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Sunday is my grandmother's birthday. She would have been 94 this year.
I can still remember her feisty ways of *not* swearing. She'd crunch up her face and growl "Oh.... H!" Or when she didn't understand something, "What the Sam Hill's that?" (I never did quite figure out what Sam Hill was supposed to represent.)
She was frugal almost to a fault. She bought big paper sacks full of bread past its expiry; she saved bite-sized pieces of leftovers carefully wrapped in reused tinfoil; she washed paper plates. Unless my mom caught her at it and made her pitch the plates, that is.
I remember the shape of her teeth and her chin when she'd smile.
She'd send us gifts every year, long past when she could travel to be with us for birthdays or Christmas. In later years these never failed to include three shiny brass coat hangers per person, taped into a bundle with Scotch tape and wrapped in paper that was probably new decades earlier. My coat closet still has those hangers.
I remember her cooking. She'd do Salisbury steak, she'd drink coffee from a red-and-white patterned mug, she'd produce green foamy stuff with little marshmallows in it for dessert. (Hey, it tasted good, but I admit it mystifies me to this day.)
She and my grandpa were great card players, though of course he wouldn't include her in that statement even under torture. If I'd grown up closer to them I'd be a much better card player myself.
I remember playing dress-up with all her costume jewelry. For some reason she never got mad at us for the, erm, thorough rearrangement of her collection.
Just rememberin' the good stuff, today.
I can still remember her feisty ways of *not* swearing. She'd crunch up her face and growl "Oh.... H!" Or when she didn't understand something, "What the Sam Hill's that?" (I never did quite figure out what Sam Hill was supposed to represent.)
She was frugal almost to a fault. She bought big paper sacks full of bread past its expiry; she saved bite-sized pieces of leftovers carefully wrapped in reused tinfoil; she washed paper plates. Unless my mom caught her at it and made her pitch the plates, that is.
I remember the shape of her teeth and her chin when she'd smile.
She'd send us gifts every year, long past when she could travel to be with us for birthdays or Christmas. In later years these never failed to include three shiny brass coat hangers per person, taped into a bundle with Scotch tape and wrapped in paper that was probably new decades earlier. My coat closet still has those hangers.
I remember her cooking. She'd do Salisbury steak, she'd drink coffee from a red-and-white patterned mug, she'd produce green foamy stuff with little marshmallows in it for dessert. (Hey, it tasted good, but I admit it mystifies me to this day.)
She and my grandpa were great card players, though of course he wouldn't include her in that statement even under torture. If I'd grown up closer to them I'd be a much better card player myself.
I remember playing dress-up with all her costume jewelry. For some reason she never got mad at us for the, erm, thorough rearrangement of her collection.
Just rememberin' the good stuff, today.
More "Sam Hill" Apocrypha
[begin quoted story]
According to the Facts on File Folks, Colonel Samuel Hill of Guilford, Conn.
was a perpetual political candidate (who was apparently so unsuccessful that
except for the Encyclopedia of American Politics [1946], there is scarce
evidence for his having ever existed). In any case, he inspired the saying
to "run like Sam Hill", or "go like Sam Hill." This served neatly as a
personified euphemism for hell amongst our [American] Puritan ancestors.
[end quoted story]
I found a number of references to the phrase originating as a Cockney phrase, but also found a number of other references debunking that theory.
I suspect the reference to "Samiel" - the devil - is more likely, especially as "Sam Hill" is generally used as an euphemism for "hell".
(Jen's right. I am *such* a frustrated librarian.)
Re: More "Sam Hill" Apocrypha
I could imagine either origin.