Autumn

This is the time of year when we eat breakfast on the balcony.  It may last for only a week or so before we shift to lunch out there, but it's very enjoyable while it lasts.  People up north are closing their pools and getting out their bowling balls and parkas, while we look forward to walks out-of-doors during the middle of the day.  Life has a different perspective depending on which part of the world in which one lives.

A New Path

Yesterday, I started down a path new to me but one which many others have trod.  The doctor said the biopsy was positive and I have cancer of the urinary bladder. The first treatment was yesterday.

The procedure is: check my urine for bacteria, if any, abort.  If OK, drain bladder via catheter, add BCG in 50 cc saline solution (about a large shot glass).  Go home.  Lie on all four sides, about 15 minutes each.  After 2 hours, empty bladder.  Resume normal eating and drinking except no caffeine or alcohol for 24 hours.  So far, there have been no after effects.

Treatments will continue for five more weeks.  Three to four weeks after treatment stops, an examination will be made to assess results. I think they found it early enough that there shouldn't be any problem in erasing it.

Emotional Music

Bruce Pulk, a percussionist for the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra, recently gave a talk about Bohemian Rhapsodies at Westminster Village.  The last orchestral piece he played stirred us emotionally and was variously described as a violent storm, the destruction of a village, inner turmoil, etc.  Afterward, I talked with him about how emotional I felt when listening to Symphony No. 7 – the Leningrad Symphony by Dmitri Shostakovitch.  I related the music to the war years when the German army had besieged the city.  Bruce encouraged me to read Testimony: the Memoirs of Dmitri Shostakovitch  by Solomon Volkov to gain an understanding of the origins of the symphony.  It turns out that I was way off base, that Shostakovitch had begun the work as a tribute to the people of Leningrad who had suffered through the purges and starvations of the Stalin era leading up to the siege of the city.  That throws a completely different light on the music, but certainly does not diminish the emotions the piece stirs; it only redirects the origin of the suffering to Stalin, who had no compunctions about torturing and murdering his own countrymen.  One can only hope that those days of terror are gone from Russia forever.  In any event, I encourage you to listen to the complete symphony and analyze your emotional reaction to the music.

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.

Hmm, just wonderin'

I don't know what it's like in your area, but we seem to be in the midst of the monarch butterfly migration. The air is filled with them. We have a bog garden and they love one of the plants that is now in bloom. Do you think that the word "butterfly" might be a Spoonerism for their original word - flutter-by - that is more descriptive? Just askin'.

Found Wood

There is an exhibit at the Desert Botanical Garden of big bugs created out of found wood. The artist uses different types of wood that he picks up here and there to make sculptures such as this giant Praying Mantis.

Essays

A book of essays can try the patience of a saint. Whenever I pick one up, I set as a goal to read one each day. That gives me the opportunity to mull over the author's moral point, if there is one, or to enjoy the humorous incident related, or just to revel in the choices of words. However - and you knew there'd be a "however" - sometimes it just isn't possible to wait the twenty-four hours for the next experience. So I've been almost racing through this new book from the local library, because my patience took a hike. The book is "I'm a Stranger Here Myself" by Bill Bryson, who spent twenty years in England before moving back to America, specifically, Hanover, New Hampshire. Yesterday, I zipped through three - THREE - before I even realized that my goal had been much surpassed. Now the dilemma is, should I not read any more for the next two days, or just press on while attempting to maintain my daily ration? Sometimes life is just a series of hard decisions.

New Drawing

The latest ink drawing.

Goodbye Facebook

I had said a few months ago that I was cancelling my Facebook account, but found out that it was not that easy. Every photo had to be individually deleted and it was so bothersome that I stopped and decided I was too lazy to finish. Then, this week when I logged on, I was confronted with a screen that was alien to me. Facebook changed! And so did I. So I checked out the process for cancelling my account once again and found it only takes one click. So one click I did. The next message said I would be given 14 days to change my mind after which my account would be permanently erased. By now, I've forgotten when the 14 days started, so I'll just let it go.

The MIM

Yesterday, Grandma and I ran a few errands then went to the Musical Instruments Museum in Phoenix. We spent about 2 hours walking through the exhibits, which are amazing. There are instruments from almost every country in the world, with accompanying audio of them. Among the missing countries is North Korea. There is a space reserved, so if anyone knows how or where to find any, please contact them at www.themim.com. We had a sandwich in the Cafe before we left. A nice place to spend time. There is one area where the instruments can be played - a great place for children. Gongs, drums, xylophones, mandolins, etc. A great display of player pianos, player woodwinds, including an exhibit that tells how the piano rolls are created. They have one of the machines that converts the pianist's music into holes in paper, quite an amazing invention. Two of Elvis's jump suits are on display, along with some Hank Snow items, among others. One area displayed bagpipes from the many countries where they are played; some are as primitive as a calf skin, others as elaborate as the Scottish instrument. And they have a schedule of concerts in their auditorium which is said to have perfect acoustics (would you expect anything less?). So next time you find yourself in the Valley of the Sun with some time on your hands, drop in at the MIM.

Drawings

Here are my latest ink drawings.

Genealogy

One of the new features added to Ancestry.com shows the relationship of everyone in the file to the primary entry - me, in my file. As I was cleaning up some records, I found one line that goes back to my 21st great grandfather. The shortest line ends at a 3rd great grandfather, Thomas J. Patterson, and a 3rd great grandmother, Martha Conklin, who married Thomas. They lived in Hanover, NY before moving to Batavia, NY; anyone have any information to share? Using the Fulton Newspaper site - fultonhistory.com - I've been able to find articles about other relatives; such items as marriages, obituaries, travels, travails, etc. Also, I've been contacted by distant cousins who have found a common relative and have provided additional information about that family line. The nice thing is that there is a way to keep living people's information private, which I do. My family came from England, France and Germany to western New York state, and now grandchildren reside all over the United States.

Stealing Great-granddaughters

William Wordsworth wrote a poem that started:
“My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So it was when my life began;
So is it now I am a man”

Upon the birth of his daughter, Ogden Nash wrote a poem that starts:
“My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
Contrariwise, my blood runs cold
When little boys go by.”

His lament is that some boy will grow up and marry his daughter and carry her away, when she has just entered his life. And that thought crosses my mind when I hold my great-granddaughters and they smile up at me: Who will be the lucky one who steals their heart away as they have stolen mine.

Great-grandchildren

A few of our great-grandchildren from our visit to Rochester.

The Debt "Crisis"

Anyone care to solve the debt "crisis"? My own view is that our politicians aren't willing to apply sound, honest business principles to running our federal government. How many corporations can stay in business by spending more than they earn year after year? At the first sign of declining profits, they would initiate cost-cutting strategies, such as reducing spending and reductions in staff. Think any of our politicians are willing to give up any of their staff or reduce their spending? So how will they reach a compromise? First off, increase income by raising taxes, exempting themselves, of course. Next, announce a "reduction in spending"; translated, that means reducing the rate of planned spending increases. Isn't it time we stopped voting for politicians and elected some businessmen/women to better manage this country's finances? I'm ready.

The NFL Brouhaha

What's the big deal with the NFL controversy? It's just a bunch of millionaires fighting over how to split up billions of dollars. None of which will ever find it's way back to the fans who contributed to the pile in the first place. Most likely, after the dust settles, the fans will have to pay more to go to a game. Which means another brouhaha over the profits looms in the future. Unless the fans wise up and boycott the games. No money, no argument.

Recovering

Sorry to have been so quiet lately. Grandma and I have been on a driving trip to upstate New York via Las Vegas, NV, that took 28 days out of our lives. Will write more after I recover.

This 'n That

The results are in and the By-laws changes we proposed have been accepted overwhelmingly by the residents. So that's one less thing to worry about.

We're in the final stages of packing for our trip. I hope to have everything in the car by tonight, except for the things we need every day. We pack one small case for the things we need during the trip, and one large case for the days in Rochester. The final items go in tomorrow just before we head out. Cell phones and cameras are charged and ready to go. The Tom-Tom has been updated, too. After we leave Las Vegas, we have a reservation in Grand Junction, Colorado, after which we're free-wheeling until we reach Rochester.

Today, we're meeting our friend, Jonteel, and her special friend, Charlie, for a mid-morning pastry and cuppa, then plan to attend the Residents' Birthday Party at 2 p.m. It's always a temptation when they start serving ice cream and cake; I can usually pass up the cake, but the ice cream gets me every time. I was born with a strong love for ice cream, and it has never diminished.
Have a great day!

The BIG TRIP

We're starting to get things together for our BIG TRIP. To Las Vegas to visit granddaughter, Jeana, and her family. Then off to Rochester, NY to visit the rest of the family. For my 80th birthday party. And Shirley has a cousin and husband, whom we've never met, coming over from England. Should be a great time. This time, we're taking the northern route through Colorado, just south of Chicago, Toledo, etc. Routes 15, 70, 80 and 90. We've driven the route through Oklahoma City so many times, we could make it blindfolded (but we won't try!). I just hope the Escape will hold everything we plan to take.

Happy/Sad

Yesterday, the receptionist called to tell me there was a gift waiting for me, so I rushed down to find a guitar waiting, along with a very nice note. HAPPY! The note and guitar were from Laura, who was one of our teachers at ASU (see a previous blog entry); she is packing up to move to Seattle and thought that I would appreciate having the first guitar she ever owned, as it would be too much to take with her. HAPPY/SAD; it's wonderful that she thought of me, but sad because she had to say goodbye to her guitar. HAPPY that we will still be in touch after she gets settled and is back up on the Internet. SAD that I won't be able to give her a hug for this wonderful gift. Now I have no excuse to practice and "make it sing" (Laura's words). Thank you, Laura, and God speed.

Empty

I was just reading Rick and Jilda Watson's blogs about they can't seem to find anything to write about. Well, today is Art Workshop here at Westminster Village and I suddenly find myself wondering just what the heck I'm going to work on. Haven't a clue. It's still a few hours away, so maybe the Art Gods will send down an inspirational message. Time will tell. Have a good day, wherever you are.

Rose in Black and White

Here's the latest ink drawing. I like this medium almost as much as watercolor.

Songs My Father Sang

My father used to like 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 Reuben's-ville
My nane'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.

Our "Band"

Here we are, "The Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" in all our glory. In the foreground are Gina from Taiwan and Laura. Back from left to right are Michelle, Michael, me, Jonteel, Dorothy and Lou. Gina and Laura were the student instructors, Michael their supervisor. Laura has graduated and is on her way to Seattle; Gina is going to Chicago. Lou is holding the guitar his wife bought him a few years ago. At the time, he said he would wait until he was 90 to take lessons because he was just too busy. When the opportunity came for the ASU sessions, he signed up, even though he's a year shy of 90, just to have someone tune his guitar. Jonteel was so taken with the first couple of sessions with drums that her son bought her a snare drum; she has since been taking lessons from a professional drummer. One of these days, I'll look into buying a guitar; right now I'm too busy with other activities. But I do know all the notes to "Love Me Tender"!

Dad

I've been thinking of my father a lot lately. He was quite a craftsman. He made desks for my brother and me as well as our children. Bookcases and storage cabinets. A train table for me. Tools for building model airplanes. In his later years, he worked on some projects at his church, including building a new set of steps. He was a mason/bricklayer by trade, having worked with his father and brothers since he was 13. He lost his mother when he was 8 and quit school at age 13 to help the family - his father and 7 siblings. He suffered from a form of pemphagus, which caused large sores to form on his neck and under his arms. Treatments in those days, before it was diagnosed correctly, included radiation, boric acid salves, zinc oxide ointments, all to no avail. It was difficult to work because he couldn't always raise his arms to plaster ceilings. But he always managed to live through the attacks. He took time off from work to build houses for my brother and me after we married. He collected books on the West and Spiritualism; he belonged the the Spiritualist Church in Rochester, NY, and was active in Lily Dale, NY. He died recovering from prostate cancer surgery; the surgery was successful, but the cause was a pulmonary embolism.

Music Therapy Finished

Monday was the last in a series of classes at Arizona State University Music Department, and it was sad/happy. Sad because it was the end and we would probably not see the student teachers again. Laura would graduate this month and move on to the Seattle area; Gina (from Taiwan) would be spending her summer in Chicago. Michael, their supervisor, will stay in the Valley to teach and play in drum circles, so we might run into him from time to time.
Happy because we got to record a song we wrote the lyrics to, had photos taken of the group, and had a CD cut of us singing our song. Laura, Gina and Michael put together the CD with some of their favorites, along with Jonteel reading a poem she had written thanking them, as well as "The Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" singing our song.
We did also have time to play all of "Love Me Tender" on guitars, so we are ready to go out into the world and serenade. Are you ready, world?

Birches - In Progress

This is my next project. Hard to tell how it will look when done.

Musical Therapy Class

Back in February, the Activities Department said that the Arizona State University Music Department was going to conduct a program in which we could learn how to play a variety of musical instruments, so I signed up. We went every Monday afternoon for an hour. The sessions were (and still are for two more weeks) conducted by two students studying Therapy By Music - or something like it. They were supervised by a graduate. One of the teachers is from Taiwan, her name is Jeana (but probably with a more Asian spelling - I'll ask next week) and, since I have a granddaughter named Jeana, I told her to call me "Grandpa", which always comes out as "Grandfather".
We started out with a drum circle, in order for them to get to know us better. The initial group was 12 residents, but dwindled to 4 regulars plus someone from the Activities Dept. Drums for 3 weeks, followed by xylophones for 3 weeks, then on the keyboards for 3 more. We learned the first few bars of "My Wild Irish Rose", since it was getting close to St. Patrick's Day; have you ever heard an Irish song sung in English with a strong Taiwanese brogue? One day was spent trying out a variety of percussion instruments, whose names I can't recall and couldn't spell even if I knew.
Finally - finally, we started on the guitar, which the real reason I signed up. The rest was interesting, but I really REALLY wanted to find out if I had the ability to play a guitar. Well, that day, I learned the first two lines of "Love Me Tender"! Now I'm hooked! I can't wait to go back to class for more. And I'll be looking around for guitar stores. Who knows, maybe I'll be serenading the neighbors by Labor Day. Wish me luck.

Sunflower

Here's the latest done in ink.

Olympics Fun and Frolic

It's been a busy two weeks here. We just finished the 2011 Westminster Village Olympics games. Registration took place Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (the 27th, 28th & 29th), followed by two days of Contract Bridge. Duplicate Bridge finished out the first week. On Monday, the Torch was escorted from the front gate into the building, where all in attendance were treated to a hearty breakfast. The day continued with the Bocci preliminary games, Table Tennis preliminary games, ending with the Indoor games. The Indoor games included Ladder Golf, Horseracing, Bean-bag Toss and something with Table Tennis balls and glasses of water. Tuesday, the activities were: a Walking contest; Bocci playoffs; Table Tennis playoffs; Croquet and games in the Assisted Living complex. Wednesday: Watersports; Lap Swimming (if a third person had signed up, they would have automatically received third prize!); Putting; Whiffle Golf; Trivia-rama; Home Run Derby fot the Staff and Wii Bowling. Thursday started with Indoor Games in the Health Care unit, followed by the Electric Cart "Rumble" (in which electric cart users were timed through a twisting course); next were Billiards, Basketball for the Staff; Lawn Bowling; the last activity was Outdoor Games in the Health Care Center. All in all, a very busy week for the volunteers who coordinated and conducted the games. And a very fun-filled week.
Shirley and I volunteered to help with registration, the Indoor Games and the Walkers. Also, I was tapped to take photos of the Walkers, Putters, Billiards players, Horseshoe throwers and the Contract Bridge players.
On Friday, all the photos of all the events were continuously projected on two screens in the main auditorium during the Awards ceremony (yours truly won a gold medal for Billiards). Needless to say, Saturday and today are days of well-needed rest.

Ink Work

I've been trying my hand at ink drawing, so here are the latest.

Done!

After five mornings on the roof, scraping old paint, patching stucco, putting on a sealant and finally adding the top coat, the parapets are finished. That should last for 5 or 10 years or until the next damaging hailstorm. Last October, the hailstones were as big as golf balls - some even larger - and they did a great deal of damage here in the Valley of the Sun. Car dealers were selling new cars at record low prices as is because of the dents and damaged glass. Roofing contractors are still trying to get to all the repair jobs. One contractor said his company had enough work for the next two years. Here at Westminster Village, 67 skylights needed to be replaced along with numerous window screens. Fortunately, our cars are under cover, so there was no damage there. So, no more mornings on the roof! Hooray!

Roof Repair

I spent half the day on the roof of our house - it's flat - repairing the parapets from the damage caused by the hail storm last October. The main roof had been repaired by a local roofing company, and when they completed their final inspection a week or so ago, they informed me of the problems they didn't repair. It involved stucco damage, which they don't do. So, following the advice of a neighbor, I hied myself off to Home Depot for the necessary materials and proceeded to set to work. Most of the time was spent scraping and cleaning out the problem areas. I was able to clean and apply the sealant coat to about a third of the complete area. So tomorrow, if you're looking for me, I'll be back on the roof. Some neighbors stopped to talk as I was cleaning up, and I told them I was getting to the age when I don't want to go up and down ladders anymore. I think that's one wish for my 80th birthday in July - no more ladders, please. It's not that I don't like ladders, they've been very good to me. It's just that I'd rather keep at least one foot on the ground when climbing them.

Fuzzy

When the children were young, we recited this verse:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy,
Was he.

My grandfather, William Francis Miller, Sr., was called Fuzzy because he always had his hair trimmed close to the skin. (In his older years, his youngest son, Uncle Bill, would trim it for him.) He was born in Lyons, New York but spent most of his life in Batavia, where he raised his family. There were 10 children, 7 of whom grew to adulthood. His wife, Lennie, died from complications during childbirth of the 10th child, Thomas, who was stillborn; daughter Rachel died at 4 months from cholera; their first daughter, Violet, died in her first year also. He was a lather, said to be the fastest in that area. Before plaster board, lath strips (about 1 inch by ¼ inch) were attached to the studs of a building to hold the plaster. The laths were spaced about 1/2 inch apart so the mason could force the plaster through the spaces, which allowed the plaster to stick to the wall. I can imagine it was difficult to keep the family together in those days while working throughout the county. His sister-in-law wanted to take some of the children but he refused. The family grew up relying on one another for support. In 1893, he was kicked in the leg by a horse; the break was not set properly and caused him to limp and use a cane. In 1905, he made the newspaper by defending his 16-year old daughter from the unwanted attentions of a stonemason; he was fined and his revolver confiscated. In his elder years, Fuzzy lived with his oldest daughter in Rochester where he passed away at age 93.

The photo at the top shows Fuzzy eating a slice of home-made pie; the other, in Rochester, returning from a local saloon where he enjoyed a glass of beer and a cigar when in his 90's.

Brown Arabian

Transformation?

We have a "reflecting pool" here and I was looking into the possibility of turning it into a goldfish pond. So I wrote up a plan and gave it to our Director who said we would do that. He also wants to install an aquarium in the wall between the living room and meeting hall so it is visible from both sides. Plus a koi pond outside. Looks like we're going fishing. And the nice thing is that I now have an illuminated keyboard for my computer so I can see which key my finger is aiming at. Should make a difference in my spelling, I hope.

Monument Valley

Here's a rendering of Monument Valley, in ink and watercolor.

Hot Air Success

Well, the hot air balloon rides went off Friday morning and yours truly was one of the fortunate ones. I was #13 in line and went up and came down without a hitch. The tethers let us ascend about 40 feet, which was enough to take a shot or two of the surrounding mountains. Several people took photos while I was on the way up, but I haven't been able to get my mitts on any of them. So here are some shots I took of the affair.

A Missed Anniversary Ride

We were scheduled for a tethered hot air balloon ride this morning in our front driveway, but the event was canceled due to a forecast of high winds. So our anniversary ride was not to be. If all goes well, we will try again in the morning. As we understand it, the balloon is owned and operated by the only licensed parapalegic in the world. There is no gondola, we will be in a chair of some sort, one rider and the operator going up together. Should be fun! We will try to post photographs of the affair.

Drumming and Learning

If I could take my computer into the shower in the morning, I'd have some interesting things to write, as that's where my mind tends to wander. So how long before some enterprising individual markets such a device? Anyhow...
I was down to ASU this afternoon for a music program. There are several students learning how to apply music to group therapy and I volunteered to participate. There were 11 of us from Westminster Village with a wide range of interests. One fellow brought his guitar; his wife had bought it for him 3 years ago and he was waiting for his 90th birthday to begin lessons (next year), as he is too busy these days. One person has Parkinson's disease; most were curious about the program. I wanted to find out if I have the ability to learn to play the guitar. Today was a get-to-know-each-other session. We formed a circle and beat on some drums, sang some songs, talked and beat on some drums. I enjoyed it! Our bus took us there and brought us back, there is no charge for the program, so whatever happens will be a wonderful experience. Of course, if I find a natural skill for playing the guitar, there will be the expense of the purchase of one guitar, but I'm willing to take the chance. After all, we are helping the students, right?

Some Personal Statistics

It occurred to me this morning that Grandma and I have been living in Scottsdale, Arizona for 21 years, having moved here in February 1990. That’s over 25% of my life, 26.25 to be exact. So I started figuring out the other places by percentile. I lived in Batavia, New York for my first 10 years, which is 12.5% (I’ll be 80 in July, so I’ve assumed the full 80 for these calculations, in case anyone wants to check my arithmetic). College in Stillwater, Oklahoma for 4 years comes to 5%. After Grandma and I were married, we lived in Ontario, New York for 12 years, which calculates to 15%. The rest of my life was in Rochester, New York and suburbs, which accounts for 41.25%. So now when anyone asks where I came from I can safely say Rochester for about 41% of my life. How do your statistics add up?

Similes

Don't you just love similes? As nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. As easy as pie (is pie really that easy?). As black as coal. As soft as a newborn baby's skin. As smooth as glass. As stiff as starched Levi's (from Life 101). I'm sure you have favorites.

More About Art

I thought I'd try to clarify some things from my last post about art before anyone is turned off from trying watercolor painting. First off, it IS possible to correct some "mistakes." Mistakes in quotes because sometimes they turn out to be better than what the artist wanted. You see, watercolor paints have a life of their own - left to dry, they will do whatever they want, and the end result is usually very pretty. The problem I created for myself was that I became impatient and tried to make a correction before the paper was dry. The result was that I damaged the paper surface so that I couldn't paint over the area without making it worse. Not just once, but twice! So the obvious lesson is to have more patience than I had. I'm trying to remember that for the future.

Ain't Art Wunnerful!

I've been struggling with a painting of a bouquet of sunflowers based on a photo I took last summer when we met Rick and Jilda Watson for the first time. The first attempt had some things I didn't like, so I tried to do some erasures and wound up damaging the surface of the paper. The second attempt used a slightly different perspective, but I'm still not happy with one area. I will press forward, though, trying to avoid the earlier corrective mistake. I'm also working on a watercolor for our newest great-grandson, Roman, born last December 24th, which I hope to get to him sometime before his teen years. Assuming there aren't too many corrections.

An Adventure

The first school trimester at Michigan State College ended in the middle of December (1948), so Bill Cass, one of my 13 roommates, and I decided to hitchhike home. Bill was from Frewsburg, in southwest New York state, and I was from Rochester, so we could travel together to Buffalo before going our separate ways. Because of the cold winter weather, I was wearing a sweater, my ROTC winter coat covered by a top coat, with a scarf wrapped around my neck. As was the custom in those days, neither of us wore a hat.
We started out in East Lansing by riding with a family as far as Port Huron. Our good fortune continued as we were picked up by a trucker who took us to Hamilton, Ontario. It was early evening when he let us off. Shortly thereafter, we were picked up by a hockey player who was going as far as Buffalo. Bill hopped into the front seat and I settled into the back seat and promptly fell asleep, expecting to be awakened in Buffalo. Imagine my surprise when I woke up to a pleasant female voice telling me to wake up for breakfast. More surprise when I opened my eyes to find it was a nurse in the St. Catherine‘s Hospital. And I with my right arm taped to my chest. Bill was in an adjacent bed.
The story, as I found out later, was that the car skidded on some ice and slid into a steel light post, hitting about where my knees were. The ambulance crew thought at first that I was dead because of all the blood - caused by numerous cuts from window glass when my head hit. I suffered a broken collar bone; more severe injury was avoided probably because of all the padding I was wearing. I was asleep, then probably knocked unconscious by the blow, then sound asleep again in the hospital bed. I did have the sensation that I saw the lamp post coming at us, but it’s a very vague impression. The driver had a bump on his forehead and Bill had gravel in his hands as the result of being thrown out of the car when the door was flung open from the momentum.
My parents were notified and came to bring me home, where I went to visit the doctor for further treatment. He checked the x-rays, noting that the bones had shattered at the break, then left the room. I heard the sound from the basement of someone sawing wood, wondering what remodeling he was having done, when he walked back into the room carrying a piece of plywood. He had sawed it into the shape of a T and taped it to both shoulders and across my belly. “There,” he said, “that should hold it while the bones knit.”
I wore the brace for a bunch of months, including a train trip back to East Lansing to turn in my ROTC uniform and pack up my clothes. Believe me, it’s not very comfortable to wander through life with a piece of plywood taped to one’s back. It eventually came off, and the break did knit, but to this day there’s a bump at the break.

Saturday Livin'

Grandma and I finished our 30 minute walk after breakfast, then showered and got down to important stuff. Grandma composed a confirmation letter for some donations to the Westminster Village Foundation, then had some planting and harvesting to do on her Facebook farm, while I rewrote an article for our newsletter about our mascot alligator. After it gets to the final stage I'll post it here. My plans are to settle back and watch some football this afternoon and evening. Hope you have a great day!

Red Cellophane?

Last night, I had a dream about making red cellophane. Now I have no idea where that came from. Is there any significance? Can anyone help me here?

Happy New Year

I hope you all had a great 2010 and that the new year brings you good health and financial security. May all your resolutions be fulfilled and please don't send your shed weight my way.

Art

Here's my latest watercolor.

Goin' Fishin'

Howdy, Billyjoe, how y’all doin’?…Saturday?…Fishin’?…with Jimbob? Wall, bring your beer and your ownself over here ‘n sit down so’s I kin tell y’all what really happened.

Twas last Saturday when me ‘n Jimbob went down to the crick with our fishin’ poles, can a worms, foldin’ chairs and cooler fulla ice ‘n beer that was so heavy we hadta stop ever little while to rest up and so we didn’t really get at the crick so early as we thunk we‘d a done when we stepped offen Jimbob’s porch at six o the clock thet morning’. See, here we were a walkin’ along the road a tryin’ to hold onta our poles, our can a worms, our foldin’ chairs and still carry thet thar cooler thet grew heavier each step. Jimbob finally thunk out our problem and declared we oughta put everthang atop the cooler ‘n then we’d a been able to hustle right along, so we done it, but we kept gittin’ out of step with each and the other and thangs kept a slidin’ off, so we took to countin’ out our steps just like them thar soljers done we seed one time on the RCA Telley Vision down at Mr. Grandin’s country store. It sure helped for a good bit, but it turned out the cooler was a mite heavier, so we stopped ever little while to rest and the little whiles kept gittin’ closer and closer to each and the other. The one thang thet saved us was thet Mr. Franklin, who usually drives to town of a Saturday for provisions and a beer or two with his ole buddies at the Ragged Bear saloon, right here where we’re a sittin’, came chuggin’ along in his pickup truck thet had seen better days twenty yars ago, seed us a struggling’ with our gear ‘n cooler ‘n ast if we didn’t think he could help us out by letting’ us ride in the back seein’ as how he was goin’ past the crick that thar morning’ but neither one of us could reckon why he was goin’ that direction because he always went to town for provisions ‘n a beer or two. Bein’ wore down ourselves, we allowed as how we’d be happy to hold down the back end of thet thar wore-out old pickup truck, so we quick-like threw our gear and cooler in the back ‘n then hauled our own selves in, ’n all the while Mr. Franklin kept thet truck a movin’ slow-like down the road. Now I don’t recommend you go right on out ‘n try to jump into a movin’ pickup truck jist to see how hard it is, but I’m a telling’ you it’s like tryin’ to jump onto a slow movin’ freight train which I know you’ve tried onct or twice in yer lifetime.

Here, Billyjoe, let me git a round….Barkeep, two more here….Thank ya kindly.

Now whar war I? Oh yeah. Well when we got right near the crick, Mr. Franklin slowed down thet old pickup a mite so’s me ‘n Jimbob could drop off our gear ‘n cooler ‘n then jump down our own selves, so we done it and were mighty glad to see we hadn’t lost any of our bait nor spilled anything outten the cooler. We knowed the spot we wanted to settle into to fish and were mighty happy to see it weren’t taken up by anyone else, so we set up our foldin’ chairs, rigged up our fishin’ poles, popped a top ‘n settled down to some fine relaxin’ in the shade. Twarn’t more’n two or three beers later when Jimbob had a bite ‘n scared the bejesus outta me the way he sprung up outta his chair and hollered out “I got one” only it wasn’t no keeper, so we settled in agin to relax. Wall, time went on her merry ole way ‘n me ‘n Jimbob caught a bunch a keepers ‘n swapped room in the cooler, beer fer fish. It was gittin’ on toward supper time when Jimbob declared it was ‘bout time to pack up and head fer home so we done started to do just that. The troubling’ part about the packin’ up was what should we do with thet thar cooler full of fresh caught fish in with all that ice when Jinbob declared thet we oughta let some of thet ice thet had melted down to just plain water out of the cooler so we took the top off and proceeded to tilt the cooler to let the water out when one or the other of us - Jimbob said it was me, but I knowed it was Jimbob - let go and the whole dad-blamed kit and kaboodle landed in the crick. Lucky for us we had sense enough to let go afore we-uns was swept along with the fish and the water and the ice into the crick. To make a long story short…

Well, Billyjoe, thank ya kindly for this‘n. I do ‘ppreciate it. My mouth was beginning to feel like a cotton boll. Be my pleasure to git the next one.

Now y’all’re probably wonderin’ what come next so I’ll try to git through it without pointing’ any more fingers at guilty parties. Turns out we didn’t need to keep any bait ‘cause we’d used all but one or two of them worms so we took pity on ‘em and let ‘em go in some grass down near where Jimbob - I mean - where the fish and ice and such were lost. Of course, the cooler bein’ empty wasn’t no problem to carry no more, so we could set off for home at a pretty good pace and I reckon Jimbob was mighty hungry ‘bout then ‘cause he started off mostly at a trot and kept a step or two ahead of me all the way so it was just blamed hard to keep up a conversation with me doin’ all the talkin’ and Jimbob just a hustling’ his ownself off towards home. Didn’t even say Howdy when we git to his house, so I just moseyed on home my ownself and had my supper. T’other day, I seed Jimbob comin’ down the road ‘n when he seed me he crosst over to keep from Howdyin’ me head-on like usual. Not very neighborly, I’d say, considerin’ we’d gone in halves on the bait ‘n the beer, even if Jimbob did catch most of the fish.

Now, can I buy y’all one for the road, Billyjoe?…My pleasure….Did y’all have a good weekend?

Immigration - A World-wide Problem

The Arizona Republic is running a series on immigration around the world. You can read the articles at www.azcentral.com/immigration/immigration-index.html#. The problems are not local to the United States. I highly recommend the series.

A week or so, Rick Watson posted on his blog - Life 101 - a photo of his snowy yard and mentioned that I had given he and Jilda a painting of the scene. So here's a look at it. I titled it "Jilda's Deer at Dawn". Can you see the deer?

Reasons

In his new book INFINITE QUEST, John Edward posits that the only reasons we do something are FEAR and LOVE. Looking back, I can see where fear has affected my decisions. Hopefully, yours are all in the love category.

I Wonder

I wonder if the people living as the Ice Age was ending ever thought about global warming.

Happy Thanksgiving

To all our family and friends, Happy Thanksgiving. And to everyone else out there, Happy Thanksgiving. We hope you are all having a good day, and that you have many, many nore.

Facebook and Communicatimg

I was born in 1931 and grew up to participate in the growth of electronics devices and their spread into our daily lives. From manual typewriter to IBM Selectric to Apple IIe to IBM Pc. All the way through Windows to 7. The Internet and e-mail. And here we are now with iPods and iPhones and iPads and Kindle and Nook and who knows what’s next.

At the encouragement of my children, I opened an account on Facebook, just to see what all the fuss was about. Almost immediately, children and grandchildren wanted to be my “friend” which I became. That was it for a short while, until I started to figure out how to leave messages, look at their photos and comment on their postings. I really didn’t spend much time at it. Then I found that I could look at all the people they had listed as their friends, so I began collecting more and more friends; I’m up to 21 at last count. But the more I look at Facebook, the more I wonder about the art of communicating. Whatever happened to good old handwriting, where every word was spelled out? Where we waited anxiously for the Postman to deliver the notes and letters and cards? Where there was time enough in this world for all that to take place?

It seems that we are in such a rush these days to let everyone - well, just our Facebook “friends” - know that we just took a shower, or we’re going to the store, or Johnny looked at me funny do you think he really likes me. Why? Don’t we have time to sit down and compose a reasonably intelligent paragraph? LOL (whatever that means). And don’t get me started on the profanity I see from some of my descendants!

Piano

I was watching a program about Michael Feinstein the other day. Michael has always loved the music of George and Ira Gershwin and in his twenties worked with Ira to catalog his musical archives. During one of Michael's visits to a musical historian/collector, I noticed a player piano in the background. That brought me back to 1942 when my parents rented a house at 17 Bly St. in Rochester, NY. The owners had left a player piano for us to use along with several rolls of music. I remember sitting on the bench and listening to "I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" while the keys jumped up and down. There were other songs we played but that's the one I loved.

Front Pages

If you'd like to know what news is on the front page of a newspaper in a city one of your relatives lives in, just go to: http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/flash/ and you can find out. Because our family is spread out, I look at Rochester, NY; Hartford, Conn; Charlotte, NC; Melbourne, FL; Tampa, FL; Birmingham, AL; San Antonio, TX; and Las Vegas, NV. I also check on friends' locations in Naples, FL; Omaha, NE; and Cedar Rapids, Iowa. There are maps for countries all over the world. So read away!

Trains

My first recollection of a train ride goes back to 1941. My father was in a hospital in Rochester, New York, which is where my grandmother (my mother’s mother) lived. I don’t remember how we got to Rochester, but I do remember taking the train back to Batavia, New York, where we lived. It’s only a 30 minute drive by car, so probably took less than that by train. When we arrived at Batavia, my mother had my brother and me wait outside a nearby diner while she went in to arrange a taxi ride home.

Several years later, we had moved to Rochester. It was during World War II and we didn’t own a car. My father wanted to visit his brother, Gene, in Corning, New York, so we boarded a Lehigh Valley train for the trip. The station was on Court Street, adjacent to the Genesee River; the building is now a restaurant. The first part of the trip took us along the Genesee River, then turned to the southeast through Rochester Junction. It was a beautiful ride through the hills and valleys. On one side was a slope down to a creek through some trees; opposite was looking at the side of the hill until we switched seats and could look up through the forest. I don‘t remember seeing any wildlife. I do remember the train didn‘t go very fast, which is great for sight-seeing. (I’ve tried to follow the route on Google Earth, but much of the track bed has disappeared.) Uncle Gene’s house was on Bridge Street, near the train station. We stayed overnight, and I remember the breakfast that Aunt Nellie fixed - pancakes with real maple syrup and home-made pork sausage. The smell and taste are right there with the visual recollection.

Another Quotable

"Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self." Cyril Connolly, author

My Plea to the Candidates

This is the letter I wrote that was published today in the Arizona Republic:
I, for one, am tired of all the negative campaigning that is going on all around us.
Where has the civility gone? I don't care how much of a villain each candidate claims their opponent is, I want to hear from each candidate just exactly what they stand for, not who they're against. We all know who they're against.
If we believe what they all say, the bottom line of their vitriol is that neither is worth voting for. Please, please, please, give us something positive to consider before we enter the voting booth.

Quotable

"The only reason for being a professional writer is that you just can't help it." - Leo Rosten

Corny

According to my Book-of-the-Day calendar, we should all read "The Cornbread Gospels" by Cresent Dragonwagon. Learn the difference between northern and southern cornbread, then try out some of the more than 200 recipes. Let me know which is your favorite. So have it, folks!

Weather or Not

It rained this morning, about 14 hours after the weather forecaster on TV told us that our Monsoon was over for this year. By now, we know that that announcement is usually followed in a few days by some rain. And when they announce, around this time of year, that the Monsoon is still with us, that we won't see rain for another 3 or 4 months. They might as well throw up their hands and admit it's a toss-up. But I admire their perseverance.

Writing

I've been reading "Letters of E. B. White" Revised Edition, revised and edited by Martha White, his granddaughter. Mr. White is one of my favorite writers, having written "Charlotte's Web", "Stuart Little" and "The Trumpet of the Swan" as well as compilations of his many essays from "The New Yorker" magazine. Mr. White was born in 1899. In January 1929, he wrote to his brother Stanley about writing. Here are some quotes from that letter:
"I discovered a long time ago that writing of the small things of the day, the trivial matters of the heart, the inconsequential but near things of this living, was the only kind of creative work which I could accomplish with any sincerity or grace. . . The rewards of such endeavor are not that I have acquired an audience or following as you suggest (fame of any kind being a Pyrrhic victory), but that sometimes in writing of myself - which is the only subject anyone knows intimately - I have occasionally had the exquisite thrill of putting my finger on a little capsule of truth, and heard it give the faint squeak of mortality under my pressure, an antic sound."
"One nice thing about either writing or drawing is that it is both a direct and an uncertain way of making a living. To write a piece and sell it to a magazine is as near a simple life as shining up a pushcart full of apples and vending them to passersby. It has a pleasing directness not found in the world of commerce and business, where every motion is by this time so far removed from the cause and the return, as to be almost beyond recognition."

I heartily recommend you pick out anything written by Mr. White and spend some time with it. It will be well worth your time.

Art Stories - 3

Art class at Mt. View Park included drawing, so I bought some Prismacolor pencils and a pad of drawing paper and struck out on the path to find a suitable subject. At the library, I found a book of Andrew Wyeth's painting of a neighbor, Helga. This is a reproduction of one of his paintings in which she is fully clothed; most were nudes. As I remember it, Mr. Wyeth kept the paintings from his wife for quite a while; she did find them out and there was some talk of an affair, but I don't remember the details. Anyway, here is Helga as reproduced in colored pencil - done in 1992.

Art Stories - 2

After moving to Arizona, I took lessons in ceramics and spent many happy hours decorating ceramic pieces for the family. One piece was entered in a ceramics show and won first place. The cost of shipping the pieces to the east coast became prohibitive, so I switched to some art classes sponsored by the City of Scottsdale. I puttered around with pencil and watercolor, looking for a comfortable medium. One day the instructor brought in some photos she had taken on a trip to Hawaii and one struck me. So I pulled out some magic markers and a small piece of watercolor paper and started scribbling. This was the result.

Me and Xerox

I was thinking this morning of some of the odd tasks I was asked to perform during my tenure at Xerox Corporation. One day I was called into our Department head's office with my manager. Oh no, not the ax! No, not that. I was handed a round trip airline ticket to New York City - first class, of course - and a canister of film. The instructions were very specific: take yon canister to such-and-such a film developing company, ask for Mr. so-and-so to have the film developed. Oh yes, don't let the film leave your eyes. It is very confidential. Okay, chief!
So off to the Rochester airport, on to NYC and the film developing company and the gentleman-in-charge with film canister clasped tightly to my breast. Upon reciting the instructions, the gentleman-in-charge looked at me as though I was some escaped lunatic. After a second or so of consideration, (I informed him that I had brought cash payment) he took me to the bowels of the operation where I could follow the progress of the film right up to entry into the darkroom, where I was stopped short and told to wait until the film came out of the development solution. Well! That wasn't part of the deal as far as I was concerned. My protest fell on deaf ears, so I acquiesced and waited impatiently until the film came into view. I was asked to identify the strip of film and was able to determine that it contained one of our Engineering aides standing next to a piece of equipment. After paying the bill, I walked outside, firmly clutching the developed film, hailed a taxi and departed for airport, Rochester, and Xerox. Mission accomplished.
I later learned that the film was a demonstration of a new faster copier that we had developed (the Xerox 2400). The reason for the trip to NYC instead of using the local Kodak developing facilities is that we and Kodak had become competitors in the copy machine business and our management didn't want the film to wind up in our competitors hands.
Ah, those were the good old days!

Today's Chuckle

From today's Arizona Republic, today's chuckle:
"Economists estimate that it costs around a quarter-million dollars to raise a child from birth to 18 years old. And for that investment, you get a lifetime supply of critiques on your parenting."

July 31st Already?

What happened to July? It was a month ago that we were on our trip to Florida, so where did the time go? We had a great visit with our grandson, Jamie, and his family in San Antonio. Andrew is 12, Corbin is 7 and lovely Juliana is almost 4. We walked along the Riverwalk, ate in the Rainforest Cafe, spent time at his house, and ate some great food there. Then on to Birmingham to visit Linda and Roy; Roy cooked a delicious pasta dinner one night, then we went out for ribs the next night. In between, we drove up to Empire to meet Rick and Jilda, friends we made through Blogging. Such a nice couple, and they entertained us with a new song they'd composed, after Jilda's wonderful meal. We stopped in St. Augustine to wander around before heading south to Melbourne Beach for our granddaughter's wedding. Three of our five children were there and our granddaughter and her family came over from Tampa. The wedding was lovely, the bride and groom looked extremely happy and their parents beamed with pride. Our son, Mark, had a birthday party for me, and the big surprise was that my brother had flown down from Rochester, NY unbeknownst to most of us (there were 3 or 4 people in on the secret and did a good job of keeping it truly secret). We drove down to Naples to visit my old High School/College buddy, Smitty, but he wasn't feeling up to par so we cut it short. Then this old horse headed for the stable, and here we are, wondering where the time went. I'd rate this trip right up there with the best.

After The Trip

It's been several days since we returned from our trip to the Southeast, and we had so many wonderful experiences that I've been at a loss to describe them. We visited family, including a great-granddaughter we hadn't met, new and old friends in Birmingham, attended a wedding in Melbourne, had a birthday party in Palm Bay with a surprise visit from my brother, saw a High School buddy in Naples, drove a lot. Almost too much to describe. So I'll go back in my mind and revisit it all and report it piecemeal - later. Maybe even some photos.