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
Friday, January 27, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
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
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
Monday, January 23, 2006
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
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
Thursday, January 19, 2006
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
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
Monday, January 16, 2006
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
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
Friday, January 13, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
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
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
Saturday, January 07, 2006
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
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
Thursday, January 05, 2006
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
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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
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
Monday, January 02, 2006
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.
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
Sunday, January 01, 2006
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!
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
Friday, December 30, 2005
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
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
Thursday, December 29, 2005
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
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
Sunday, December 25, 2005
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
Friday, December 23, 2005
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
Thursday, December 22, 2005
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
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
Thursday, December 15, 2005
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
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
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
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
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
Sunday, December 11, 2005
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
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
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