Embrace Your Weird Inner Self

I have an odd way of having fun. I've decided to stop apologizing for it. So what if everybody thinks I'm loony?

This morning I took off for a day of cemetery hopping. There were several requests open in the FindAGrave website for photos of graves that were within reasonable driving distance of Bastrop. I decided to make a big loop through Bastrop, Lee, Fayette and Gonzales counties and perform a few random acts of genealogical kindness.

I started off at the Giddings Public Library, getting the locations for the photos to be taken at the Giddings City Cemetery. I dearly love small town libraries. You never know what you're going to find there. Today I was the first patron through the doors when they opened and was fortunate to find a friendly, helpful librarian. She got me set up with the cemetery indexes and I spent a very nice hour gathering the burial information I needed and sifting through a two-volume Lee County history.

The next hour was spent walking the Giddings City Cemetery. I not only picked up the photos requested, I finally got a couple of family grave photos that I had never had a chance to get before now. With that errand complete, I headed down Highway 77 to LaGrange.

Some of the prettiest country I know is in Fayette County. The rolling green pastures are filled with the most picturesque cattle and farm buildings and everyone down there appears to take great pride in their fences. It is just picture perfect country scenery. The weather was perfect, so I opened the sun roof to get the fresh air, put on my Big & Rich cd and thoroughly enjoyed my drive.

Next stop was Weikel's Bakery in LaGrange. Mother loves their kolaches and I can't resist their cinnamon rolls. A trip anywhere close to LaGrange calls for a detour to Weikel's.

With the scent of cinnamon rolls rising up from the back seat, I headed down 609 to the Cedar Cemetery for another photo request. I was pleasantly surprised to find a cemetery bulletin board with a plat of the burials, so I fulfilled that request quickly and headed on down 609 toward Waelder. More green rolling hills and more photogenic cattle. One big white cow was curled up on the ground asleep, looking as cute as a certain little dog I know. That's some accomplishment for a white cow with horns.

At Waelder, I drove right up to a cemetery with the sign "Waelder City Cemetery". I had never been to Waelder before, so I had no reason to doubt that this was the City Cemetery. As I walked through, looking for the requested grave, I became more and more appalled. The cemetery is in horrendous condition. Where burials had taken place, mounds of dirt had been pushed up and left behind. Graves were sunken in. Headstones were buried in accumulated dirt. Weeds were kneehigh in places. I failed to find the name I was looking for and left, mentally composing a letter to somebody to register my disgust with the City of Waelder's cemetery maintenance.

I decided to take a back road back to Bastrop and imagine my surprise to suddenly come up on three adjoining cemeteries, labeled respectively as "Waelder Cemetery", "Community Cemetery", and "Hopkinsville Masonic Cemetery". These cemeteries were in pristine condition. I quickly deduced that the "Community Cemetery" was the Spanish community's cemetery, and the other two were basically the white community's cemetery. Further deducing led me to conclude that the first, badly maintained, cemetery I had encountered was the black community's burial grounds. I'm still appalled at its condition and I think the City should be ashamed of themselves for displaying such a disparate level of care for its dead.

I ended up my tour with a drive up Highway 304, through Jeddo, String Prairie and Hills Prairie. Other than a bad case of sore feet from too much tramping on uneven ground, I had a marvelous time.

I may have odd ideas of fun, but I think I come by it honestly. I can remember many a time listening to my grandparents Hodge talking about their trips driving around the country and checking out cemeteries. I've picked up the torch and I intend to keep at it.

You do your thing. I'll do mine.

LSW

Family by Chance

Being a genealogist, I think a lot about family connections. Constantly. But earlier this week I got to thinking about family relations without the blood connection. Obviously, this was due to attending the funeral of a man I worked with many years ago. Since the service on Monday morning, I've found myself thinking a lot about the people who have come and gone in my 30 years with the law firm.

It's not that common to work such a long stretch of time in the same place. At least not these days. Young people these days jump from job to job with little thought of building longevity with a company. Of course companies don't last like they used to and they don't cultivate the loyalty in their employees the way they used to, so I guess it's understandable that employees don't go into a job expecting to stay forever.

I didn't either way back in 1976. I had in mind to work a couple of years to get something to put on my resume and then move on. I took the position of secretary to a young attorney in a five attorney lawfirm a few blocks from the Capitol. In addition to the attorneys, we had an office manager and his assistant, a staff supervisor, and about 10 of us clerical peons.

The supervisor and four of us "girls" shared one large room and three other "girls" worked in the next room. In the copy room were a couple of data entry clerks, in the back room were a couple of calculation clerks, and a file clerk flitted about the whole building.

Like any other family, we didn't necessarily like each other, but we were bound together by a sense of common purpose. We all knew every client and we all cheered the others' accomplishments and commiserated over the disappointments. If one of us fell behind on a project, the rest of us would drop everything and pitch in and get the job done. We all worked together; we knew what each of us was working on; we pulled together for the common cause. We both feared and poked fun at the top boss when he wasn't around, sort of the same way you would a domineering father. We knew each other's husbands and boyfriends, kids and grandkids. We were a family. Adopted, all of us, but a family nonetheless. We stood by each other and by the company.

You don't get that kind of work environment anymore. The same firm now has 10 attorneys and about 100 clerical staff sprinkled around the state. Nowadays folks can come on board and be there two months before you realize there's a new body in the building. Each attorney operates his own little world with his own staff and they work exclusively with their own handful of clients with little awareness of what's going on in the other parts of the firm. Flex time has created a constant in and out of employees on a wide ranging schedule and it's entirely possible to go days without seeing your co-workers if your schedules get out of sync. There are small groups of workers who band together in friendship, but not the company wide sense of family that I had the fortune to experience in those days long ago.

There are only a handful of people who have been with the firm as long as I have. When I started I was the wet-behind-the-ears baby of the firm. I'm now at the other end of the spectrum. Seen it all, done it all, know which closets the skeletons are stored in, and forgotten more than the youngsters will ever know. I've learned not to get too attached to anyone in the firm, because the people come and go so quickly. So much has changed, in fact, that I no longer have a sense of family in the workplace. It's the office and I'm no longer emotionally attached to it.

Except for those people who were there in those early days. I still consider Shelly and Clyde and Pris and Laird and Gil and Liz as part of my family. We met each other in those days when you could take time to get to know and care about each other while you worked together. There are others in the office I consider my friends, but there are those few that share my memories of a different time and place. And that common bond is almost as strong as blood.

There was a time not so long ago when it was not unusual to spend your entire work life with one company. Now it's downright odd. I have a lot of conflicting feelings as I approach that 30 year mark on June 14th. I feel like I'm one of the last doddering members of a family line that is coming to an end. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else mourns its passing.

LSW

Sobbing Woman Spotted at CarWash

I'm sure that's what some folks told their better halves these evening when they got home. Little did they know how deceiving appearances can be. Let us retrace the day.

To begin with, yesterday was a marathon work session. I hit the office network at about 9:30 a.m. and finally signed off about 8PM. It's getting where I can't get anything done at work anymore, so to catch up I have to work at home where the phones and questions can't find me. I have serious bitching building up on the subject of garbage disguised as data that has been hitting my desk lately. But that's not today's topic.

I had made a sizable dent in the pile of work, so I decided that I would be able to take the morning and attend a funeral and get some personal errands run before re-attaching myself to the pc umbilical cord in the afternoon.

The funeral was for a man I worked with many years ago. It was a show of respect that I felt I should make. I wasn't particularly close to him, but he was always nice to me in my early days at the law firm and I have pleasant memories of him. The service was very nice. I debated whether to go to the graveside services but finally decided against it since the only other persons I knew at the funeral were the funeral director and a co-worker who had to get back to the office.

So I made a fast trip home, changed to jeans, and headed out to get my car detailed and inspected. Once I put my vehicle into the hands of the detailers, I found the waiting room too crowded for my taste and went outside where I latched onto a big cedar rocker on their front porch.

Best hour I've spent anywhere in quite some time. The detailing took an hour, during which I sat and rocked and enjoyed the gorgeous day. I had my knitting with me and my DJ Ditty and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I had downloaded the soundtrack to "Swing" and was knitting right along and rocking to the rhythm of swing music.

And then it happened. I forgot that I had downloaded some Bill Cosby, Bill Engvall and Jeff Foxworthy tracks. First up was Bill Cosby, and while I thoroughly enjoyed the story, I was well able to restrain myself and merely smile mysteriously.

But that Bill Engvall. Lord, have mercy. He started off with a story about taking his wife deer hunting and proceeded to observations on the stupidity that surrounds us. The next thing I knew, my eyes were running, my shoulders were shaking, I was sniffling and making weird mewling sounds. It didn't occur to me for awhile that to the folks who weren't privy to the insane humor that was reeling off the Ditty, I probably looked like I was convulsed with sorrow. The detail guys working just up the way must have thought I was really moved by the good work they were doing.

Nothing like a good laugh and a pretty day to perk you right up. I decided to postpone work for another hour and go for a drive in the country. I visited a couple of cemeteries and took the back way from Red Rock to Cedar Creek before heading back to the Ford shop for my inspection.

It was a day of many moods. From the sobriety of a funeral to the hysteria of standup comedy to the peace of the country. Sometimes you just have to break out of the routine.

Rest in peace, Mr. Hamilton.

LSW

Surviving an Encounter with the Monster

Poor Mojo. Just when he thinks he has everything under control, Mom scares the weedle out of him.

The babies have learned to anticipate the weekends when Mom will be around. They start off by being absolutely rotten on Friday nights, running and snapping and rolling each other over in celebration. Saturday mornings we pile up in the big red chair with the paper and coffee and they snuggle in deep for an early morning nap. From there, every step I make for the rest of the day is accompanied by clicking toenails and rattling tags.

But today the Monster came in from the garage and Mom was in its clutches for more than an hour and poor Mojo was frantic. The Monster is the carpet shampooer. If they only knew that the reason the Monster comes in the house is because they haven't yet got the hang of doing their business outside, I think we would have that little problem solved in a New York minute.

He tried for awhile to send it away by barking his fiercest bark, but for some reason it just wouldn't turn his mom loose. Things really got bad when Mom shut him away in the bedroom with Gran and went back to fight the Monster without his help. He just knew that his mom was in terrible peril.

Oh the rapturous joy that ensued when the Monster was wrestled back into the garage and his mom let him out of the bedroom. He practically turned inside out with joy. He's been attached to my ankle ever since.

It's rough being a tiny little boy with the heart of a doberman.

LSW

New Family Heirloom

I fear that I am embarking on a new collection. A few weeks ago I went to a presentation of the Bastrop County Historical Society on the subject of McDade pottery. My reason for attending was that the original McDade pottery was founded by a great-great-great granduncle, Matthew Dunkin. Many of the Dunkin/Mobley kinfolk were involved in the various potteries that operated around McDade in the late 1800s and early 1900s.

We already had a few pieces of McDade pottery, purchased new by relatives and passed down the line to their descendants. What I learned at the presentation made me view those heirlooms with a little more appreciation. I may just have to do a little more research and write an article on the history of the potteries for the family newsletter.

One of the pieces displayed that night was a two handled jug that the speaker described as a rare piece. She had paid several hundred dollars for it. I was surprised last week while idly surfing around EBAY to see its twin on the auction block. I never expected to win the auction, but the stars were with me and it's now mine. I picked it up this afternoon from the lady's house in Austin.

It gives me a lot of satisfaction to bring family items back into family hands. It seems right at home, sitting under the little table that Burl Mason used to dole out pay to the ranch hands. Nice little addition to the family treasures.

I just hope this doesn't start something expensive.

LSW

Feeling Small

I have a new background on my laptop today. I received a circulating email the other day with an embedded photo taken by the Hubbell Telescope. It was a striking photo of a nebula and the email referred to it as "The Eye of God". You can see why:

This and so many photos to be found on the site can remind you just what an insignificant speck of dust you are in the universe.

LSW

Winter, Family and Furry Friends

Texas weather. One day panting from the heat, the next shivering from the cold. Not sure what this little cold snap brought with it from the north, but my head has ached all weekend from some kind of allergic reaction. Neither Tylenol Sinus nor Maximum Strength Bayer is giving me any relief and I've spent one of my rare Sunday afternoons in bed with the dogs, napping.

It was a good weekend, nonetheless. Saturday evening was a belated 74th birthday dinner for my father. I enjoyed the opportunity to catch up with a cousin, fill myself full of catfish and cherry cobbler, and later in the evening visit with my aunt who came down to watch Mother while I was out. Mother had a fairly decent weekend. She's been pretty well sick of both me and her health worker lately, so thoroughly enjoyed the change of audience and the opportunity of talking with someone who shares the long ago memories where she spends much of her time these days.

It's a good thing I have overnight company every so often. It forces me to clean bathrooms and straighten bed rooms. Caregiving tends to wear you out and housekeeping sometimes gets put on the far back burner for weeks at a time. I'm the queen of the lick and promise school of housework these days, but for the moment I don't have to close my eyes when I go upstairs.

The dogs learned that they can be babysat by someone other than Uncle David. They were dog-tired last night when we got in, worried that Mom and Uncle David had disappeared for good. They've stuck to me like glue all afternoon, glad for the opportunity to catch up on their rest.

So the cold weekend draws to a close. My head still hurts, but I'm surrounded by the good feeling of recent family visits and the little warm bodies of three dogs who are gently snoring beside me. It's a cozy feeling on a Texas winter night.

LSW

So Much for Setting Examples

I had hopes. They've been dashed. I wanted my puppies to learn from their big sister Xana. She's got ten years of experience with this family and knows what's what. She can read my moods before I even know I'm getting one. She has a big vocabulary. She sits up in my, excuse me our, bedroom and eavesdrops by means of the monitor I have installed in Mother's bedroom downstairs. If I use the word "supper" or "walk" or "outside" or any one of the other words that she is particularly fond of while talking to Mother, I hear a distant thump as she jumps out of bed and then the clamor of dog feet coming down the stairs.

I also watched her interact with Bebop for years. They would put their heads together and then give me a speculative look. I knew I was in for it, because plans had been made and Bebop knew how to get what he wanted anytime he wanted it.

I figured Xana would take the lead dog position and pass on the good stuff she had learned to the babies.

So far it hasn't worked out quite as I had anticipated. Instead of the babies learning to do their bizness outside, following big sis's example, Xana has instead decided that if they can get away with pooping and puddling in the house, why shouldn't she?

King Mojo has continued to howl whenever he is displeased with something. Coco, who for the longest time never opened her mouth, is now howling with him. And lately, Xana has added her voice to the cacophony. Xana has never howled in the ten years she's been with us, but she sure is howling now.

So just who is setting the example for whom? That Mojo is something else and I'm living in fear for where we're headed. He's just coming up on 10 months old and is already running things. Can you imagine what I'm going to be living with in another year or two? Holy Mother of dog.

LSW

Stitches In Time

At least two years ago I bought a T-shirt at a genealogy conference. It had a map of the United States on the front and I had a vague idea that I would embroider French knots at the various spots where my family had migrated over the generations. (Let me pause a moment to brag on myself. I can do French knots until the cows come home. Lots of folks can't.)

For some reason I never got around to getting the job done. And then a few months ago I had a brainstorm. French knots just weren't flashy enough to get the message across. Probably why I had never gotten around to tackling the project. On one of my countless trips to craft stores, I hit on the solution. Baby buttons. I bought a supply in every color possible, with matching thread. And again the project sat on the back burner.

Until a week ago. I usually crash and burn about 8PM, but last Friday night I had one of those nights where I was wide awake into the wee hours, there was some string of shows on TV that kept my attention and I didn't feel like working on the laptop. And there sat the bag with the T-shirt, buttons and thread. I got busy.

By the time I started getting drifty, resulting in my stabbing myself repeatedly with the needle, I had mapped out six family migrations with buttons. This afternoon I added the last few lines and the result is pictured above.

For those who might actually be interested in this project, here is the key:

Blue - Wilcoxen
Prince Georges Co., Maryland to
Brooke Co., West Virginia to
Gallia Co., Ohio to
Vermillion Co., Indiana to
Bastrop Co., Texas

Yellow - Lentz
Heidelberg, Germany to
Union Co., South Carolina to
Rowan Co., North Carolina to
Limestone Co., Alabama to
Bastrop Co., Texas

White - Dunavan
Mason Co., West Virginia to
Vermilion Co., Illinois

Pink - Hodge
Edgecombe Co., North Carolina to
Livingston and Crittenden Co., Kentucky to
Bastrop Co., Texas

Orange - Huddleston
Halifax Co., Virginia to
North Carolina to
Tennessee to
Lauderdale Co., Alabama to
Johnson and Franklin Co., Arkansas to
Caldwell Co., Texas

Brown - Mobley
Anne Arundel and Queen Anne Co., Maryland to
Virginia to
South Carolina to
Coweta Co., Georgia to
Bastrop Co., Texas

Red - McAfee
Indiana to
Logan Co., Illinois to
Linn Co., Iowa to
Livingston Co., Missouri to
Prairie Co., Arkansas to
Travis and Bastrop Co., Texas

Cream - Mason
Botefort Co., Virginia to
Kentucky to
Pike Co., Indiana to
Bastrop Co., Texas

Turquoise - Frankum
North Carolina to
Kentucky to
Perry Co., Tennessee to
Douglas Co., Missouri to
Bastrop Co., Texas

I have a few more lines that may get added, if I can find more colors in baby buttons. It's been a fun project. And it points out again how many people had to move to get to the point where I could come along. My roots extend a long, long way.

LSW

That Was the Week That Was

For you youngsters, the title originates from a very old TV program. Sort of the precursor to Saturday Night Live, with comics and pundits giving a humorous take to the week's events.

This week has been an odd mixture of events. I feel like I've been in the middle of an angry hive of bees and swatting like crazy and there's always more bees. I haven't been stung yet, but my arms are sure getting tired of swatting.

But the week ends with a piece of good news. Cousin Robert reports that he and Stacy are infanticipating. Always glad to hear there are more branches popping out on the old family tree. I'm happy for them and I'm happy I live a little too far away to be called on for baby sitting. (Just kidding, kids. Well, not really. The old hen is just not up to that sort of thing anymore. Glad the grandparents are nice and handy.)

Earlier in the week, I got notice that a cousin and a cousin-in-law had passed away some time ago. One of the benefits of having a family history website is that folks looking for people who connect into the family find me when they start googling. An acquaintance of cousin Willard Kunkel got in touch, wanting to know if I had an obituary for him. It was the first I knew that he had died. A lot of internet surfing on my own confirmed that he passed away in September last year.

And then, because I got to wondering who else might have passed on that I had missed hearing about, I began doing some searches for cousins who are seldom in touch. Turns out that another cousin's husband, Vernon Kitcher, had passed away in 2004.

So that's two gone and one on the way. Or if it turns out that twins are on the way, we will have an even displacement in the family tree. (And I'm really too far away for baby-sitting.) Life continues on. One chapter ends and another begins.

I'm still wondering about the lady I saw yesterday. She was in the little white car next to me, waiting at the stop light. Every available space in the little car was filled with stuff. Piles of files. White grocery bags of what did not appear to be groceries. Literally, there was stuffed piled in every available space except the seat where she sat. It didn't look like someone in transition to a new dwelling. It didn't look like she was a salesman with inventory. It didn't look like she was living out of her car. I watched her drive on, wondering what on earth her house looked like, if her car was any indication.

This morning the welcome sound of thunder came unexpectedly, followed by a nice little rainfall. We've been awfully dry here, so who cares if the traffic was awful this morning as a result. It was nice to have an excuse to exercise the windshield wipers. Then, as I topped the hill just before descending into Garfield, I saw the smoke. It did not take long to realize that it wasn't one of the grass fires that have been plaguing the area during the drought conditions. It was a structure fire. A house that I've passed for 30 years in commuting to work was fully engulfed in flames by the time I got close to the thick knot of firetrucks. It's always a shock to see a dwelling on fire. The last time I saw such a thing, it was a hotel unit on fire in Del Valle. To see a home well on the way to destruction is a sickening thing. My first thought is for the people and then for the family history that likely became ashes this morning. One day it's there and the next day it's gone.

I'm definitely going to get back to work on getting all the photos scanned and copies made to distribute to family members as insurance against such a loss. I may seem paranoid to some, but fear of fire is one reason I always take my laptop with me when I leave the house unattended. I might lose my notebooks and my original photos, but I will have a digital version of my records still available.

On Wednesday, caretaking was the theme of the day. Doctor visits first, then dropping off the prescriptions obtained therefrom, then on to do some critical banking that has been long neglected, then back to the pharmacy to pick up the prescription that had been written incorrectly (causing telephone calls and an extra trip back to the doctor office on Thursday) and paying bills and I'm sure I've forgotten something in there. I remarked to David that Mother needed a full time secretary. He remarked to me that she had one. Very funny.

On Tuesday, it was cat caretaking. I had been concerned for a little over a week about Sister's sneezes and watery eyes. She's getting on up there and her littermate succumbed to cancer a couple of years back, so I decided I had better drop her at the vet's on the way to work and let them check her out. I had a coupon for a free exam (sort of a frequent customer thing), so why not? Turns out that we had not done any blood work in awhile, so would I like them to give her a really good going over? Sure. I extracted her from their clutches that evening after shelling out $135 for labwork. The verdict? She may be suffering from allergies. Otherwise fine. She's back to sleeping all day on the guest bed and I'm the one emitting frustrated hisses.

Amongst all of these opportunities as a former boss used to describe them, I dealt with a mother who wants to eat nothing but hamburgers and French fries, dogs who cross their legs and wait until the door opens and they can get back inside to the carpet to relieve themselves, and being bombarded by conflicting directions from the powers that be at the office.

I will be glad to write finis to this week and give it another go next week. In spite of all the turmoil of the week, I still managed to get a result of 86 after taking the test that you can find here: http://www.okcupid.com/death . I guess that's something.

LSW

Family Update

Just wanted to share a little picture that I took today of Gran and the grandkids.

LSW

FD Followup

How appropriate that someone would send me a circulating email about senior citizens this morning. It goes on and on and on. I will spare you all but the following section, which hit a sympathetic nerve:

YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN!
I'm the life of the party......even if it lasts until 8 p.m.
I'm very good at opening childproof caps...with a hammer.
I'm usually interested in going home before I get to where I am going.
I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up.
I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying.
I'm very good at telling stories; over and over and over and over...
I'm aware that other people's grandchildren (or in my case puppies) are not nearly as cute as mine.
I'm so cared for --- long term care, eye care, private care, dental care.

Yep. I don't really think I've hit senior status yet, but I'm sure getting there fast.

LSW

FD Disorder

FD = Fuddy Duddy. I've developed a bad case. How is it that you turn 50 and instantly become what we used to refer to as THE ESTABLISHMENT.

Ok, I've never really liked kids all that much. It's just that I used to be able to ignore them. Now I want to go out and grab their skateboard riding little bodies and strangle them. All day long on the weekends is the constant sound of metal wheels grating against blacktop. And of all the long stretches of our street that are bounded on both sides by vacant lots, where do you think the little urchins decide to squat and trade lies? Smack dab in front of my house. And we all know that kids are getting deaf early, thanks to mp3 players, so their lie-swapping is conducted in LOUD voices that bricks and morter do not block.

I think I'll have a little amaretto splashed across ice. I'm okay. Really.

Now the folks across the street are actually pretty nice folks. I like them. I visit with them when we both happen to be outside. But they have one serious flaw. They love motorized toys. Riding lawnmowers. Ok, I have one of those myself. No problem. But the leaf blower, ATV, mopeds, electric bikes, and I don't know what-all else whine constantly during the daylight hours. And I can't blame their kids entirely. The two grownups are hopping on the ATV and running up and down the street, too. AND, to make it worse, there appears to be a huge magnet in their garage that pulls other motor-loving kids and grownups from all over the neighborhood to their house where they all idle their motors and talk at the top of their lungs until they all rev up their motors and proceed to careen all over the neighborhood. God help us all.

Maybe a little Jack Daniel's in my Coke. Ah. Where was I?

I've always had an eclectic taste in music. Real eclectic. But I'm sensing a sudden strong attraction to music that is in the easy listening section of the store. My DJ Ditty is loaded up with Barry Manilow, Anne Murray, and Bette Midler. And not their own stuff, but their tribute albums to Broadway, Rosemary Clooney, Big Bands and the Fifties. I must not be alone, because a week or so ago the Doonesbury strip covered the new release of Jimmy Thudpucker's album of traditional songs. Mark the DJ was appalled that the hip singer had lowered himself to sing standards.

Excuse me while I put on a Tijuana Brass cd and get a little Bailey's for my coffee.

I guess I've hit the top of the hill and am proceeding slowly over the top and down the other side. I want peace and quiet when I'm home. I want to go to bed at 8PM. I want people who come and take care of Mother to put things back where they got them and not in some new place that takes me a half-hour to locate. I want all the kids to get off the road until they learn how to drive a car.

I want a Craftmatic bed with memory foam and an unending supply of Ambien or somesuch sleep aid.

God, I'm getting old.

LSW

Go, Sister Mary

I watch Good Morning America while I get dressed in the morning. For the last couple of weeks they have been promoting their Super Bowl giveaway to be awarded to the "Greatest Football Fan". Naturally there were the daily video clips of pudgy, middle-aged men making total asses of themselves in their bids to be named the greatest football fan.

I wasn't at all interested in the story and didn't pay much attention to any of the hoopla leading up to yesterday's announcement of the winner. But they surprised me with a story worth hearing. The greatest football fan turned out to be a nun. Yep, Sister Mary, the chaplain at St. Vincent's Hospital in Indiana. Who could have predicted that one?

She was nominated by co-workers and friends at the hospital and was completely floored when the news crew sprang out at her in a hospital corridor. She was whisked away in a limo, given two prime tickets to Sunday's game, and had dinner with one of her favorite players last night. She was a happy lady and you could tell that everyone there was happy for her.

It was a pleasant change to see a prize like this awarded to a truly deserving person. You can watch some of the video here. Once in awhile things turn out the right way.

LSW

My Peculiar Brain

It has spit out another random thought. Wonder if anyone besides Auntie Linda will remember this one?

From an old Lucy Show episode. Say it fast, for best effect.

"Just jiggle it a little; it'll open."

LSW

It Was a Bumpy Ride

This afternoon's M*A*S*H-fest on the Hallmark channel included the episode where Colonel Potter comes down with the mumps. I found myself thinking back to my own experience with the mump bumps.

It was 1962. I believe springtime. Second grade. The last time I can remember that I had boys vying for my attention. (One, who shall be referred to as BA, sent me an entire box of valentines. Sometime that year I gullibly fell for his ruse of wanting to tell me a secret, only to be surprised with a kiss behind the door he led me to. Ah, the good old days.)

One afternoon I felt bad and BA, bless his little black heart, suggested that I might have the mumps and that I could tell for certain if I would open my mouth as wide as possible and see how it felt. It felt terrible, and it was difficult to close my jaws once they were open. Even though his methodology was questionable, his diagnosis was correct. I had come down with the mumps.

This presented a quandry for our family. My mother had never had the mumps and my baby brother had health troubles for quite awhile after he was born and certainly didn't need mumps on top of his other problems. It was decided to quarantine me from them, keeping me in my room for the duration, tended to by my father who had already had the mumps as a child.

So I was restricted to my room. My parents rented me a television, which convinced me at an early age to always have a set in the bedroom. I had a radio, a big stack of books checked out of the library, as much potato soup as I wanted, and conversations with my mother at long distance through the wall. Being the little loner that I was, I really didn't mind the isolation all that much.

I remember those two weeks clearly. I would spend the morning listening to the radio and reading. I was happy to have my own television to watch, but keep in mind that was back when there was only one channel. KTBC, Channel 7. Uncle Jay in the afternoons. Potato soup by the gallon, first through a straw until I was again able to open my jaws.

Oddly, when I think of those two weeks, I remember the music. I clearly recall learning all the words to "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" (Kingston Trio) and "Greenfields" (Brothers Four), both of which must have been in the top 40 at the time because they were played every day at the same time. I can remember lying in my bed, looking out the window, and concentrating on those lyrics.

I don't remember pain or misery, so either I had a light case or I was having so much fun being the princess in the tower that it outweighed the negatives. And the funny thing is that it was all for naught. A few weeks later, both Mother and David came down with the mumps. Grandma came down from Gladewater to take care of us and I spent another two weeks being little miss pampered, seeing as how I was her only granddaughter at the time. I was concerned about the sick ward, but I was perfectly happy to be spoiled by a doting grandmother after two weeks of being cooped up sick.

Eventually things returned to normal and I became the authority on mumps, advising the other kids who were feeling poorly to open their mouths as wide as possible to be sure that was their problem. Grandma went back to Gladewater, which made Mother immediately feel better. And our practice of sharing a common water bottle in the refrigerator came to a halt. On reflection, we realized that our germs had been passing freely among us during what was probably my most contagious period. I think that's when I became so adamant that I would no longer drink or eat after anyone else.

I wonder if anybody else remembers the mumps as being a fun period of their life?

LSW

Mental Switches

When you've done genealogy for 30+ years and you have amassed over 7900 names in your database of people you are related to by blood or by marriage, you can react to names seen in the newspaper with echoes of recognition that you can't place. One of my daily habits is to scan the obituaries for family names. The previously mentioned 7900 individuals involve over 1700 different surnames, so after awhile any surname can ring a faint tinkle of a memory.

I have a lot of extended family living in the Austin metro area, so I do find quite a few obituaries in the daily paper that ring that bell of recognition. If the person is in my direct line of family, I can generally place them quickly. It's those related lines that can give me whiplash over the morning cup of coffee as I try to remember where that surname fits into the family web.

One such case happened just after the holidays. A lady named Wunneburger died. Nothing in the detail of her obituary sounded familiar. But I kept thinking I should cut out that item and put it in the folder of things that need to be filed. I remembered quickly enough that one of my great-granduncles married a Wunneburger, but I had acquired a little bit of data on the wife's family and this particular Wunneburger did not seem to fit into that family. I cut the item out anyway, still puzzling over why I felt I needed to hang onto it. I thought I might email a cousin who was involved with the Mobley/Wunneburger connection and ask her if she knew who this woman was.

A few days later, when I was putting some new data into my Family TreeMaker database, I decided to check and see if I had put any additional data in the program that I had not printed out and incorporated into my notebooks. When I inquired against "Wunneburger", it suddenly fell into place. I had remembered the Mobley connection to the Wunneburgers, but I had forgotten that my Lentz line had intermarried with the Wunneburgers as well. It turned out that this woman's mother had been a Lentz, who had married a Wunneburger, and whose marriage I had dutifully entered into my database somewhere along the way. I had known nothing about their children until this woman's obituary came along. The obituary had listed her parents' names, but not her mother's maiden name. Somewhere in my subconscious, the connections had been made and I had known that I needed to retain that obituary for my records.

People sometimes ask me how I can remember all the data I can readily recite about the family history. I'm not sure, but 30 years of research and record sorting and data input have created a lot of shortcuts in my memory. I might not be able to give you a precise date for someone's birth or death, but I bet I can tell you the approximate years and locations of those events for all of my direct ancestors for several generations. At any time, I am juggling ideas for where to look next to find that missing census record or marriage license or grave for probably a dozen or so individuals. And I have little memory flags that go up when I hit a familiar name, telling me immediately which lines they probably connect to.

I've often marveled at the mind's ability to map. I will confess to having blind spots about certain areas, but for the most part I can remember how to get to pretty nearly anywhere I have ever been. And when I am stymied by road construction or accidents, I can almost feel the brain circuits backing up and pondering alternate routes. And seconds later, I might have one or even two viable routes mapped out without knowing how I arrived at the conclusion. It's almost magic and I continue to be amazed at how quickly and efficiently the brain does its thing.

It's the same with genealogy for me. The family maps have been traced and re-traced many times through my memory circuits and the solution will sometimes leap out at me even when I didn't know I was working on the problem. Even though I carry along a laptop and can refer to my family database, my mind will generally have the correct family isolated before the computer finishes booting.

They say that mental activity is the greatest tool to fight senility. I certainly hope that is so, because my brain is constantly running those genealogy queries against my mental database and will hopefully do so until my heart gives out. I'm hoping to hit 101, like Mr. Lane. That will give me another 50 years to collect relatives. My body may be flabby, but my brain should be in good shape. It gets lots of exercise, thanks to my hobby.

Genealogy. It's a good mental health thing.

LSW

Cumpleaños

You know him, even if you don't know that you do. The notice was in the paper this morning that Charles Lane turns 101 today. Wow. And what a career he has had. Check out the list at the Internet Movie Database by clicking on his name above.

You have seen him as the crotchety clerk giving Lucy a hard time when she went to get her passport. He gave her a hard time as the accountant Ricky hires to get their finances in order.

You have seen him (if you're old enough) as Homer T. Bledloe in Petticoat Junction, always giving trouble to the Shady Rest Hotel. He was the old man that James Garner picks up along the highway in Murphy's Romance. He has been innumerable characters in innumerable movie and television appearances, always playing some irritable old codger or contrary government agent. He was honored at an awards show last year, at age 100, and remarked that he was available for work. He's a lot like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps going.

Obviously he won't be with us much longer. He will be one that won't get the big hour-long retrospectives when he goes, but his contributions to the entertainment industry have been significant. I, for one, will miss him when he goes. He always added flavor to any production he was a part of.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Lane. You've done good.

LSW

Rediscovery

I've been revisiting my childhood recently. At least so far as the literary aspects of my childhood. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I picked up a book on CD that I remembered fondly from about the 6th grade or so. Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. And the past two weeks I have been listening to another childhood classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith.

I wondered at first if I would really enjoy listening to Little Women, because I remembered it so well. I must have read that book a dozen times and watched the movie adaptations another dozen times. But I rediscovered whole sections of the book that I did not remember. You know how it is. When you re-read books, you end up skipping the long descriptive parts and skip ahead to the good parts. I'm so glad that I re-experienced the entire book as an adult. I can appreciate those long narratives now. Louisa May Alcott was a gifted writer.

I was a little hesitant to re-experience A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I did not remember it as clearly, but I did recall that as much as I enjoyed the story, it was frequently depressing as Francie Nolan comes of age in the squalor and poverty of New York slums. But I have found myself enthralled anew with the imagery and characterization that Betty Smith created. I realize why I was so drawn to the book when I first read it way back when. I saw myself in the character of Francie. I, like Francie, always felt like an outsider in school. I, like Francie, discovered that books allowed you to escape your boundaries and experience other worlds. I, like Francie, found it hard to make friends. We both were especially close to our younger brothers and felt obliged to watch out for them. I guess the best books are those where you find yourself.

How nice to discover that books of your childhood are every bit as good as you remember them. And how nice to listen to the stories from an adult perspective. You catch so many more nuances of the writing.

I wonder if young girls these days read Little Women and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I hope so. It would be a shame to miss such well-crafted novels. They are works of art.

LSW

It Just Ain't Fair

Say you're a man. You want a pair of jeans. You are, say, waist 33, length 35. You walk into a store, pick up a pair of jeans with those size markings, don't bother trying them on, pay for them, go home, put them on and away you go. (What am I thinking? You probably send the wife to pick them up and avoid the store altogether.)

Say you're a woman. You want a pair of jeans. You are say, size 14, average height. You walk into a store. You pick up 25 pair of jeans marked with those sizes. You try on every one of them. Two pair out of 25 fit. Twenty-two pair are too small. One pair is too large. Of the two that fit, one is the right length, the other is too long.

To add insult to injury, the lighting in the dressing room makes you look like you have hepatitis. The mirrors make you look like a beach ball, even if you are anorexic. Which I am not.

It's a conspiracy. Give me five minutes alone with the man in charge.

It just ain't fair.

LSW

Girl's Day Out

Well, sometimes I can just be so durned stoopid.

I decided two days ago to use the morning of this Monday holiday to go out to Ridgeway Cemetery and grab photos of a few graves that I somehow had missed spotting on numerous visits in the past. I made sure to check my camera to be sure the batteries did not need charging, made some idle notes to take along about the folks I was looking for, called my faithful companion Xana and off we went.

It's about twelve miles out to the cemetery, and the drive out there is one of my favorites. Curves, gentle hills and pine trees all the way. We were feeling pretty good about life. Just before we got to the Ridgeway turn, I decided to take a small side trip to Dixon Prairie Cemetery to get a photo of the cemetery to submit for the main cemetery page in the Find a Grave database. We parked, I got set to take my picture, and realized what I had not thought to check. My memory card was resting inside the laptop, back at the house. My extra, insurance memory cards were sitting on my jewelry armoire. My little backup keychain camera was dead as a doornail, apparently needing a new battery. I was without means to take any pictures.

After spitting out a few choice words (gently, so as to not upset Xana, who keeps constant vigilant watch on Mom's moods), I came up with a solution. I drove the extra 4-5 miles to Paige, found a Chevron station and bought a disposable camera to use for the day. I was put out with myself, but pleased that I came up with an alternative approach that saved the trip.

So long as we had gone that far out of the way, I decided to wander a bit further down the road and get a photo of the gate to the Friendship Cemetery. That decision made Xana's day.

In a field just a few yards away from the cemetery were two donkeys. They were a striking sight, as one was all white and the other was mostly black. As I was returning to the highway after making my picture, I pulled off on the side of the road, lowered the window, and snapped a couple of pictures. Xana was intrigued by the weird creatures. She growled and barked at them, which had the effect of getting them curious about her. They ambled over to the fence to take a closer look. Like two kids, they proceeded to put on a show, butting heads and braying loudly. It was well worth the stop and made the whole detour worthwhile.

We got back to our original plans about 15 minutes later. (On the way back, we passed a shop named "Essence of Paige". If you've never been through Paige, let me tell you that I can't think of any reason why I would want to stop and acquire any essence of the place. I guess I'm going to have to make a point of stopping there sometime and learning what exactly passes for "essence of Paige".)

We were alone at Ridgeway, which meant Xana could run freely among the graves. I love that cemetery because it sits off the highway, down at the end of a gravel road. You are too far away from traffic to advertise that you are a solitary woman in a remote place and if somebody does decide to head that way, you have plenty of time to hear them coming and scoot back to the safety of your car. Nobody bothered us and we proceeded to look for our heretofore missing gravesites.

We found everyone we were looking for and then some. As many times as I have walked that cemetery, today I found two more cousins, their husbands, and folks nearby who were probably their in-laws. I found some Dunkin graves that I did not know were out there with the Mobley kin. I visited great-grandaunt Molly Hodge. And I found a grave that caught me off guard.

There is a story in the family of Cage Christian, a Georgia-born boy who married a daughter of great-great-granduncle Hezekiah Mobley. They lived in the McDade area, during the time when McDade was a wild and woolly little burg. The story differs, depending on who is telling it, but basically it involved a group of vigilantes who were running in the area. Some would have it that Cage Christian was one of the vigilantes and got crosswise with his companions. The family story is that he was invited to join the group, declined, and when word got out about some of the group's activities, he was accused of being the snitch.

Whatever the truth may be, one day Cage and his wife Mary Ann were out riding and were confronted by a group of men. When Cage stepped down off his horse, he was shot dead while his wife watched. Mary Ann would never remarry, living out the rest of her life keeping house for her brother Joe and taking care of various orphaned nieces and nephews.

I did not know where Cage Christian was buried. One version I found in a local history account had him buried outside the fence of the McDade cemetery because he was not acceptable for burial inside its boundaries. Until today, I had accepted that story.

Today, I passed by Mary Ann's grave at Ridgeway and just happened to glance inside the iron fence adjoining her grave. On all previous trips to Ridgeway, I am fairly certain that the grave has been unmarked. Today, a relatively new marker had been added for Micaja Jesse Christian. All this time Mary Ann has rested beside her husband and I had no idea he was there. It was a pleasant surprise to see that someone (one of my cousins I'm certain) has chosen to place a memorial for the man who history has probably judged inaccurately as one who lived outside the law.

For a trip that started out with my mentally kicking myself, it became a really good genealogy exercise. Xana was happy with her outing, too. It was time well spent for this holiday morning. All's well that ends well. (As for the pictures, I used up every one of the 27 exposures and dropped the camera off at HEB. Two days from now, I should be in business.)

LSW

Getting Ready

Today we cast Cindy and Lana in the roles of Lucy and Ethel in the episode "Getting Our Passports". Well it wasn't quite like that. Neither of us had to consider stowing away in a trunk because we couldn't find our birth certificates. We didn't almost miss the window for getting our application in due to riding around Town Lake loaded on dramamine. But we (that is, I) did hit one snag in the department of passport photos. It took three tries to get one that was acceptable. The government wants you to wear your glasses in the picture and mine insisted on creating glare that made me look addled. Lord knows I don't need any help in that direction, so we kept trying until we got a winner. I look like a dumpy little old lady, but at least I don't have x's where my pupils should be.

So all systems should be go come October when we depart for a seven day Carribbean genealogy cruise. No, we don't have ancestors in the Carribbean. We will be attending genealogy flavored classes and presentations when we're not sightseeing in the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas. There's a great slate of speakers scheduled, we're requesting a cabin with its own balcony and we will be doing anti-hurricane dances as the time approaches to sail away.

That's one of my New Year's resolutions down. I've toyed with the idea of getting a passport for a couple of years and the process is finally in motion. Now I start working on getting the fence for the dogs and the window shades replaced.

And, just for the record, my first resolutions for the year are having positive benefits. My back is feeling so much better and my feet aren't hurting nearly so bad. I'm actually glad that I made myself go see doctors. First time in five years that I haven't had subliminal pain to deal with. I may very well have to eat my words about doubting chiropractors.

LSW

I Have a Paper Problem

The real problem is that I'm good at shopping. I buy ahead and I look for bargains. And the post-Christmas sales are hard to pass by. So far I've picked up ornaments, wrapping paper, gift bags and other Christmas related doo-dads for at a minimum of 40% off regular price.

Yesterday, I suddenly remembered that I had not yet stopped by the Office Max on 5th and Lamar for a post-Christmas look-see. It's not the handiest of the Office Max stores, but for some reason they have really good clearance sales. And they always have some leftover Christmas printer paper, so I make a point to stop there after the season.

I confess that I am a paper junkie. It started innocently enough when I started helping a friend get out a monthly calendar to his family. Plain white paper was boring after a few months, so I started picking up colored papers. And then theme paper. His calendar had hearts in February, shamrocks in March, Easter eggs in April, flowers in May, etc.

Then I started the family newsletter to share my genealogy finds. Another good excuse for obtaining different paper to dress up my dry research articles. The boxes of paper on the shelves in my office began to grow. I got tired of trying to find the paper I wanted for whatever project I was working on, so the paper moved from cardboard envelope boxes to clear shoeboxes from The Container Store.

Whatever the occasion, I can provide a theme paper. Birthday, Halloween, summer, spring, fall, winter, happy hour, seashore vacation...you name it, I got it. Paper with curved edges, paper with imbedded sparkles, paper containing banana (no kidding), parchment in several colors. I have a regular smorgasbord of paper at my fingertips.

Anyway, I stopped by Office Max at 5th and Lamar yesterday on my way home and hit the jackpot. All their 100 sheet pack Christmas paper was marked down from $6.95 a package to $1.50. I picked up 6 packages in different designs. Not bad, I thought. I decided to go check out their other clearance area in the back of the store. Halloween, Thanksgiving and autumn papers were waiting there. Another 300 sheets of paper, plus matching envelopes. (Have I mentioned the envelopes? They have their own box.) That's 900 sheets of paper I toted in this morning. The bad news is that I've run out of space in my storage boxes and will have to buy at least one, possibly two to hold this newly acquired treasure.

I feel a little like that poor guy in the commercial. To paraphrase, "I'm in paper up to my eyeballs. Somebody help me!". On second thought, touch my paper and there will be trouble. It's mine. All mine. You can't have any....

LSW

Joy Riding

I've been hard at work entering family burial information at Find A Grave. I'm about half-way done, I would think. Earlier this week as I was working on recording the graves out at the Cedar Creek Cemetery, I was reminded that I needed to get a photo of cousin Beulah Martin's grave. All of us are getting a little stir crazy lately, so I suggested that Mother and the dogs ride along with me today on a good old-fashioned cemetery hop. Or, as my father would call it, visiting the shut-ins.

Going anywhere these days is quite an endeavor. I have to load Mother and her walker or wheelchair. I always take my laptop along, for possible reference and to ensure that I have a copy of my family files off site when I'm not at home. The puppies are still learning how to travel, so they ride along in their travel carriers rather than loose in the car. So both travel carriers had to be loaded. Then there was my purse and my camera. And the bottle of water for Mother and the Diet Coke for me. Then I had to chase Mojo down, because he hates motor noices and he didn't much cotton to the idea of getting in the car.

We finally got off about 10:30. Off we sailed to Cedar Creek. Puppies whining in the backseat. Xana in paroxysms of joy in the front seat. It was a beautiful day for a ride to the country.

The Cedar Creek cemetery is completely fenced with chain link, so I was able to let Xana run around the cemetery while I snapped the necessary pictures. Once business was taken care of, I let the puppies out of their carriers for a little romp. They had a grand time frisking around, peeing on the odd curbstone and chasing each other among the graves.

From the cemetery, we headed back to the highway to find some fast food. There's a new Sonic just past the turn off to Union Chapel. We indulged in hamburgers for us and popcorn chicken for the dogs, then headed home. The whole outing took about 2 hours and when we got home Mother and the 3 dogs conked out for naps. It doesn't take much to tire them out. It was a nice change of routine for all of us.

I always find it restful to visit country cemeteries. In a remote corner of the Upper Cedar Creek cemetery, someone had hung a windchime from the tree above a grave and the breeze provided a tinkling melody while I watched the dogs having their run. A tractor was operating in the pasture next door. When I stopped briefly at the Lower Cedar Creek cemetery, a small group of cows ambled across the road, and I had to step carefully over a cattleguard to get one of the pictures I was after. I would much rather ramble around in the country than hang out in the city any old day.

Even after I got home and discovered that both of the puppies had been sick in their carriers and that Xana had shed copious amounts of white hair in the car and Mother had dropped her french fries and ground them into the carpet, it didn't spoil my sense of calm acquired by a visit to the shut-ins.

LSW

HOOK 'EM

HOW ABOUT THEM HORNS!!!

Texas 41 - USC 38

Even though I thought it was a losing battle, I stayed with the home team to the victorious end. Glad to admit I was wrong to doubt them. Way to go!

The babies thought their mommy had lost her ever-lovin' mind. I've not whooped over a football game in a couple of decades. Thought I had forgotten how.

The last time I felt like this was along about 1970.

LSW

Stand By for Hell to Freeze Over

Believe it or not, I'm actually watching the Rose Bowl this evening. I do not usually spend my time watching sporting events. I occasionally tune in for a minute here or there of a college game that I find of interest, but I can usually find something more important to do. LIke watch the grass grow in the front yard. (Just kidding, sports fans.) I'm just not a sporty person.

And I also am of the opinion that I'm a jinx. It seems like every time I actually try to watch a game (usually a college bowl), the team I'm rooting for gets stomped in the ground. I watched Texas get slaughtered by Notre Dame so many years in the Cotton Bowl that I completely lost interest in what was going on in the college football arena. But it's been a long time since Texas was in the running for No. 1, so here I sit, hoping that I'm not ruining their chances by daring to watch the game.

Hell was already beginning to get a little frosty for other reasons. For years I have avoided doctors, only dragging myself in when it absolutely could not be avoided. And yet, this week I have voluntarily seen both a chiropractor and a podiatrist. I'm beginning to get a hint that the chiropractor may get my poor back whipped into shape. I'm optimistic that my feet will soon feel better, too. In both cases, I was blaming arthitis and in both cases, it turns out that I actually had physical damage causing the pain. So much for self-diagnosis.

Now Hell will surely freeze over if the doctor decides I need cortisone shots in my feet and I actually let him follow through. I don't do needles. I'm a little uneasy, because he looks big enough to sit on me if need be. I'm hoping that the medication he's prescribed does the trick and we don't have to find out.

Well, wonders never cease. And you can teach an old dog new tricks. But right at the moment, it doesn't look like Texas is going to pull it off, so I may have to swear off football again. It's just not in the cards for me to root for a winning team, I guess.

LSW

Getting Straight

Well, today was the first adjustment at the hands of a chiropractor. I've had mixed feelings about chiropractic medicine all my life, but I've finally caved in. That knot in my upper back just won't go away and I'm willing to try anything that might help. Many of my friends at work swear by their chiropractor. According to the evaluation I've received, in about 8 or 10 visits I should be in a position to decide whether to swear by or swear at mine.

The diagnosis is that my right hip is a little out of whack. Which has made my upper back go out of kilter. Which has caused my neck to get out of line. The good news is that "it's not in bad shape at all" and in a few months I should be "dramatically better". I'm hoping he knows his stuff because I'm tired of having that sensation of a hot poker hit the middle of my upper back as soon as I start cooking or cleaning. Or walking. Or lying down. Or breathing.

It's interesting. After having my hip twisted and sharply shoved more into place, I stretched out on the table that looks like an implement of medieval torture. After a mini tilt-a-world sensation, the doctor made an adjustment to my upper back. That was fun. For about 15 minutes, I wasn't convinced he had done anything. Then the headache set in, the hot poker jabbed between my shoulder blades and my hip made some rude comments. So he definitely hit the right places.

Always a glutton for punishment, I'm really looking forward to Wednesday. Not only do I have adjustment number two scheduled, I'm also going to a podiatrist for the first time to see what he has to say about my painful feet. In between, I'm getting a massage. I may not be able to move at all on Thursday. It's hell being a little old lady.

In other news, King Mojo has proven without a doubt that he is 100% rat terrier. Every day he gets a little closer to his goal of supreme dictatorship. It's a hoot to watch the little boy stretch his wings and assert his superiority over all his subjects. Let me just say that there is not one thing I do, not one single thing, that is not supervised, criticized and found wanting. And the back of my legs are covered with nose prints. If he weren't so cute, I wouldn't stand for it. Sure.

"you are getting very sleepy..."

LSW

Ring out the Old, Ring in the New

So long 2005. Good riddance.

I have mixed feelings about 2005. On the one hand, it was full of stress and distress. I lost my beloved Bebop to old age in April. I lost my cat Maggie to unknown sources in July. I lost cousin Ray in December. I watched and worried during the hurricanes, not only for the displaced humans, but especially for the poor animals left behind during the Louisiana evacuation. I watched my parents' health decline.

On the other hand, my own health has seen improvement as I continue to stabilize following the wild hormonal swings of peri-menopause. Despite the losses and stresses of the year, I feel better than I've felt in several years.

I gained two bouncing babies who have provided a source of continuing love and entertainment.

My genealogy muse has returned after a lengthy vacation and I'm raring to go find more dead people.

So there was good and bad in 2005. Whatever 2006 has in store, I hope the positive outweighs the negative. Full steam ahead!

Xana, Mojo & Coco
My babies

LSW

Keeping Out of Trouble

I've got a new project and I invite everybody to take a look at what I'm doing.

Some time ago I created a virtual cemetery on my website of the graves of relatives that I have visited and photographed. The only downside to that particular portion of my website is that you have to find the website by luck, search engines, or word of mouth. I wanted to also post my photographs in some general site that is more accessible to the casual family history surfer.

I finally found the right place. Thanks to a mention in Family Tree Magazine, I discovered FindAGrave.com. Anyone can post a memorial, burial, photo, or bio with a few clicks of a keyboard. I've already uploaded over 50 photos, created 20 or so new burial records, and delivered virtual flowers to the graves of relatives who were already in the database. I had the satisfaction of being the first to enter burials in the Jackson Cemetery in Franklin County, Arkansas. I corrected a mis-entry for my great-great grandparents and got them entered in the proper place. I'm adding photos to existing entries. I'm having a lot of fun.

I will be adding a few burials at a time until I get my own virtual cemetery duplicated. I am delighted at the opportunity to provide photos of not only the tombstones, but also of the people buried there, in the hopes that some distant cousin will be able to visit the graves that they might otherwise never see.

We genealogists are a determined lot. We will take every opportunity to convert others to the addiction that is family history.

Stop by and drop off some virtual flowers. (Hint: search for Horace Hodge in Texas. Once you find one burial I've entered, you can click on my initials and see a list of all the burials I've entered, or a list of all the photos I've uploaded.)

LSW

Little Surprises

It's funny how you can live with stuff for years and then suddenly come across something you've never seen and find something to add to the family archives as a result.

I knew the story behind the item. Grandmother Lucy had written about it in her memoirs:

"When old Highway 20 came through [Horace] worked helping build the road bed. They were still using mules and scapers to move the dirt. When I met him in March of 1928 he was working on the railroad. Section Hand. Laying cross ties and rales for $2.08 a 10 hour day. He never knew what it was to have any money to spend. He had to bring his pay check in and give it to his mother. He gave me a wrist watch for Christmas before we married. He told me after we married how he managed to pay for it. He worked on the railroad all day and then walked to town and cleaned and swept up a cafe at night for 50 cents a night. "

One day recently I was looking for something in my mother's dresser and came across a box with a watch inside. I had never seen it before, that I could remember, and when I asked Mother about it, she told me it was the watch her father had bought for her mother when they were courting. I have no idea when she gained possession of the watch and had no idea that that particular family treasure had been located for some time in the house with me. Needless to say, it has been moved to the china cabinet where other heirlooms reside.

The second surprise was a tiny newspaper clipping that was tucked inside the box. It was brittle with age and the full text was missing, but it was enough to tell me that at some point there had been a notice in the paper announcing the marriage of Lucy Mason and Horace Hodge.

So, yesterday, with a little time on my hands, I wandered down to the Bastrop Public Library and started reading the late 1930 editions of the Bastrop Advertiser on microfilm. I found what I was looking for in the November 20th issue, located in the middle of a column of personal notes from McDade:

"Same old 'Doxology' -- Dan Cupid 'stept' into McDade last Thursday evening, stealing from her midst one of her favorite sons, H. G. Hodge, wafting him on 'Love's wings' across to Red Rock and there was joined in the holy bonds of matrimony to Miss Lucy Mason, one of Red Rock's attractive daughters. Congratulations."

How much of these small bits of history we miss because we don't know to look for them. I have spent many hours cranking that old microfilm reader at the library. My family has lived in Bastrop County for generations and I can be assured that any time I start browsing the Advertiser, I will find mention of relatives in the personals columns. Indeed, in the brief two hours I spent yesterday looking for this particular item and for a couple of obituaries, I found several passing mentions of family members.

On January 18, 1918, for instance, I found the only printed mention of my great-great grandmother Mason's death:

"Deaths. Mrs. Mary Smith, died at Cedar Creek, December 18."

Thanks to the personals column of February 9, 1917, I found a printed mention of the death of Mary Brock McAfee, my great great step-grandmother:

"Mrs. Charles Weber of Carmine returned to her home Monday after attending the funeral of her mother, Mrs. McAfee, who died out at "the Lake" last week."

These three finds were enough to justify to me the time spent getting a backache yesterday. (Bastrop Public Library has a lot to learn about ergonomic work areas.) Such small finds, you might say. To me, they are buried treasure. That's the fine line that separates us genealogists from normal folk. Only genealogists can hyperventilate at the sight of familiar family names that leap out at us from blurry images in a darkened room.

Little surprises. They keep me digging.

LSW

Christmas Past

There was a television show on early this morning while I was sitting on the couch, drinking my coffee. It was a nice little retrospective on the toys of my childhood. I had some of the toys mentioned and brother David had some of the toys. But some of the more popular ones we did not have. Two of these were the official Barbie and GI-Joe dolls. They were probably a little pricey for the family of a Baptist preacher. But we had some really nice knock-offs.

About 1958, I would imagine.

I guess it was probably 1960 when the Barbie craze really hit. That year I got two teen dolls for Christmas. One was a very close Barbie copy, received from my grandparents. The other was from my aunt and manufactured by the Uneeda Doll company. I played them both to pieces. The first eventually lost the use of her legs. The second I still have, a little battered but, in my mind, remains much prettier than the actual Barbie issued the same year. (The show this morning gave an original Barbie price of $3. Try to find one of them now for that price.) I also received a huge wardrobe of home-made fashion clothes for my dolls that beat the heck out of the store-bought outfits. I still have most of those clothes, too. Some made by my aunt, some by my mother and a few hideous efforts of my own.

David had a knockoff GI-Joe made by Marx, named Stoney Smith. He later added to his collection two more action figures by Marx, Chief Cherokee and Daniel Boone. I think I was a little jealous of those three dolls (excuse me, action figures) because they came with a load of scaled accessories. Even then I was fascinated by things miniature. All three were left behind in the church nursery when we moved from Smiley. A couple of years ago I hunted down a vintage Chief Cherokee for a present for David and coughed up around $80 for the doll, the box and the complete set of gear. My parents would never have left those toys behind if they had known.

One year I received a "life-sized" doll, who could walk. If you held your mouth right, that is. She is still with us, too, and periodically gets new outfits to wear at Christmas. How I wish I had some of the other dolls of Christmases past, like my Betsy Wetsy.

Linda, Cindy, Joyce, Janice, about 1959

One of the toys that I especially remember from Christmas long ago was a top with a big bubble that contained a tulip. When the top was spun, the tulip opened and a ballerina spun in the center. Of course one of the first things I had to do was try spinning it upside down and the ballerina fell out of her place. (Toy manufacturers were not that smart back then and did not anticipate what children would do with their toys.) Upset me considerably, but my grandmother bought another one to replace it and I never tried that again. I have no memory what happened to that toy, but in trying to locate one on EBAY I discovered that it was made by J. Chein, whose tin toys have become quite the collectibles. I have yet to find one in working condition, but I've seen quite a few come on the market that mention that the bubble is cracked from the necessity of having to get inside and put the ballerina back in place.

An Ebay posting

One of the big Christmases was when I got my first two-wheeler. Another Christmas of note was when I got my first watch. Then there was the Christmas when we got board games. Two of the games we had were the tv tie-ins for Bewitched and Gilligan's Island. Again, I have no idea what happened to them, but they are fetching pretty pennies on EBAY these days.

This is just an ad that mentions both games,
and they are asking $25 for an opening bid.
I've seen the games go for upwards of $200.

It occurs to me that I might be in a good position to retire if I had just had enough sense to save my toys and their original boxes. But I played my toys to death. Which is why I and so many of my generation are out there looking for replacements of items that gave us so much enjoyment around long ago Christmas trees.

Ah, the good old days. Playing with pristine new toys while the smells from the kitchen become unbearably tempting. Now I cook on Christmas and the only toys under the tree are for the dogs. (With the occasional vintage toy that pops up from time to time for one of the adults. Usually me or David.) I invariably end up making a mental trip on Christmas Day, back to the days when we travelled either to Elgin or Gladewater and spent Christmas in the company of the kin folk who aren't with us anymore. Thank goodness the memories are.

LSW

Ray Owen Burch, 1912-2005, Rest In Peace

Word just came that my cousin in California died this morning. We met about 4 years ago, a connection made through the marvels of the Internet. Ray was the first cousin of my grandfather Hodge and belonged to a branch of the family that pulled up their Texas roots in the 1930s and moved to California. A few years ago, Ray and his wife Marykay came to Austin for a visit and I was able to spend an afternoon with them.

Ray standing with me at left, Marykay seated at far right

Ray did not know our branch of the family existed until our correspondence began. He was most generous with his memories and provided me pictures of his mother Rosa and his brothers. He and Marykay quickly adopted me as family. We emailed back and forth until his health began to fail last year.

Ray was 93 years old, so I knew the time remaining for him was short. However, it is never easy to hear of the loss of an elder member of the family. Ray was a true gentleman with charm running out of his ears. I knew him for a brief four years. I'll miss him forever.

LSW

A little of this, a little of that

What a day. On the way home last night, I decided there was no way I could last until next Wednesday for a massage. I threw myself on the mercy of my massage therapist and got an appointment for today. The good news is that my back is not so much a pretzel tonight.

Tomorrow I take little Coco in to see her doctor for a similar adjustment. Little brother tried one of his judo throws last night and she came up hollering and has been limping ever since. Hopefully we are only dealing with a pulled muscle.

Otherwise, I am done with Christmas shopping so there is no way I'm going anywhere near a store where there are people who haven't finished. For a change of pace, I headed to Smithville, stuffed myself full of Tex-Mex at La Cabana, and then ambled on downtown to visit one of my favorite antique shops, Dream Train Antiques. I picked up an anniversary plate for Elgin, and rescued several antique photos at the new shop across the street.

This rescued ancestors thing I've got going is beginning to get out of hand. I have a pile of new old photos acquired last weekend at the Elgin Antique Mall that are waiting to be scanned. Today I picked up another love letter and three more photos. I've reached a point of having to expand the rescue area of my website to better organize the collection I've acquired. I sure hope these folks appreciate being rescued.

My adventures ended up today with a ride back to Bastrop through Rosanky, a drive I don't remember ever making before. I love back roads I haven't driven before. I particularly enjoyed seeing a field full of goats, one of whom was standing patiently while her little one availed himself of an afternoon snack. I think I'm a country girl at heart, which I confirmed by taking the test you can find here: http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=16534455155473404923 .

Now the best part of the day. Everyone has been fed, I'm sprawled in bed with the laptop, and the puppies are snoring all around me. Day 1 of a 5 day stretch to be pretty much as lazy as I please. This is the best part of Christmas for me.

And as a footnote here, I am three days away from hitting my 1 year anniversary at the blog game. I wasn't sure I would be able to keep going, but I've enjoyed jotting down my thoughts. It's the closest I've ever come to having a diary. Think I'll keep going.

See you later. Same time, same channel.

LSW

Just for the Record

The other things I find attractive in a man:

Stability (hold a job and manage money well)
Loyalty (to a fault)
Concern (for the greater good, i.e. humanity, animals, environment)
Humor (the right kind of course; bigot humor and coarse humor is not allowed)
Intelligence (not necessarily the book learned variety, but that's certainly nice to have in addition to street smarts and good old common sense)
Old Fashioned Values (like my Grandpa Hodge had)
Manners (yes, open the door and pull out my chair, and help little old ladies in and out of cars)

That's the list for now. And some others that pass my physically attractive criteria:

Robert Redford (I like those craggy au naturel looks and he wears jeans really, really well)
George Strait (true cowboy material and a great voice)
Tommy Lee Jones (another true cowboy--I sense a trend here)
Harrison Ford (before he got that blasted earring)

Still thinking...

LSW

It's all in the Voice

I'm a confirmed old bachelorette, but I still get asked from time to time about what I look for in a man. I always get the feeling that the asker has in mind that surely there is somebody out there for the old crone. And there probably is, but he's going to have to find me. I'm not looking any more. Of course, if I fall over an attractive guy, I'm not saying I wouldn't take a second look. I'm not dead, after all.

I remember somebody years ago trying to zero in on what kind of guy I find attractive. They were coming up with names like Tom Cruise. (Ick, ptooie!) The prevailing opinion of the folks around that day was that I would be attacted to a suit. I laughed about it, but I couldn't really explain what kind of guy I did find attractive. Then old friend Marianna hit it on her first guess.

Keeping in mind that this was a few years back, she looked at me for a minute and then said, "I'll bet you like the older brother on Simon & Simon." Yep. I found Gerald McRaney 10 times more attractive than Jameson Parker, who played the yuppie younger brother in a suit.

My mother always said she liked men with a little dirt under their nails. I think I agree, but my definition is I like men who aren't afraid to get dirty when there is work to be done, but who can clean up good when the occasion calls for it.

Now that I've beaten all the way around the bush, the subject of this essay was supposed to have been about voices. Because that is one of the first things that attracts me to a man. I was reminded of that this week because I acquired a CD collection of the music of Mickey Newbury. I can't remember when or where I discovered his music, but I had been looking a long time for CD replacements for the albums I've had since college. He had one of the most arresting voices I've ever heard and he wrote wonderful songs, too. (Sadly, he passed away about two years ago, so the wonderful talent and that fantastic voice have been silenced.) I don't know if the man was handsome, plain, or ugly. He looks pleasant enough, judging from his album covers. But that voice! The man was attractive, mark my words.

I know a lot of folks don't agree with me, but if there is a voice I like even better, it is Kris Kristofferson's. There is something about that gin-soaked, smoky rasp that, to put it vulgarly, turns me on. The man is rough around the edges, top to bottom, inside and out. And sexy as hell. I recently bought an audio book simply because the narrator was Kristofferson. Don't remember much about the book, but I sure enjoyed listening to Kris Kris talk at me for 5 1/2 hours. I'm afraid if I ever happen to run into the old boy and he says "hello", it's going to get embarrassing. And considering that he's in Austin right now filming a move, it's not entirely outside of the realm of possibility. One can always dream.

There's other qualities I look for, of course. But the bottom line is that I might never give a second look to a man that by society's standards is a dreamboat. On the other hand, I might get whiplash if an interesting voice catches my attention. It's funny how such different things can weigh in a person's evaluation of another's level of attraction.

Now the second thing I notice? How he looks walking away in a pair of well-fitting jeans. Ooh, la, la.

LSW

Does Anybody Else Remember

The Andy Williams show with regulars the Osmond brothers? Back when Donny was a cute little kid and Marie hadn't come on the scene yet.

The Danny Kaye show and Victoria Myerink.

The Garry Moore show and Durwood Kirby. And Marion Lorne. And a young Carol Burnett.

Senor Wences.

Topo Gigio.

Sea Hunt with Lloyd Bridges.

World of Giants.

Uncle Jay and Packer Jack.

Cactus Pryor's radio show.

Promotional items sold by the Superior Dairies delivery man.

Wax halloween whistles.

One television station in Austin and there was plenty to watch.

Sitting on the ice cream freezer to hold it down while your father cranked.

Seeing the initial showing of Disney's Sleeping Beauty and 101 Dalmatians.

The premiere of a new series of books with the first in the series being "The Cat In the Hat".

Seeing Mary Martin in Peter Pan on television.

Heavens, I'm getting old.

LSW

Ice Day

Brrrr. It was 24 degrees on the deck when I got up this morning. We headed out the front door to get the paper and the dogs stopped short when they hit the frozen grass. They were glad to get back in and help me build a fire in the fireplace. It didn't take them long to get their little rears backed up to the warmth.

Ice days were always fun when we were kids and it meant a day home from school. But then you had to make the day up later. I like ice days as an adult better. I had intended to try and make my way to work once the temperature got to 32, but when the announcement came that Austin ISD and Bastrop ISD were closing for the day it became official that the office was closed as well. A free day with no obligation to work and it doesn't have to be made up. Yeehaw!

At noon, the ground is still frozen and the thermometer is hovering at 28 degrees. I ventured out to run a couple of errands, picked up some chicken for lunch, and wasted no time getting back to cuddling with the dogs. (I got to eat a little bit of the chicken, but I have the bruises to show that it wasn't easy to wrestle them for a few bites. As I was getting a drink, the last of my biscuit disappeared with Coco over the edge of the bed.)

Gee, what to do? I may have to take a nap and ponder that question.

LSW

Heat Wave a.k.a. Three Dog Nights

My hormones are driving me crazy. More accurately, whatever controls your inner thermostat has gone completely wacko with mine. How on earth does one deal with being too hot and too cold at the same time?

Pre-menopause, I was cold all the time. My winter nightwear was generally long pajamas and socks. Post menopause is a challenge. My feet and hands will be freezing cold, but my body and head will be glowing hot. If I wear pajamas or socks, I'll be tossing and turning all night, alternately too hot and too cold. If I try to sleep under just a sheet, I'm too cold. If I add a light blanket, I'm too hot.

Add to the mix 3 little dogs who like to cuddle because they are cold and it becomes a constant cover on-cover off proposition. My solution at this point is to get everybody settled under a blanket, which gets my feet and the dogs warm, and then start the fan, which keeps my head cool. With a blanket, two of the dogs generally move away from me. Mojo always cuddles, but he's a small warm spot. When three of them are cuddling, it's like sleeping in a sauna.

Generally the pros far outweigh the cons where menopause is concerned. No more cramps, acne breakouts and PMS mood swings. So far the temperature problem is the only real drawback. But it's a doozy.

On the one hand, I have no trouble following the energy conservation guide of setting the thermostat at 68 degrees. I can forego lugging along a jacket until the thermometer dips into the 20s. On the other hand, I have about 8 pair of boots and a collection of cotton sweaters that I can't stand to wear anymore. I don't have any desire to start a fire in the fireplace. I've stopped drinking so much coffee because it makes me sweat. I've developed a raging addiction to Diet Coke because it cools me down.

I have two fans in my office at work, a ceiling and a tower fan in my bedroom, and three of four vents in the car aimed directly at me. I have an extra fan I can aim into the kitchen when the stove is in operation. And just as I get comfortable one way, I'm soon switching off the fans because I've been hit with a chill. I feel like there's a tug of war going on inside.

Whoever designed women's anatomy was either crazy or a sadist. Whoever it was should be sentenced to sitting on an ice block with a heat lamp directed at their head. Because that's how I feel morning, noon and night.

Menopause. One of God's little jokes. Real funny. Reach over and switch on the fan, wouldja?

LSW

New Taste Sensation

I went to the mall at lunch today. On the way back to my car, I was contemplating what I should do about grabbing a bite to eat when I got back to my desk. About that time I spied the Pretzel Time kiosk displaying "pretzel dogs", so I stopped to get one. I also spotted a cinnamon/sugar coated pretzel. Being a cinnamon fiend, I asked for one of those, too.

The pretzel dog was ok. Nothing to write home about. Then I bit into the cinnamon/sugar pretzel and fell in love. It was a regular twisted pretzel, but instead of salt they had pressed in firmly into a vat of powdery cinnamon/sugar. Yum, yum, triple yum. I suspect I will have to make that stop every time I venture to the mall in the future. I had almost stopped at Cinnabon's, but I just really don't care for their gooey sweetness. The cinnamon/sugar pretzel was exactly right. Somebody was on a roll the day they came up with that one.

On a separate subject, I sent a company-wide email a few days ago, threatening them with coal in their stockings if they didn't take care of necessary system maintenance. One of the ladies replied with a report of a seasonal stocking stuffer she had happened across. Instead of a small lump of coal, a small sack of mini-marshmallows was provided and accompanied by the following poem:

You’ve been bad
So, here’s the scoop
All you get
Is Snowman poop!

I like it.

LSW

San Marcos Sortie

I joined about a million shoppers swarming the outlet mall in San Marcos today. I don't usually go to San Marcos on the weekends after Thanksgiving. I know there will be hordes of Christmas shoppers there and I've reached an age where I despise crowds. But I needed to do some odd Christmas shopping myself and I wanted to get it over with.

I had a good time despite the parking shortages and the throngs of people blocking the sidewalks. There's a brand new section of the original mall (Prime Outlet), with Italianate facades and complete with a short canal where you can ride a gondola. I decided to explore this new section at the end of the day and it is probably a good thing I did, considering how much money I managed to spend in just a couple of hours.

My ongoing project to replace my wardrobe with more stylish options got a major boost today with a visit to Chico's. My only previous experience with Chico's had been unpleasant thanks to some overly predatory salespeople. But give me an outlet store and I can be persuaded to give it another shot. And I'm glad I did. I snared a great saleslady who pointed me to pieces I would never have noticed on my own. In the course of a couple of hours we enjoyed conversation about clothes, caregiving (she has taken her father into her home), cruises, and men. It was nice to have a chance to chatter with someone my own age about inconsequential girl stuff with no time constraints (little brother had rashly told me to take my time). I left happy from two hours of trying on flattering clothes and my saleslady was happy with a nice little sales commission. I'll be back as soon as my checkbook recuperates.

I got my comeuppance when I got home. Three little dogs who had been waiting an extra hour for their supper let me know they didn't appreciate the shift in their routine. Mojo sat down and howled at me, which came across as more of a good dressing down. He wasn't at all impressed with my shopping prowess. But he does like his mommy in a good mood, so once he got his tummy full he was glad to help me haul packages upstairs.

Not sure what my co-workers are thinking about my sudden wardrobe upgrade. But it sure has done my spirits good. You just gotta indulge yourself sometimes. At least if I end up in the poor house, I'll be well dressed.

LSW

Further Contemplation

What an oversight.

All Preludes, Waltzes, Etudes, Mazurkas & Polonaises by Chopin.
Symphony No. 40, by Mozart

LSW

Friday Contemplation

Songs I'm glad we didn't have to do without:

Amazing Grace (John Newton)
Ashokan Farewell (Jay Ungar)
Battle Hymn of the Republic (Julia Ward Howe)
Faded Love (Bob Wills)
Greensleeves (reportedly Henry VIII)
In My Life (Lennon/McCartney)
Layla (Eric Clapton)
Moonlight Sonata (Beethoven)
Unchained Melody (Zaret/North, best performance by the Righteous Brothers)

Still contemplating. More to come, I'm sure.
LSW