Family Time

My apologies for not being around this past weekend; did I miss anything?

This weekend was taken up by a tradition we started last year of a weekend-long family get together. Not the whole family; just the siblings and Mom.

We sort of realized a a couple of years ago that the siblings were not able to interact as siblings anymore, even when we were able to get together. Spouses and kids, and grandkids were all demanding of our time, and we felt it was important to chillax and be just us for a while.

We rented a lake house for the weekend, didn't plan anything but meals and started arriving late Friday afternoon and were all there by early Saturday afternoon. All, save one. One sibling had a sudden emergency crop up and couldn't join us- an absence we felt all weekend- but we started the party on time, with her blessing.

The first thing we did Friday when we arrived was to start eating. We stopped eating Sunday at 3:00; so we could start cleaning up and preparing to leave.

We pushed the dishes out of the way on Friday night to start playing games, and quit playing at 3:00 on Sunday too. Card games, board games (but nothing standard; no Monopoly this weekend) and some games that would almost fit a Dungeons and Dragons mold. But not D&D!

We played games, we ate, and we talked. Old stories were reshared, new memories were made, and we laughed. We laughed at what others said; we laughed at what others did; we laughed at old jokes and new (a Roman walks into a bar and holds up 2 fingers and says 5 beers please; and we laughed. Go ahead, figure it out).

We spent, for the most part, 48 straight hours never out of sight or ear shot of each other. 8 of us. If there was a cross word in the group I never heard it.

And the weekend ended too soon. One sibling had along drive; 2 more had responsibilities at home to spouses and young children, and there was a cleanup and straightening to do, and a Monday to prepare for.

Sunday was like growing up again. Each sibling left the lakehouse like they had home; one at a time, for different reasons and different destinations, and each departure left a hole we struggled to close.

And then we went around closing up the house; checking for locked windows and doors, closing blinds and checking faucets, until the last one out shut off the last light and locked the door behind them.

And just like when we had left home years ago, our paths diverged.

But for a while, for a weekend, we were just Mom and the kids.

That Was A FAST Weekend

This past weekend was busy from Friday night to Sunday night. I had just enough time to throw up a post Saturday morning, but otherwise I was busy following somebody else's direction. Not to say that I didn't have fun.

Friday night we were invited to my brother's house for a game night; me and all my boys. We had a great time. Eating pizza, drinking beer (some of us) and playing some non-traditional games. We had a great group of folks; that always makes a difference.

And then came Saturday afternoon.

The Young'un was involved in a, well, as she described it, a 'Career Move'. The local Aquarium  was filming a commercial, and needed 20 kids. The Young'un requested to be included, and was selected. Well, it wasn't as easy as that sounded.

We were supposed to be notified by March 3 if she was to be included or not. It snowed March 3, so school was closed. I took advantage of the weather, and worked from home. Every few minutes a small blonde head would poke itself around the corner and ask me I had had an email yet. In all cases the answer was no. At 5:30 I explained that if we hadn't heard anything by this time, she probably wasn't selected.

A few minutes later my son caught he in the living room, working a stress ball like there was no tomorrow.

"What's wrong", he asked.

"I'm stressed!" she responded.

"Stressed? what do you have to be stressed about?"

"Because my career is going nowhere!" she said, still working the stress ball.

I have mentioned that she is NINE?

It was Tuesday morning when I got the email that she had been selected. I thought we were swamped in drama when she hadn't been selected. But I was wrong. That was nothing compared the 'I-have-nothing-to-wear' drama. Basically because Grandma joined in.

I spent most of Saturday on the road, hitting every store we could think of to find her some appropriate clothes. It took all day, be we found 3 outfits that worked.

And then Sunday we had the MAD DASH that started about 8:00. Getting ready, finding out we had missed some important accoutrement for the outfits and then hitting the venue in time for the filming.

And then cooling our heels for the next 4 and a half hours while they filmed a 30 second TV spot. Yee-Hah.

And then we had to deal with the time change as well. Another Yee-Hah.

Final product should be on the air in a week or ten days, and we can see how much of her performance wound up on the cutting room floor.

Based on her desire to do it again, I hope I haven't created a monster!

Back to the Past, and Back to the Future

This article, Time Travelers: Please Don't Kill Hitler, caught my attention this morning, for obvious reasons. What better way to catch the eye of a history buff than to mention time travel and killing Hitler?

The specific of not killing Hitler is just a general prohibition about not changing the past, as it will change the future. Well, duh.

Doesn't everyone know that? Aren't we all aware of an event in our past that has lead us to where we are?

Personally, I can point to several events, seared... seared into my memory that have made me who I am, and how, Robert Frost-like, a different path would have made all the difference.

Yeah; so?

20-20 Hindsight is not the most optimal method for re-examining our past. Very specific events put us in a position to make a specific decision, and changing that decision would require changing the circumstances; it would not be logical to think we would change our decision without a change in the circumstances.

Years ago I read Ray Bradbury's, "A Sound of Thunder", and the concept fascinated me. The idea that the life or death of one individual creature millions of years ago would change the world we live in. This idea was also dealt with in a Star Trek, the Next Generation  episode, Paralells, where a character gets caught in a time fracture, and all of the various possible histories form that time fracture become not just possible, but active. In the final scene, all of the possible futures are gathered together, hundreds of thousands of variations, just before the fracture is corrected, and the original, I don't think anybody says correct, time line is restored.

One of the questions asked in the article, and answered in some of the comments, is what would you do with a time machine?

Can you imagine being able to revisit yourself at one of those decision points, shades of 2015 Biff visiting 1955 Biff and changing his future, and having a decision that effected your life changed? Would the one visit do it? Or would that single change open up a broad range of new decisions that would need guidance from the future as well? That decision you made at 18 about college or a job is changed, and now your future self is worse off than you are now. Or were then. Or were before you started messing with things,

Or that decision to buy a new car at 25, a decision that you thought didn't turn out so well, is changed; so you continue to drive the beater, until that accident that you walked away from in the new car, leaves you paralyzed in the old one?

So many decisions; so many futures. And imagine the effect on the 25 year old you. First you have to accept that the geezer in front of you is actually the future you, and then you have to accept that his advice to not purchase a new car is valid, and then you act upon it, only to be revisited by the same geezer, this time in a wheelchair, telling you to forget the previous advice he gave you, and now he wants you to buy the new car? Do you believe him this time? How many more trips will be required to get your future to turn out the way you want it to?

Isn't that kind of what we have tried with our children? We see how our future has turned out; we see where the bad decisions were made, and try to force our children to make different choices than we did, so their future will turn out better than ours. We are that old geezer, hawking different options than what the geezer made in his youth, and having just as much faith that the decisions made will be correct for their future.

So; do we try? Do we attempt to steer our children down a different course than we took, not knowing for certain that future events will play out to detriment or benefit, based on that decision?

Besides, we may remember as a pivot point some choice we made, but it may have been a completely different decision, one we see as a good choice, that may have actually have not been so. Or it may be a choice we made, long since forgotten, that has had more effect of our current selves than we may know.

Kind of like stepping on a butterfly, 80 million years ago. You never know how it will affect the future, if at all. 

Today

I can’t let today go by without mentioning two things: One; if you will recall my post from the other day; I won a dollar. Ain’t much, but better than a kick in the teeth, right?

Dad would always use another part of the anatomy, but hey, teeth will work.

Second, today is the day I lost my Dad, 11 years ago now.

I could say more, but I have made mention of this anniversary many times; hopefully those posts will suffice.

February has always sucked. The weather is bad and there is nothing left to look forward to but spring. And February keeps reminding us it isn’t spring. It does tease us, like yesterday, today and tomorrow (62 degrees! Dang near swimmin’ weather. If I actually went swimming. Which I don’t.), but then the return to what February actually is (next week’s forecast is for the 30’s as highs and more $^@&;*%$ SNOW) is actually even more cruel.

Like that time on Christmas when you got the toy you had been begging a year for from Great Aunt Grace. When you went to thank her, she looked at you like you had two heads. Then handed you another package, took the toy back and announced that now she would have to re-wrap Cousin Freddie’s gift, this idiot kid unwrapped it.

And then you found socks were actually your gift.

Yep; February treats us like that; year in and year out. We stoically push on; dreading the next few weeks, hoping we can make it. Feeling gratitude for each little harbinger of spring we see or feel, and cussing each backslide into winter.

From here on out February is a 10-step program; each day another step we need to make toward our goal of getting out of this month with some shred of sanity left. There are also other hallmarks of some other programs.

Like apology; we are constantly apologizing to people for these random outbursts of “ARRGHH” whenever we need to open a door, and we still see snow.

There is guilt; guilt because know better things are right around the corner, and things have been worse recently. But we still hate today. And tomorrow, just for good measure. For that we feel guilty.

Then like any good multi-step program, we feel satisfaction; the steps have been completed. The program is complete. But that step is still is still 9 Steps away.

Today I still need to deal with *%&# February.

The picture? No that isn't today. I took that in February of 2009. I used it just as a reminder.

Big Winner, or Bigger Loser?

My Dad collected coins. Not in a Coin Collector manner, with sleeves and gradings being on the 'hunt for that special 1957 "D" quarter to complete the series' style, but in more of a 'see it; keep it' style.

One of the coins he was always on the look out for were Bi-Centennial Quarters. These were the first of the specialty coins, like the State Quarters that followed, or the Jefferson/Lewis & Clark nickel. They were only issued one year- 1976- in honor of the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

At one point he found a bank in the shape of a Bi-Centennial Quarter at a yard sale and bought it just to keep his quarters in.

Ever since his death almost 11 years ago I have been getting Bi-Centennial Quarters in change on special occasions. I freely admit I don't use cash much anymore, so the occasions to get actual change back are rare. But every so often I will take the opportunity to get a few bucks from the bank to spend instead of just swiping the card.

It was 11 years ago, the day after Dad died, that I got a 1976 quarter in change for the first time in a long time. They had, at that time, been out of circulation for almost 30 years. A little over a year ago, day after my nephew was born, I was on my way to the hospital for my first visit. In my change; one of these special quarters. The day my son got married I received a Bi-Centennial in change.

They never seem to show up on regular days, just days when it seems like Dad wants to say Hi.

Yes, I know how crazy that sounds. It took me a while to recognize the pattern, and even longer to accept it. Because it does sound crazy.

I took a couple of statistics classes in college and in one class we learned to figure odds. Well, more specifically- in my case anyway- the instructor was up front, babbling about how to figure odds. None of it stuck; it involved algebra.

But anyway, what are the odds of receiving in your change, which will never amount to more than 3 quarters, a coin of a specific year? And what are the odds of that coin being one that hasn't been minted in over 35 years? And what are the odds of that coin, of that specific year, being received in change on a day of special interest to the recipient? And then have that happen on multiple occasions?

Even mathematically it sounds crazy. You would have better odds of winning the lottery.

Which brings me to last Tuesday. I stopped at the gas station to fill up and buy some lottery tickets. Since you cannot buy lottery tickets with a card- at least that's what I was told on several occasions- I stopped and got cash for the gas and the lottery tickets.

In my change I got a Bi-Centennial Quarter. February 11th isn't a special anniversary, and it was just a normal Tuesday; nothing special. So why the Quarter?

When I woke up on Wednesday morning I knew what the reason had to be.

On Tuesday I must have purchased a winning lottery ticket.

I believe I did anyway. I bought tickets for both MegaMillions and Powerball drawings. And as of today I haven't check the numbers.

One of two things has happened; either I have hit a jackpot, or an 11 year streak of special gifts has come to an end. I am either a very big winner, or I have lost something that I have considered special.

I will know in the end. I will see a bus placard that shows the new jackpot amounts; or a news report on a winning ticket sold locally for a recent drawing that remains unclaimed.

The one jackpot was over $200 million; the risk reward/ratio is pretty big. Did I win the enough to be set for life, or have I lost my last connect with Dad?

Now you know what they mean when they say something is priceless.

We Are Dismayed

There is one thing about writing; sometimes it is easy, and sometimes it is hard. Sometimes an email 10 paragraphs long is a 10 minute operation, and sometimes a few lines can take an hour. Sometimes it isn't what you need to say, but how you need to say it.

Words have meanings, and words have moods. Sometimes the use of one word will convey the right meaning, but the wrong mood. The meaningless email on procedure; easy. The simply stated email on how you feel about an recent event; hard.

Part of it is using the right word to convey the right feeling; sometimes it's avoiding the word you don't want to use. How many times have we written pages of words to avoid using one?

Sorry.

Yep; that's the one.

We need to let someone know we have erred; but we can't admit to the error.

We are dismayed at the consequences, that possibly may have, at some point, might have been caused by an unintended action, however direct or indirect, on our part, and want you to know that we are aware of the consequences, whatever little a part we may have played in the events leading to these consequences.

Maybe because sorry conveys meaning we don't want to use; like fault.

Want to start a long conversation with your kids? Find a recent event, drag them all together in to one room and ask who's fault the incident was. Guarantee the first words out of the culprits mouth will be "so & so made me do it"; shorthand for "we are dismayed...yada, yada, yada.

And then so & so will have his version of events which accounts for all of the blame, none of which happens to land on his shoulders. And will usually drag yet a third party into the fray.

Just for this entertainment value, I would usually buy some dime store bric-a-brac at a yard sale for a nickel, place it prominently in the living room, with the explanation that this was an heirloom of great value, handed down many generations; irreplaceable.

Within a week I would sweeping the shards up from the floor. Knowing what was coming the boys would make themselves scarce; hiding out somewhere. Waiting on the call they knew was coming.

And working on alibis.

The inevitable meeting would take place; the inevitable words spoken: Who's Fault?

The following conversations would take many words; some rather erudite, and probably cribbed from the Complete Works of Shakespeare  I kept on the bookshelf; others rather simple. But even the simplest speaker seemed able to go on and on without mentioning one simple word:

Sorry.

See how easy it is? I have managed to say Sorry multiple times in the last few minutes.

But then, I don't have anything to be sorry about.

Sad News.

I received a call this morning at 7:20; I didn't immediately recognize the number, or the tearful voice on the other end. And I didn't want to recognize the news.

My Father-in-law had passed.

The news was unexpected. He, like most men his age, had a few health problems; problems he addressed when he had too and ignored when he could. but he hadn't been unwell recently. Death has grabbed him while he was still full of life.

I actually met my wife through her Dad. We worked together, driving school buses for the county. The drivers would gather and drink coffee after the morning runs and before the afternoon ones at the garage, swapping stories. He never said too much, but when he did it always seemed to be the right thing to say.

He never said anything to me directly, but the grapevine was full of rumors that he was not a big fan of me dating his second oldest daughter for a variety of reasons. I hope he changed his mind in the last 30-odd years. I lost access to the bus garage rumor mill 30 some years ago, but I think he must have; I never got thrown out of the house when we went to visit.

It is often said of people that there is never a bad word said against them; but that is seldom true. But it is in his case. Generous to a fault occasionally, the only vice he ever had that I was aware of was his pipe, if you could consider that a vice.

Husband, Father, Grandfather, Great- Grandfather and Father-in-law; he will be missed by all who had the great blessing to have know him.

Goodbye Holiday Season!

The Holiday Season is over; I can tell. This is the first Saturday in weeks that I don't have a party to attend.

And the Christmas decorations are starting to disappear from the house.

The decorations usually start appearing in October. While everybody else is carving pumpkins, my wife is digging out some of the innumerable Christmas chotchkies; the smaller Santas and Frostys, the Christmas themed dishtowels and the 6-inch tree she keeps on the kitchen counter. Then all through November, bit by bit, like watching a slow motion video of a lava flow taking over a small Pacific village, the house turns from a home for people to a Christmas village we have to live in. The coasters disappear, to be replaced with the Christmas set that we can't use (who am I kidding? like I use a coaster at home anyway); then the guest towels and the poinsettia shower curtain appear in the bathroom, and one afternoon on the way home I notice the wreath up on the front door.

Thanksgiving Day the Tree goes up; another sacrifice my wife makes. She loves a live tree, but has an issue. I won't get a live tree until after December 15th. And since none of the boys will help her get a live tree before Thanksgiving, she has to have an artificial one. And the boys will help her drag it out of the attic in November.

Christmas may have been creeping up on me since Halloween, but on Thanksgiving it arrives with full gale force. Every window sill has a Dickens village; the stocking hanger army has arrived on the fireplace, with their stockings in tow; the Shelf Elf is patrolling the living room nightly and I have to move some sort of Christmas paraphernalia just to find a spot to rest my beer.

New Years Day it all ends (personally, I think she has set out the last of the decorations the day before); like a movie fog that slowly recedes leaving the landscape visible once again, the decorations start to find their summer homes. And there are always a few new ones; the after Christmas sales always tend to have a few MUST-HAVE bargains.

But every year a few more things don't summer in the attic. We have lived with the Christmas soap dispenser in the bathroom for a few years now. and we have gotten accustomed to the snowman and reindeer glasses year round. The Santa snow globe has been a summer squatter for a while now, and there are probably others that I just have blinded myself to. I learned years ago that there are decorations that 'don't fit' into the attic, and have to be displayed.

I also learned years ago that my offers to help make things fit only earned me an icy stare. I may be dumb, but I'm not stupid. I quit volunteering to help.

I really don't mind the small things she does to keep Christmas around her year round.

It's much better than putting up with the Tree all year, like she would like to do.

Yesterday Was My Birthday

And I spent it well.

First my boys took me out to Frisch's for the breakfast bar. I may have to deny the next sentence when I next see my doctor, but I had half a plate full of eggs with green peppers, onions and cheese; a half dozen link sausages, about 10 strips of bacon, a big bowl of fried potatoes with sausage gravy, a big slice of ham and a dozen big hunks of pineapple and melon. A couple of glasses of ice-tea. Other that the pineapple and melon, I don't anything I ate was on my official diet.

Then we went to get measured for Tuxes for my son's wedding in March. Always fun. Especially when the cute young thing doing measurements asks if you wear your pants on you belly or below it. But then, when it came time to fit a jacket, their sizes must run small. Every jacket I tried on was way too tight. My upper arms were straining the fabric and I couldn't move my shoulders at all. We finally went to a jacket that my fitter claimed would have room at the waist, but finally fit my shoulders, barely.

And we had to fit the Young'un for her bridesmaid dress. Yikes! David's Bridal was a flippin' madhouse. and the prices! between the tuxes and the dresses, the rehearsal dinner and all, I am really gonna have to make a big dent in the open bar just to break even. But I think I can manage.

Then came the fun part of the morning; out to the junkyard. I am still looking for a transmission for my BMW (the damn thing only lasted 250,000 miles; it should have still been under warranty) and I was hoping they would have one. The car I have been waiting 3 weeks to hit yard finally did, but someone had already pulled the tranny. It looks like I am going to have to breakdown and spend some real money on one. I did get a few other pieces that I have been needing but couldn't find, so that was a birthday wish come true anyway. I still can't drive it, but when I do, it will function a little better.

And then I spent about an hour with the grandsons. Always brings a smile to my face. They are truly one of the things that gets me out of bed some winter mornings. Everytime I see them they have gotten a little older, gotten a little smarter and just a bit cuter.

Then it was off to a gaming party with my brothers and a few others. I didn't win anything, but it was fun anyway. I love the games my youngest brother finds. No Monopoly or board games for us on these occasions; Bang, Pit, Citadels, Settlers and the like. Strategy games, with a smattering of luck thrown in just to confuse you. We spent about 6 hours at the gaming table, eating pizza rolls all the while. Another sentence I will need to deny at my next doctor's visit.

Then home, where a 12 pack of Leinenkugel's Oktoberfest was on ice. My youngest son and I popped Smokey and the Bandit into the DVD player and sat and played 500 Rum and watched one of my old favorites. When that ended I had him pick out another movie, and his choice was El Dorado; an old John Wayne Western.

It was a great day; no cake or party (that is today), but I was able to do what I wanted to do and enjoyed every minute.

I can't wait for my next birthday.

Well, maybe that is a bit of a stretch.

Christmas Eve

Today is party number two, along with some other traditions we usually do on this special day; the Krohn Conservatory in Eden Park, along with the Western & Southern Insurance Creche, with life sized wax figures and live animals. Then a quick trip to the Overlook; the speed of which depends entirely on the weather. Cold wet and windy; 35 seconds. Cold dry and snowy; a couple of minutes.

The overlook has a beautiful view of Northern Kentucky and the cities of Dayton, Bellevue and Newport, as well as parts of Fort Thomas, Covington and Southgate. On Christmas Eve, when the air is clear and the Lights are lit, contrasting with the white backdrop of a recent snow, the cold seems to melt away. Old familiar landmarks are sorted out of the panorama, and pointed out to those with us, even though they are old, familiar landmarks to them as well.

Then a stop at UDF for egg nog; the Southern Comfort is already in stock. Home in time for a quick bite and a quick review of the presents, making sure we haven't missed anybody or missed a present. Then off to Walmart for just a few more things.

Then off to the homestead on the hill for another Christmas Celebration with the family. Ham again, and then a couple hours of unwrapping presents.

And the noise! 14 adults; half a dozen kids over ten and another half dozen between 6 and ten and 4 more under 6. Running, playing, squealing in anticipation. and each of them taking turns hitting the buttons on Each. And. Every. Animatron. Each plays a different Carol, usually Santa singing something, except for the that probably dates to the Clinton Administration that plays a jazz version of something or the other on a saxophone. none of them gets a break until the presents are distributed, and the younger crowd has something more important to occupy them, and one parent will usually sneak a battery out of each Santa during the melee, just to make sure silence remains golden. Especially the one with the damn saxophone.

Youngest child to oldest, each unwraps a present, and each is met with either squeals of delight or the 'its-worse-than-socks' toss onto the pile, while a previous present is pulled from the pile for further inspection. I have to admit that I run about 50/50 on the squeal/socks chart. On the upside I don't think I have ever given a take or leave present; it's either pure love or distinct hate.

And then the departures start. Young children to get home and into bed; old parents who want to get the older children to bed so they try to get a few minutes sleep between Santa's visit and zero-dark:30 when Christmas Day starts.

When our kids were smaller- like between 7 and 17 we had a few chickens and a rooster. The Christmas morning rule was nobody came downstairs until the rooster crowed; that meant at least the sun was up.

Until one enterprising youngster realized that turning on the back porch light would wake up the rooster. None of them would ever admit who it was who would turn the porch light on at 4:30 in the morning, but I suspect the eldest convinced the youngest to do it.

That's just the way things work.

Christmas Prep is Done!

I am determined to do only Happy Posts between now and Christmas. I don't know how, but that is my goal.

See how hard it's going to be? I've gone negative already.

The plans are all in place; parties on Friday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday; Sunday and Tuesday will probably be all day affairs. Gifts to exchange; food to eat- including 3 hams- beer and eggnog to drink, cookies and candy are far as the eye can see in any direction. And probably a pumpkin roll or two.

Family everywhere, except tonight. Tonight is the work family. A good meal; good company and a few mellowers. But no ham.

The shopping is done, as of a few minutes ago. I just have the nail-biting wait for the delivery on one more thing and all will be wrapped and ready to go.

As you can tell, I am looking forward to the Christmas celebrations, despite yesterday's post. I still don't have the traditional Christmas Spirit, but maybe it will come, now that the stress of the season is over and the fun part is beginning.

And now that the parties are starting I can start hitting the Christmas Spirits; that always helps.

We took a couple of hours yesterday and went to visit the Train Display at the Cincinnati Museum Center; Just the wife and I and the Young'un. She isn't as appreciative of the trains as her brothers. She couldn't wait to get out of there and hit the Children's Museum. She had a good time and we left after a couple of hours. The place was not as crowded as I feared it would be, but I guess most of the area schools were still in session; her's let out on Wednesday.

And we have snow. Not much, less than a dusting, but still snow. as long as it's still on the ground come Tuesday we can say we had a White-ish Christmas.

Lets the celebrating begin!

Family Lore Turns Into Official History

My Grandfather on my Dad's side was a United States Marine.

Family lore was always that he had done his basic at Paris Island and was then sent off to the Dominican Republic. This was the lore. Now I have the proof.

Ancestry.com is a wonderful resource. I have been using it for years in my genealogy research. Recently they added more military records to their resources, including the muster rolls for the Marine Corps.

Based on these monthly records I was able to reconstruct Grandpa's entire military career. Well; almost. There are a few months missing; I just need to figure out how to find the missing months.

These records are interesting, even without the family connection. They list every Marine in the Corps, by unit and by rank alphabetically. The sole identifier, after their name, was their muster date in this period. Typewritten, they contain small details, like when they were transferred in and out, and if the Marine has gotten into trouble, requiring a reprimand and/or loss of pay. 

As it stands now:

Enlisted in on June 16, 1918 to Company X, Marine Corps Barracks, Paris Island, South Carolina; one of 396 Privates in the company, noted without comment.

On July 8, 1918 he was assigned to 3rd Regiment, US Marines, Santo Domingo City, Dominican Republic, along with quite a few of his Training Company.

He arrived in Santo Domingo on July 22, 1918, sailing on board the USS Hancock, and became part of the 44th Division, 3rd Provisional Regiment, 2nd Brigade, USMC.

August is interesting. The muster list for the 44th only list those Marines that were being punished for some transgression, were sick or had died. Several of the Marines died from 'incised wounds in the skull'. But no reference to Grandpa; thankfully.

In September he spent the 26th to 30th "in field, in Providence of Santo Domingo".

I checked October pretty thoroughly, and could not even find a reference to the 44th Division; maybe the records are incomplete? I did not look at every one of the 480 some pages, so I may have missed something. Still; are the records complete? Hard to say.

The next record is January, 1919, where the record indicates he spent the entire month "in field in Providences of Macoris and Seibo, DR".

Next record is April of 1919, again with no comment.

Then comes July of 1919, that contains a rather (for these records anyway) lengthy comment:
"22 participated in an engagement with native bandits at Plata de la Palma, DR. 25 transferred to Barracks Detachment per Regimental transfer order 92, dated July 25, 1919".

There are two records in August of 1919. The first is from the Barracks Detachment, Third Provisional Regiment, Santo Domingo City, DR: "7-transferred to US on USS Kittery".

The second is from the Barracks Detachment, Marine Barracks, Charleston, South Carolina: "14- disch. (discharge) by S.O. (special order) of the MSG (unknown; Marine Strike Group?). Char. (character) 'Excellent'." Basically, he was involved in a battle with the bandits they were in the Dominican Republic to fight, and 3 days later was sent back to Headquarters and rotated back to the States for discharge.

Total time in service: June 16, 1918 to August 14, 1919; just shy of 14 months.

Also according to family lore there were only a few things that could be saved from the family home in Newport before it was flooded in the Flood of January, 1937, and two of the things Grandpa saved were his Marine Corps uniform and discharge papers.

Interestingly enough, as near as I can tell there were only two Marines in the 1918-1919 period with my Grandpa's name; the other mustered in in April of 1917, and spent his time in France.

Lots of questions answered, but like with any good mystery, more questions remain. What was Special Order 92? What does MSG mean? Strike Group is a fairly modern term, so I doubt it is correct. And why are there months missing?

I just wish I would have been able to have this done a couple of weeks ago, for Veterans Day.

Shopping

 

Tonight I decided to take the Young'un shopping. She had money in her pocket from some work she did a few days ago and had decided that her backpack was no longer serviceable.

Some of her friends (she is about a month short of 8) were carrying a new style of book bag called a Messenger style; meaning that instead of having two straps and holding the weight on your back, this one had one strap and hung off your side.

Rumor had it- one of her friends at school had told her- that the local Kohl's had them for $4.99. And she had $10.00. So we went to Kohls.

Now I am not much of a shopper. I have a store I go to when I need clothes, because no place local has my size in dress pants or shirts. And I go to Wal-mart. Kohls is unfamiliar territory.

So first order of business was to find out where the backpacks were. The Young'un is a take charge person, and has no problem asking questions. The first person we saw who worked there did not know where the backpacks were. The second person did. Allegedly. He sent us to the far northwest corner of the store. after a few minutes fruitless search we asked again for the backpacks.

Guess what? Their in the southeast corner of the store, right next to the door we entered. so we trekked all the way BACK across the store, to between menswear and shoes, in the luggage department.

And this is where the world ended.

They didn't have any Messenger style book bags. And then the tears started. Her friends lied to her. Her friends HATED her. She hated her friends because they lied to her. But she kept looking. And found a $25 Nike bag.

When I refused to buy it,  Then I was the one that hated her and had lied to her. Her backpack was old (we bought it at the start of the school year, when it was 'the bomb') she needed a new backpack, and this one was pink.

My reminders that we had come into the store for a $5.00 book bag did not mean we would buy a $25.00 one as a consolation prize were not even listened too. The whole world and God Almighty were all against her. The world would end and she would not have a good book bag.

DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA!

I have raised 5 sons. In over 25 years of raising 5 boys from infancy to adulthood I did not have as much DRAMA as I have had with this Young'un in the last year.

I took her to get a pair of shoes a few weeks ago. With her Dad and her Uncles it was a 5 minute trip. Here's the price range and here's your size; pick out a pair of shoes. They picked out a pair of shoes and out the door we went. With the Young'un it took 25 minutes just to narrow down the selections to a couple of hundred pair, most of which were too big; too small or too pricey. We literally spent 45 minutes in the shoe aisle at Wal-Mart AND DID FIND A PAIR TO BUY!!!!!

I decided right then and there, and I do mean RIGHT then and RIGHT there never to shop with her again.

I didn't think tonight would be a shopping trip. But it was.

So right here and now I am making a vow.

I am not going to step into a store with the Young'un again. I want to enjoy the few remaining hairs I have left.

Earners Versus Takers

As you may know I have 5 sons, 4 of whom are eligible to vote in this election. I'm not concerned about which way they will be voting; all five of my sons have sent me anti-Obama items. They are all registered to vote and are ready to send Obama back to Chicago.


The question is why? Why are these members of their generation so against government giveaways?

Maybe it’s because they all have jobs and all pay taxes. Maybe it’s because none of them have been contaminated by college. Maybe it's because they have worked for everything they have, and see how much more they could have, if they were allowed to keep more of what they earned. Nobody ever gave them anything; they don't have the receiver mindset.

That's the way they were raised; you want something, then you earn it. From a candy bar when they were 5 to fancy sneakers when they were 17. I kept them fed, clothed and housed. Santa made his periodic visits and birthdays were honored, but $20 shoes were the budget. You want Air Jordans? Then you earn and spend the other $80. I don't think any of my boys spent that $80 the second time. The amount of effort that went into earning that money was not worth the value of the shoe.

Oscar Wilde once said that "A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing." I would argue that a liberal is the same; they know the value of nothing, because everything has been handed to them.

Look at our current President; what has he ever earned? Certainly not his college positions, up to and including Harvard Law review. Certainly not any of his elected offices, most of which he got by eliminating the opposition prior to reaching the voting booth. The Presidency? Remember; he ran against John McCain, probably the weakest Republican candidate since Taft in 1916.

How many democrats are that way? Were handed everything they ever had, from their first car to their college education, to their first job? Maybe that’s why democrats/liberals/progressives seem to think everybody is entitled to everything- they didn’t earn anything, so it’s unfair to make somebody else earn something?

I could be way off base. But I do wonder; has anybody done a poll showing how many folks with student loan debt are voting for Obama, as opposed to those with student loan debt and a job?

Remodel, Finale

I should really say Finale; we still have a few small things to do, but yesterday was the end of the trim work. We hung the crown molding.

As a devoted fan of This Old House I have watched crown molding go up many times. I knew the tricks. or so I thought. My son was willing to try it on his own, until after he had cut and hung the first piece. Then he called me. I figured we would start about 10 and be done about 12. Its a small bathroom; just 5 feet by 8 feet; shouldn't take long.

Well; except we ran into a problem or two.

Crown molding didn't seem that difficult to hang, and the last few pieces weren't. But that first piece; WOW.

Maybe a few explanations are in order. Most molding on walls is hung flat; like baseboards and chair rail. Where two pieces meet a simple miter joint is used. I say simple, but they are not simple to cut, sometimes. But a simple miter basically divides the 90 degree angle into two 45 degree angles, one 45 degree cut on each piece to be joined, and when put together they fill the 90 degree corner.

A miter will work well on either an inside corner or and outside corner (an inside corner is like one in the corner of a room; an outside corner is one that protrudes into a room). But there is a second method of creating an inside corner called a cope joint. A cope joint is where one piece of molding is left at a 90 degree angle and the piece that joins it is cut on the end to match the profile of the molding it is meeting. It sounds hard, but in practice isn't, because of a few tricks.

Coping crown molding is very similar, but completely different. I worked at least an hour on the first cope cut; cutting, test fitting, cutting again; test fitting again. Cutting AGAIN, and test fitting AGAIN. I could never get the joint to match up. Then I tried matching my cope cut up with a piece of molding  not mounted on the wall. It matched perfectly. Then I moved my piece of molding around on the wall until I had a perfect match. I the realized the molding my son had hung wasn't at the right angle.

Crown isn't hung flat; it forms a 45 degree angle around the 90 degree angle of the wall and ceiling. The piece I was working off of wasn't at 45 degrees. By now I had a perfect left miter and a perfect right miter, so we pulled down the piece that was up and used our cut pieces to align it perfectly.

From then on it was smooth sailing. The first cut took over an hour; the last one took about 5 minutes. Because we put crown in the shower stall as well as the rest of the room we wound up with 6 cope joints and 2 outside miters. From first cut to final nail was about 4 and a half hours; twice what I originally thought. But from second piece of molding to final piece of molding was about an hour and a half. So I guess I have a 3 hour learning curve.

It was also made easier by my son having hung the first piece. If I would have hung it it would have taken a couple extra hours to convince me I had done the first one wrong.

All the while we worked my son kept telling me he could never be a carpenter; he didn't have the patience. Well; I didn't either at his age.

Sorry 'bout Yesterday

Well; the weekend kicked my butt. I am still sore and tired. Hopefully I will recover in time for round two this weekend.

This past weekend was spent in my son's bathroom. It was drastically in need of a redo. He and his wife bought the house 4 years ago, and at the time we did a clean and paint with a new tub and flooring. the room was serviceable.

But it was due a refit. It had a closet in one corner that took up too much room and provided too little storage, and the sink and cabinet that were serviceable 4 years ago were now past prime. They had to go.

Last Friday afternoon, they went. Along with the wall behind the sink and the floor, down to the subfloor. That was the easy part.

Saturday we hung drywall on the sink wall and filled in hole in the walls and ceiling the closet removal left. and fixed a few things elsewhere in the room, and then started slinging drywall mud.

Sunday morning it was 2nd coat of mud; wait for it to dry, and then 3rd coat of mud. In between we ate dinner, as pictured above. About 12 pounds of ribs. We put about 6 ounces in the fridge.

Monday was touch up on the drywall, and starting on the floor. We had to lay cement backer board, and then layout the tile. The tile had been chosen by the daughter in law, so we had to make it fit in the room.

It came out stunning, if I do say so myself. Pictures later, as soon as I can figure out how to get them from a text on my phone.

We had the original layout, the layout we first decided to use, the revised layout, and the layout that developed as we were laying tile out on the floor. The actual laying of tile is easy. The prep work will kill you.

But I suppose it is like everything else in this world; the job itself is easy; its the prep work for the job that is hard.

Once we had the layout, then we had to center it on the room- left and right, and front to back, then determine our layout lines. The other hard part is the first thing anybody will see is just inside the door. And that is where you stop laying tile; not start. You start back in the hidden corner, and if the hidden corner isn't absolutely perfect, then when you get to the door the tile look like somebody backed a truck up and swept them out of the tailgate.

I had to leave about 9:00 Monday night; I was spent and had to work the next morning. The Boy finished up by himself, until he ran out of tile about 11:00.

This weekend it is finish sanding and paint on the walls and ceiling; install the new sink and sit back to hear the compliments.

And drink beer. Laying tile is not a job you do under the influence.

Had Some Fun This Morning

I was directed to this site by an email from my Aunt. I thought it was interesting, so I had to share.

My first time I was a Bobbing Bobcat; the second I was a Rocketing Rabbit.

How about you?

A Busy Saturday Morning

This morning I am sitting on my back porch, listening to the rain hit the roof. I like sitting on the porch in the mornings, drinking my first cup of tea and enjoying the waking world. Usually I can watch the birds flitting about on their birdy business, and watch the squirrels run along the trees.

But today the weather has kept them indoors, or at least they're not playing out in the rain.

The weather almost kept me in as well. It is about 60 degrees, and when the breeze blows it feels a little chilly. But I have my tea to keep me warm. And the battery from my laptop.

I like a covered porch. Like this morning, I can be sitting on the porch swing, watch the breeze shift the tops of the trees and see the rain hit each leaf as the drops head to the ground; feel the cool damp air and feel like I am a part of nature.

While being dry and comfortable. Better than camping out.

It took me all summer, but I finally have Morning Glory blooms. I don't see them most mornings; I'm always in a rush to get to work by the time I leave the house. No time to stop and see the Glories. There is most likely a metaphor there, but if there is I'll let you work it out.

But this morning the rain has dampen their spirits some. each bloom is hanging down, and not stretching out to reach the morning sun.

I planted them late, around Memorial Day, which explains why I didn't get my first blooms until almost Labor Day. I also must have been mistaken, or planted the wrong variety. I believe my Dad had some Morning Glories planted on the sunset side of the house, and they would open in he evenings, when the full sun hit them. Mine are on the sunset side of the house. I was hoping to have a grand display of blooms every evening, while I was rocking on the porch with a cigar, and enjoying the end of the day. But, it didn't work out this year.

Really, otherwise, why plant a flower you can only enjoy 2 days a week?

All I Can Say is Ahhhhhhh....

I may have mentioned once or twice that I like to drink beer.

One of the beers I liked to drink was Wiedemann. I often proudly claimed I was a fourth generation Wiedemann drinker, and proudly raining a fifth.

And then they stopped brewing Wiedemann.

In the family the story is that my wife often told me that if I stopped drinking beer, the brewery would go bankrupt. In January of 2005 I decided it was time to stop drinking so much, and cut my consumption way back. In March of that year the Pittsburgh Brewing Co., the then current brewers of Wiedemann, filed for bankruptcy.

Wiedemann was the hometown beer. My Great- Grandparents settled in Newport, Kentucky in the 1870's, where Wiedemann was brewed. Great- Grandpa even drove a horse drawn delivery wagon for George himself in early part of last century, and quit when they took his horses away and tried to make him a truckdriver. But he still drank Wiedemann. As did his son and grandson, my Dad.

And my sons. My wife walked into the kitchen one day and caught my two oldest boys in front of the open refrigerator, with an open bottle of beer that they were sharing. They were 5 and 3 at the time.

Just the other day my son, who was three in the incident above, some 20- odd years ago, brought home a couple of bottles of Yuengling Beer. I have had a few bottles recently myself, as it is now sold just over the river in Ohio, and after the first taste he looked at me and said; 'Wow' tastes just like Wiedemann!'

Which it does; both beer share a very similar heritage.

Once Wiedemann disappeared from the shelves in 2005, I didn't have a beer. I had several I would drink, and many I would avoid, but didn't have one brand that was always in the fridge. At least until lately, when I have been finding Rolling Rock cheap in the 30 can pack. Coincidentally, Rolling Rock is also brewed by the Iron City Brewing Company, the successor out of Bankruptcy of Pittsburgh Brewing.

Well, the other day a friend of mind alerted me to the fact that Wiedemann is back! I can't wait to try a glass.

Another interesting story; the restaurant mentioned in the story is also an old family favorite, and the sign in the picture got me into trouble with a waitress there one day.

We were there for dinner in 2002 or so; after the Wiedemann brewery had closed in Newport, adn I asked for the Lasagna, as always, and a Wiedemann. 'Sir,' she says, 'we don't serve Wiedemann.'

So I retort, 'Your sign out front says you do!'

'Sir', says the waitress with a deadly look, 'that sign is 50 years old'.

I drank Ice Tea instead.

But next time I go to Pompillios, its the Lasagna and a cold draft Wiedemann.

If for no other reason, than for Dad.

Well, and I have missed Wiedemann.

Mrs. Buffy Jones-Smith-Hudson-Dayton

So, once again I was ahead of the curve.

I was reading Instapundit the other day and ran into this article. I was fascinated that NPR would do a story that is so critical of their base. I mean, isn't almost everyone who listens to NPR a pretentious ass?

Now let me tell you my story.

10 years ago I was in college, and taking an English course that basically consisted of writing for review. Lots of writing style, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. One week, instead of instruction, we were required to write a piece extemporaneously. We were not given any notice that we were having this assignment.

Classes were 4 hours long. we had the first two hours to read our choice of several articles and do online research. Then the last two hours we were to hand write the assignment. You may not know this, but my handwriting sucks. always has, and probably always will. But, I can make it legible if I write very slowly.

So I took ten minutes to select and read an article, and then started writing. The article I choose was about the trend toward hyphenated names. And on how unwieldy they were, both in the first generation, and even more so in the 2nd, and we don't even want to think about a third.

Once again it is the liberal, pretentious asses, thinking only of themselves, causing unintended harm to others.

Missy and Poindexter didn't think about how this hyphenated monstrosity would affect their children and grandchildren. All they thought about was how it 'Felt Good' to them in the present.

The hyphenated name debacle is a short course in liberal thought. We did it because it made us feel good; now you go live with the consequences.

More evdence of how liberal 'thought' isn't really:

They did this to THEIR OWN CHILDREN.

'Nuff said.