I'm still driving to work via Elgin this week. My eldest four legged daughter is a sick little puppy right now and has been getting daily treatments at the vet clinic. We established a relationship with the Elgin Veterinary Hospital many years ago when Nipper came into the family and we still prefer the doctors there. It's a little inconvenient, considering that there are now many veterinary clinics here in Bastrop to choose from, but I have a good relationship with the doctors in Elgin and I want my babies to see doctors I trust.
So every morning I have been dropping her off on the way to work and every evening I've been making a late trip to pick her up so she doesn't have to spend the night in hospital. She's a lot happier tonight because the catheter through which she's been getting IV fluids has finally been removed. The bad news is she still has to go there tomorrow for additional blood work to see if she's responding to the treatments. We are cautiously optimistic.
It's been interesting to see the reactions from Coco and Mojo. Coco cried when we left the first day and reportedly spent the day feeling like a little boat adrift without her anchor. Mojo was more of the opinion that there was no reason why she got to go to work with Mommy and he didn't. But they both caught on quickly that Xana is seeing the doctor and have been very happy to see her come in every evening. While they usually howl for 10 minutes if I leave without them, they've been very good when I leave late in the day and tell them I'm going to pick up Xana. They've stayed quiet and behaved themselves until I get back. (Better yet, their gran has been behaving herself and staying quiet and out of mischief until I get back.)
It's been a rough week with all the extra driving, especially since that last trip to and from Elgin is in rush hour traffic on a 2-lane road and people around here drive like maniacs when it's quitting time. The upcoming 4-day weekend couldn't come along at a better time.
But there's been one smile every morning when I swing off Highway 95 to Highway 290. A new sign for Meyer's Bar-B-Q declares "You'll Love Our Guts!" Elgin's crowning glory. Long may they sizzle.
LSW
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tacky, Tacky, Ticky Tacky
On occasion I commute to work by way of Elgin and Highway 290. It's getting harder and harder to stomach that drive that used to be a pleasant stretch through pasture land, broken up only by the brief break in the speed limit at Manor. Aside from the blotch on the landscape that has resulted from the new north-south freeway under construction, several recent subdivisions have sprung up along Highway 290 between Elgin and Manor.
These new additions to civilization are to the landscape as fingernails are to a blackboard. Surely, SURELY, whoever is the builder behind these horrors could have come up with something better with just a smidgen of imagination applied. The choices to buyers seem to consist of a one story square box or a two story square cube, with about 5 feet from wall to neighbor's wall. Square windows, plain, boring expanses of brick or siding, dirty beige shingles. And naturally every tree was cleared before they constructed these pimples on the land.
I would have to be absolutely desperate for housing to succumb to living in such ugly things. I cannot think of one single positive thing to say about them. In fact, the only thing I can think of as I drive past are the words to the old song written by Malvina Reynolds in 1962:
And the people in the houses
And they all play on the golf course
And the boys go into business
If Malvina thought it was bad back then, she should see it now. Of course, it could be worse. And in Austin, it often is. Drive down into the older subdivisions and you will see where someone has purchased a small bungalow, cleared the lot, and built a humongous house that covers every square inch of legally buildable space, towering high above its neighbors like a brick Goliath.
It's an epidemic of bad taste. No way can the word "improvement" be applied to any of these tacky, tacky houses. Heaven help us, it will probably get much worse before it gets better.
LSW
These new additions to civilization are to the landscape as fingernails are to a blackboard. Surely, SURELY, whoever is the builder behind these horrors could have come up with something better with just a smidgen of imagination applied. The choices to buyers seem to consist of a one story square box or a two story square cube, with about 5 feet from wall to neighbor's wall. Square windows, plain, boring expanses of brick or siding, dirty beige shingles. And naturally every tree was cleared before they constructed these pimples on the land.
I would have to be absolutely desperate for housing to succumb to living in such ugly things. I cannot think of one single positive thing to say about them. In fact, the only thing I can think of as I drive past are the words to the old song written by Malvina Reynolds in 1962:
LITTLE BOXES
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
If Malvina thought it was bad back then, she should see it now. Of course, it could be worse. And in Austin, it often is. Drive down into the older subdivisions and you will see where someone has purchased a small bungalow, cleared the lot, and built a humongous house that covers every square inch of legally buildable space, towering high above its neighbors like a brick Goliath.
It's an epidemic of bad taste. No way can the word "improvement" be applied to any of these tacky, tacky houses. Heaven help us, it will probably get much worse before it gets better.
LSW
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Shucks
I totally missed it. Today's paper featured an article on the closing of Howard's Nursery earlier this month. It's like suddenly hearing that a distant relative died a month ago. You feel like you were robbed of the opportunity for closure.
I cannot remember how many trips I've made over the years to Howard's Nursery, located on Koenig Lane about halfway between Burnet Road and Lamar Boulevard. It was the best place, bar none, to find herb and vegetable plants for the garden. It didn't matter how obscure the plant, they had some in stock. They always had plenty of the right kind of tomato seedlings when everybody else ran out.
Our new home doesn't have a good garden spot, so I've not had the excuse to run by there much in the past few years. The last time I shopped there was a little over a year ago when I got a sudden itch to find out the name of a bush we used to have in the yard in Smiley. I tried all the nurseries that were close to the office and nobody had a clue what it might be. I walked into Howard's and before I even got going good in my description, the man responded "you want a 'Pride of Barbados'". And yes, they had some in stock.
That was the way of it at Howard's Nursery. They knew their business. Their plants were healthy and very seldom did they fail to make a good showing in the garden. It was one of the most dependable nurseries I've ever known. I sometimes went there during lunch hour on those days when I just needed to calm down after a rough morning. Walking around their canopied plant aisles, you could not help but get a sense of well being.
And now they're gone. Damn. I'm going to miss them.
LSW
I cannot remember how many trips I've made over the years to Howard's Nursery, located on Koenig Lane about halfway between Burnet Road and Lamar Boulevard. It was the best place, bar none, to find herb and vegetable plants for the garden. It didn't matter how obscure the plant, they had some in stock. They always had plenty of the right kind of tomato seedlings when everybody else ran out.
Our new home doesn't have a good garden spot, so I've not had the excuse to run by there much in the past few years. The last time I shopped there was a little over a year ago when I got a sudden itch to find out the name of a bush we used to have in the yard in Smiley. I tried all the nurseries that were close to the office and nobody had a clue what it might be. I walked into Howard's and before I even got going good in my description, the man responded "you want a 'Pride of Barbados'". And yes, they had some in stock.
That was the way of it at Howard's Nursery. They knew their business. Their plants were healthy and very seldom did they fail to make a good showing in the garden. It was one of the most dependable nurseries I've ever known. I sometimes went there during lunch hour on those days when I just needed to calm down after a rough morning. Walking around their canopied plant aisles, you could not help but get a sense of well being.
And now they're gone. Damn. I'm going to miss them.
LSW
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Addictive
I've been bouncing around youtube.com this evening. Happened across a video of the very performance that caught my attention and turned me into a fan of Kris Kristofferson. Loved the way the lyrics moved. As I recall, the San Antonio Express News printed them in the TV section of that Sunday's paper. Click here.
Of course from there I had to find out what other snippets of classic television were hovering around in cyberspace. I found folks like Glen Campbell, Bobbie Gentry, the Smothers Brothers and Mary Ann Mobley on the Match Game.
Bizarre site. Can't stop surfing.
added Thurs. morning...Just read where today is Kris' 70th birthday. Still a hottie, in my humble opinion. His latest album is every bit as good as the first one.
LSW
Of course from there I had to find out what other snippets of classic television were hovering around in cyberspace. I found folks like Glen Campbell, Bobbie Gentry, the Smothers Brothers and Mary Ann Mobley on the Match Game.
Bizarre site. Can't stop surfing.
added Thurs. morning...Just read where today is Kris' 70th birthday. Still a hottie, in my humble opinion. His latest album is every bit as good as the first one.
LSW
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Fifty Cent Words
I once asked a good friend why it was that I seem constitutionally unable to ingratiate myself with the powers that be. He answered that it primarily stemmed from the fact that I do not suffer fools gladly. True. I think for myself and I say what I think. I absolutely refuse to kowtow to anybody and I would die before I brown nose.
So I generally walk alone to the beat of my own drummer. I make it a policy to do a task right, acknowledge my mistakes on those rare occasions that they occur, and be honest to a fault. They may not like it, but it's hard to land on somebody for doing a thing right and not lying about it. I've learned that what they generally object to is that I don't do it the way they wanted me to do it, which was wrong, and I am plainspoken as to why I chose to do it the right way instead of their wrong way. I know I am right. They know I am right. And they know if they push me, they will hear chapter and verse of why they were wrong and I was right.
I get into more trouble as a result.
I'm not sure what any of that has to do with the story I sat down to write. Except that I've always gone my own way, peer pressure be damned.
I like big words. Well, not so much big words as different words. The dictionary gives us hundreds of thousands of words to use, yet most of your daily conversations do not vary much from the mundane. To me it's a challenge to switch up your vocabulary when the opportunity presents itself. And the longer, more flavorful the word you can use makes the game just that much more interesting.
This, too, gets me into trouble sometimes. I had a friend some years back that was by no means dumb, but she was just not very well read and her vocabulary was stunted as a result. I found myself continually having to stop and explain what I had just said. It finally got to be a habit to filter my conversations with her to eliminate the fifty cent words. It saved time, but it made for some pretty dull conversations.
It will surprise nobody who knows me when I say I am completely inept when it comes to sports. I hated P.E. with a purple passion. I believe it was 7th grade when the football coach and I shared a private moment of humor amid the pathos of my performance during a softball game.
I could never bat worth a darn; couldn't throw to save my life; and I run like I have two dislocated hips. The only reason I was not killed outright by my teammates was because I had a spooky ability to catch pop flies. One day, however, I had tried the patience of both sides when I took my turn at bat. I let several balls go by without attempting to hit them. Someone said with exasperation, "Would you just swing at something!?"
In my non-conformist way, I popped back, "It's my prerogative to hit the ball or not!". Several mouths dropped open and I heard a few "huh?"s. The coach, who was usually bored out of his mind having to waste his time with the girls' P.E. class, burst out laughing. He didn't bother to explain, though. I think I actually managed to hit the next ball.
My classmates learned quickly to leave me out of the sports contests, but they also learned who to call on when they needed someone who could write. I ended up on the yearbook staff for three years and served as editor twice. I was class secretary just about every year from 4th grade on. I competed in Ready Writing events. I may have missed the athletic gene, but I think I got a generous dose of the reading and writing gene.
I may have been the odd man out back then, but now I'm glad it worked out that way. As our bodies age and the knees go out and the back trouble starts, our athletic ability disintegrates steadily. But an active mind, ever expanding with regular reading, can take you for adventures well into your elder years.
And my non-conformist ways suit me just fine, even if they aggravate those around me. I may not have much, but what I have I've attained with my abilities and not from puckering up to someone else's behind. I can face myself in the mirror any day of the week without regret.
I don't even mind the crowsfeet and wrinkles.
LSW
So I generally walk alone to the beat of my own drummer. I make it a policy to do a task right, acknowledge my mistakes on those rare occasions that they occur, and be honest to a fault. They may not like it, but it's hard to land on somebody for doing a thing right and not lying about it. I've learned that what they generally object to is that I don't do it the way they wanted me to do it, which was wrong, and I am plainspoken as to why I chose to do it the right way instead of their wrong way. I know I am right. They know I am right. And they know if they push me, they will hear chapter and verse of why they were wrong and I was right.
I get into more trouble as a result.
I'm not sure what any of that has to do with the story I sat down to write. Except that I've always gone my own way, peer pressure be damned.
I like big words. Well, not so much big words as different words. The dictionary gives us hundreds of thousands of words to use, yet most of your daily conversations do not vary much from the mundane. To me it's a challenge to switch up your vocabulary when the opportunity presents itself. And the longer, more flavorful the word you can use makes the game just that much more interesting.
This, too, gets me into trouble sometimes. I had a friend some years back that was by no means dumb, but she was just not very well read and her vocabulary was stunted as a result. I found myself continually having to stop and explain what I had just said. It finally got to be a habit to filter my conversations with her to eliminate the fifty cent words. It saved time, but it made for some pretty dull conversations.
It will surprise nobody who knows me when I say I am completely inept when it comes to sports. I hated P.E. with a purple passion. I believe it was 7th grade when the football coach and I shared a private moment of humor amid the pathos of my performance during a softball game.
I could never bat worth a darn; couldn't throw to save my life; and I run like I have two dislocated hips. The only reason I was not killed outright by my teammates was because I had a spooky ability to catch pop flies. One day, however, I had tried the patience of both sides when I took my turn at bat. I let several balls go by without attempting to hit them. Someone said with exasperation, "Would you just swing at something!?"
In my non-conformist way, I popped back, "It's my prerogative to hit the ball or not!". Several mouths dropped open and I heard a few "huh?"s. The coach, who was usually bored out of his mind having to waste his time with the girls' P.E. class, burst out laughing. He didn't bother to explain, though. I think I actually managed to hit the next ball.
My classmates learned quickly to leave me out of the sports contests, but they also learned who to call on when they needed someone who could write. I ended up on the yearbook staff for three years and served as editor twice. I was class secretary just about every year from 4th grade on. I competed in Ready Writing events. I may have missed the athletic gene, but I think I got a generous dose of the reading and writing gene.
I may have been the odd man out back then, but now I'm glad it worked out that way. As our bodies age and the knees go out and the back trouble starts, our athletic ability disintegrates steadily. But an active mind, ever expanding with regular reading, can take you for adventures well into your elder years.
And my non-conformist ways suit me just fine, even if they aggravate those around me. I may not have much, but what I have I've attained with my abilities and not from puckering up to someone else's behind. I can face myself in the mirror any day of the week without regret.
I don't even mind the crowsfeet and wrinkles.
LSW
Monday, June 19, 2006
It's All About Her
I was standing at the counter at The Container Store, 2nd in line, when the relative peace was shattered by the gal behind me.
"WELL YOU SEE I'M IN A RELATIONSHIP RIGHT NOW AND I DON'T WANT TO HURT HIM....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH....I...I...I...RELATIONSHIP....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH....ME...ME...
BLAH, BLAH...."
Cell phones, drat them. I will admit that I carry on a certain amount of personal business in public. However, even if I'm in line to pay, when I get a call from a doctor or someone where the data exchanged is of a personal nature, I move over to a deserted corner and conduct my personal business in as much privacy as I can muster in a public place.
But some folks act as if they are in the "cone of silence", unable to be heard by anyone else but the person on the other end of the phone.
True story. About a month ago I was at the outlet mall in San Marcos. I found it advisable to seek out the ladies room. As I was sequestered in my personal space, another lady came in, took the stall next door, and talked nonstop the entire time she was there. At first I thought a third person had arrived with her and they were talking through the stall walls. It soon became evident that she was chatting blithely away on her cell phone while conducting her personal business. I mean, really. Ick.
Remember the good old days when you would rather die than admit to another person that you ever had the need to use the bathroom facilities? Nowadays you can find out all manner of things about people's marriages, sex life, medical problems and the like by simply standing next to them in the checkout line.
I really don't want to know, thank you.
LSW
"WELL YOU SEE I'M IN A RELATIONSHIP RIGHT NOW AND I DON'T WANT TO HURT HIM....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH....I...I...I...RELATIONSHIP....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH....ME...ME...
BLAH, BLAH...."
Cell phones, drat them. I will admit that I carry on a certain amount of personal business in public. However, even if I'm in line to pay, when I get a call from a doctor or someone where the data exchanged is of a personal nature, I move over to a deserted corner and conduct my personal business in as much privacy as I can muster in a public place.
But some folks act as if they are in the "cone of silence", unable to be heard by anyone else but the person on the other end of the phone.
True story. About a month ago I was at the outlet mall in San Marcos. I found it advisable to seek out the ladies room. As I was sequestered in my personal space, another lady came in, took the stall next door, and talked nonstop the entire time she was there. At first I thought a third person had arrived with her and they were talking through the stall walls. It soon became evident that she was chatting blithely away on her cell phone while conducting her personal business. I mean, really. Ick.
Remember the good old days when you would rather die than admit to another person that you ever had the need to use the bathroom facilities? Nowadays you can find out all manner of things about people's marriages, sex life, medical problems and the like by simply standing next to them in the checkout line.
I really don't want to know, thank you.
LSW
Friday, June 16, 2006
Random Bytes
Today’s best smell:
Rain soaked pavement
Today’s best sound:
Chickadees flitting around the feeders
Today’s best reading (audio):
“Almost There” by Nuala O’Faolain
Today’s best taste:
It’s a draw between the Krispy Kreme chocolate iced donut and the Canadian cheese soup from The Kitchen Door.
Today’s best accomplishment:
Finding the three bugs in an old program. (Had help on that one. Thanks to JAE. They were devilishly hard to nail down.)
Today’s best advice:
“Stand by it.” Whatever you decide is the best thing to do.
Today’s best feeling:
Being met at the door by Xana, Coco and Mojo.
Just counting my blessings on a blah day. Does wonders.
LSW
Rain soaked pavement
Today’s best sound:
Chickadees flitting around the feeders
Today’s best reading (audio):
“Almost There” by Nuala O’Faolain
Today’s best taste:
It’s a draw between the Krispy Kreme chocolate iced donut and the Canadian cheese soup from The Kitchen Door.
Today’s best accomplishment:
Finding the three bugs in an old program. (Had help on that one. Thanks to JAE. They were devilishly hard to nail down.)
Today’s best advice:
“Stand by it.” Whatever you decide is the best thing to do.
Today’s best feeling:
Being met at the door by Xana, Coco and Mojo.
Just counting my blessings on a blah day. Does wonders.
LSW
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Flag Day
This isn’t just any old flag day for me. Today marks the 30th anniversary of my employment with the law firm. Yikes. (In fast succession I will be celebrating the 30th anniversary of my graduation from college and my 35th anniversary of graduation from high school. Maybe it’s time I went in for a check up.)
In some ways it doesn’t seem that long ago that I joined the ranks of the employed. And in some ways it seems like three lifetimes ago. When I entered the doors of the law firm 30 years ago today, I was the kid. Not only that, I was a kid with a college education, one of only a few of the clerical staff that had those credentials. I took a lot of grief from the old-timers for that. They wanted me to know that my education didn’t mean squat to them, so don’t get the big head over it.
All the work then was done by typewriter, with triple carbon packs. If I had a dollar for every suit petition and judgment I typed in the first 5 years I worked there, I could be looking at early retirement right now. Even our tax notices were typed by hand, filling in the blanks of a form produced on a liquid duplicating machine. Anybody else out there remember creating stencils (praying that you made no errors), carefully pouring ink, and cranking out copies until your arm ached? Ah, the good old days.
Now I’m the old lady of the firm. Only two other people in the entire company have more seniority than I. One is the man who was my primary boss for the first 5 years of employment. The other is a man who has gone on to head a sister company, so really there is only one person at the firm who has more seniority.
I’m the age right now that the staff supervisor who hired me was at that time. I remember thinking she was holding up fairly well for her advanced age. I wonder if the youngsters on our present staff look at me the same way. Most of them nowadays have a college education and all the work today is produced on computers and laser printers. If you don’t feel up to coming into work, you can work at home by connecting to the office network. (Thirty years ago, you had to produce a death certificate to warrant a day of sick leave. I can’t imagine they would have trusted us to actually work at home.)
Times have changed. I don’t know if we even have a typewriter in the building anymore. We had to ask permission to make a long distance call back then. Now, with email, we communicate all over the planet in the twinkling of an eye. Back in the good old days, we had to manually process every letter that went out. Today, a client can ftp their file in the morning and conceivably have 10,000 letters mailed in their behalf the same day.
Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday that my college roommate called and gave me the information that a friend of theirs was looking for a secretary. But it seems like a lifetime ago that I took the job that morphed into accounting positions, management positions and data processing positions over the ensuing 30 years. Back then, retirement seemed like a misty target. Now it is rapidly coming into focus.
I guess I’m one of the rare ones. People in our parents’ generation routinely took a job and held on to it until retirement. I don’t know many people these days who take a job with any kind of intention to stay more than a few years before moving on to greener pastures.
I have regrets, yes. But all in all it’s been an interesting journey. And to close, the lyrics of a song from “New York, New York”, that I just discovered yesterday:
In some ways it doesn’t seem that long ago that I joined the ranks of the employed. And in some ways it seems like three lifetimes ago. When I entered the doors of the law firm 30 years ago today, I was the kid. Not only that, I was a kid with a college education, one of only a few of the clerical staff that had those credentials. I took a lot of grief from the old-timers for that. They wanted me to know that my education didn’t mean squat to them, so don’t get the big head over it.
All the work then was done by typewriter, with triple carbon packs. If I had a dollar for every suit petition and judgment I typed in the first 5 years I worked there, I could be looking at early retirement right now. Even our tax notices were typed by hand, filling in the blanks of a form produced on a liquid duplicating machine. Anybody else out there remember creating stencils (praying that you made no errors), carefully pouring ink, and cranking out copies until your arm ached? Ah, the good old days.
Now I’m the old lady of the firm. Only two other people in the entire company have more seniority than I. One is the man who was my primary boss for the first 5 years of employment. The other is a man who has gone on to head a sister company, so really there is only one person at the firm who has more seniority.
I’m the age right now that the staff supervisor who hired me was at that time. I remember thinking she was holding up fairly well for her advanced age. I wonder if the youngsters on our present staff look at me the same way. Most of them nowadays have a college education and all the work today is produced on computers and laser printers. If you don’t feel up to coming into work, you can work at home by connecting to the office network. (Thirty years ago, you had to produce a death certificate to warrant a day of sick leave. I can’t imagine they would have trusted us to actually work at home.)
Times have changed. I don’t know if we even have a typewriter in the building anymore. We had to ask permission to make a long distance call back then. Now, with email, we communicate all over the planet in the twinkling of an eye. Back in the good old days, we had to manually process every letter that went out. Today, a client can ftp their file in the morning and conceivably have 10,000 letters mailed in their behalf the same day.
Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday that my college roommate called and gave me the information that a friend of theirs was looking for a secretary. But it seems like a lifetime ago that I took the job that morphed into accounting positions, management positions and data processing positions over the ensuing 30 years. Back then, retirement seemed like a misty target. Now it is rapidly coming into focus.
I guess I’m one of the rare ones. People in our parents’ generation routinely took a job and held on to it until retirement. I don’t know many people these days who take a job with any kind of intention to stay more than a few years before moving on to greener pastures.
I have regrets, yes. But all in all it’s been an interesting journey. And to close, the lyrics of a song from “New York, New York”, that I just discovered yesterday:
Sometimes you're happy, sometimes you're sad
But the world goes 'round
Sometimes you lose every nickel you had
But the world goes 'round
Sometimes your dreams get broken in pieces
But that doesn't alter a thing
Take it from me, there's still gonna be
A summer, a winter, a fall and a spring
And sometimes a friend starts treating you bad
But the world goes 'round
And sometimes your heart breaks with a deafening sound
Somebody loses and somebody wins
And one day it's kicks, then it's kicks in the shins
But the planet spins, and the world goes 'round-
But the world goes 'round.
The world has gone around almost 11,000 times since I walked in the doors of the law firm. Here’s to the next year.
LSW
Monday, June 12, 2006
Free Associating
Sunday, noon: I trekked out to the Red Rock community center to drop off some information to the Old Red Rock Cemetery Association and to make a contribution. I decided to abstain from the community feed and auction and drifted back to Bastrop, making a stop at each of the Red Rock cemeteries along the way. When I drove up to the new cemetery, I was greeted by two big black gamboling dogs. I pondered the advisibility of getting out of the car, but they didn't seem to be much threat, so I proceeded to make my memorial visit to two Mobley granduncles. The dogs skipped and frolicked beside me and my new worry was that I was going to have a hard time getting away from them. I suggested they go on home. They snickered and continued to play.
My visit to the graves was brief - just long enough to place a red glass pebble at each marker. (My alternative to placing flowers that are going to die or turn tacky in a few days.) I braced myself for the process of separating from the dogs. When I turned back toward the car, I realized that they had vanished into thin air. Nothing but sparse fields around me, the nearest house about a quarter mile away. Not a dog to be seen, and they had been bouncing around me just a few minutes before. No hair raised up on the back of my neck, so I'm assuming they were not ghostly visitations. But it was really spooky how quickly and thoroughly they disappeared.
Sunday 5:30 p.m.: It's only a matter of time before little brother disowns me. We spent the better part of two hours baking in the sun while we assembled a second canopy to help shade the larger of the two decks. The first, on the smaller deck, made such a radical difference in the way the plants are surviving the 90+ degree heat that I decided it would be a good idea to put a little shade on the other side of the house. I could barely move by bedtime. Between pruning the red photina menace on Saturday and working on the canopy on Sunday, every muscle in my poor elderly body is pissed off. The good news is that the canopy is assembled and already making a difference in the amount of morning sun hitting the house. The bad news is that it may be September before I can persuade David to come back for a visit.
In a side note, we took a brief break and watched the parent roadrunners feeding their baby. I had seen them earlier teaching him to run up and down the street and avoid cars. In the high afternoon sun and a temperature of about 99 degrees, the little toot was out rolling on his back in the middle of the asphalt, looking like he was having the time of his life.
Monday 9:15 a.m.: I'm continually surprised on those occasions when I listen to the morning music program on KUT-FM how often the host John Aielli pulls a tune out of thin air that evokes intense memory twangs. It's happened so many times that I begin to wonder if there is some weird telepathy going on. More probably it's because we are approximately the same age and grew up with similar electic musical tastes. This morning, just as I was turning off Mopac to make the swing over to Balcones Drive and work, the old boy started Perry Como's Round and Round. I'm instantaneously swept back to 1958 or so, to the parsonage/church at San Gabriel, while at the same time getting a little boost of enthusiasm from a song that I heard so many times in my early childhood. Nice little lift to start the day.
At the risk of causing various relatives to cough up hairballs, I will confess that this was just after I had indulged my inner child with listening to part of an album by Johnny Ray. Just Walking in the Rain comes from the same approximate period of my life and was a song I was particularly fond of. (My mother hated Johnny Ray, so I have no idea how I managed to acquire my fondness for two or three of his songs.) How odd that John Aielli was apparently in the same mood this morning.
So I'm sitting here at my desk, remembering the back room in the parsonage at Oak Hill. It had a wall of windows that looked out on the big back yard and the cow pasture beyond. I had a small record player and a stack of records that I had acquired from various relatives and church members. I spent many a hot summer day in that back room, no air-conditioning, with the windows open and entertaining myself by playing the same songs again and again.
"Find a wheel and it goes round, round, round
As it skims along with a happy sound
As it goes along the ground, ground, ground
Till it leads you to the one you love..."
My visit to the graves was brief - just long enough to place a red glass pebble at each marker. (My alternative to placing flowers that are going to die or turn tacky in a few days.) I braced myself for the process of separating from the dogs. When I turned back toward the car, I realized that they had vanished into thin air. Nothing but sparse fields around me, the nearest house about a quarter mile away. Not a dog to be seen, and they had been bouncing around me just a few minutes before. No hair raised up on the back of my neck, so I'm assuming they were not ghostly visitations. But it was really spooky how quickly and thoroughly they disappeared.
Sunday 5:30 p.m.: It's only a matter of time before little brother disowns me. We spent the better part of two hours baking in the sun while we assembled a second canopy to help shade the larger of the two decks. The first, on the smaller deck, made such a radical difference in the way the plants are surviving the 90+ degree heat that I decided it would be a good idea to put a little shade on the other side of the house. I could barely move by bedtime. Between pruning the red photina menace on Saturday and working on the canopy on Sunday, every muscle in my poor elderly body is pissed off. The good news is that the canopy is assembled and already making a difference in the amount of morning sun hitting the house. The bad news is that it may be September before I can persuade David to come back for a visit.
In a side note, we took a brief break and watched the parent roadrunners feeding their baby. I had seen them earlier teaching him to run up and down the street and avoid cars. In the high afternoon sun and a temperature of about 99 degrees, the little toot was out rolling on his back in the middle of the asphalt, looking like he was having the time of his life.
Monday 9:15 a.m.: I'm continually surprised on those occasions when I listen to the morning music program on KUT-FM how often the host John Aielli pulls a tune out of thin air that evokes intense memory twangs. It's happened so many times that I begin to wonder if there is some weird telepathy going on. More probably it's because we are approximately the same age and grew up with similar electic musical tastes. This morning, just as I was turning off Mopac to make the swing over to Balcones Drive and work, the old boy started Perry Como's Round and Round. I'm instantaneously swept back to 1958 or so, to the parsonage/church at San Gabriel, while at the same time getting a little boost of enthusiasm from a song that I heard so many times in my early childhood. Nice little lift to start the day.
At the risk of causing various relatives to cough up hairballs, I will confess that this was just after I had indulged my inner child with listening to part of an album by Johnny Ray. Just Walking in the Rain comes from the same approximate period of my life and was a song I was particularly fond of. (My mother hated Johnny Ray, so I have no idea how I managed to acquire my fondness for two or three of his songs.) How odd that John Aielli was apparently in the same mood this morning.
So I'm sitting here at my desk, remembering the back room in the parsonage at Oak Hill. It had a wall of windows that looked out on the big back yard and the cow pasture beyond. I had a small record player and a stack of records that I had acquired from various relatives and church members. I spent many a hot summer day in that back room, no air-conditioning, with the windows open and entertaining myself by playing the same songs again and again.
"Find a wheel and it goes round, round, round
As it skims along with a happy sound
As it goes along the ground, ground, ground
Till it leads you to the one you love..."
LSW
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Beep Beep
Only in Texas can you telecommute and watch a roadrunner at work outside your window. This guy was busy all day and kept me well entertained with his antics. I certainly hope he took care of a few of the ubiquitous scorpions that have been around lately.
Photos snapped with an ACME Power Shot, of courseThis is the time of year that a Texan automatically starts stepping carefully in the country. You are aware, without even thinking about it, that you could run into a rattlesnake or copperhead or such. I stopped by a country cemetery earlier this week for a quick look around and became aware of a strange disquiet. Since I'm not at all afraid of ghostly encounters, it wasn't characteristic. Then I realized that I was scanning the ground ahead of me carefully. It's snake season. Time to postpone cemetery visits for awhile.
So I'm glad to have roadrunners hanging around the house. They help to keep the snake population down. We have several that cruise our street. They dart in and out of the woods, usually carrying their latest catch. I've seen them running past with lizards hanging limply in their beak. I've seen them suddenly zoom 3-4 feet upward to snatch a bug in mid-air. I've seen them entertain themselves by running races with the cars that travel our street. Last year I would hear their distinctive "click, click" when I was walking in the yard. I was mystified until I realized they were perched on the peak of my roof, chattering at me while they kept an eye out for their next meal.
The chap in the photos usually doesn't acknowledge my presence in the yard, staying 8-10 feet away and pretending he doesn't see me. I didn't anticipate that I would have any problem snapping a few pictures today, but he suddenly became wary when he realized I was trailing along behind him. He led me a merry chase around the yard, probably chuckling to himself, before he finally let me get close enough to get a decent photo. So glad I was able to provide a diversion for a roadrunner today. Makes me feel useful.
You can find out a little more about roadrunners by following this link: http://www.desertusa.com/mag98/sep/papr/road.html .
Beep, beep. Zoooooom!
LSW
Sunday, June 04, 2006
40 Lashes With a Wet Noodle
I have been in communication this week with a distant cousin who lives in Danville, Illinois. I had intended to call him while we were there, but then we got busy photographing graves and time ran away with us. When I emailed him to bring him up to date on my cemetery project, I discovered that he had done extensive work in documenting the cemetery and I just never found the right bookshelf at either the Danville Public Library or the Illiana Genealogical and Historical Society.
I am so glad that I was wrong about the little Niccum Cemetery being overlooked by local historians. D.D. and I have been in on-again off-again communication for about 15 years and I knew that he was another fervent guardian of the family history. I should have known that he would have mapped out the family cemeteries. I did beat him to Find A Grave, but he has taken care of getting documentation pulled together on a local level.
And OUCH! I had forgotten my rather pithy dismissal on the blog of Danville's lack of exciting contributions to history. D. D. sent me the following list of people and companies that we can thank Danville for giving their start:
Western Brick Co. - Largest brick making plant in the world until it closed in the early 70s. Bricks were shipped to almost every major country in the world. All of the oldest buildings of the Univ. of Illinois in Champaign and Chicago were built with Western Brick.
Grab-it-Here Grocery stores - the former grocery chain began in Danville.
Gustavus Pearson - Discovered Yosemite Valley/now Yosemite National Park.
Dick Van Dyke - Actor (at least I got this one).
Jerry Van Dyke - Actor. (I knew this one, just failed to mention it.)
Gene Hackman - Actor. (You know, my favorite Hackman film is one that you never see rerun - Misunderstood. Tear jerker, yes, but good. Why isn't it out on DVD?)
Donald O'Connor - Actor/Broadway. (Singing in the Rain - one of my all-time favorite movies. O'Connor's "Make 'Em Laugh" is priceless.)
Bobby Short - Singer/Musician - Played the Hotel Carlisle in NY for 37 years.
Joe Tanner - NASA Astronaut.
Joseph "Uncle Joe" Cannon - U.S. House of Representatives 46 yrs. - Speaker of the House for 8 years.
Ward Hill Lamon - Law Partner of Abraham Lincoln in Danville. Lamon was his body guard during his presidency and at the Ford Theatre at time of his assasination.
Edward Telling - CEO/President of Sears Roebuck and Co.
Theodore Gilliland - Inventor - created the new ground to air transmission/radio for airplanes in the 1940s.
Angela Watson - TV actress. (One of the daughters in the TV show "Step by Step".)
Jim Marshall - baseball player/manager - managed the Cubs 1974-76 and the A's 1979.
Darrin Fletcher - baseball player - Toronto Bluejays.
Helen Morgan - Actress/Cabaret - Zeigfield Follies. (Played Julie LaVerne in Show Boat.)
Matthew Stover - Author. (Among his books are 3 Star Wars novels.)
L.P. Cookingham - In 1940, he became city manager of Kansas City, MO., a position he held for 19 years. Rebuilt it into a thriving metropolis after the corrupted years of Mayor Pendergast.
Gurdan Hubbard - left Danville to head north to Fort Dearborn - Was very instrumental in the creation and development of the City of Chicago.
Keon Clark - former major basketball player.
Kim Crockett - Journalist, has won 2 pulitzer prizes. (She was also lead reporter for Nelson Mandela’s 1990 visit to Miami.)
Margaret Jones Dugdale - Professional Violinist - has been in several broadway productions and with several orchestras across the U.S.
Irving Azoff - Music/Entertainment Agent - Manager of such as; the Eagles, John Fogerty, Christina Aguilera, Glenn Frey, Steely Dan and Jimmy Buffett.. Has produced the following films; Urban Cowboy, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Jack Frost and The Hurricane
P.Kevin Strader - Author. (His work includes serving as Associate Editor of Sesame Street Magazine.)
Reginald Weaver - President of the National Education Association.
Douglas Mathisen, M.D./Thorasic Surgeon - currently Professor of Surgery at Harvard Medical School
Scott Shaw - Photographer, Pulitzer Prize Winner - Won once with the photo he took of toddler Jessica McClure in 1988 as she was rescued from the abandoned well.
Daniel Olmstead - Journalist - Bureau Chief of United Press International (UPI).
Rear Admiral Joseph Taylor, U.S. Navy and WWII Naval hero.
Dr. David Morrison - Astronomer - Director of NASA Telescope Facility and Deputy Administrator for Space Science at NASA.
You can read more about most of these outstanding folks at the Danville High School Wall of Fame.
Okay, I readily admit when I'm wrong. Danville has made a lot of serious contributions to society. Pot ash being the least of them. I apologize for my flippant remarks and I appreciate cousin D.D.'s bringing my error to my attention.
Glad I can say my ancestors lived in around Danville for generations.
LSW
I am so glad that I was wrong about the little Niccum Cemetery being overlooked by local historians. D.D. and I have been in on-again off-again communication for about 15 years and I knew that he was another fervent guardian of the family history. I should have known that he would have mapped out the family cemeteries. I did beat him to Find A Grave, but he has taken care of getting documentation pulled together on a local level.
And OUCH! I had forgotten my rather pithy dismissal on the blog of Danville's lack of exciting contributions to history. D. D. sent me the following list of people and companies that we can thank Danville for giving their start:
Western Brick Co. - Largest brick making plant in the world until it closed in the early 70s. Bricks were shipped to almost every major country in the world. All of the oldest buildings of the Univ. of Illinois in Champaign and Chicago were built with Western Brick.
Grab-it-Here Grocery stores - the former grocery chain began in Danville.
Gustavus Pearson - Discovered Yosemite Valley/now Yosemite National Park.
Dick Van Dyke - Actor (at least I got this one).
Jerry Van Dyke - Actor. (I knew this one, just failed to mention it.)
Gene Hackman - Actor. (You know, my favorite Hackman film is one that you never see rerun - Misunderstood. Tear jerker, yes, but good. Why isn't it out on DVD?)
Donald O'Connor - Actor/Broadway. (Singing in the Rain - one of my all-time favorite movies. O'Connor's "Make 'Em Laugh" is priceless.)
Bobby Short - Singer/Musician - Played the Hotel Carlisle in NY for 37 years.
Joe Tanner - NASA Astronaut.
Joseph "Uncle Joe" Cannon - U.S. House of Representatives 46 yrs. - Speaker of the House for 8 years.
Ward Hill Lamon - Law Partner of Abraham Lincoln in Danville. Lamon was his body guard during his presidency and at the Ford Theatre at time of his assasination.
Edward Telling - CEO/President of Sears Roebuck and Co.
Theodore Gilliland - Inventor - created the new ground to air transmission/radio for airplanes in the 1940s.
Angela Watson - TV actress. (One of the daughters in the TV show "Step by Step".)
Jim Marshall - baseball player/manager - managed the Cubs 1974-76 and the A's 1979.
Darrin Fletcher - baseball player - Toronto Bluejays.
Helen Morgan - Actress/Cabaret - Zeigfield Follies. (Played Julie LaVerne in Show Boat.)
Matthew Stover - Author. (Among his books are 3 Star Wars novels.)
L.P. Cookingham - In 1940, he became city manager of Kansas City, MO., a position he held for 19 years. Rebuilt it into a thriving metropolis after the corrupted years of Mayor Pendergast.
Gurdan Hubbard - left Danville to head north to Fort Dearborn - Was very instrumental in the creation and development of the City of Chicago.
Keon Clark - former major basketball player.
Kim Crockett - Journalist, has won 2 pulitzer prizes. (She was also lead reporter for Nelson Mandela’s 1990 visit to Miami.)
Margaret Jones Dugdale - Professional Violinist - has been in several broadway productions and with several orchestras across the U.S.
Irving Azoff - Music/Entertainment Agent - Manager of such as; the Eagles, John Fogerty, Christina Aguilera, Glenn Frey, Steely Dan and Jimmy Buffett.. Has produced the following films; Urban Cowboy, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Jack Frost and The Hurricane
P.Kevin Strader - Author. (His work includes serving as Associate Editor of Sesame Street Magazine.)
Reginald Weaver - President of the National Education Association.
Douglas Mathisen, M.D./Thorasic Surgeon - currently Professor of Surgery at Harvard Medical School
Scott Shaw - Photographer, Pulitzer Prize Winner - Won once with the photo he took of toddler Jessica McClure in 1988 as she was rescued from the abandoned well.
Daniel Olmstead - Journalist - Bureau Chief of United Press International (UPI).
Rear Admiral Joseph Taylor, U.S. Navy and WWII Naval hero.
Dr. David Morrison - Astronomer - Director of NASA Telescope Facility and Deputy Administrator for Space Science at NASA.
You can read more about most of these outstanding folks at the Danville High School Wall of Fame.
Okay, I readily admit when I'm wrong. Danville has made a lot of serious contributions to society. Pot ash being the least of them. I apologize for my flippant remarks and I appreciate cousin D.D.'s bringing my error to my attention.
Glad I can say my ancestors lived in around Danville for generations.
LSW
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Heirloom Plant
My grandmother Hodge kept a plant on her porch for years that she called an orchid cactus. I remember wondering why she kept the ugly thing. It seemed to have no redeeming value. Nevertheless, when she died we took the thing in and gave it a home. It would be years before I knew why it was worth the trouble.
I believe we had the plant 5-7 years before we caught on. A neighbor was the first to point out that we had a unique plant. I had my doubts, unless she meant it was unique for its utter lack of beauty. Then one morning I found out its secret. Since then, I've witnessed many of its random acts of floral beauty. Turns out that it only blooms at night and the blooms last for just a few hours. You have to watch for the buds forming and check first thing in the morning to see if today is the day. Today was.
I believe we had the plant 5-7 years before we caught on. A neighbor was the first to point out that we had a unique plant. I had my doubts, unless she meant it was unique for its utter lack of beauty. Then one morning I found out its secret. Since then, I've witnessed many of its random acts of floral beauty. Turns out that it only blooms at night and the blooms last for just a few hours. You have to watch for the buds forming and check first thing in the morning to see if today is the day. Today was.
I've since discovered that it is officially an Epiphyllum Strictum. Some call it, incorrectly, a night blooming cereus. It is not even remotely an orchid, but it is a member of the cactus family.
Would you believe there is a whole segment of the Internet devoted to devotees of this particular plant species?
I have many heirlooms tucked away in drawers and closets that are very satisfying to own but don't do anything but lie there. This heirloom rocks.
LSW
Friday, June 02, 2006
A Tale of Two Movies
Since my good mood crashed and burned about a week ago, I decided to give myself a present of a day off to do with as I pleased. I decided it was time to go to the movies. I don't go to the movie theater much anymore, since I usually end up being annoyed more than entertained. Between cell phone chirps, loud mouths and people who have to stumble across your feet half a dozen times (people, see a dr. for crying out loud), it just isn't worth the aggravation.
But once in awhile I cave in. I've learned to wait a week or two after the big blockbusters are released and to go to the earliest show available at a big cineplex in Austin. That usually guarantees as best a viewing environment as is possible. Today it worked out just fine. I was one of maybe a dozen people in the auditorium at 11:30 a.m. to see The Da Vinci Code, all of them adults.
(That reminds me of an audiobook I'm listing to at present. The main character goes into a restaurant and inquires if there is a no smoking area. "Yes, sir!" he is told. He then inquires if there is a no kids area. My kind of guy.)
Someone of my acquaintance saw the movie last week but had not read the book. Despite my comment that I had read the book twice and was well aware of the controversies it aroused, I have been repeatedly cautioned to remember it is fiction. Well, duh. It's just unfortunate that so many religious nuts have forgotten that little fact. Unfortunate for them. Very fortunate for Dan Brown, who's probably laughing all the way to the bank.
Anyway, I went prepared for violence and mutilation of the plot. There was violence, but it was well telegraphed so that those of us with squeamish tendencies could choreograph our popcorn eating so as to miss the flying globules of blood. The plot mutilation? Wasn't as bad as I feared. The major points of the story are all there. What they did change mystifies me. It really didn't seem to be necessary, but I guess it helped move the story along a little faster and got the job done in 2-1/2 hours rather than 3.
Tom Hanks was not my choice to play Robert Langdon, but he did a decent job. Only a time or two did you lose the character of Robert Langdon to the character of Tom Hanks and it wasn't jarring. The female lead was quite young in comparison, but they tamped down the romantic attraction in the novel to create more of an older brother to younger sister relationship, which worked out okay.
Bottom line--it was an enjoyable movie, fairly faithful to the novel, and loaded with great scenery. The critics may be crucifying it, but I think there's a lot of sour grapes involved with anything involving The Da Vinci Code. Ignore the critics and see the movie if you have any interest in it. You will be entertained sufficiently.
I got home to find that an impulsive EBAY purchase had arrived. My 2005 research project on the events surrounding the Texas City explosions of 1947 continues to spark my interest and I had located a DVD containing two archival films relating to the event. The first is a 6 minute, silent film presentation of fire and destruction of property. The second runs about 23 minutes and is a horrifying and graphic recounting of the tragic events. It was a compilation by the Texas Department of Public Safety and about half of the film was devoted to the subject of body identification in the aftermath of the explosion. The narrator tells the grim details of re-assembling body parts that had been blown apart, taking fingerprints from severed hands, dissection of bodies to determine the presence or absence of an appendix, and many other sickening methods they used to reunite bodies with the appropriate families. As the narration progresses, you are presented with film of the activities being described. It is not something you want to watch while you are eating dinner, which is what I was doing.
So from one extreme to another. The DaVinci Code is beautifully photographed and visually stunning. The Texas City documentary is grainy, poorly focused and visually stunning. Both films cause you to lose yourself in the story and stay with you for some time after viewing. The DaVinci Code (believe it or not, you hyper-religious nitwits) is fiction. The Texas City story is horrifying fact. The first takes 2-1/2 hours to tell its story. The second takes 23 minutes.
Both were well worth the time to see.
LSW
But once in awhile I cave in. I've learned to wait a week or two after the big blockbusters are released and to go to the earliest show available at a big cineplex in Austin. That usually guarantees as best a viewing environment as is possible. Today it worked out just fine. I was one of maybe a dozen people in the auditorium at 11:30 a.m. to see The Da Vinci Code, all of them adults.
(That reminds me of an audiobook I'm listing to at present. The main character goes into a restaurant and inquires if there is a no smoking area. "Yes, sir!" he is told. He then inquires if there is a no kids area. My kind of guy.)
Someone of my acquaintance saw the movie last week but had not read the book. Despite my comment that I had read the book twice and was well aware of the controversies it aroused, I have been repeatedly cautioned to remember it is fiction. Well, duh. It's just unfortunate that so many religious nuts have forgotten that little fact. Unfortunate for them. Very fortunate for Dan Brown, who's probably laughing all the way to the bank.
Anyway, I went prepared for violence and mutilation of the plot. There was violence, but it was well telegraphed so that those of us with squeamish tendencies could choreograph our popcorn eating so as to miss the flying globules of blood. The plot mutilation? Wasn't as bad as I feared. The major points of the story are all there. What they did change mystifies me. It really didn't seem to be necessary, but I guess it helped move the story along a little faster and got the job done in 2-1/2 hours rather than 3.
Tom Hanks was not my choice to play Robert Langdon, but he did a decent job. Only a time or two did you lose the character of Robert Langdon to the character of Tom Hanks and it wasn't jarring. The female lead was quite young in comparison, but they tamped down the romantic attraction in the novel to create more of an older brother to younger sister relationship, which worked out okay.
Bottom line--it was an enjoyable movie, fairly faithful to the novel, and loaded with great scenery. The critics may be crucifying it, but I think there's a lot of sour grapes involved with anything involving The Da Vinci Code. Ignore the critics and see the movie if you have any interest in it. You will be entertained sufficiently.
I got home to find that an impulsive EBAY purchase had arrived. My 2005 research project on the events surrounding the Texas City explosions of 1947 continues to spark my interest and I had located a DVD containing two archival films relating to the event. The first is a 6 minute, silent film presentation of fire and destruction of property. The second runs about 23 minutes and is a horrifying and graphic recounting of the tragic events. It was a compilation by the Texas Department of Public Safety and about half of the film was devoted to the subject of body identification in the aftermath of the explosion. The narrator tells the grim details of re-assembling body parts that had been blown apart, taking fingerprints from severed hands, dissection of bodies to determine the presence or absence of an appendix, and many other sickening methods they used to reunite bodies with the appropriate families. As the narration progresses, you are presented with film of the activities being described. It is not something you want to watch while you are eating dinner, which is what I was doing.
So from one extreme to another. The DaVinci Code is beautifully photographed and visually stunning. The Texas City documentary is grainy, poorly focused and visually stunning. Both films cause you to lose yourself in the story and stay with you for some time after viewing. The DaVinci Code (believe it or not, you hyper-religious nitwits) is fiction. The Texas City story is horrifying fact. The first takes 2-1/2 hours to tell its story. The second takes 23 minutes.
Both were well worth the time to see.
LSW
Monday, May 29, 2006
Step One Complete
Way back in the first part of April I mentioned my visit to the Niccum Cemetery outside Danville, Illinois, and my somewhat rash decision to photograph every tombstone. I had been frustrated that this little cemetery full of my relatives had been rather overlooked by the local historians. Before we left Danville, I had managed to snag a listing from the Illiana Genealogical and Historical Society for the known burials through about the mid-1970s. Since getting home, I have been matching that list against the photographs, sizing the photographs for uploading to www.findagrave.com , and slowly loading the data row by row.
The crushing workload of May has interferred greatly with my project, but today I was able to sit down and complete the entry for this little cemetery. Little? I had no idea that there were more than 500 burials in that little plot of land when I was snapping photos. If I had, I might have backed out of my impulsive plan on the spot. I'm glad I didn't know, because I feel a real sense of accomplishment now that the first round has been completed.
Now I go back and make sure I didn't miss anybody and try again to decipher the handful of stones that did not photograph well. I'm planning to expand the listing I picked up at IGHS to include helpful information that was omitted (like "son of" and "wife of"), correct the typographical errors on that list, and add in information from my personal records for the 50% or so burials that tie into my family. Then I plan to post the information somewhere on the Internet and start spreading the word that Niccum Cemetery has been documented to the best of my ability.
I'm glad I was able to finish the initial phase of the project on Memorial Day. I was not able to get out today to pay visits to the graves of my veteran ancestors, but I was able to leave virtual flowers on the memorials I have entered for them online. I continue to find it very rewarding to memorialize my relatives in this way. I feel like they know what I've been doing and are happy that someone remembers.
The crushing workload of May has interferred greatly with my project, but today I was able to sit down and complete the entry for this little cemetery. Little? I had no idea that there were more than 500 burials in that little plot of land when I was snapping photos. If I had, I might have backed out of my impulsive plan on the spot. I'm glad I didn't know, because I feel a real sense of accomplishment now that the first round has been completed.
Now I go back and make sure I didn't miss anybody and try again to decipher the handful of stones that did not photograph well. I'm planning to expand the listing I picked up at IGHS to include helpful information that was omitted (like "son of" and "wife of"), correct the typographical errors on that list, and add in information from my personal records for the 50% or so burials that tie into my family. Then I plan to post the information somewhere on the Internet and start spreading the word that Niccum Cemetery has been documented to the best of my ability.
I'm glad I was able to finish the initial phase of the project on Memorial Day. I was not able to get out today to pay visits to the graves of my veteran ancestors, but I was able to leave virtual flowers on the memorials I have entered for them online. I continue to find it very rewarding to memorialize my relatives in this way. I feel like they know what I've been doing and are happy that someone remembers.
Niccum Cemetery
LSW
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Lead Me Not Into Temptation
My mother's doctor's office ticked me off just before lunch time today. When I get snarly, it helps if I get out of the office and find someplace distracting to spend my lunch hour. Usually I go to a book store, but I've got such a pile of books waiting to be read that I'm trying to avoid Border's and Half-Price Books for awhile. I've got enough clothes, so that let out Foley's and Beall's as possible escape routes. I'm overloaded with craft projects, so scratch Hobby Lobby. I was getting desperate for ideas.
It suddenly occurred to me that I had not been to Tuesday Morning since Christmas, so I headed to Burnet Road.
What was I thinking? I don't need anything that you can find at Tuesday Morning. But I left with two big bags full of stuff. The place is evil. They carry everything. I discovered a need for a summer blanket, some dog toys, a bundt pan, a set of gift boxes, a frame, an audio book. I was amazed to find a matching piece to my set of luggage at a greatly reduced price. My escape lunch ended up being a bit costly. But it was good stuff. (The dogs love the new blanket.)
It's hopeless. For every item I decide to put in the stack of things to take off to charity, I bring in a replacement. I'm a sucker for a bargain and I keep getting in trouble as a result. My closets overfloweth.
So what is a gal to do when she needs to escape her life for a bit and lunch is the only time available? God help me, I'm probably going to end up becoming a Starbuck's lounger, pounding away on my laptop while I ingest enough caffeine to keep my eyes wide open all night.
Which brings up my next confession. I finally caved in and tried a new coffee house on Highway 71. I've never really known what to order at a coffee house and usually opt for cappucino. Today I tried a latte. What bliss! The stuff is sinfully good. I fear it will become a regular stop.
So I did not do well in resisting temptation today. Guess I will just have to try again tomorrow.
LSW
It suddenly occurred to me that I had not been to Tuesday Morning since Christmas, so I headed to Burnet Road.
What was I thinking? I don't need anything that you can find at Tuesday Morning. But I left with two big bags full of stuff. The place is evil. They carry everything. I discovered a need for a summer blanket, some dog toys, a bundt pan, a set of gift boxes, a frame, an audio book. I was amazed to find a matching piece to my set of luggage at a greatly reduced price. My escape lunch ended up being a bit costly. But it was good stuff. (The dogs love the new blanket.)
It's hopeless. For every item I decide to put in the stack of things to take off to charity, I bring in a replacement. I'm a sucker for a bargain and I keep getting in trouble as a result. My closets overfloweth.
So what is a gal to do when she needs to escape her life for a bit and lunch is the only time available? God help me, I'm probably going to end up becoming a Starbuck's lounger, pounding away on my laptop while I ingest enough caffeine to keep my eyes wide open all night.
Which brings up my next confession. I finally caved in and tried a new coffee house on Highway 71. I've never really known what to order at a coffee house and usually opt for cappucino. Today I tried a latte. What bliss! The stuff is sinfully good. I fear it will become a regular stop.
So I did not do well in resisting temptation today. Guess I will just have to try again tomorrow.
LSW
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Met One, Now I'm Moving On
My grandmother Hodge had a lot of wisdom to impart, but one thing she told me has stood out over the years. She said "In your life you are going to meet a certain number of jackasses. When you do, just say, 'there's one of them', and move along."
I did a stupid thing, to begin with. I left for the grocery store on Sunday afternoon just in time to arrive with the after church crowd. It was wall to wall people, all in a rush and none of them in a mood to be aware of the needs of anyone else.
In the second place, my mood has been pretty sour for several weeks now, not only because of the truckload of work that was dumped on my desk on May 1st, but also because allergies have had my head feeling like one of those Macy's balloons floating above my body.
So I can't say I'm exactly in a forgiving frame of mind these days.
Anyway, as I walked through the door at H.E.B. and began to shop the vegetable aisle, I was startled to have a man brush past me snarling "Lardass!". It was so unexpected, I stopped in my tracks and spun around. We exchanged looks. I realized at that point that his snarl was not directed at me. I'm not sure he realized that he had been heard until he saw my schoolteacher glare. He strode on out the door.
I looked around to see who might have been the intended target. There were several possibilities, including a short woman of the extremely portly persuasion who was slowly choosing vegetables to bag.
Since I spent the next hour waiting for people to shift out of the way so I could shop, I could understand the fellow's frustration. But there was no excuse for his rude behavior. I am as guilty as anybody in slinging rude comments at people. In my head or in the privacy of my car. I try not to make a jackass out of myself by saying them aloud if there's any chance I'll be heard by a complete stranger.
So, I guess the moral of the story is, better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a shithead instead of opening your mouth and removing all doubt.
LSW
I did a stupid thing, to begin with. I left for the grocery store on Sunday afternoon just in time to arrive with the after church crowd. It was wall to wall people, all in a rush and none of them in a mood to be aware of the needs of anyone else.
In the second place, my mood has been pretty sour for several weeks now, not only because of the truckload of work that was dumped on my desk on May 1st, but also because allergies have had my head feeling like one of those Macy's balloons floating above my body.
So I can't say I'm exactly in a forgiving frame of mind these days.
Anyway, as I walked through the door at H.E.B. and began to shop the vegetable aisle, I was startled to have a man brush past me snarling "Lardass!". It was so unexpected, I stopped in my tracks and spun around. We exchanged looks. I realized at that point that his snarl was not directed at me. I'm not sure he realized that he had been heard until he saw my schoolteacher glare. He strode on out the door.
I looked around to see who might have been the intended target. There were several possibilities, including a short woman of the extremely portly persuasion who was slowly choosing vegetables to bag.
Since I spent the next hour waiting for people to shift out of the way so I could shop, I could understand the fellow's frustration. But there was no excuse for his rude behavior. I am as guilty as anybody in slinging rude comments at people. In my head or in the privacy of my car. I try not to make a jackass out of myself by saying them aloud if there's any chance I'll be heard by a complete stranger.
So, I guess the moral of the story is, better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a shithead instead of opening your mouth and removing all doubt.
LSW
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Life Under the Canopy
Last weekend, brother David and I assembled a canopy for the smaller of our decks, to provide a little shade through the day for assorted animals and plants. It has been a big hit. This morning, as I watered plants, I discovered that I was being studied carefully by this little guy.
LSW
He kept close watch on me, shifting position as I moved around the deck. I think he's every bit as debonair and suave as that cockney gecko on TV, don't you?
In another area of the deck was a study in concentration. Try as he did, he never did manage to levitate the cat dish into his reach.
Poor Mojo had a rough start to his day. First thing this morning I discovered that he had chewed the top off one of the toes of my chainsaw carved bear in the living room. I was not happy. Mojo had no idea that he could fall from grace with his Mom and it broke his heart. It was, in fact, his second transgression of the day. The first being my discovery that my yard work shoes were full of a certain yellow fluid. The scolding he got hurt far worse than the tiny pop to his butt, and he spent the better part of an hour with his ears drooping and a sad look on his face. He watched me put socks on the bear's feet as a preventive measure (now there's a decorative touch that you won't see anywhere else) and trailed forlornly behind me until he found an opportunity to crawl in my lap and cover me with apologetic kisses. He was one happy little boy when he realized that Mom wasn't going to stay upset with him. What's a one of a kind piece of art balanced against a little boy's heart? A little black paint and nobody else will ever know what happened.
From there we finished repotting and watering plants and washing down the deck. I knew he was back to normal when he started chasing the water, snapping and snarling with puppy delight. Life is back to normal. More or less. I've still got to figure out what to do with my yard shoes.
LSW
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Going Down for the Third Time
I'm drowning in work this week, so hence the scarce postings. May is a four-letter word for me. It involves statutory requirements that result in my processing as much work in May as I do for January, February, March, April, June, October, November and December put together. I leave out July, August and September, which are their own special kind of work hell, but with less State regulations involved. Let's just say that I earn my salary primarily for the efforts that are exerted in those four months of the year. I earn my ulcers in May.
Yesterday I worked until 11PM trying to make silk data out of sow's ear input. I'm finalizing that particular file as I sit here at 6AM. I want this particular mess off my desk before I hit the office this morning.
I am continually amazed at the bad data that keeps coming my way these days. If what I see is a representative sample of the data that is floating around the world, I wonder how on earth the world keeps functioning. What scares me is that we may be heading for a 1929 panic, not in finance, but in crashed computers. Programmers just don't seem to be able to program their way out of a paper sack anymore. Fast and sloppy is the creed these days. Let the guy on the other end of the data beware.
There was a time when I didn't consider myself to be a real programmer. "I do maintenance programming," was my belief. Hell, at this point I'm light years beyond some of the so-called geniuses that are pulling the big bucks these days. A lot of my time is spent debugging the data of much higher-paid programmers. Who, by the way, are not that pleased to hear that I've located holes in their Swiss-cheesed programs. You're welcome, guys.
I'm a dinosaur who works primarily in COBOL. So I get little respect from the Microsoft certified generation. But how is it that the old dinosaur can spot garbage from a mile off that they work in up close and personal and are convinced smells like roses?
Oh, well. I said all that to lead up to sharing my first grin of the day. My horoscope today: "You probably feel a lack of guidance. You're dealing with the sort of person who'd throw a drowning man both ends of the rope".
That's the way I feel right now. Floating in a pile of sewage and nobody on shore is able to help, except to keep throwing the entire rope at me repeatedly.
Excuse me while I go find a brick wall to bang my head against.
LSW
Yesterday I worked until 11PM trying to make silk data out of sow's ear input. I'm finalizing that particular file as I sit here at 6AM. I want this particular mess off my desk before I hit the office this morning.
I am continually amazed at the bad data that keeps coming my way these days. If what I see is a representative sample of the data that is floating around the world, I wonder how on earth the world keeps functioning. What scares me is that we may be heading for a 1929 panic, not in finance, but in crashed computers. Programmers just don't seem to be able to program their way out of a paper sack anymore. Fast and sloppy is the creed these days. Let the guy on the other end of the data beware.
There was a time when I didn't consider myself to be a real programmer. "I do maintenance programming," was my belief. Hell, at this point I'm light years beyond some of the so-called geniuses that are pulling the big bucks these days. A lot of my time is spent debugging the data of much higher-paid programmers. Who, by the way, are not that pleased to hear that I've located holes in their Swiss-cheesed programs. You're welcome, guys.
I'm a dinosaur who works primarily in COBOL. So I get little respect from the Microsoft certified generation. But how is it that the old dinosaur can spot garbage from a mile off that they work in up close and personal and are convinced smells like roses?
Oh, well. I said all that to lead up to sharing my first grin of the day. My horoscope today: "You probably feel a lack of guidance. You're dealing with the sort of person who'd throw a drowning man both ends of the rope".
That's the way I feel right now. Floating in a pile of sewage and nobody on shore is able to help, except to keep throwing the entire rope at me repeatedly.
Excuse me while I go find a brick wall to bang my head against.
LSW
Friday, May 12, 2006
Mini Flashback to 1962
On the way to work yesterday morning, driving down 6th Street and crossing Congress Avenue, I saw one of those cars that sends you instantly back about 40 years. It was a bright red Corvette, circa 1960, gleaming like it had just rolled off the showroom floor. Looked something like this:
So, I naturally flew back in my mind to 1962. I found myself thinking about Route 66, a television show that involved two young men cruising the USA in their Corvette. I always imagined that Corvette as being red, though I later learned that it was blue. Those were the days of black and white tv, when you made up your own color scheme in your mind.
One day in 1962, the production company landed in Austin to film an episode. We were living in Oak Hill at the time. I was quite a fan of the show and was excited to know that the two stars were so nearby. Daddy was taking classes at UT that year and one day he came home and told us about the flurry of activity in downtown Austin. He described all the giggly girls that were rushing around hoping to catch sight of Marty Milner or George Maharis. He asked me if I would be that silly.
Well, I was seven at the time, more star struck than anything. A little too young to have crushes. But I was confident that I would be every bit as excited if I were on the scene.
I saw that episode several years back on TVLand and enjoyed seeing the familiar Austin locations, caught in a time warp. But the thing that struck me most is how dated the vehicles were. The episode involved an accident where Buz Murdock was blinded and spent time in a blind school until, with the inevitable TV miracle, he recovered and had to leave behind the blind girl he loved. The ambulance was a modified station wagon and the police cars were boxy and black. But that lovely Corvette was every bit as wonderful as it ever was.
Oddly enough, I had a second flash to the early 60s later on in the evening. Since the Thursday prime time schedule is horrible, I was surfing last night and found myself caught by the History Channel. The show that grabbed my attention involved a recreation of the Kennedy assassination by combining all of the photos and movies that had been shot by passersby that day and then reanalyzing the pictures with today's technology. I don't usually watch programs about that particular event, but this was a well done piece.
Again, the vehicles were the things that transported me back in time. I could imagine myself back in time, watching the original newscasts, a fourth grader who was embroiled in her first experience with a national tragedy.
Just as a faint sweet smell of a certain kind of soap can transport me back to the first grade restrooms in Oak Hill, or a song heard on the radio can suddenly transport me to a bus loaded with teenaged girls heading to a basketball tournament, now I find that a glimpse of a sportscar can whisk me back 45 years in an instant. The mind's complicated connections never fail to amaze me.
LSW
So, I naturally flew back in my mind to 1962. I found myself thinking about Route 66, a television show that involved two young men cruising the USA in their Corvette. I always imagined that Corvette as being red, though I later learned that it was blue. Those were the days of black and white tv, when you made up your own color scheme in your mind.
One day in 1962, the production company landed in Austin to film an episode. We were living in Oak Hill at the time. I was quite a fan of the show and was excited to know that the two stars were so nearby. Daddy was taking classes at UT that year and one day he came home and told us about the flurry of activity in downtown Austin. He described all the giggly girls that were rushing around hoping to catch sight of Marty Milner or George Maharis. He asked me if I would be that silly.
Well, I was seven at the time, more star struck than anything. A little too young to have crushes. But I was confident that I would be every bit as excited if I were on the scene.
I saw that episode several years back on TVLand and enjoyed seeing the familiar Austin locations, caught in a time warp. But the thing that struck me most is how dated the vehicles were. The episode involved an accident where Buz Murdock was blinded and spent time in a blind school until, with the inevitable TV miracle, he recovered and had to leave behind the blind girl he loved. The ambulance was a modified station wagon and the police cars were boxy and black. But that lovely Corvette was every bit as wonderful as it ever was.
Oddly enough, I had a second flash to the early 60s later on in the evening. Since the Thursday prime time schedule is horrible, I was surfing last night and found myself caught by the History Channel. The show that grabbed my attention involved a recreation of the Kennedy assassination by combining all of the photos and movies that had been shot by passersby that day and then reanalyzing the pictures with today's technology. I don't usually watch programs about that particular event, but this was a well done piece.
Again, the vehicles were the things that transported me back in time. I could imagine myself back in time, watching the original newscasts, a fourth grader who was embroiled in her first experience with a national tragedy.
Just as a faint sweet smell of a certain kind of soap can transport me back to the first grade restrooms in Oak Hill, or a song heard on the radio can suddenly transport me to a bus loaded with teenaged girls heading to a basketball tournament, now I find that a glimpse of a sportscar can whisk me back 45 years in an instant. The mind's complicated connections never fail to amaze me.
LSW
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