. From Beauty and the Beast to Hitch, it is always about the pathetic loser man hooking up with gorgeous, perfectly-shaped, well-endowed and legs-to-die-for babe. How many movies offer the contrary theme, of an ugly woman scoring the gorgeous guy? None that I can think of. The only good thing that happens to ugly women in movies is that sometimes, they’re portrayed as powerful women. But somewhere in that 90-minute flick, those powerful ugly women are stripped of their independence and strength and left in a lamentable state; powerless, beauty-less and usually, alone and lonely.

In the popular book, He’s Just Not That Into You, the co-authors suggest that perhaps some of the onus is on women and that we should expect more from men and stop putting up with pig-like behavior from the less-fair sex. In their concluding comments, they suggest that men might be forced into better behavior if women started demanding it.

Sounds good in theory, but I’m not sure I agree with this in practice. Women are already assigned with too much responsibility for men and their recalcitrant ways. We’re already overwhelmed and overloaded with the busy-ness of trying to stay “attractive” for men and grow our careers and shrink our bodies and make healthy life-style choices and make sure that our children don’t end up on a psychiatrist’s couch before the age of 15 because their single mother screwed them up for life. Let’s not heap “101 ways to subtly improve the bad behavior of the male species” on women’s plates, too. We’re all busy enough with our own lives. Why should we busy ourselves with the improvement of men, too?

To read more of Rose’s new book, click here.

Okay, so it’s from a February 1911 Ladies Home Journal, but still, it sounds so intriguing.

At first glance, I assumed that this fireproof house was 90% asbestos content, but upon reading the full article, I saw that I was wrong. It’s made of poured concrete and has lots of hollow tile, plaster (applied over metal lath), ceramic tile and block. Even the floors are poured concrete. Ater all that concrete is dried, the wooden forms are removed.

Very interesting idea for a house, and it’s nice-looking, too but good luck hanging up any pictures on the walls. Small price to pay for a fireproof house - I suppose.

A picture of the Fireproof House (from 1911 LHJ)

Back in the day, Ladies’ Home Journal was (get ready), a magazine devoted to improving the lot of women who wanted to be homeowners, or women who had achieved that high goal of homeownership.  Today, the magazine is heavy on diet tips and light on home related topics, but it wasn’t always that way.

This 1911 issue of LHJ devoted an entire section to fixing up old houses. The photos (and their captions) tell the whole story. One caption reads, “The foundation and timbers [of these old houses] are often better than are found in the houses built today.”

For the two images below, the caption reads:

It seems almost impossible to realize that the hospitable-looking house on the bottom (see second house below) was once the gloomy, desolate house on the top (see first house below), and the changes which transformed it were not great. First of all, the dull color of the old house and the overgrown condition of the ground in front of it are most forbidding. A comparison of the two pictures shows how much a little careful planting and fresh paint will do toward changing the whole atmosphere of the house. More rooms were added at the rear and a gambrel roof was built and into this were let two good-sized dormer windows. A large porch, which was extended into a porte-chochere was built, and the latter forms a nice balance to the right wing of the house.

Here's the "before" photo

And here's the "after" photo

More photos are below!

Take a moment and read the caption - and remember - this is from 1911!

Another photo pair from the 1911 Ladies' Home Journal

In 2002, I walked out of the house I’d spent seven years restoring. My marriage had ended and I knew the old house needed lots more work and I knew that as a fledgling writer, I didn’t have the financial wherewithal or the emotional energy or the time required to work on the old house. My soon-to-be ex-husband, on the other hand, was strong, competent, capable and had the skills to build and/or repair anything with nothing more on hand than a leatherman, a speedometer cable and a couple wagon wheels. And maybe some duct tape, too.

In 1995, my (then) husband and I had moved into the fixer-upper in Alton, Illinios. The purchase price was a mere $50,000.  The house wasn’t in the best of shape, but we knew that going in. As the years passed, we installed new ductwork, new central air, new furnace, some new plumbing and repaired the box gutters, and replaced the massive, 14/12 roof.

In addition, I painstakingly removed thousands of gallons of beige paint from ornate newel posts, staircase baulstrades, quarter-sawn oak fireplaces and more. As anyone who’s stripped paint knows, this is a laborious process that involves meticulous work, mind-numbing detail and very sharp dental picks.

The house consumed thousands of hours of my life. The research alone consumed too many hours to count. I pored over countless magazines and books, reading, reseaching and learning the best way to restore old wooden shutters and how to mix lime mortar for the 100-year-old limestone foundation and what color of paints were most appropriate for a home built in 1904.

It was a labor of love and an enormous undertaking. I even wrote and sold a few articles about the projects. Read a snippet here:

And then in 2002, the marriage ended and I moved out of the house and into a crummy singles’ apartment. Yes, it was hard to see a 24-year-old marriage die. It was hard to leave the family home. It was excruciating to have my sweet daughter only 50% of the time. But there was another loss that no books on divorce ever talk about: Walking away from my semi-finished pièce de résistance. It was to be the crowning jewel of my old house projects. For so many years, it had been my raison d’être and now it was gone.

I still remember working on that house for hours and hours and asking myself, “Is this really a productive use of time? Is this a worthy way to spend a life?” And then I’d reassure myself by saying, “Yes, this is your legacy. This is your gift to the neighborhood, to the community and to the city. This house will endure long after you’ve left this earth.”

Turns out I was wrong.

Two years after the marriage ended, my ex-husband lost the house to foreclosure. And then last month, a well-meaning friend called to report that the bank had gutted the house. Every *&^% thing I did was erased. Those 100-year-old louvered shutters -  replete with vintage hardware that I’d been painstakingly restored - were tossed right in the dumpster and replaced with some shiny new vinyl shutters. That beautiful wood with its deep rich grain - covered again in some nice latex beige paint. The quarter-sawn oak fireplace mantel is - after a brief respite - again covered in crappy beige paint.  And all those old vintage photos that I discovered after much legwork, the photos that showed the house in 1906, with smiling families standing in the foreground, well all those crummy old photos were pitched, too. It’s all gone.

I tried to interrupt my friend as she told me this.

“Please stop,” I told my friend.

I don’t think she heard me.

“Please, I’m serious. I don’t want to hear anymore. This is heart-breaking. Really heart-breaking.”

And finally, after all the horses and the cows and a couple pigs had escaped the barn, she finally shut the doors.

I look at the house I own today - a lovely 1924 Center Hallway Colonial - and my passion for a pure and faithful restoration has ebbed a bit. What will happen to this house when I’m gone, I wonder.

I wish my friend had kept this news to herself.  I would have been far happier not knowing.

Found this recipe in a 1903 Ladies’ Home Journal and it sounds delightfully simple.

Years ago, my mother told me stories about her mom, and what a wonderful cook she was. Mom said that Flossie could open up the old behemoth of a cast-iron stove, stick her hand into the large oven and gage the approximate temperature. This recipe (below) is a throw-back to those days, when you had to guess the temperature of your oven and stove top.

An interesting aside, these old cast-iron stoves - typically fueld by wood or coal - were about 2% efficient. In other words, about 98% of the heat went in places you did not want it to go (such as the room). There were stories in these old Ladies’ Home Journals about women passing out from the extreme heat in the kitchen. Lack of oxygen was also a problem and caused many women to faint.

That’s why older homes (such as my 1924 Colonial Revival) have kitchens that are set back from the rest of the house, within an “L” toward the back of the home. Doing so enables a kitchen to have ventilation on three sides. My kitchen has five windows - three over the sink, two on a side wall and then the third wall had a large screened-in door. Less chance of fainting that way!

The number one rule: Keep the cook (aka wife) alive and well!

Here’s the recipe. Happy heating and cooking and eating!

An original recipe from a 1903 Ladies' Home Journal

Dissolve 1 lb sugar in 1/4 cup water. boil until it forms a ball when dropped in cold water.

Stand a minute. Rub portions against side of pan, quickly stir in bulk until milky.

Mix in quickly pint Dunhams’ Cocoanut.

Make into bars and stand.

Good Christian Man Seeks Good Christian Woman for Friday Night Booty Call.

That’s what his profile should have said. I found him on a popular Christian dating site. The relationship started off so good and happy and full of hope, and it ended on a very sour note when he told me that he didn’t feel any “chemistry.”

“No chemistry between us?” I asked him. “What are you talking about? Are you certifiable?”

I’d heard that dreaded phrase so many times before, but this time, it came as a surprise and a shock. Date #32 and I had had so much in common on so many levels, not to mention our long talks about God and spirituality. We’d had so many interesting chats about our faith and our study of the Bible and what it meant to be a Christian. We’d been on a handful of dates and when we were together, we had a lot of fun. I’d scored high marks with him in the categories of intellect, wit and good companionship.

Too many men had dumped me unceremoniously with this “no chemistry” garbage, but this guy? It was not believable. It seemed disingenuous at best, and an outright lie at worst.

“Maybe,” I told him, “You’re just too much of a loser to be honest with me and tell me that I’m not pretty enough for you?”

He said a few things but all his comments smacked of insincerity. He’d been hoping to get away clean and I was ruining it for him. The conversation was ugly and hard and it hurt like hell.

I thought we’d had so much in common and we had so much fun and there was so much that was right between us. But a cursory glance at his wife’s many photos made this fact clear: He probably wanted a blonde Episcopalian. His ex-wife was beautiful. She was petite. She was short and slim and had enormous attributes and could have been a model. He’d had that once. I guess he wanted the same thing again. He wanted a girl just like the girl that he’d married once before.

But those were just the meanderings of my overtaxed and overtired brain. What I did know, beyond any doubt, was that he did not want me.

Before we parted forever, he made one last suggestion for a “special” relationship: We’ll never have a romantic relationship, he told me one night on the phone, but could we get together from time to time and just have hot sex?

Every time I see television commercials for this dating site, I want to send them my testimonial.

“Thanks to Blankety-blank.com, I got me a regular Friday night booty call!”

No thanks, was my response to Mr. Christian-in-name-only. It was a truly crummy ending to what should have been a decent relationship between two Christians. Because of this man and his abhorrent behavior, I revised my mission statement that night and removed the statement, “He must be a Christian.”

Next:  On my 33rd date, my life flashed before  my eyes. I should have refused the date when he recommended we meet in a secluded place…