Art?

I've tried something new for my great-grandchildren.  Hidden in the squiggles is a message that I hope they can find.  I put two up recently and my granddaughter was able to find the message for her son too quickly.  Here are the original and the message.

How old?

Tomorrow my body turns 81 years of age.  My brain isn’t so sure.  Sometimes, it’s 16 and dishing up ice cream cones at Bowker’s Dairy in Rochester, New York.  Or it’s 58 and hauling a travel trailer into the Valle Del Oro park in Mesa, Arizona.  Wait a minute, it’s really 21 and in a cap and gown in Stillwater, Oklahoma, waiting in line for that diploma.  Oops, it’s 35 and camping in the Adirondack Mountains with my brother and our sons, looking for the elusive trout.  Well, actually it’s 80 and waiting for all the fireworks to celebrate the eve of my birth.  Happy Fourth of July, everyone.  How old is your brain?

Meteorologists Have Gotten Lazy Lately

Meteorologists have gotten lazy lately.  It used to be, not too long ago, that the rule for determining when the monsoon started here in the Valley of the Sun was when the relative humidity had reached 55 for 5 days in a row.  Now, it has changed to the 15^th of June.  So what happened to cause the change, you ask.  Well, here’s what I think.

Tom, Dick and Mary, all esteemed meteorologists, were gathered around the office water cooler one scorching hot June day, discussing various and sundry meteorological matters when their boss came along and reminded them that it would soon be time for the annual monsoon decision.  Their conversation went along these lines:

Tom:  Oh rats, now we’ve got to get out our charts and start keeping track of the relative humidity.

Dick:  Yeah, it sure does louse up the day to have to go outside with those dumb equipment things.

Mary: You mean the humidity measurer doohickeys?

Dick:  Yeah.  I can never remember from one year to the next how to work the dumb things, let alone where we stored them.

Tom:  And we never can get anyone else to go out and do the measuring for us.  There’s got to be an easier way. 

Mary:  Maybe we can somehow come up with a better formula, like after it rains two days in a row.  That would make it easier.  We wouldn’t have to use those dumb charts for such a long time.

Tom:  We wouldn’t even have to go out, we could just watch out the window for the rain.

Dick:  I’ve got it!  Remember how those guys over at Stonehenge figured out the solstices were all tied to calendar dates, like December 21^st and June 21^st and, um, those others.  Why can’t we tie the monsoon to the calendar?

Tom and Mary, in unison:  Great, Dick, you’ve hit on the solution.

Dick:  Okay, now what date should we use?

Mary:  Well, today is the 15^th of June, it’s right in the middle of the month, easy to remember, why not use it?  And besides, it usually rains sometime around now, according the local paper.

Tom and Dick, in unison:  Right!  Let’s go tell the boss how we’ve managed to make the work around here simpler for everyone.

And that’s the way it was one day at the meteorological office water cooler.

It's Summer, Tra La

Summer began on Sunday here in Westminster Village.  That's when it was too hot to sit out for breakfast.  It was 80, and the mornings will stay in the 80's until a monsoon raises the humidity and lowers the temperature.  Or raises the temperature.  In any event, we're in for the duration.

One or Two?

Clay Thompson writes a feature for the Arizona Republic newspaper called “Valley 101” in which he attempts to answer questions submitted by his readers on any subject.  Recently, someone innocently (we assume) asked whether there should be one or two spaces at the end of a sentence.  I don’t remember the answer he gave, but apparently it caused a flurry of responses.  A large number of readers questioned his intelligence, which happens quite often, by insisting that one space is the correct number, citing various epistles such as Wikipedia, the Encyclopedia Britannica, Roget’s Thesaurus, and various English teachers from the far distant past, to justify their position.  An equal number of irate readers said that two was the only true answer, citing the very same epistles, and emphasizing the level of his incompetence as shown by his response.  He has since asked that we are free to use one or two, whichever suits us, and to please consider the matter closed, as he is tired of his mail being cluttered with angry threats and comments about his manhood.  So please don’t write him (clay.thompson@arizonarepublic.com) to join in the fray.

I myself have used two ever since I was weaned away from cursive writing and was sat down behind a keyboard, be it typewriter (remember those?), word processor or computer.  There’s something about automatic spacing using two empty spaces at the end of a sentence that appeals to my esthetic nature.  So whatever your preference, one, two or whatever, count me as a “two spaces” guy, and don’t bother trying to convert me.

Patio Time

This is that time of year when we open the patio doors when we roll out of bed.  We have time for a cup of coffee and to read the paper before the temperature drives us indoors.  It won't be long, though, before it'll be too warm.  A short period in the spring and then again in the fall.  So we soak it up while we can. 

Jerking Sodas

The hardest times were the hot, humid days when families would crowd around the counter, all wanting me to serve them their ice cream cones first.  The frustration was twofold; first, trying to decide who was next, and then, trying to hold up to four cones in one hand without crushing any before they were handed over to the eager eaters.  The best times were after all the orders were filled and we could go in the back where the ice cream was coming out of the mixer and we were free to sample the soft, creamy delight.  The year was 1947, the place was Rochester, NY, the store was Bowker’s Dairy Products and I had just finished my junior year of high school and had my first paying job. 

Soda Jerk.  It doesn’t sound like much, but it was a life of adventure for me; a place to serve the paying public; a place to meet girls; a place to satisfy my sweet tooth for free.  Let me explain that last part:  we were told when we were hired that we could eat all the ice cream we wanted as long as the customers were served; that if we made a mistake on an order, we were free to put it aside for future consumption.  How close to heaven could this be?

It didn’t take long to learn the various recipes.  Chocolate milk shake: milk up to there in the container, 2 scoops chocolate ice cream, 2 squirts chocolate syrup, put on the mixer, then pour into a tall glass.  Lime soda: 2 squirts lime syrup, soda water up to there, 2 scoops vanilla ice cream, stir and serve.  Black and white sundae: one scoop vanilla ice cream covered with chocolate syrup, one scoop chocolate ice cream covered with marshmallow syrup, whipped cream and a maraschino cherry on top.  And so on.

It was a fun time: good music on the jukebox; friends dropping by; a cool place in the summer heat; and all that ice cream in all those wonderful flavors!  My favorite was any kind I happened to be eating at the time.  Well, enough of the reminiscing, time to hit the Garden Café for a scoop or three.  Happy sundae!

The Standish Burying Ground

From The Standard, Holley, N. Y., October 23, 1930: "Standish Record Proved By Writing On Quilt
"From its organization, the members of Orleans Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, have been keenly interested in the marking of the graves of the Revolutionary soldiers buried in Orleans County. Sunday afternoon the grave of one of the most interesting of these old heroes, Asa Standish, great-grandson of Miles Standish of Colonial fame, was marked with simple and appropriate ceremonies and the resting places of four 'real' daughters received similar honor. A real daughter is the daughter of one who fought in the War of the Revolution.
"The graves of Asa Standish and his daughter, Electa, both lie in the old 'Standish Burying Ground,' near the Transit Church at Gaines. The marker that was placed on Asa's grave Sunday is the first it has worn. Had there been one there before, one of the most interesting searches yet known to genealogists, would never have taken place.
"The story of the effort to find the 'missing link' in the Standish chain of descent is now a matter of history. Again and again one has heard of how the descendants of Asa Standish, though they knew they were descended from Miles Standish, were unable to furnish concrete proof of that descent, and became known as 'the unplaced descendants of Miles Standish,' until Mrs. George Shourds of Albion, Asa's great-great-granddaughter, by chance came upon an old family quilt, into which was sewed a block giving Asa's birth. This block of cloth is the only written record concerning Asa Standish and it is interesting to note the lack of evidence concerning him is due to the fact that this very Electa, whose grave was marked Sunday, in a spell of New England 'ridding up' the house, burned all the records as so much trash.
"The ceremonies at the grave of Asa Standish were impressive. Following the Assembly Call by Sheret Post, American Legion, the invocation was given by the Rev. A. L. Pollock of Gaines, a World War veteran. America was sung by the assembled crowd, and Troop 92 of the Boy Scouts then gave the Salute to the Flag and the American's Creed. The bronze marker was then presented by Mrs. Avery V. Andrews, Regent of Orleans Chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution and Cleon Standish of Medina accepted in the name of Asa's descendants. The marker was unveiled by two small great-great-grandsons of Asa Standish, Eugene W. Standish, son of Mr. and Mrs. Cleon Standish of Medina, and Hubert Standish, Jr., son of Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Standish of Utica.
"Following the unveiling, a history of the Standish family was given by Mrs. Ida Standish Shourds (Mrs. George Shourds) of Albion.
"The services at the graves of the daughters were brief. At each the Regent of Orleans Chapter, Mrs. Avery V. Andrews, led the chapter in the salute to the flag, the Lord's Prayer and the benediction, after which the markers were unveiled. Elizabeth Shourds Green (Mrs. William C. Green of Belmont) wearing Electa's own dress, unveiled the marker of her ancestress. Mrs. Green is a great-great-niece of Electa. The flag was placed in the marker by Elizabeth Waldo, Daughter of Homer Waldo of barre Center, a great-great-niece of Electa."

Fooling Around With Clocks

It's 2:27 Mountain Standard Time, or Pacific Daylight Time, whichever you prefer. The good citizens of Arizona have the good sense not to fool around with changing our clocks twice each year. I've often wondered why it wouldn't be so much easier to just change working hours, starting work at, say, seven instead of eight.

Bruno

Here's Bruno, Westminster Village's African Spurred Tortoise, in case you missed him at wmvaz.com.

Latest Drawings

These are my latest ink drawings.

An Anniversary

Today, January 16th, is the anniversary of the day in 1919 when the 18th amendment to the Constitution was enacted in which Congress, in their infinite wisdom, decided that their fellow Americans shouldn’t be allowed alcoholic beverages. Of course, the natural progression was for the American public to begin buying the prohibited joy juice form the gangsters. That, in turn, gave rise to an increased size of law enforcement to overcome the profiteers who reacted to the prohibition. Finally, believe it or not, Congress became aware of what had been happening (they were too sober to notice right away) and in 1933 repealed the amendment. 1933! Fifteen years! So how long do you think it will take before they notice the drug wars?

"A Queer Case"

From The Holley Standard, Holley, N. Y., Thursday, November 20, 1879:
"'A Queer Case
'Our usually quiet community is much excited over a new development in a case which has caused much speculation during the summer. The facts are something like these: Mrs. Jesse Mann and her daughter Hannah, living alone on a farm west of Martin's Corners, have been annoyed and at times greatly alarmed by some parties coming to their house and throwing stones in the windows, destroying house plants, cutting doors, and even carrying fence posts into neighbors' yards, and in harvest time pulling down shocks of wheat and scattering them in the highway. These demonstrations have been so persistent as to injure the health of Mrs. Mann through fear of personal injury. Her son Gad and others have repeatedly staid (sic) in the house all night, but never on these occasions have the parties been heard or seen, until Saturday, the 3rd, about midnight, when Gad Mann and Geo. Odell, his brother-in-law, once more secreted themselves about the house and succeeded in capturing a lady, who has admitted participation in the whole series of attacks on the peace of the family but refuses to reveal any accomplice. She was detained until Sunday morning, when a warrant was procured for her arrest. Upon being taken before Justice Fowler at Two Bridges, she plead not guilty, and examination being waived she was bailed in the sum of $550 to appear in court. We withhold the name of the guilty party, thinking it well from the nature of the case to ask a suspension of public opinion.' - East Carlton Correspondence Orleans Republican."

I found this article while conducting research, but have not yet found anything further about the case - yet. Mrs. Jesse Mann is the former Nancy Standish, my second great grandmother, who was a direct descendant of Myles Standish, who we all know as the Captain of the Pilgrims' militia.

The Miller Challenge

The challenge is to find when George Miller (Müller) immigrated to the United States.
This is information about George:
He was born 5 July 1815 in Lembach, Bas-Rhin, France to George Müller and Sophie Catharina Guthöhrel. He was naturalized on 22 October 1851 in Lyons, Wayne County, New York. He belonged to the First Lutheran Church, where the records of his children’s births are recorded. His wife was Magdalena Rössel, born 15 December 1820, in Lembach. He first appears in the US census in 1850 as George Mills in Lyons. His oldest child, Magdalena was born 22 June 1843 in Lyons, so he must have immigrated before that. In the 1900 census, the first year the question was asked, Magdalena said she had immigrated in 1855, which is obviously incorrect.

Early Morning Plan

I woke up this morning with a plan for legalizing marijuana, don't ask me why, I don't know. So here's the essence of the plan:
First, pass federal legislation to treat marijuana the same as any and all tobacco products. That would allow tobacco companies to start producing marijuana cigarettes, and would include collecting import taxes for all marijuana coming across our borders.
Second, include a 30 to 90 day amnesty program, to be managed by the tobacco companies, during which people could turn in their supply of marijuana for coupons to be used in exchange for marijuana cigarettes. That would include credit for all living plants, which could be used to start legalized farms. After the amnesty program expires, the same protections and penalties that currently exist for tobacco products would be applied to marijuana products.
Comments?

Quakin'

If you go on Google Earth and search around Prague, Oklahoma, to the west, you can find quite a few earthquake records. Look between Prague and Meeker, both sides of highway US 62. The largest I found is 5.7, stronger than I'd like to feel. About 6 or 8 years ago, there was a quake in California that rolled through Arizona. Our house felt as though it was on a small roller coaster, and our dining room light was swaying. Fortunately, there was no damage. But it sure was a strange sensation.

Just In Case

Just in case you were wondering, Grandma and I did not partake of the Black Friday activities. We need our rest.

Didya Hear?

Didya hear about the young fella who sold his business because he heard that Congress was going to give him "some help" and he decided to get out before they could?

The Holiday Season

We made it past Halloween, so all the ghosts and goblins are back in the attic or under the bed for another year. Next up is Thanksgiving, which some think began with the Pilgrims back in the 1620's. The fourth Thursday in November, after a series of changes, was officially set as THE date by federal legislation in December 1941. I don't know what kind of celebration was held in the early years, but it probably didn't involve one day of over-indulgence followed by three days of bicarbonate of soda and ice bags. Or was that New Years Eve?

Once we get past Thanksgiving, we look toward Christmas, even though the merchants have been reminding us since Labor Day.

Joe and Petey

We lived in Rochester, New York, and I was in high school at the time. The family next door were from Ireland and had two sons, Joe and Jim, Joe being the oldest, three years younger than me. Joe introduced me to Petey. But first, a little background.

Joe was curious by nature. As an example, his mother came home from shopping one day with an archery set for Joe, who promptly took it out in the backyard where Jim was playing. Trying to find out what might happen, Joe took aim at the sky and let an arrow fly. He learned that what goes up must come down, and come down it did - right onto his brother’s head. Fortunately, the arrow had a blunt point so no physical damage was done to Jim, but Joe couldn’t sit down for a while. There are other examples, like the time he sneaked his father’s pistol out of the house, went into the woods and accidentally shot himself in the hand, requiring the fire department to bring him home. And there was that other time… Well, I did say a little background.

Our neighbor across the street was raising a Cooper’s hawk and a Peregrine Falcon. The falcon’s name was Petey, but I don’t remember the name of the hawk (probably Cooper). The owner was going on vacation and asked Joe to feed and water his birds. Everything went well for a day or two until Joe decided to find out if he could let Petey out and call him back to the cage. Well, Petey didn’t come back to Joe, instead flying around a bit before alighting onto a chimney down the street. Joe was frantic that the bird was going to disappear. He called to me and explained the situation, so I took a piece of raw beef and the leather glove that Joe had and walked down the street to where Petey could see me. I waved the meat back and forth and whistled to call him down, and, lo and behold, he did. He landed on my gloved hand and went for the meat. I took hold of the straps on his legs (there’s a name for them which you probably all know) and made sure he couldn’t fly away, then walked up the street and put him back in his cage. Joe swore me to secrecy. As far as I can tell, the owner never did find out about Petey‘s freedom flight. And Joe went on to other days of infamy.