Nesting

Our patio wall has been accepted by a pair of Doves as their new home.  They've been busy for the last few days constructing the nest.  We're concerned because we need to get into the storage area next to the nest.  We hope the young mother will fly off to dine somewhere with her partner so we can rescue a few items from storage, such as toilet paper and paper towels.  The nest is right up against the screen and looks to be quite precarious, but they seem to be confident enough that it will suffice time will tell.

Teachers

One day, in our fourth grade classroom, Mrs. Wheat announced that her diamond ring had disappeared and that she would pay a 25¢ reward to any of her students who found it.  Needless to say, we all spent a good number of days with our eyes on the ground, not concentrating too much on what she might have been trying to teach us; 25¢ was big money back then!  But we did get through the school year.  The good/bad news was that the ring had been found, but by Mrs. Wheat herself, in her driveway after the snow melted, so our 25¢ dreams went up in smoke.

Miss Dildine, who would within a year become Mrs. Harrison, instilled in me a love for poetry.  She was a teacher of English, which included grammar, punctuation, pronunciation, enunciation and reading the classics aloud.  The first few weeks of high school were a bewildering experience for me, but I found some semblance of order in her class.  She opened my eyes to the wondrous world of literature, and I am forever grateful for that.

Ethics is an interesting subject, and one of my college professors brought the subject directly to us one day.  It was during the reign of McCarthyism and loyalty oaths.  About three months into the semester, our professor came into the room and announced that our class was dismissed for the semester as he had been fired.  He refused to sign the loyalty oath, not because he was a Communist, or even a Communist sympathizer, but because he believed the requirement to sign was not ethical.  Lesson learned.

  New York Times Sunday crossword puzzles, 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzles, Billiards, genealogical research and pin & ink drawing are just about all that keep me occupied these days.  Life is good.

Billiards

   Another resident, Bob Kaul, and I play a game of English Billiards every Wednesday morning.  We're fairly evenly matched, except this morning when he was off his game.  It's a nice change from 8-ball or 9-ball pool.  There are some videos on YouTube if you're interested in learning how it's played. My days of playing regular Billiards - three balls, no pockets in the table - back in the 40's and 50's seem to help me with angles and carom shots.  But the weekly practice is certainly needed.
   During our freshman year at Oklahoma A & M College - now OSU, having been upgraded to a full-fledged university - a group of us would shoot pool on the only pool table in the Student Union; the other five tables were for Snooker.  When we came from summer break, the pool table had been replaced with another Snooker table.  A much different game, requiring a higher level of skill than pool.  Something about smaller pockets, and a list of rules we always had trouble remembering.  Smitty, Kendig, Stolberg and Gaesser are gone now, just Cohen and me left of the Rochester contingent to carry the OAMC banner on.

Monday, 3 March 2020

Walked this morning - 2512 steps, so far.  Today is a day with an open schedule - nothing on, no stress.  I finished the New York Times crossword puzzle yesterday.  How do they come up with such challenges?  We have been working on jigsaw puzzles for a bit now - one on our dining table constantly, and one waiting.  Shirley orders them on Amazon; we like the Buffalo Games puzzles, especially those by Charles Wysocki.  When completed, we donate them to Westminster Village; there are several tables around the campus for puzzlers like us.
Have a great day!

Changes

Shirley and I have been trying to walk more lately, once before breakfast and again after lunch.  In the morning, we walk the halls and up and down stairs.  It's about a mile.  A little more than half that in the afternoon.  And we're now eating lunch later, it helps cut down our evening snack, so we sleep better, too.

Busy Body

When I agreed to become President of the Westminster Village Foundation, I didn't realize the amount of time it would consume.  I had been at it for about eight months, when I decided that all the changes I had wanted were either complete or in progress.  At that point, I submitted my resignation - Monday of last week.  Since then, my phone hasn't been ringing, no text messages, and my incoming email is down to one every three or four days.  What a relief!

Notes from a Jigsaw Puzzle Junky

Shirley and I have recently renewed our interest in jigsaw puzzles, as have some of our fellow Residents here at Westminster Village, Scottsdale,, so I was interested in learning the history of jigsaw puzzling.  Not being especially trustful of a Google search, I searched my own mind and found this:

Once upon a time, Og, the local Neanderthal artist, had just finished scratching out a reasonable rendering of the neighborhood Mastodon on sandstone (some say slate, but archaeologists aren’t too agreeable on the subject of the media used), when the baby of the family, Uzzle, grabbed it.  Before anyone reacted to the sudden display of agility by the toddler, the artwork had been tossed into the air (such an early display of hand speed!) and fell to the ground, which would ultimately be named Earth.  It broke into pieces.  Og, confounded by emotions of awe at the strength of his progeny and anger at the destroyer of his masterpiece, was about to kick the numerous pieces into a neighbor’s domicile (cave, to us).  However, his domicile mate, Egr, showing signs of her own degree of artistic talent, picked up the various sized pieces and proceeded to assemble them in proper order.  She had placed the oddly shaped pieces on a bed of soft mud, which quickly hardened (they were living in an area of dry climate soon to be named Ogizona), cementing them in place.  Egr quickly named this new creation, Egruzzle, unselfishly giving some credit to her offspring.  Centuries later, two archaeologists, Jigger and Sawdler by name, were amazed to discover this assemblage in a dark, dry cave (once considered a domicile).  Until carbon dating, and several visits to a local palm reader, the Neanderthal source was finally realized.  The secret of the origin of these puzzles, eventually named in honor of the two discoverers, has been a closely guarded secret – until now.

Brexit

I'm not surprised that Great Britain is pulling out of the EU.  When a country has to give up a good portion of it's sovereignty to a group of people who don't fully represent their culture and political philosophy, it's time to call a halt.

Songs My Father Sang

My father liked to sing. Most of the songs were from the First World War, like "Give My Regards to Broadway", "Over There" and "Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag". But the one that I remember, because it was a humorous ditty, went like this:

I run the old mill over here to Reubensville
My name's Joshua Ebenezer Frye.
I know a thing or two,
You can bet your life I do,
They don't ketch me for I'm too darn sly.

I've seen Bunco men, allus got the best o' them,
Once I met a couple on the Boston train.
They says, "How be you!"
I says, "That'll do!
Travel right along with your darn skin game.”

Chorus:
Wal, I swan!
I mus' be gittin' on!
Giddyup, Napoleon! It looks like rain.
Wal, I'll be switched!
The hay ain't pitched!
Come in when you're over to the farm again.

There were a lot of verses to it, and I've heard it on the radio only once in my life, back in the 70's, by some folk singer whose name I never did learn. If you ever hear the number, let me know.

Rain

We had several days of rain that came up from a tropical hurricane off the coast of Mexico.  It was welcome, even though it brought wind and flooding.  The total from the storm brought us up to the annual average, and over, in some areas.  Then this morning, I woke up at 4:45 to the sound of rain on the skylight and flashes of lightning and the accompanying thunder.  With the ground already saturated, there will probably more flooding and road closures.  Not a good time to be on the roads.  Stay safe, everyone.

We Moved

   We moved last Monday to a new apartment.  We've lived at Westminster Village for ten years, so were eligible to have new paint and flooring in the old place.  Not looking forward to being displaced while all the redecorating was in process, we found that we could move into another unit.  There were several available, so we picked the next size smaller and set about deciding on the new decor.  Fortunately, the Marketing Director is an ace when it comes to decor, so we followed her advice.  The new wall color and flooring fit perfectly with our furniture.
   We scheduled a moving company, then began packing up what items we could move ourselves.  We took "ownership" of the new unit on Friday and began loading boxes on laundry carts.  Saturday began the transfer, which went on into Tuesday.  The movers hauled the big items - furniture and art work - and placed everything in place as we had planned it.  The one snag was that the 4-drawer file didn't fit in the computer room (I had measured everything two or three times!) so it went on the patio.  Wednesday, a Maintenance worker installed shelving in our storage closet off the patio, so we were able to put everything away that had been stuck out there.
   Art work is still not hung, but the floors have been "Swiffered" both wet and dry.  We know where almost everything has been shelved, and have been able to make breakfast without too much of a delay while we search for plates and coffee and such.  So tomorrow is the first anniversary of the first week in our new home and we are absolutely delighted to be here, facing east and greeting the sunrise.

May 1988 - Moscow State University - Excerpt

"Freedom is the right to question and change the established way of doing things.  It is the continuing revolution of the marketplace.  It is the understanding that allows us to recognize shortcomings and seek solutions.  It is the right to put forth an idea, scoffed at by the experts, and watch it catch fire among the people.  It is the right to dream - to follow your dream or stick to your conscience, even if you're the only one in a sea of doubters.  Freedom is the recognition that no single person, no single authority or government has a monopoly on the truth, but that every one of us put on this world has been put there for a reason and has something to offer." - President Ronald Reagan.

Unusual Smoothies

Shirley had some oral surgery two weeks ago and was put on a liquid diet.  The first thing we did was buy a Magic Bullet for making smoothies.  Since then, we've been trying all kinds of recipes.  There was the usual fruit and yogurt and milk.  Some with rice milk.  Then we branched out to cans of soup thinned with milk.  Another good one one was chicken pot pie and milk.  This morning it was a breakfast sandwich - half a biscuit, soft-fried egg, cheese and a slice of crisp bacon with a cup of milk.  She loved it!  Tomorrow may see a pizza smoothie.  No telling where we'll go from here until she sees the doctor next Wednesday.

Slimming Down

Not only have we been able to get our weight down - eating less sugary foods - but Shirley and I have been cleaning house.  We took a large load of too-big clothes to the Humane Society store last week.  We've been going through the apartment, looking for things we don't use or don't need anymore.  A lot of the items are donated to our Village Shoppe here at Westminster Village, which doesn't accept clothing, the proceeds of which go to the Westminster Village Foundation.  The Foundation provides grants to Westminster Village, primarily for resident assistance.  There are cases in which a resident may see their resources dwindle and need help with their monthly charges.  The charitable purpose of Westminster Village is that no resident will ever be asked to leave if, through no fault of their own, they run out of money.  So we support the Foundation as best we can.

Off Again

Well, I'm off Facebook, this time for good.  I'm just tired of the business of them selling my personal information to any company, then saying how they're protecting my privacy.  So much for that.  I'll use the time previously spent for worthwhile projects.  How do you feel about Facebook and the privacy issue?

Back Home

We're back home and after several days of rest and laundry we're ready to face the world.  I had written in 2013 that I was parting company with technology, but strangely, technology crept up on me.  I'm now the owner of a Fitbit.  If you don't have one, a word of warning: they can be habit-forming.  And while away, somehow I wound up with a smartphone - a Samsung Galaxy J7.  Now the problem is how to figure out all the ways to make it work for Shirley and me.  So far, I've taken 2 pictures, received 4 messages and loaded a few items on the calendar.  That's it for now.  The manual is over 160 pages, so I may be closeted for a while.  See ya.

Out-of-Touch Travellers

We haven't flown since 2011, so we're a little apprehensive.  We're travelling to Rochester, NY to visit family, especially a cousin who is flying in from Germany.  But at least, we now have our boarding passes, calendar pretty well filled out, and suitcases almost filled.  What next?  Will the limousine service pick us up on time?  Will the plane be late?  With there be a car waiting for us at Avis?  Did we pack the correct clothes?  Time will tell.

My Dad - Frank Arthur Miller (1896-1974)

 

          Dad’s lineage on his mother’s side, goes back to Miles Standish, while on his father’s side it traces to German farmers in Alsace, France.  He was a twin, the fifth of ten children born in Batavia, NY, to Lennie Mann and William Francis Miller, eight of whom survived infancy.  His mother died when he was eight, after which his oldest sister kept order in the household.  Schooling ended at the age of thirteen when he had to earn money to help support the family.  Following his father’s footsteps, he worked in construction, eventually having his own business as a bricklayer and mason contractor.  He spent part of The Great War as a Naval Seaman in England, building barracks for the troops.  Marriage to Wilhelmina Henrietta Goebel in 1922 brought two sons, Frederick and Robert, raised during the Great Depression.  He was a hunter and fisherman, providing the family with pike, bass, pheasant and rabbit to feast on.  During his short life (77 years) he built houses for his sons, entertained 13 grandchildren, was active in the local Spiritualist Church, shoveled snow off miles of sidewalk and almost survived prostate cancer.  There are many structures in Batavia and Rochester, NY, that bear the fruits of his labor, and his family sorely misses him.

My Mom - Wilhelmina Henrietta Goebel (1897-1979)

Mom was the eldest daughter of immigrants from Germany.  Her father, Heinrich Göbel, arrived in his teens and worked his way to become a noted chef in Rochester, NY.  Her mother, Clara Marie Steinmetz, arrived with her mother and sisters at the age of eight; she worked as a domestic until her marriage to Heinrich, who had since become Henry Gabel, ultimately settling on Goebel.  As she grew up, Mom saw her 18-year old brother, Fred, dead from an accidental electrocution, and her two-year old sister, Marguerite, dead from scarlet fever; her youngest brother, Henry, lived to the ripe old age of 97. 

Always surrounded by cousins and friends, she enjoyed family outings, especially visits to her Uncle Fred Gabel’s farm in Mendon, NY.  After graduating from high school, she attended business school, eventually working at Remington Typewriter Co. as a bookkeeper.  The summer of 1922, she worked at Camp Mohawk, a resort inn on Fourth Lake in the Adirondack Mountains.

After marriage to Frank Arthur Miller in 1924, she lived in Batavia, where her two sons, Frederick Arthur, and Robert Harold, were born.  She was an active member of the Methodist Church, and with her husband, joined a local Bridge Club.   Mom and Dad continued to meet monthly with Mom’s girlfriends and their husbands to play Pinochle, rotating from house-to-house, even though it meant traveling the 30 miles to Rochester.

          After the family moved to Rochester, in 1941, she took a job as Receptionist, Cashier and Switchboard Operator at Kroll's, a women's clothing and millinery shop on North Clinton Avenue.  After her husband's death, Wilhelmina suffered a series of strokes.  She moved into a nursing home on East Henrietta Road, where she lived for her last 4 years.  She died in Genesee Hospital of pneumococcal pneumonia at the age of 82.  She was a grand lady and the proud mother of two, grandmother of 13 and great-grandmother of three.