Top O' the Mountain

Happy 150th Birthday!

2012-02-12T19:50:00.000-08:00

One set of my great-grandparents are now 150 years old. Michael Henry Toomey was born 24 Sep 1861 in Brattleboro Vermont, to Irish immigrant parents (John Toomey / Mary O'Donnell).

MHT's father and grandfather worked on the railroad. I'm not sure of his father's job description, but the family moved up and down the railroad line in the 1860s-70s-80s. Some of MHT's siblings were born in other SE Vermont towns such as Putney, East Dummerston, and South Vernon, which was the main railroad junction in the area. The curious thing about South Vernon is that it straddled the state line between Vermont and Massachusetts. His 2 youngest siblings actually show up in both state's records. Perhaps the family moved to a house across the road, putting themselves in the neighboring state.

MHT attended high school at the Bernardston Academy in Massachusetts. He left there to become a railroad brakeman, one of the most dangerous jobs around. In those days brakemen rode atop the caboose where a wheel-brake had to be manually turned. Many a brakeman was knocked off by low bridges or lurching train cars. As the story goes, he was injured on the job, and during his recuperation worked in the railroad office where he learned the skill of telegraphy. And that became his life's work.

About 1880 MHT began work as a telegrapher in Greenfield Massachusetts, then in Boston. By 1884 he was working in New York for Western Union, and at some point moved to the New York office of the Boston Globe Newspaper. By the time of his death in 1901 he ran the night-wire service for that paper. And he was known as one of the country's fastest telegraphers.

Mary Catharine Sullivan was also born in Brattleboro to Irish immigrant parents (Cornelius O'Sullivan / Catharine Cavanaugh), 13 Feb 1862. Her family lived in the Irish patch on upper Elliot Street, then in 1870 bought a small two-level house on Clark Street that still stands. The backyard had a small apple orchard. Some of the Sullivan relatives also lived on Clark St.

When Mary was 15 her father was run over on the train tracks north of Brattleboro. I can imagine the horror and distress of his broken self being carried home to die.

Mary and MHT attended some of the same Brattleboro schools during their early years, but once his family moved to South Vernon I don't know how often they saw each other. After he began his career as a telegrapher in distant cities, I wonder how often he got back to Brattleboro for visits. And I wish I knew at what point they began courting and decided to marry.

At St. Michael's Catholic Church in on 1 Sep 1885, she and MHT were married. Mary left her job at a local Brattleboro business, Leonard & Roess Cigar Shop, whose employees gifted the happy couple with a china tea set. They honeymooned in Boston, then moved to Brooklyn New York. Mary returned to Brattleboro to have her first 2 children, Kitty and Harry; the other 6 were born in Brooklyn--Ed, Gert, Frank, Alice, Marian, Charles. The family bought a house in the Bay Ridge section in the 1890s. They were able to afford music lessons and other niceties. Harry and Charlie both died as toddlers.

MHT's early death on 26 Dec 1901 at age 40 had far-reaching effects. Some family members suspect MHT had debts to pay off from stock market losses. The newly-impoverished widow went to work as a nurse. My grandmother Alice and her sister Marian were sent to live with MHT's mother. Frank was sent to St. John's Boys Home. The family was able to keep their house; in the late 19-teens they moved into a Brooklyn apartment.

2 months before her death in 1930, Mary had retired, was living with her youngest daughter who probably helped pay the $50/month rent on their Brooklyn apartment; they afforded a radio. She is buried in Holy Cross Cemetery in Brooklyn next to Harry and Charlie.

Hiking in Oman

2012-01-27T09:14:00.000-08:00

We took a scenic trek through 3 villages that cling to the mountainside on Jebel Akhtar. 6-year-old Meme and 3-year-old Majd trudged along with the rest of us without ever fussing--they're nimble hikers!

Older buildings are of clayish brick chinked with mud. They appear ancient but so would any building built of clay and mud--I don't think they are particularly old.

Lovely mosque in second village.

A sample of the hundreds of stairs along the trail.

Villagers have terraced plots of land out of the mountainside for their many fruit trees and vegetables. This hillside will be lush and beautiful come spring!

Terraces.

Irrigation ditches thread their way between the plots.

When we reached the top of the trail an Omani fellow kindly called up his brother to drive us back to our car. 15 minutes later he was inviting us to his home for tea. We had to decline, but he promised to visit the Palmers when he comes to UAE.

On the way home we stopped at these Beehive tombs which are thousands of years old. No one is sure who built them. Sorry I don't have a better photo of the setting because it is absolutely stunning--sheer towering mountains on several sides, a rocky wide wadi on another.

Fantastic Oman

2012-01-27T07:20:00.000-08:00

We spent 3 days camping/hiking/sightseeing through spectacular Oman (we being the Palmers, Carolyn and me). The dramatic landscape looks much like the American Southwest--a mixture of southern Utah, California, Nevada, and Arizona. Rocks everywhere.

First stop was to attend church in the branch in Muscat, after which we headed down the coast to find a place for the night. Our free campsite was situated above a lovely little cove on the Indian Ocean.

Sunrise from our tent.

Majd showing off her breakfast cookies.

A pretty beach.

Right out of National Geographic . . .

We hiked up this wadi and found a beautiful warm pool for swimming.

Omani boys are eager for chewing gum, but not chocolate.

Second night's campsite high on Jebel Akhdar. It was so cold and windy that we all huddled in the same tent for warmth. The wind raged all night long.

Next morning we awoke to this stunning sight:

Next post will cover the hike we took in this area.

In Sharjah, UAE

2012-01-19T02:28:00.000-08:00

At the local park

I've been in Sharjah an entire week and am finally getting around to posting a little about what we've been doing. Much of my activities revolve around the adorable grand-girls, Meme and Majd. I have walked them to school, picked them up from school, played with them at home and on the playground, watched their ballet classes, read them stories, told made-up stories and stories about their mama's childhood, put them to bed, and watched a nature documentary with them. We've had a wonderful time and by the day I leave I will have fit in about a year of grannying in just a few weeks.

Yesterday we played on the beach at the Arabian Gulf. One day we went to Dubai Mall to look at the aquarium, watch the water show, and eat at what must be the world's most extensive food court (I had Indian kabobs served with 3 varieties of rice). We have been to the fantastic Islamic Museum and the rustic old souk.

Meme window shopping at the candy store at Dubai Mall

Outside the Burj Khalifa, world's tallest building (not in photo)

The Arabian Gulf

Without the grand-girls Carolyn, Bridget and I went to the Al Noor Mosque in downtown Sharjah. I have been to mosques in other Muslim countries, and in beautiful downtown Beaverton. This one was a unique experience as it involved a one-hour class about Islam. The woman who presented it spoke excellent English and obviously loved her religion and wanted us to appreciate it too, and we do.

We were required to wear a hijab and abaya, as seen below.

Here is the presentation. At this point they were explaining the various types of clothing worn by Muslims.

Some Muslim women wear this extra piece on their faces--I've seen them in the souks but couldn't figure out what it was without staring at the women. It protects their nose and cheeks from sunburn.

That's me on the left trying out the more conservative form of dress. I was instantly overheated.

Ceiling of the mosque

Carolyn, the presenter, Bridget, me

Exterior

Book Favorites 2011

2011-12-31T14:00:00.000-08:00

I have picked some favorites out of my booklist. In a way it would be easier to pick out the ones I don't recommend (but I think those are clear in the original book list).

Some favorites:

Sometimes a Great Notion is on my all-time favorite list and this was my second reading.
I was mesmerized by Nothing to Envy about life in North Korea--the author wrote in a very matter of fact, very personal tone making me want to spirit away these people or bring them food or buy them a blanket or something. Who knew life could be so awful in the 21st century.
Charlie Wilson's War gives thorough and deep background about events that created some of our country's major issues today. It's shocking that one Congressman wielded so much power.   Lots of detail in this book as the author developed the complicated story. If this was a novel it would be listed under fantasy. Many of the events are beyond belief, and all put together couldn't possibly occur in only 600 pages.
Because of my background in history, I could relate to Lies My Teacher Told Me. I don't agree with everything he said; in fact a few times the author sounds as if he is about to cross the fine line of taking an historical event out of context and analyzing it via our modern-day values. But all in all I love that he advocates truth in education, then giving students the joy of using their own brains when examining issues.
Colombine is extremely well written. Not a pleasant story but an accurate account of that terrible day.
The Ghost Map I loved because it was a fascinating detective story, like reading a complicated mystery.   As good as a Sherlock Holmes but non-fiction.
Tsunami I loved for the same reason as above. It is not a quick-read by any stretch; it delves deep into lots of "ologies and ographies," a big plus for those genuinely interested in the subject.
Son and Doc by Jack Olsen--I've enjoyed his books. He feels no need to pad or embellish a story, just tells it like it is. And both of these crimes took place in the West among cultures familiar to me. I remember the events detailed in Son being reported in our newspaper here.   He also wrote an informative book about Claude Dallas that I read years ago, Give a Boy a Gun.

2011 Book Round-up

2011-12-29T22:30:00.000-08:00

I read more books in 2011 than I have in a long time, for the simple reason that half of them were audios!

Politics/Current Events

The Secret Man: Bob Woodward. Everything you always wanted to know about Deep Throat. I came of age during the Watergate era and for over 30 years D.T.’s identity was not known, the greatest mystery of our time. Mark Felt, a Twin Falls Idaho native, "came out" at age 92 in 2005. For those unfamiliar with the Watergate scandal, read Woodward's All the President's Men first to put this book into context.

Hot, Flat and Crowded: Friedman discusses environmental concerns and their possible solutions. Dull with some enlightening information. I did not press on to the very end of the book.

Nothing to Envy: Barbara Demick. To say North Koreans have a difficult life is putting it mildly. Their infrastructure is in shambles, citizens are starving, hope is not in their vocabulary. South Korea runs a government program to train defectors how to function in modern society. Definitely a must-read now that NK’s "Glorious General Who Descended From Heaven" has passed on. I have deep pity for the people of NK.
People’s History of the US: 20th century social movements are examined from an extreme liberal viewpoint; eh, don't bother. Borderline absurd.
The Looming Tower: Details the gradual growth of radical Islam leading to 911 and why the US was not prepared to prevent a 911; examines the issues surrounding not only that attack but the earlier terrorist attacks during the Clinton era. Excellent.
Charlie Wilson’s War: Profanity alert: very foul language (quotes). What an eye-opener on US-Soviet relations and the birth of Al Qaida. The war referred to is the Soviets vs. mujahadeen in Afghanistan circa 1980. The US supported the mujahadeen to put down the Soviets, thus planting the seeds for the rise of Al Qaida and for the downfall of communism. A must read if you can wade through the language.
Reading Lolita in Tehran: Female Iranian professor rebels against strict society in her own way after 1978 revolution. Dull at times, and disheartening. Reveals women's stiff challenges in Iran.

History/Adventure

In the Heart of the Sea: second reading of Philbrick's book; a remarkable adventurous tale of a whaling crew's survival, and impressively well researched.
On Mt. Hood: The facts and history of Mt. Hood and the author's personal experiences with the mountain, a dormant volcano. Spending a fair amount of time on the mountain and its environs myself, I enjoy reading what others do/think/see/experience there.
Baghdad Without a Map: Fun and funny tale of Horowitz's Middle Eastern travels. Read it before you go!
The Last Stand: A new look at the Battle of Little Bighorn. Easier to follow troop movements than some previous books on Custer and Sitting Bull.
Night: Elie Weisel’s life as a Romanian Jew during World War 2; gut-wrenchingly sad.
Hiroshima: Hersey interviewed survivors of the bomb drop and herein are their detailed horrifying personal accounts. This short book originated as a magazine article in 1946.
The Glass Castle: J. Walls. Author's gypsy childhood revealed; almost unbelievable. I wonder why some folks can survive a beastly childhood, yet others crumble even though raised in good homes.
In the Garden of Beasts: Hitler’s rise to power in 1930s Germany as seen through the eyes of the American ambassador and his family, including his carelessly loose daughter. Book abruptly ends with the recall of the ambassador.
Silence of the North: woman lives on her own in wilds of Canada and survives on her grit and determination. Remarkable.
Rocket Men: The US in the "space race." Fascinating. Brings back the proud emotions of US accomplishments in space. When I was 7 my Dad told me we would put a man on the moon when I was 14, an incredibly short time for a development so complicated. And it happened just like he (via President Kennedy) said it would.
The Darkest Summer: The first 3 months of the Korean War in minute detail. Helpful to me because I knew little about the causes of the Korean War and why the US became involved. My uncle spent 14 months in Korea during the war.
The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid: A must-read for the over 50 age group and can certainly be enjoyed by younger folks too. Bryson details his 1950s / early 60s childhood. I laughed out loud many times--what a fun book. Yet I want to ask him why he threw in the "f-word" 4 or 5 times. No one I knew talked like that (I never heard that word until high school in the 70s). We had our mouths washed out with soap for more benign offenses.
Tough Towns: A dozen bank and train robberies between 1890-1930 are chronicled, mostly in the Midwest. Author details how citizens of victimized towns mobilized to thwart bank robbers. A fun book but not scholarly; was there a paucity of sources or was the author lazy?
Lies My Teacher Told Me: Author D. Loewen examines 12 high-school history textbooks and details 10 common topics such as Columbus, Pilgrims, Vietnam War, and how they are presented to students. Textbooks are more intent on presenting a feel-good history than on teaching truth, or stimulating discussion and controversy. Interesting to me, as a historian as in high school and college I was dissatisfied with many of the sources we used. In my world it's permissible to know that imperfect people have guided the US to become a great country--far from flawless of course, but who can argue that Americans have it pretty good?
Crazy For the Storm: Author as a child amazingly survived a small plane crash that killed his father. That small part was interesting. The rest of his life story was dull and crude so I skipped most of that.
Atlantic: Simon Winchester. A "biography" of the Atlantic Ocean including how it was formed and how man's experiences through history have been shaped through interaction with it. I like that this book sums up important events all in one place--formation of the earth, early exploration, oceanic warfare, inventions such as the trans-Atlantic cable and then wireless communication, etc. etc. Readable pertinent history.
The Perfect Mile: The pursuit of the sub 4-minute mile chronicled. Roger Bannister was a household name during my childhood yet I never knew how he came to be just that.

Non-Fiction Crime

In Cold Blood: I first read Capote's book in 9th grade and it's just as riveting to me now as then. An in-depth chronicle about a heart-rending tragic event that brings one to wonder why people do what they do.
Columbine: D. Cullen. A non-sensational account of the realities of that horrible day. Myths are busted, the aftermath is covered.   Carefully written.
Starvation Heights: In Kitsap County Washington, a "fasting" doctor starves patients to obtain their assets. Of local interest.
Without a Doubt: OJ Simpson trial as told by Marcia Clark, the chief prosecutor. She took a lot of heat for her failure to convict and yes, there were major errors committed. The corruption of justice in this case is infuriating.
Doc: Jack Olsen writes about a Lovell Wyoming doctor who molests his female patients; when word gets out the town polarizes. Well told story of a disgusting man.
Son: Olsen's story of Kevin Coe, a prolific rapist in Spokane Washington. Do you really know your neighbors and are you ever truly safe? This seemingly normal guy was attacking women in broad daylight.
The Murder of the Century: A gruesome 1897 NY murder is looked at, and the way the press reported it is analyzed. Ho-hum.
Skyjack: G. Gray. A summation of D.B. Cooper's infamous crime on Thanksgiving Eve 1971. Is his skeleton stuck in a tree somewhere in SW Washington or did he live out his life in obscurity carrying his notorious secret to his grave?   We still don't know because there was little new or revealing info in this book. It smacked of an author hoping to make a few bucks by capitalizing on the publicity surrounding the 40th anniversary. On the plus side most information about the case is now contained in one source.
Death in the City of Light: by David King. A sadistic serial killer preys on desperate Jews and others anxious to escape occupied Paris in 1944.   Longer than it needs to be. The value in this book is the setting and wartime circumstances, and the revelation that there was more than one way to punish Jews and undesirables.

Science

Stiff: Mary Roach. Who would've thought there's a book that describes the study and use of cadavers? Written for the layman, it addresses the advantages of study on cadavers, and attacks ethical questions. Am glad I read it.
Rising Tide: John Barry. Boring as all get-out, the book covers the causes and costs of Mississippi River flooding. US taxpayers are nailed over and over and over because folks build and are permitted to rebuild in predictable flood zones.
Tsunami, the Underrated Hazard: An in-depth study of every type of tsunami along with photos of geologic phenomena created by past tsunamis. Fascinating, informative, and frightening. If you're "lucky," your coast will be hit by an earthquake-generated tsunami in which you'll have at least a few minute's warning. An underwater landslide-generated tsunami gives you zero.
The Ghost Map: The mystery of an 1854 London cholera epidemic is solved. Many thanks to the 19th century thinkers who made the world a safer, cleaner, more pleasant place to live. Good book.
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks: A black woman's cells were taken after her death for use in medical studies, and are behind many important scientific and health advances. Controversial because neither Henrietta nor her family ever gave their consent, and while scientists and companies became wealthy off her cells, the Lacks family remained mired in poverty and ignorance.
A Crack in the Edge of the World: Winchester's study of earthquakes centered around San Francisco's tragic event of 1906. Valuable course on the science of quakes and what the future holds for populations in high-risk zones. Readable science and history.
Thunderstruck: Eric Larson's chronicle of Marconi's discovery over 100 years ago that made wireless transmissions possible. Woven in with that is an account of a murder that really isn't related to Marconi in any way, except that the perps were easily captured because of Marconi's invention. OK.
Krakatoa: the Day the World Exploded: Winchester's in depth look at not only the violent eruption of this Indonesian volcano, but of the fallout it created around the world. He even goes so far as to connect it to the rise of radical Islam. Thorough and fascinating.

Spiritual

My Father, Maker of the Trees by Irivuzumugabe: A must read. This man witnessed the genocide in Rwanda. He describes his life journey to find meaning and solace, and forgiveness in his heart.

NOTE: separating one book into its own spiritual category gives the impression that I generally don't read spiritually-oriented books; let it be known that I read the Bible and/or Book of Mormon daily, along with articles on spiritual themes.

Fiction

Year of Wonders: Geraldine Brooks. Despite being a somewhat trashy and contrived novel of life during the black plague years, the story gives a window into what life might have been like when people were dying left and right. In the end though my time would be better used reading a non-fiction book on the subject.
Big Rock Candy Mountain: Stegner's autobiographical novel. Painful, brutal, full of turmoil, torturous to read. And unforgettable. Like all of Stegner.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey: How do we reconcile what seems like a chance happening, the effect it has in our lives and the lives of those around us? To what extent is God involved in the events we experience? We all have a personal answer to these questions.

Cranford: Gaskell's fun and poignant tale about an English village where women are the dominant influence.

Far From the Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy. Gabriel the shepherd and Bathsheba the foolhardy heiress. Tragic happenings, yet the end is not as bleak as it could/should have been.

Farenheit 451: Bradbury's futuristic novel about censorship and one fireman's gradual realization that books should be cherished rather than burned.

Finding Nouf: In the murder investigation of a young veiled Saudi woman, cultural barriers impede the murder investigation. Not a great book yet interesting and some suspense.

The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse: V. Blasco. I hardly know where to start. This book has deep meaning on several levels. Setting is pre World War 1 South America, then wartime in Europe. Part of the main family is German, the other part French. Family relationships, ostentatious lifestyles, cultural conflicts, some romance, and the question of conflicting ideologies are all set against the backdrop of a vicious war.

The Golden Compass: YA book; too much fantasy for me.

The Help: black housekeepers in deep South during early 1960s relate their struggles to a white author. I listened to this on CD. Different actors are used for each character, complete with varied Southern accents. If not for that I likely would consider it only a slightly above average novel. Excellent on CD.

The Kalahari Typing School: I'm probably the last one on the planet to start this popular series in which a Botswanan woman runs a business. Enjoyed it.

King Solomon’s Mines: English hunters in Africa search for diamonds, barely survive, then become involved in local tribal warfare. Great adventure book. This book may be the basis for modern adventure movies including the Indiana Jones series.

Look Again: A mother discovers her 2-year-old adopted son looks very much like the face on a missing child flyer. She delves in to find out more of her child's past. Book is intriguing but the end is dumb.

North and South: Gaskill. Hard-working mill owner meets family fallen on hard times. This is a great story as is the BBC production.

People of the Book: After reading Year of Wonders by Brooks I vowed not to read another one of hers. I picked up this one without paying attention to the author because the subject matter fascinated me. It is a great story line and am glad I read it. But . . . I resent her inserting trashy sex a few times, an insult to a reader's intelligence. Sorry GB, but it's just not believable that a woman flies to Europe from Australia, is driven directly to a museum to examine an ancient book, works on that tedious project all day, is taken out to dinner by one of the museum people who she just met, then hops in the sack with him after dinner. Hard to take the character seriously after that.

Rebecca: Classic du Maurier mystery of a mis-matched English couple whose lives are overshadowed by the memory of Maxim's deceased first wife. Full of suspense and surprise.

Riders of the Purple Sage: Zane Grey makes Mormons the wickedest baddest people on the planet in this 1870s Western set in Southern Utah. The solitary stunning landscape comes through vividly. I loved reading this, even though the badness was over the top. But that's what a Western novel is.

Shane: Classic Western tale of good vs. evil on the frontier. "He rode into our valley in the summer of ’89, a slim man, dressed in black. “Call me Shane,” he said. He never told us more." Shane appears out of nowhere and his dark past is alluded to but never entirely revealed. In 10th grade the book was read in English classes, and then the Alan Ladd movie was shown. For weeks students walked around saying, "Shane! Come back Shane!" And I still lapse into it once in a while.

Slats Grobnik: When Chicagoan Mike Royko was alive I enjoyed reading his column except when it was about his working-man character Slats Grobnik. I tried the book but could only get 1/4 the way through. He's just too extreme and sarcastic for me. One of two books I did not finish this year.

Sometimes a Great Notion: Ken Kesey. Second reading; on my all-time top-ten list. I first read it in summer 1972 at my employer's house--I was babysitting 2 kids full-time--it was one of only 2 novels in their entire house. I've never forgotten it. The Stamper family of Southern Oregon struggles through dysfunction and economic bad times and tragedy. Kesey makes you despise his characters. They are weak, yet strong--that's what makes us human I guess.

Walking Across Egypt: An elderly woman living alone bonds with a wayward teen. Humorous and sweet. First in a short series but I've only read this one.

I re-read 4 Elizabeth George Speare books this summer; Speare's books are still perfect for pre-teens. No nasty modern social issues in sight.

The Bronze Bow: Vengeful young man in early Palestine learns forgiveness from Christ.

Calico Captive: Women captured by Indians in early New England.

The Sign of the Beaver: Boy left to fend for himself in a remote cabin in early New England.

The Witch ofBlackbird Pond: My childhood favorite. Early New England mystery.

December 1, 1911

2011-11-30T09:30:00.000-08:00

One hundred years ago today, December 1, 1911, my Baba (grandmother), Zsuzsanna Csornej-Maczko, boarded the S.S. President Lincoln in Hamburg Germany to sail for America. Her journey to the US began about a week earlier when she departed on a horse-drawn wagon from her native village of Nemetvagas in then Austria-Hungary, bound for the nearest train station (likely Nagy Mihaly). She traveled with sister-in-law Mary Szemjan, and a cousin, Mary Szorokacs. Baba was an orphan who looked ahead to a better life in America.

Baba was 15, though the ship manifest says she was 17. She added the 2 years for fear of being sent home by officials who frowned on very young women traveling without male company. The voyage took 2 weeks, a little long for steamships at that time. Ice at sea could have caused a delay. There wasn't enough food in steerage so Baba took potatoes from the kitchen, the only time in her life she ever stole.

In addition to the 1500 passengers in 1st-2nd-3rd class, the President Lincoln carried 2400 in steerage

The three women listed on the ship manifest

The 3 women landed at Ellis Island, each with $17 in her pocket. The manifest shows Baba as 5' 3", fair complexion, light hair, blue eyes. All passed the health inspection.

Baba and her companions boarded a train for Pittsburgh, where they were to be picked up by Mary's brother, Mike Szemjan. Only Mike was not at the station. The girls spoke not a word of English yet managed to hire a wagon and driver for $5, to take them to Mike's house. They spent quite a while knocking on doors in the Oakland area of Pittsburgh before they found it. A few days later Baba's brother, Michael Csornej-Maczko, arrived from Snowden PA to bring her to his home. She found work in nearby Clairton.

And 7 months later Baba's brother Michael arranged for her to marry Janos Bubnas, on 20 Jul 1912. She had just turned 16 and he was 20. It was an economic necessity for her brother to shed himself of the extra mouth to feed. Baba was unhappy about the marriage at her young age (in the old country she would have been 18-20 in an arranged marriage).

They went on to a difficult life and eventually had 8 children. Grandpa worked in the coal mines while Baba ran the farm and family. They buried a child, sent 4 boys off to war, struggled through times of mine strikes and slumps in demand for coal, and then Baba became Grandpa's constant caregiver after he was crushed and paralyzed in a mine accident in 1951.

I'm deeply appreciative of the courage and resilience of both my Grandparents. I deeply admire them for prevailing over copious disadvantages and working through complex hardships. They gave their children and in turn their grandchildren, a wonderful life. Grandpa died in 1966 of cancer; Baba died in 1996 at age 100.

Sorrow Engraved in Stone

2011-11-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I came across the rural Wilford Idaho cemetery while driving through the countryside. And I saw this stone:

In 40 years of doing historical and family research, I have never run across such a record of tragedy. Thanks to internet resources, here are the important details I found about this family:

The father, Joseph Hyrum Kershaw was born in what is now South Africa. His family joined the LDS Church and migrated to Utah. There he met Julia Clift, a Utah native; they married in 1877. Their first child, Lydia, was born and died in Utah. After living in various parts of Utah the Kershaws moved to Twin Groves Idaho about 1889.

Diphtheria hit the area in the winter of 1897. It's a dreadful childhood disease. In addition to extreme illness, the child is suffocated by a thick membrane that grows across the airway. My Grandma lost a child this way and once described his suffering to me. Horrible.

Over a 2-week period the Kershaws buried all 8 of their living children. The oldest was last to die, and had probably helped care for the others as they slipped away, one by one. In the dead of winter all were laid in the frosty soil of Wilford Cemetery.

The now-childless parents went to Utah to stay with family for a while. When they returned their house had been burned down by neighbors to prevent the spread of the disease.

5 more children were born to Julia and Joseph. 2 of those died as infants, and the youngest child died at age 26. All told, this couple buried 12 of their 14 children. Their only 2 surviving children lived until the 1980s. Mother Julia lived until 1929 and father Joseph until 1941. Julia and Joseph were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Their knowledge of eternal family ties was a beacon of light in the midst of acute pain and sorrow.

Sugar City--Where Sweet Things Grow!

2011-11-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Teresa moved to Sugar City Idaho a few months ago. I love this place! I'm spending Thanksgiving here to assist Teresa with the girls while she finishes up her last semester of college (Jared is working in ND).

Sugar City is small town America: 1 gas station, 1 grocery store, a post office, a water tower, a volunteer fire department, a high school that draws from the surrounding rural area, 2 LDS church buildings, Ole's Cafe, a dentist office, a family-owned market, and a combination furniture-hardware-appliance store, also family owned. There's a pleasant, clean, small-town feel here. No McMansions, boutiques, traffic jams, chain restaurants, no fast food and no stoplights.

water tower

the only grocery in town

The town underwent a huge change 35 years ago when the Teton Dam gave way and all but washed Sugar off the map. For that reason almost every house in town is modern. Old farm houses still stand in Teton and Newdale, but Sugar was smack in the middle of the deluge, so almost everything old was destroyed. With less than an hour's notice of the dam break, people got out with the clothes on their backs, then had only a stone or concrete foundation to call home.

one of only a few survivors of the 1976 flood

center of town

Sugar's reason for being was the beet sugar factory built here in 1904 for the U and I sugar company. The town was built to accommodate the workers, and because of a labor shortage Japanese workers were brought in to help. Some of their descendants live here now. The factory has long been defunct and only 1 building of the complex still stands. Farming and ranching are still going strong. The high school team name is the Diggers, recalling the heritage of the sugar beet.

1904 sugar factory

My favorite walk here is to head east a couple of blocks to where I can see the mighty Grand Tetons rear up on the eastern skyline. The houses on that edge of town view this:

Grand Tetons on a hazy November day

Sugar's only drawback is the wicked winter weather common to Eastern Idaho--wind, sub-zero temps, plenty of snow. But it's a nice place to raise a family.

If You Are What You Ate in Childhood, Then I'm in Big Trouble

2011-11-27T07:00:00.000-08:00

A distinct vision of my pre-school years sees me sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch with my Mom. The colors of my lunch were yellow and white. Can you guess what it was? A banana with milk, or lemon yogurt with a slice of bread? Sadly it was not anything that nutritious. My daily lunch staple was a butter sandwich. And golly it was delicious. Mom sliced square slabs off the butter stick and arranged them on airy Weber's white bread, fresh from its blue and white checked wrapper. The butter slabs were thick and cold and melted in my mouth.

It isn't that Mom didn't feed us well. Junk food was limited and we ate plenty of fruits and some vegetables. There was just so much that people didn't realize about food. We sometimes ate twinkies and snowballs. My kids never have. We ate bologna sandwiches. My kids never have. When Mom or Dad was in a "gourmet" mood, they made us fried bologna sandwiches, one of the tastiest really bad foods ever. We kids were mesmerized by the sight of the flat pink bologna frying in butter in the cast-iron skillet. As it cooked the meat puffed up in the middle like a Mexican sombrero. My sister Alice confessed that she recently made herself a fried bologna sandwich. Wish she had invited me to join her!

Weber's white bread was served at our table every night and so was meat--we ate way too much beef. Except we Catholics ate fish on Friday (usually frozen fillet of sole). My Dad ate kielbasa supplemented with icky stuff like pickled pig's feet and other weird Hunkie food that I wouldn't touch. Most vegetables served at dinner came out of the freezer section of Hughes market, or were courtesy of Del Monte cans. Velveeta was the only "cheese" I knew.

On the humorous side, there is a portion of a butchered pig called the butt that is always served smoked. It's very juicy, meaning it oozes fat. On those twice a year days when our folks announced that dinner was smoked butt, we kids fell into paroxysms of wet-our-pants laughter. My smart aleck brother once retorted, "no way you're gonna smoke my butt."

You can probably guess what we ate for breakfast. We made extra sure to exclude any cereal with a shred of protein or fiber. Top of my list were rice krispies and cocoa krispies. Zero food value except for the milk. I shudder thinking of all the worthless food I ate. That includes (true confession alert!!) my favorite snack: dog biscuits. Yup. I would wait till Mom was busy, sneak into the small walk-in pantry and shut the door, then eat doggie treats right out of the box to my stomach's content. It was a spanking offense and worth every bite.

As I said, if we are what we eat, or what we ate in childhood, I am in big trouble. I have hope that the last 4 decades of nutritious eating have reversed the ill effects of my childhood diet.

The Most Beautiful Spot in the Most Beautiful Country

2011-11-26T07:00:00.000-08:00

Think of Ireland, and you will visualize green--the term Emerald Isle was coined for a reason. Myriad shades of green manifest themselves in fields, shrubs and trees, crops, mountain slopes, and the surrounding ocean is a deep aquamarine. What a velvety gorgeous land.

Dingle Bay

Half my ancestry comes from Ireland, almost all of it from the Dingle Peninsula, which is the furthest west point in Europe. In the days of immigration the residents had a phrase, "next parish, America," meaning if you went any further west from Dingle, you'd end up in America. And my ancestors did just that. Unlike the Germans or Scandinavians who arrived on our shores with funds to buy land in the mid-west, the Irish were a defeated, starving people. They arrived penniless and "sold" themselves to New England railroads or the cotton/paper/silk mills.

Minard Castle after the English got through with it. My 3rd gr-grandmother, Nellie Wren, was born circa 1800 up on the mountain in the distance

The Irish went from this (above) to this:

The mills of New England

The Dingle Peninsula would have been a hard place to leave behind. It was and is a land of white sandy beaches, towering cliffs beat by frothy waves, emerald pastures dotted with sheep and cattle, whitewashed cottages, ancient stone ruins, and colorful pubs. These are sights not to be forgotten.

Inch

ruins at Fahan

Castlegregory

Annascaul

What heartache the Irish experienced as they cast a final glance at their beloved homeland, knowing they would never return to their lush Emerald Isle.

NOTE: I am writing this while out of town for Thanksgiving. I don't have access to my photographs, so all of the above (except the Lowell Mills) are borrowed from this website:
The Dingle Way website

We Love Quiet Waters

2011-11-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

Quiet Waters Outreach (QWO) is a local Christian-based organization that provides enrichment for disabled adults and respite for their caregivers. Our family has been associated with QW for about 4 years, and would have been sooner if we had known about it.

About 6-7 years ago one of Daniel's former special ed teachers at Westview High phoned to ask if she could visit with us. We had not seen Patty since Daniel's graduation in 1998. Patty's reason for coming over was to tell us about newer programs in place to help disabled adults, ones that had popped up since Daniel's graduation. She explained this whole new world of helps and how to obtain them (once you are dis-associated with public school services for disabled students, you lose a conduit of information).

One of those she mentioned was Martha's Place, run by Quiet Waters Outreach in Tigard, Oregon. MP is a weekend "bed and breakfast" specifically designed for adults with just about any disability. Weekends run from Thursday evening to Sunday evening, and each has a special theme which can be anything from Rose Festival to bowling to photography to beachcombing. Up to 6 guests take theme field trips in the MP van. When they are not taking trips they are playing games, doing puzzles, or watching a movie together. MP bedrooms have decorative themes: the beach room, the garden room, the Trail Blazer room.

Daniel loves MP. He goes about 9 weekends per year. The staff is wonderful, the activities are fun, and he enjoys having his own special place to go. It gives Craig and I time off from the demands of care. We might go camping, do a project together, or just relax at home.

Below is a link to a new publicity video for Quiet Waters Outreach starring (in part) the Walkers. QWO depends partly on contributions from businesses and individuals to ensure they can continue to provide their services. It's 8 minutes long--I hope you can watch the whole thing. If not, you can see us at @ 1:20, 3:47, 4:46, 6:36.

Quiet Waters video

60s TV Commercials

2011-11-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

I'm a child of the 50s and 60s. I probably watched more TV than my own kids ever did. Experts were not concerned about TV watching because kids still spent a prodigious amount of time playing outdoors with real live people.

Programs were littered with incredibly inane commercials. Cigarettes commercials were a biggy and competition between brands was stiff. You look at some of the ads now and wonder how a marketing expert could think the absurd jingles and fantastic claims would snare a thinking person. But snare they did. Airtime must have been a bargain, given the length of the commercials.

These ads make 1960s Americans out to be half-wits.

Kids used to sing this one. And we all became smokers due to the catchy commercials--NOT! Kent cigarettes: To a Frenchman, it's the Eiffel Tower, to a Dutchman, it's a pretty flower . . .

Not as snappy, but another Kent even stupider than the one above. I never smoked a cig in my life but my folks gave me the gift of secondhand smoke. And it was anything but "refreshing." [Oops, this one isn't working today--try this: more doctors smoke Camels.

Hamm's beer anyone? Compare this one to the sophisticated beer commercials shown during Super Bowl.

Did you know Kool Aid is good for you? I heard it in this commercial. Check out the bangs on the younger girl. My Mom cut mine just like that. I look like a dork in every school picture.

The 60s was the dopiest decade in history and this commercial for QT tanning lotion proves it. I used QT in 1966 just in time for 6th grade graduation. You see, I was embarrassed by my shocking snow-white legs. QT turned them orange. I scrubbed and scrubbed but it wouldn't wash off. Oh the humiliation!

You won't see a TV commercial like this now--an advertisement for an automatic weapon and a snub-nose .38 revolver for kids!

The creepy: There's plenty wrong with this commercial and this product, Baby Laughs Alot, not the least being that it will leave you with terrifying nightmares. The laughter has got to be dubbed over.

The Really Good Old Days at BYU

2011-11-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

Craig and I met the night before our sophomore years began in the fall of 1973 at a church social event. The next evening Craig and some other guys came over to my all-female apartment building to talk and play guitars. He was noticeably more mature than most of the guys around, and for obvious reasons: he was 21 and had just returned from 2 years of missionary work in Germany. We spent most of the next year dating before becoming engaged.

BYU was a blast for dating couples like us. We could enjoy the mountains, lake and rivers, the changing seasons made for a variety of activities, the campus theater showed recent films for 50 cents, and you could see older films or foreign language films for free. The rec center in the basement of the Wilk was where we went bowling for cheap. We almost never ate out due to the restrictions of a student budget (students now manage to afford it and I wonder how).

Craig had the use of his family's old metallic-blue Chevy station-wagon (which we christened "the Chuck-wagon) (I should do a post on that old car). But gas was not too affordable--again, the restrictions of that pesky student budget. We were content to have fun within the general confines of campus though.

See a few photos from those simpler days:

Handsome dude! Plaid pants and turtlenecks were 'the thing' in 1973

On a picnic up Provo Canyon, September 1973

I bet our kids haven't ever seen this picture

We're sitting on the bridge above Heritage Hall's irrigation canal

Why did we think this was a clever photo?

On my last visit here I looked for this spot; the tree is gone and the canal is covered over

The Good Old Days at BYU

2011-11-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

I spent 3 happy years at BYU, 1973-1976, and graduated in BYU's centennial year, 4 months pregnant with my first baby. Some choice photos from those good ol' days:

Christmas 1973 at Broadbent Hall in Heritage Halls with my roomates, clockwise from top left: Holly from Arizona, Linda from Arizona, Margie from Washington, Suzie from Oklahoma, Melodi from Idaho, and me. Our apartment had 3 bedrooms, two girls per room. Suzie and I shared and we were the only sophomores, both transfer students, both converts to the Church. We had too much fun in B-22; a few weren't doing too well in school.

Spring 1974: A slight variation on the roomates, clockwise from top left: Suzie, Dode, Taffy from AZ, me, Gloria from AZ, and Margie in the center. Why we were in the shower for this photo, I don't remember. By the way, there was one bathroom for the 6 of us!

Spring 1974

A fine group of friends, but I have forgotten some of the guys names. Dave was my favorite. He was the funniest person ever.

Graduation day, April 1976
Craig received a BA in Electrical Engineering and went on for a Masters degree; my BA was in History and I went on to have Blair in September

Books on CD

2011-11-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

I plan to do a "book roundup" at the end of 2011. Today I just wanted to say how well books on CD work for me.

Craig has been "reading" that way for a few years. Until recently I listened to CD books only on road trips. There was a time in my life when I read several books a week, and that time faded for me long ago. Last winter I did a fair amount of sewing and started listening to books on CD, and found it very satisfying to do double duty. All during our yard project phases this summer I listened to books while digging, painting, and planting. And now while cooking and doing laundry. And while falling asleep at night.

Now I average more than a book a week., and am finally whittling down my very long list of books to be read. Some people say it's not really reading. I don't draw a distinction between listening to them or sitting in a chair holding them while turning the pages. It's all good!

Pink Snow

2011-11-20T07:00:00.000-08:00

Our flowering cherry tree puts on a fabulous show every spring, and gives a visual context for the children's song, Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree. The blossoms have the appearance of giant clumps of pink popcorn.

Our children before, and our grandkids now love to play in the pink snow. It flutters down daintily with a light breeze, and comes down in gobs in a windstorm. When it's not windy a climber can shake it from the branches. You can pick up handfuls just like you would real snow and throw it around. You can roll in it, pack it in buckets, and make little pink pillows on the ground. It's the most well-loved tree in our whole neighborhood.

Jonah and Eli

Jonah and the cherry tree

Blair and Brooklyn creating pink snow

Magic Mountain Reprise

2011-11-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

Magic Mountain under construction 1971

Reminiscing about my clown job at Magic Mountain (MM) brought back a few more memories. The park itself was built on the golden oak-dotted hills that once belonged to the Newhall family. Their homestead built in the 1860s was located just west of MM until it was moved to Heritage Junction in Newhall, to make way for progress. Going further back in history, MM was built on the old Rancho San Francisco, a land grant given when Spain still ruled what is now California. The Estancia de San Francisco Xavier (mission) was built out here in 1804. Until about 1970 you could still spot the ruins of the old adobe house. That was a lovely area for horseback riding.

MM has come a long way from when the premium rides had names like Billy the Squid, El Bumpo, and Galaxy. Now it's Dive Devil, Apocalypse, Scream, and Ninja!

THEN

NOW!

In the early days the park was on a tight budget so the staff was stretched thin. My little brother David (also an employee) and his friends took advantage in a wicked way. For instance, after work they would all pile onto the Log Jammer ride that sailed where it couldn't be seen by the staff. One of them would jump out and hide in the bushes, and when their log returned to the station, the rest of them would be hysterically wailing about their friend who fell out and got run over by the log, or drowned. One time they got on the Monorail ride only to find no staff monitoring it, a perfect time to use the PA system to make bizarre announcements such as detailing gruesome deaths in the park (up until then there hadn't even been any at all). I don't know the half of what other mayhem they committed.

An office called Cash Control picked up $$ several times a day from all the cash venues. The guys were a lot of fun. One year they came up with a contest called Miss Cash Control. The grand prize winner got a free dinner with her favorite Cash Control guy. I came in second so missed out on the dinner, which was just as well. I'd rather not be in the 'spotlight.'

On busy nights when work ended very late it was hard to unwind; some of us would stop at Tiny Naylors for a burger or a sundae. But my favorites nights were trips to the haunted Chinese Graveyard out in San Francisquito Canyon in Saugus. Out in the canyon we parked on the east side of the road. We hiked across the dry riverbed about a quarter mile, then climbed another quarter mile up to the top of the hill to the graveyard. At 1 a.m. it was dark and peaceful. Sometimes we brought a newbie out with us and scared the daylights out of them by tossing pebbles around. When it's so quiet, just that slight rustle in a cemetery is creepy.

Those sure were fun times!

Magic Mountain

2011-11-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

That's me on the right. In the clown costume. And my co-clown Michelle on the left, after her work shift ended. The two of us ran the balloon stand at Magic Mountain in Valencia California in 1974. We had a blast and worked long hard hours.

What is now the city of Santa Clarita was a collection of small towns then, and work was hard to come by. There were few large businesses, no shopping malls, few restaurants, no hospitals. Lots of farmland and ranches and very small family-owned businesses didn't provide many jobs. When Magic Mountain opened in 1971 it was such a boon to employment in the area and it seemed just about every 18-year-old I knew marched down and hired on. I started in 1972 just after my 18th birthday and worked there for 1 year straight and then during college breaks during the next year.

My first assignment was in the gift shop called Holiday Bazaar. Gift shops selling useless trinkets was not my thing, and before long I was begging to work outdoors at the balloon stand. I loved it out there, even when the weather was wickedly windy and cold, or baking hot. How fun it was to blow up a thousand balloons on a jam-packed Saturday night and sell them to the cheery children on their way out of the park. We also sold worthless hand-made paper flowers, but even those brought out smiles from the kids.

On crowded summer days I worked as much as 15 hours at a stretch, 6 days a week, and 7 days in a staffing emergency. What a blessing to have so many hours. I was paying my own way through college (tuition, room/board, books, 100%).

The park closed at midnight, at which time security would begin to "sweep" guests toward the exit. Balloons was near the exit and it could be 1 a.m. before all the guests were out, so we were the last employees out. And by the time we clowns counted the money, cleaned up and re-stocked for the following day, turned in our cash, changed our clothes and headed home, it could be nearly 2 a.m.. And work started again at 10 a.m. the next morning. To keep my sanity I often went on a half-hour bike ride before heading to work for the day.

Such great memories I have of Magic Mountain. More another day.

Pennsylvania Place Names

2011-11-17T06:30:00.000-08:00

A previous post extolled the rich character of women's names in Pennsylvania. This state also has hundreds of the more curious place names ever heard. I bring you a sampling.

Coal mining has left its mark in the countryside via numerous town names. When there was more than one mine in an area they would all be given the same name with a number appended. Most of the mines are closed yet the names have stuck. So today you could reside in Alison One or Alison Two. Or Continental Three--perhaps Continental 1 and 2 have faded into obscurity? There's Filbert One, Montour Ten, Thompson Two, Tower Hill One and Two. The name Lock Three comes from operations on the Monongahela River.

Other coal and coke legacies are Minersville, Smoketown, Smokeless, Cokeburg, Miners Mills, Poland Mines, Grindstone, and the absolute worst--don't ever move here--Pitt Gas! Imagine the humiliation at a dignified gathering when introducing yourself as Bob Smith from Pitt Gas, Pennsylvania. And I would choose Smokeless over Smoketown!

Cokeburg, Pennsylvania in 1910

You could live in Indiana, California, or Wyoming. Not the states; they are all towns in Pennsylvania.

You would never spell out this place on an envelope: S.N.P.J. It stands for Slovenska Narodna Podporna Jednota. Translation: Slovene National Benefit Society. Yeah. S.N.P.J, Pennsylvania.

Then there are the peculiar, intriguing places: Bird in Hand, Trucksville, Pillow, Burnt Cabins, Fearnot, Camp Jo-Ann, Eighty-Four, Tarrs, Library, Snowball Gate, Turkeyfoot, Turkeytown, the cute Daisytown, and what must be a lovely place, Scenery Hill. I would build a house there, but not in Low Hill. There are two places called Dry Tavern. And is it really such a large place that you must designate your residence as Upper Peanut or Lower Peanut?

Then we have the grand prize Pennsylvania place name that mortified me as a teenager: Intercourse. I thought I'd rather die than have to give THAT as my hometown. Driving through there made me eternally grateful my Dad grew up in the not-so-weird towns of Perryopolis and Star Junction!

George Washington's Mill, Perryopolis Pennsylvania

Shed

2011-11-16T07:00:00.000-08:00

Last winter I dreamed about building a backyard shed. Not a sleep-dream, but the kind of dream where you troll the internet looking for something that fits the vision in your mind. We work out in our large yard frequently and I was tired of trekking to the front of the house into the garage every time I needed a tool or fertilizer for the backyard.

Craig eventually bought into the idea of a backyard shed. Appearance was of utmost importance so those cheapo vinyl sheds were out of the question. On April 1 we drove around town looking for the perfect shed; then on April 2 Craig had the terrible bike accident. But I digress. The accident is part of the shed memory.

We stumbled across what we wanted on Costco.com. On sale was a solid wood build-it-yourself shed complete with a shuttered window, interior shelves, and double doors, all for $999.

The Blairs helped us build it. I painted it. It's a happy shed. Before we moved stuff into it, Brooklyn, Jonah and Eli came over for the inaugural 'shed slumber party.' Snuggled in our sleeping bags we told camp stories and sang hokey songs. And at about 11 p.m. the kiddies got scared and went home. Now shed is well-stocked with tools, garden products, paint cans, snow tires, roto-tiller, lawn mower, and scrap wood. So convenient!

Retaining Walls: Before and After

2011-11-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Out of the 4 retaining walls holding back various parts of our sloping property, 2 were crying out for replacement this spring. One other was rebuilt a couple of years ago, and the 4th one looked just fine.

The front wall was built of Columbia River basalt in 1984 when the house was new, by me and a couple of teenage boys from our ward who did the heavy lifting (I was pregnant w/ Teresa). CR basalt is easy to come by here since NW Oregon is one giant prehistoric lava flow. Above the wall we planted buffalo junipers which had long outlived their beauty and low maintenance. As the ground has shifted over the years rocks occasionally popped out onto the sidewalk.

the old wall

We planned to replace the wall with boulders many times the size of these, but what to do with a ton of rocks we no longer had use for? Craig's List of course. I advertised free rock, u-haul, and in a few days the rocks had vanished. The building of the new wall (of turner basalt) is covered on Craig's blog here.

new wall halfway finished

Once it was completed, over a period of about a month I dug nearly 100 plant holes. There are so many commercial nurseries around here it's easy to come by bargain basement prices for nice plants. I planted only perennials this summer and will fill in with annuals next year. We have zebra grass, lucifer plant, phlox, black-eyed susan, st. john's wort, coreopsis, just to name a few.

Now the before and after retaining wall in the backyard:

so long to the old pressure-treated timbers

still some fine-tuning to do; what an improvement!

Let There Be Light . . .

2011-11-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Last May we began a summer-long project transforming our backyard from a dark mossy jungle to a light, open, more usable space. Part 1 was to remove some too-large shade trees. The largest of those trees, "the lone fir," was not even in our yard. In 1984 an adjacent home owner planted a cute, dainty 2-foot-tall Douglas Fir in the corner of his yard, 6 inches from our property line. We mentioned the folly of that to him (the probability of a someday 150-tall fir falling on someone's house) and he promised that at he would cut it down to use for a Christmas tree. Never happened. Craig and I discussed sneaking over in the dark to slice it off, but we didn't want to break our record of never seeing the inside of the county jail.

the lone fir

Fast forward to a new homeowner and a much taller, heftier tree--the fir grew at least 2 feet per year. We regularly asked B and G to take it down. They didn't want to give up the privacy and shade it provided. During every windstorm I lost sleep waiting for the crash.

In early May I approached B and G again, this time with an arborist in tow to explain the wisdom of removing the lone fir. They finally agreed. Could it be that my offer of paying 50% of the cost convinced them it was time to act?

In the end, another adjacent neighbor chipped in so the cost was split 3 ways (total was $500), as were the fir rounds.

A winter's supply of firewood

All summer we enjoyed a clear sunny backyard. No more picking up a million fir-cones a year, or hacking enormous branches off the fir (at the peril of grave injury), or sinking into the soggy morass at the south end of my sunless yard. The bonus benefit is the flowering plants that languished for decades under the shade of the lone fir suddenly came to life! Some quadrupled in size and they all bloomed like they never had before. A couple of plants popped up that I thought had died years ago. Check off step 1 on our way to a beautiful backyard.

Vermont Adventure

2011-11-13T07:00:00.000-08:00

Middlebury Vermont . . . the quintessential New England village. Snow white, pointy-steepled Congregational Church, tree-sy village green, 19th century mills, gushing waterfalls that once powered those mills, 200+ year-old university, prehistoric 2-story Ben Franklin 5-and-dime store. Church bells ringing on Sunday, traffic moving 20 mph, John Deere lived here, tight country roads with one-way bridges, Robert Frost's farm just down the road, and a writer's group called Bread Loaf.

I spent a delightful 2 weeks here in 2008 with Bridget's family. They were living in student housing for the summer while Jeremy taught Arabic at Middlebury College. Bridget was expecting child #2 at any moment, and I came to help out. Every day and usually twice a day I took Meme via stroller on humid, drippy walks downtown to the library or the Ben Franklin, or to watch the surging, muddy falls. Meme loved churches and occasionally we'd stop to explore inside one of the many.

looking north on Main Street

Because Bridget's family was living in student housing there was no room for me there. The price of hotels/motels was quite high here so I decided to camp out at a family-owned campground a few miles down the road, for $20 per night. I brought along my Fred Meyer $13 tiny tent, a homemade fleece sleep sack, bought a pillow in Middlebury, and was all set for a 2-week camping adventure.

But I didn't plan on the rainiest summer that living Vermonters had ever seen. Who would have guessed? And it wasn't just a deluge; these daily/nightly storms were full-blown t-storms, the clamor of a violent bowling match played in the heavens while Zeus hurled lightening bolts at the Titans. Some nights it was so thunderously deafening (and frightening) that I had to take ambien to sleep. The water flowed in sheets through my campsite. The falls in Middlebury attracted crowds who had never seen them surging so strong.

Middlebury Falls

And despite the torrents I managed to stay dry inside faithful tiny tent. After a couple of nights tiny tent wasn't leaking, but I feared it soon could be. With a pile of hefty bags and a roll of duct tape, I fashioned a waterproof cover for it. Not even a drop of water was going to get in tiny tent! And not one ever did.

I still use faithful tiny tent for backpacking trips. And I enjoy the satisfaction of having done a bold and crazy thing, and living to tell about it. And saving a ton of money in the process.

Bridget and baby at Porter Hospital in Middlebury

Home Sew Extravaganza

2011-11-12T07:00:00.000-08:00

The other day I fondly wrote about my old sewing patterns. B-o-r-i-n-g.

So today I bring you . . . . my Home Sew catalogs!

These Home Sew catalogs bring back sweet memories of a simpler time. Home-Sew mailed out a 60-page catalog every couple of months. Free shipping came with a minimum order [$15 ??], and you could subscribe to their sample club which meant you’d get pieces of lace and trim and elastics glued to a card, offered at bargain prices. Sometimes they offered a generous grab bag of trims or buttons or craft items for 50 cents or a buck. Coming across a pile of these ancient catalogs brought back happy memories of planning and ordering for sewing projects, then creatively putting together dresses, shirts, jackets, and jumpsuits. My friend Janet and I sometimes combined our order to get free shipping.

It has been years since I've done the kind of sewing that requires the materials sold by Home Sew. But hey, guess what? I just looked for Home Sew online, and it's still there! And they still have the sample club! I'll have to take a closer look to see if their prices are still the best around.

Off to the recycle bin, faithful catalogs. I enjoyed knowing you.

Home Sew sample club

The Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month

2011-11-10T17:28:00.001-08:00

Today's post is about a man I never met, and it is written in honor of our veterans, on Veteran's Day. The source of my information is The Idaho Examiner newspaper, 3 Nov 1945. I believe that was the Pocatello newspaper in those days.

Lt. Fred Siler is the man. He was Craig's uncle. On his return from over 3 years in Japanese prison camps, Fred gave an interview to the Examiner detailing the experiences he could bear to talk about. He had survived the 1942 notorious Bataan Death March and called it "a picnic" compared to what he later endured.

In late 1944 the Japanese decided to transfer the POWs then being held in Manila, Philippines, to Korea. It was 45 days of hell, and only 310 of the prisoners survived out of the 1600 who began the journey. They were put aboard a ship and this is how Fred described conditions:

"The forward hold was jammed with 640 men. We were packed in so that we couldn’t sit down. After the first day we had no food or water. The second night 40 men died of suffocation. There was not a breath of air. The only latrines were a few buckets. We were so crowded most of the men couldn’t get to them.

"The second day out the ship was blasted by U. S. Navy divebombers. We were bombed, beached, burned and sunk at Subic Bay on Lingayen Gulf. The last bomb to hit the ship before it was abandoned blew a three-inch anti-aircraft gun into the center hold where 800 men were packed. Many were killed and many others mangled. The ones who tried to get out were machine-gunned.

"We were left with no life rafts or boats. The ship was burning but we weren’t allowed to leave until next morning. The Japs set up parallel lanes of machine-gun fire at each end of the ship. We had to swim the 600 yards to shore between them."

The survivors were put aboard a freighter which had been used to haul horses for the cavalry. The horse stalls had not been cleaned. The men escaped the bitter cold by covering themselves with the manure.

"We didn’t mind the smell. More than two-thirds of the men were suffering from dysentery and smelled worse themselves."

After transfer to a third ship it too was bombed and scores were killed and wounded. There was no water and the Japanese did not allow the men to aid the wounded.

“The stronger men were detailed to throw the dead overboard. We were so weak it often took four of us to lift the withered bodies over the rail. We never knew who would be next. Some sick and wounded lingered for two or three days. Others died suddenly. One day another of the healthy men helped me drop bodies overboard. The next day I helped throw his body over the side.”

Lt Siler somehow survived the POW camp. He said,

“One of the surest ways to come out of prison alive is to have a real true friend. You know that as long as he makes it, you will make it, and if you get through, he will. Lt. Bill Akin of Lubbock, Tex., was my closest friend. We entered the army together in 1941, took flight training, were commissioned, volunteered for the Philippines, fought the Nips side by side and were captured together. We even had a mid-air plane collision shortly before the war but parachuted safely. We were never separated until we reached the States a few days ago.”

He remained in the army after the war was over:

“I’m going to stay in. The army has a lot of planes I’ve never had a chance to fly.”

On this Veteran's Day, 11/11/11, remember Lt. Fred Siler and thousands courageous men and women like him, who are and were willing to serve.

A Blast From the Past

2011-11-10T06:00:00.000-08:00

some of my children's patterns

It doesn’t happen often, believe me, but I was recently in the mood to clean out old stuff that had been boxed up since our 2009 remodel. One part of the task involved a cardboard box full of old sewing patterns. There was a time when it was helpfully economical to sew clothing, and most of my sewing was done for my small children for the simple reason that I could make cute outfits out of marked-down remnants and inexpensive lace—elastic—buttons—trim bought in bulk from a local outlet and a mail order company called Home-Sew. A little girl dress or boy shorts could be sewn for as little as 25 cents. Even if I broke the bank by creating a 50 cent outfit, it was still a great deal in the 70s and 80s.

Notice in the photo that besides girl's dresses are patterns for very cool boy's short shorts, foxy jeans, and stylish rib-necked t-shirts.

Not shown in these photos are patterns for prom dresses, wedding dresses, a Civil War ball gown I made for Teresa, pioneer dresses, and an American Girl doll pattern.

Craig was the beneficiary of some of my sewing projects--shirts, robes, pjs, jackets, ties. Clothing is relatively cheaper now and fabric more expensive, so I won't be using these patterns ever again!

I sewed various curtains, draperies and window shades, some of which did not require a pattern.

I'm handing off the old patterns to my friend ML, who sews costumes in her spare time. Except for one: the first pattern I ever used, which was bought for my 7th grade Home Ec class in 1966. All of us girls sewed an A-line skirt using this pattern. It brings back happy memories of learning to satisfy my creative self.

The Only Antique I Own

2011-11-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

Gram and my 2 goofy sisters at her apartment

My Grandma Ashe lived simply. She took meticulous care of her apartment and her few household items. She did not know the word clutter. She never owned anything valuable except her tiny engagement ring. She used and re-used simple items such as bits of string, or rubber bands from the daily newspaper. She never returned items to the store—she once said, “First of all, if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t buy it. And if I bought it and didn’t like it, I’d live with it.” To my knowledge she never drove a car in her life. In her late 70s she was hired to collect the rents for her apartment building, a task that fit perfectly with her innate accounting skills.

I am the proud owner of Gram’s 1931 Ball Blue Book (for canning). It's not in bad condition for an 80-year old glorified pamphlet. Considering that this book would have been spread out on her counter in reach of splashing water and sticky sugar syrup, it’s a miracle it survived, but Gram took careful care of everything, even a cheap paper canning guide.

It’s both fun and frightening to look through the recipes in the book. If you know anything about canning, you would know there are serious risks in canning vegetables—namely, deadly botulism—because of their low acid content. They must be processed in a pressure canner (as opposed to a water bath which is adequate for fruits) at very specific pounds of pressure and lengths of time. Yet even though they had pressure canners, on page 21 I find that in 1931 corn could be processed in a water bath for 3 hours! Or beets for 2 hours. There must be statistics on how many people died of home-grown botulism in the 30s.

On the fun side, did you know you could can frog legs? Mmm-mmm! The directions are right here on page 28. Or fish roe, clams, and oysters? How about rabbit? Or pigeons? Both of those are processed same as chicken. Brains, heart, and kidneys all take 3 hours in a water bath or 90 minutes in a pressure cooker. And for the thriftiest among us, there are recipes for canning turkey bone soup, carrot ketchup, and "emergency pickles" (no cucumbers involved).

For us home canning is a practice we can adopt if we like, but for my grandparents, it was a necessity. And Gram's canning book will always remind me of her thrift and "live simple" philosophy.

Love Those Pennsylvania Names

2011-11-08T06:00:00.000-08:00

My First Grade Class, Northridge, CA, 1961

1950s and 60s Southern California's San Fernando Valley was pretty much a white bread culture. Our neighborhoods and schools, unlike my children's now, were not filled with bright Vietnamese--Koreans-- Indians or with Somali refugees escaping unspeakable horrors. There was a thimble-full of immigrant families in our area: 1 Finnish, 2 from India, and a girl from Japan in my 4th grade class.

There were a few of us though, with complicated names inherited from immigrant grandparents. No one had ever heard the surname Bubnash. No one could pronounce it right on the first try. Or the second. Or the third. Same for my friends surnamed Letizia, Muchowski, Shusett, Milkovich. I envied all the Wilsons and Rowes and Meyers and Rogers and Sims with plainer English names.

Pennsylvania is an entirely different story. The draw of industry and coal mining around the turn of the 20th century attracted hundreds of thousands of Eastern and Southern European families with tongue-twister names.

George, John, Andrew, Michael Bubnas
Pennsylvania 1900

Because my Dad is from deeply ethnic PA I know a lot of people there, so I scan the newspaper and obituaries online to keep up with events. And the most amazing surnames pop out, and I love every one of them. No plain vanilla names allowed here. These are Starbuck's Cinnamon Dolce Crème Frappuccino names, with creamy milk, sweet cinnamon flavored syrup with the homey flavors of butter and brown sugar topped with sweetened whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles!

Here's a list of amazingly rich women's names I've collected. Try saying them out loud!

Mary M. "Marge" Sintich Plovock Bozek
Anna Smertka Sedory
Eva Stanchak Stuckslager
Josephine Suchta Bialousz
Sophia Mscarko Sesco Shwallon
Mary Swancigar Bokat Repko Cihon
Frances Marianne Sozonovich Zuchowski
Hermina A. "Minnie" Pokorny Yasenosky
Helen M. Veshinfsky Fasulkey
Bruna C. Baroni Boldyzar and her mom: Carolina Bugaloni Baroni
Mary Ann Vrabel Latsnic Christoff
Palma Paris Pro
Alta Mae 'Curly' Moats Pidpyryhora
Josephine J. Fiffick Smorada
Bronsilia Bertha Tomalski Vinesky
Anna Shernisky Skrypak
Mildred Honeygosky Presley
Anna Krivenra Yurkncincoz
Irene E. Skovran Guziak Kowalczyk
Helen Szvitih Zundel
Janet Ivadell Junk Sedlock
Elizabeth Gallik Palgutta
Anna Hantosh Bootz Horwat
Mildred Inez LeCorchick Tworzydlo
Elva Noskey Noschese Pacione Grubbs
Kzenia Stefansky Wanzilak

A Community of Sisters, or, Me and the FBI Rap Sheet

2011-11-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

If you are one of those unlucky people with a common name you’ll relate to this post. A person named Suzanne Walker is not as inconvenienced as my friends John Smith, Cathy Jones, Ryan White, and Bill Young, yet my name is ordinary enough to create occasional hassles.

Suzanne Walker of Boston, whose email address includes a dot where mine does not, has been forced to accidentally read some very boring emails meant for me. We’ll never meet. I may never know the SW who once went to the same eye doc as me, or the one whose hospital records at St. Vincent’s were mixed up with mine, or the one who my cousin accidentally phoned, instead of me. Might they all be the same Suzanne Walker??

From the “holds” section of Cedar Mill Library I nearly took home Faceless Killers by Henning Mankell, until I noticed that book was waiting for Suzanne Lynn Walker, not Suzanne Bubnash Walker. Yikes I thought, who is this woman and why is she reading such distasteful books? At home I looked up the review to better help me judge my “double,” and it turns out this is a Kurt Wallender mystery. I’ve liked the Kurt Wallender episodes shown on PBS and am thinking now that Suzanne Lynn doesn’t have such evil taste in books after all.

The most serious issue I’ve experienced with my common name was finding myself on the FBI Rap Sheet for the State of Oregon back in 2000! No, I was not out embezzling funds or selling crack on a Portland street corner. But someone named Suzanne Walker was doing that, or something equally heinous. I applied for a job with the 2000 Census, passed the test at 100%, then sat back and waited for the magic phone call. After a few weeks of nothing, I called the local Census office to investigate. The woman looked me up, then said, “We can’t hire you because your name is on the FBI Rap Sheet in the State of Oregon.” What the ???

A frustrating conversation ensued in which I found out several disconcerting pieces of information. First, the government uses three criteria to identify a person: name, birth-date, Social Security number. If two out of the three match, you are assumed to be that person. So either someone hijacked my name and one of those other two identifiers, or there was a Suzanne Walker out there who happened to have my birth-date, or a SW stole my SSN. I was branded a criminal and barred from working for the Census.

Second, you can do nothing about this. When I called the Washington DC Census office to discuss it, the worker was sorry, but because of the ID match, I was out of luck jobwise. It was cast in concrete. It was like being on the no-fly list. Worse, when I requested details about this other SW so I could further investigate, he could not divulge anything because her privacy must be protected. So the other SW could do anything she wanted to ruin my life, and the US government is happy to let that happen.

The happy ending is that in 2009 the Census did hire me, and I have no idea how my record was cleared.

Is There a Cure For Taphophilia?

2011-11-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

My name is Suzanne Walker and I'm a taphophiliac.   If there isn't an AA-style support group for people like me, there should be. I've learned not to be too forthcoming about my obsession, because nothing will stop a conversation dead-er (haha) than to admit you like spending time in cemeteries, or that you collect photographs of gravestones. Or that your favorite website is www.findagrave.com .

Taphos in Greek means: a love of funerals, graves, cemeteries. I can't say I love funerals, but cemeteries and graves are right up there on my list with reading obituaries. Why?   It's all about people. Obituaries chronicle a life and tell me about the deceased's activities, successes, relationships, and sometimes even struggles and failures. Headstones represent a life and even in their brevity one can glean a feeling for the that person buried beneath. And cemeteries are a community of people, people who just happen to live elsewhere now.

The marker at the top of the post comes from the Greek Catholic cemetery in Nemet Poruba, in Eastern Slovakia. Lots of my relatives are buried there, but pre-WW2 grave markers are non-existent, as the village was mowed down by the retreating German Army in late 1944. Anyway, it's very common for stones in Russian and Eastern European cemeteries to feature an etching of the deceased. Our local Russian cemetery here in Portland has some beautiful markers in this style.

Here's one of my favorites, which happens to commemorate my Dad who is buried in St. Nicholas Greek Catholic Cemetery in Perryopolis PA. At the top it says Vicnaja Pamjat (eternal memory in Rusyn). Under the dates it says:
Y2C   USS Missouri    WW II.
And that's the 'Mighty Mo' in its glory days.

This one in Boise's Morris Hill Cemetery tells a poignant story of a life cut short. It says:
For Democracy / John Loren / Titmus / 3rd Recruit Co. G.S.I./ Dec. 26, 1892 / Oct. 19, 1918 / gone but not forgotten

He left his home in perfect health / He looked so young and brave / We little thought how soon he'd be / Laid in a soldier's grave

The fond and tender memories of a family for their deceased child is evident in this gentle loving angel in St. Nicholas Cemetery:
Juli- Voytovich / 2 Jun 1924 / 24 Dec / 1924.
This child's father was the Greek Catholic priest in Perryopolis at the time.

This above-ground crypt is the resting place of Bryan Gale, 17 years old (St. Michael's Cemetery, Brattleboro VT) On one end is written, "I cannot say and I will not say that he is dead -- he is just away." My Mom related that as children she and friends used to play in the cemetery and shed tears at this crypt. The story is that Bryan cut himself shaving before attending the county fair, and that drifting confetti landed on the cut causing blood poisoning, which took his life. His grieving mother could not bear putting him in the ground. He was her only child.

Another St. Michael's grave, a young single man, and another only child.

Stone of my gr-gr grandparents, Cornelius O'Sullivan and Catherine Cavanaugh, Brattleboro VT. This is one of four engraved sides. Baby Michael's death (midway down below) is not registered in the town books, so this marker is the only mention that he died at age 8 days. It's doubly sad that his brother Johnny, 1 year 4 months, died on the same day. Cause of death for both is unknown. September 1860 newspapers carry no mention of an accident, fire, or epidemic of disease. They were Irish Catholic immigrants which may explain why the deaths were ignored.

Another tribute to a fallen soldier (Rigby Cemetery, Rigby ID).
In loving memory of a boy who went to war in cause of peace and died fighting without hate, that love might live.

Last one, this also in Rigby. These children died on the same day, and on a matching stone is their mother, also with the same date. I googled the names and found they were in a terrible car accident. The young father has written tributes to his family and faith on the back of each marker. You never know what challenges and hardships a new day will bring, and our faith in God will carry us through.

Do You Recognize This Man?

2011-11-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

I forget where this came from. Real or not, it will make you smile.

3not5: (Partial) Victory! (Part 3)

2011-11-04T09:59:00.000-07:00

My desire to keep my face off the evening news fell by the wayside as reporters picked up on our community effort to preserve our neighborhood. Donations rolled in, a local company donated signs that were placed up and down Bethany, informational meetings were held by the 3not5 steering committee, and we also traveled to other communities to give presentations. Several times myself and others spoke in front of the Board of Commissioners. In September 2010 3not5 presented 1700+ petitions to the BOC, and I am proud to say that about 98% of my neighborhood signed one (one declined and another spoke zero English).

1700+ petitions!

The county began to listen and in an unprecedented move called for additional meetings to give deeper consideration to the future of transportation in our area. We relentlessly prodded them to consider widening the freeway overpass as it sure didn't make sense to have a wider Bethany narrowing into that black-hole bottleneck (and ODOT told us it would be 20 years minimum before widening).

I'll skip over a lot of details to February 2011 when the final decision was made. The Board of Commissioners voted to throw out the 5-lane design (yay!) and go for a narrowed 4-lane plan with 5-lane intersections at the north and south ends of the road, and one 5-lane intersection halfway through. The decision against a 3-lane was a sour disappointment to every resident, yes, but we won some valuable concessions. I am confident we'll be happy with the new road, coming next year.

3not5 Victories:

zero houses to be removed
road will have nice landscaping
neighborhoods will have attractive sound walls
hills will be shaved down, improving visibility
sidewalks will be separated from the road by landscaping
speed will be 35 mph
lanes will be narrowed to keep speed down and minimize lost property
road will have a mid-way stoplight
freeway overpass to be expanded! (at same time new Bethany is built)
neighbors worked together

It was worth every bit of the blood, sweat, and tears to work with community leadership and local neighbors to make an important difference. I'm pleased to have made many wonderful friends. Many thanks to the thousands of people who rallied behind 3not5!

Here's a few 3not5 photos:

This shows a small segment of the current road. Using Google Earth, I measured the width of each segment of road. We glued them all together in a linear fashion on cardboard so that people could see where the road would encroach on their property (below)

Our display at one of the county open houses, held at a local church

3not5: Where Were You in 1988? (Part 2)

2011-11-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

I prefer to be on the sidelines rather than in the middle of a crusade. Yet if everyone sat out this game we would lose homes and the county would gift us with a 5-lane highway. So began about 16 months of intense work within the community and county.

Briefly, the county plan was to build a full-width (98 feet) 5-lane Bethany Blvd. through our 9-neighborhood area with a design-speed of 45 mph. Without sound walls. Without landscaping. Sidewalks kissing the road. Without a stoplight along the way. Houses would be torn out. 3not5 asked for a 3-lane road more in character with the neighborhood, one that would fit within the narrowest point of the existing roadway (68 feet). Keep in mind that no one wanted the road to stay "as is." We all wanted a new road that looked exactly like this:

The 3not5 steering committee whittled down to 12 of us who worked extremely well together. Just about every talent needed was covered between us: a printer with his own press, computer nerds, a graphic designer, a carpenter, an Intel manager who served as chairperson, researchers, a journalist, a retired traffic engineer, the president of a local retirement community, gifted speakers, a fundraiser. We established a web page, passed out notices, circulated petitions, marshaled the press, made scads of phone calls, sent thousands of emails, created displays, researched local laws and ordinances and the value of trees, solicited contributions, testified before the county Board of Commissioners, organized neighborhood meetings, wrote letters, canvassed door to door, joined local advocacy groups, and spent oodles of hours strategizing.

In yesterday's post I mentioned that for over 20 years the county put off questions and concerns about Bethany's safety and future, telling us it was too early to express opinions or discuss improvements. At the first public meeting (March 2010), over 400 people turned out (thanks to 3not5's hard work), which is about 395 more than usually turn out when county road projects are unveiled. The meeting was staffed by planners, engineers, county reps, one Board of Commissioners member. I knew we were in for a long-term battle when several of the staff repeatedly answered citizen concerns by asking, "Where were you in 1988?" You see, the 5-lane plan was officially adopted back in 1988, and as far as the county was concerned, we should have spoken up then, and it was just too dang late to change the plan now. No matter that every citizen inquiry and concern over the decades was rejected because the issue was 'not yet on the table.' We were trapped in the Twilight Zone.

That phrase, "Where were you in 1988??" kept our committee laughing through the difficult depressing times when we were buried over our heads in our effort to keep up the fight for a 3-lane Bethany.

Part 3 tomorrow

3not5.org (Where Were You in 1988??) Part 1

2011-11-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

For 27 years we have lived in the same house, one block away from Bethany Blvd., a poorly designed, hazardous 2-lane road, which is the main north-south route in our area. It had been a narrow dirt/gravel country road until not long before we moved here, and it appears that the county just slapped asphalt on top of it without regard for a safer design. The road is lined with deep drainage ditches and telephone poles, and its curves and hills dangerously limit sight distance. There's a hump in the road outside my neighborhood which has caused plenty of accidents, including a number of Friday-night rollovers involving teenagers attempting to hit the hump at high speed to become airborne.

We have known for decades Bethany would eventually be improved and widened, and over the years many neighbors have expressed safety concerns to the county and requested temporary safety measures to be installed. We were always told the same thing: sorry, the road is not yet slated for improvement. As an appeasement to one of my calls about 20 years ago, the county installed a couple of intersection signs which did zero to make it safer for us to exit our neighborhood. Some years later the signs vanished one day, never to be seen again.

In late 2009 there were frequent sightings of county employees in the area, like ants at a picnic, so again I phoned the county for info and was put through to Matt, who said that yes, the road improvement was finally scheduled and there would be a county-sponsored open house in early spring 2010. At that time county officials would hear and log public opinion on the future design.

But in early 2010 I received a forwarded email from Norm, a community activist friend of mine, which was originally authored by Matt. In it, Matt outlined county plans to acquire a house in my neighborhood that was in foreclosure. Reading between the lines it was obvious the house was going to be in the way of the project--a 5-lane "highway"--and subject to demolition. Yikes! That meant that all 70 houses that backed up to Bethany were in danger, and 9 neighborhoods were about to be emasculated. Norm mobilized and enlisted about 20 area residents for the first meeting of what eventually came to be known as 3not5.org (http://3not5.org/wordpress/ ). Meaning, "build 3 lanes, not 5!" My life as I knew it was about to become hugely complicated!!

Part 2 tomorrow

The Kindness of Strangers

2011-11-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

Popular opinion claims there is little goodness left in the world, that everyone is out only for himself, that there's an ax murderer hiding behind every tree and a child molester hanging out in every public restroom.

We have had some experiences lately that show good folks are still with us. Here's 3 of them:

Craig was injured in a bike spill last month coming down a rural mountain road 20 miles from home. His tire blew making his bike useless. I was out of town so not available to rescue him, and he had forgotten his phone anyway. A stranger stopped to help whom Craig asked for a ride into the nearest town (Banks). The stranger was on her way to work so she called her husband to come help Craig. The man drove Craig all the way home.

A few weeks ago I loaded up the car and headed for Idaho with Daniel. I didn't realize until stopping for gas that the trunk was not shut tight. I now know it can appear shut when it's not. When we arrived in Idaho the computer bag holding my laptop and camera was not in the trunk. I thought perhaps I left it at home but Craig couldn't find it in the house. Later that evening he received a call from a Comcast employee, who had found a computer bag in the middle of Ridgetop Lane a block from our house. His son got into some program in the computer that provided a phone number, he contacted Craig, then returned the computer and camera the next day.

Last week I was doing a baby shower for a woman having her 5th child, and some friends donated $$ for a large group gift. The woman has no car and either walks or takes the bus. On Craig's List I found a used but in-almost-perfect-condition double jogging stroller for her, for $100. In the course of conversation I mentioned to the owner (Lisa) a little about the woman's difficulties. The next day there was a message on my phone from Lisa saying she was going to give me my $$ back as she wanted to donate the stroller to my friend. Wow.

Oregon's Garden of Eden, or, My Ideal Birthday

2011-10-03T13:31:00.000-07:00

We are among the luckiest people when it comes to enjoyment of the outdoors--the Garden of Eden is practically in our backyard! Known as the Columbia River Gorge, it is a land of steep cliffs sliced by plunging ravines, all laid down by flowing lava several millennia ago. Ice age sculpting left its mark, and now hikers delight in the rushing rivers, pounding waterfalls, enchanting old-growth firs and cedars, all softened by lush leafy greenery.

In 1922 the Columbia Gorge Highway was completed, once known as "the road that could not be built." After the road went in, trails and campgrounds were developed to give the newly mobile a destination. I haven't had a moment to reference Trill's diary, but it wouldn't surprise me if Ruby and Trill (Craig's grandparents) stopped here on their 1924 trip.

Eagle Creek Trail is one of scores of hiking trails that wind through hundreds of square miles. On my birthday weekend Craig and I backpacked up the creek, and here is some of the beauty we experienced.

First, here we are heading out from the trail-head. Craig carried a pack too, by the way. Mine weighed 30 lbs., his was 40. He got to carry the tent!

Not a great shot, but you're looking at spawning salmon in the creek. They leave the Pacific, swim up the Columbia River, mysteriously find the stream of their birth, lay (or fertilize) their eggs there, then die.

Eagle Creek trail-head sports several Depression-era structures built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Pretty good-looking for being almost 80 years old.

About 1.5 miles up the trail is the first waterfall, called Metlako Falls, named after the Indian goddess of salmon; height: 100 feet

Just under 2 miles in, Lower Punch Bowl Falls, 12 feet high and 30 feet wide

And Upper Punch Bowl, 33 feet high; some of you will recognize this falls.

In the summer it's busy as grand-central station here, being a favorite destination for nearby Portland residents. I have spent many happy hours here myself.

About 3 miles in, Loowit Falls (another Indian name); it drops 60 feet into a perfect pool, which is slightly hidden in this photo. Some burning hot summer day, I'll figure out a way to get down there to soak in that little pool.

Eagle Creek Trail crosses the creek several times over on bridges like this one at the 3.3 mile point, called High Bridge.

The trail is pockmarked with volcanic basalt rocks; hikers are happiest when they wear sturdy boots.

Lunch at 4-Mile Bridge.

Grand Union Falls, about 5.5 miles in; 45 foot drop. A mile before this one is Schoonichuk Falls with its 55-foot drop (sorry no photo).

And at 6 miles in, the grand-daddy of them all, Tunnel Falls: 130 foot drop into a small pool; look closely to see Craig standing on the cliff edge. No worries, there's a steel cable drilled into the rock here (and in other key places on the trail) for hikers to grab.

Here's a video of the falls showing its entire length:

The tunnel that takes you behind Tunnel Falls.

Twister Falls, about an 80 foot plunge here; counting the upstream series of smaller falls leading to this one, there's a drop of 140 feet in about a hundred yards. The trail in this area is called "the vertigo mile."

Seven-Mile Falls plunges 40 feet into a pool.

Trail hazard--a shattered cedar blocking the way. Speaking of hazards, this is a dangerous trail. In some places it is extremely narrow with drop-offs of over 100 feet straight down. Hikers periodically go over the edge to a sad ending. Once a friend tumbled over the edge and by the grace of God a skinny vine maple stopped her fall. It seemed to happen in slow-mo and the other 3 of us could not react fast enough to catch her. We laid down on the trail and reached down to grab her as she clawed her way back up.

Our cozy camp for the night at the 7-mile point. We dropped our packs here, then hiked another 1.5 miles up to the next creek crossing, just for fun.

A special Saturday morning camp visitor!

FYI, there's a miracle plant everyone calls "natures TP", in case the need arises. Soft as Charmin (just make sure you use the right plant . . .)

The end of a wonderful couple of days! After 17 miles of hiking and 2000 feet elevation gain, we deserved a treat, so we went to the little drive-in burger joint in Cascade Locks, and got a "small" soft ice cream cone, which was about 6" high.

NOTE: all photos were taken by us except the one of Metlako Falls.

Happy Spring or Summer!

2011-06-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a long-haul winter and spring/summer has finally unveiled itself. Friday was in the 70s, Saturday in the mid 80s, and there’s no going back to the 40s now. Maybe.

I do love rain, but 47 inches of it in the first four months of 2011 was a little much. It isn’t the rain itself that I mind, but you can’t put your garden in when the soil is like thick chocolate milk. The seeds will rot in the ground (and you'll be mud up to your ankles). That much rain makes hiking difficult, not because you can’t hike while it’s falling. You can. And I do. But many of the trails are turned to deep mush in those conditions which limits where you can safely go. The Eagle Creek trail, for instance, would be out of the question when it’s one long gooey mud-pit. If you slip and fall there, it’s a long way down the cliff to your funeral.

A week ago (May 28) Craig and I went up to Portland’s lovely Rose Garden. It was the eve of the beginning of the annual month-long Rose Festival, and the thousands of rose bushes are usually in full glory this time of year. We stood up at the top surveying the gardens spreading below, and there was NOT ONE ROSE to be seen. We strolled through the rows of bushes. The buds were tight as a clenched fist. Then we saw it—one bush sporting one fully open flower! It was a salmon-color rose bucking the trend. A few other buds on the bush were partly open. And that was it. When we got back in the car we noticed the temperature was 49 degrees. On May 28.

A view of a small corner of the Rose Gardens May 28, 2011. The flowers in the foreground are rhododendrons, which normally are in full bloom around Mothers Day.

The Royal Hats

2011-04-30T09:14:00.000-07:00

Don't know about you, but I'm not much of a hat person. Unless it's a wool cap that keeps my ears warm in the snow. Which doesn't count, doesn't even belong on the same planet as these beauties. This is just a sample of hats seen at the ROYAL WEDDING (of which I saw nada live because of driving home from Idaho).

To see the rest, click here.

Get a load of Princess Eugenie's 'scrambled egg' "hat"! Is it falling in her face or is that how it's meant to be??

Don't sit behind Sophie if you're there to see the ceremony.

Ditto!

When you're connected to royalty you can get away with the ridiculous. . .

UFO approaching!

Something's out of balance here . . .

A Life Saver

2011-04-03T21:10:00.000-07:00

On his weekly Saturday a.m. bicycle ride, Craig tangled with another rider. Both went down hard to the left, both were momentarily knocked unconscious. Craig's injuries consisted of a broken left hand, cut right hand which required stitches, one cracked vertebrae, some facial scrapes and bruises, and scraped knees. His left ear is swollen and black and blue.

The purpose of this post is to pay homage to his bicycle helmet. Besides the visible shredding it is cracked in several other places. It was worth every penny of whatever he paid for it.

2010 Book Roundup

2010-12-31T16:02:00.000-08:00

My second annual book roundup divided by subject or genre. I can't say I have a particular favorite. You can tell by my description whether I feel a book is worth reading or not. The colors have no meaning!

911 interest:

102 Minutes--detailed fascinating account of exactly what happened where in the WTC on 911
Global Jihad--a short informative explanation of radical Islam circa 2002; an update would be useful

7 non-fiction accounts of military or war experience:
Highest Duty--Sullenberger's story of "the miracle on the Hudson;" somewhat inspiring but a little slow
Daring Young Men--story of the Berlin Airlift, wow, just read it; is this a great country or what?
A Train to Potevka--Utahn's experience as a secret agent in Russia; worth reading
With the Old Breed--WW2 vet's "tell it like it is" account of Pacific battles; there is no glory in war
The Raft--plane crash-lands in Pacific, amazing chronicle of the crew's survival
Song of Survival--3 Dutch sisters taken captive by Japanese during WW2 in Sumatra
The Zookeeper's Wife--how a family survived and kept others alive at the Warsaw Zoo during WW2

Frank McCourt:
Tis and Teacher Man--if you can cut through the profanity, McCourt has a gift of making the mundane either so comical you crack up or the polar opposite, so sadly pathetic you can barely get through it.

I am glad I read all of these books about power in the natural world:
The Wave--the science behind waves and a study of the increasing rogue waves
Catergory 5--1935 Labor Day hurricane which is even scary just reading about
F5--1974 huge tornado outbreak; shocking what nature can do!
Storm Warning--1999 outbreak of scores of tornadoes largely in Oklahoma

2 related books:
My Abandonment and When She Flew: @ 10 years ago a girl and her father were found living in our local Forest Park, getting along "just fine;" both these books are about that situation, but are totally fiction, which I did not know until the end of the first book. I felt cheated because I read them just to find out what happened to the father and daughter.

4 books about true crime cases; none particularly stand out:
The Cases That Haunt Us--6 historic crimes never solved, for which author advances his theories
Sins of the Father--years after the crime a woman's memory reveals a murder she witnessed

The Unabomber--title says it all

The Innocent Man--justice obstructed, then obtained in Oklahoma murder case

biographies or not:

Driven--co-written autobiography about Larry Miller, a very successful and humble Salt Lake businessman

The New York Mormon Singles Halloween Dance--hated this book, this author has problems
Come, Tell Me How You Live--Agatha Christie's account of assisting her archaelogist husband on digs in Syria and Turkey

2 non-fiction titles I appreciated this year:
A Short History of Nearly Everything--it really is; the more I read in it, the more the evidence speaks to a higher power in charge of this earth; everything in creation "happened" just right
To America--probably Stephen Ambrose's last; I like that he debunked some popular myths about our country

fiction:
Mockingjay--well-known 3rd book in Suzanne Collins's series
Cry, the Beloved Country--stunning account of the pain, tragedy and hope (yes, hope) in the black situation in S. Africa during apartheid
#1 Ladies Detective Agency--popular fiction; I enjoyed learning about Botswana
The Veteran--6 intriguing short stories with no connecting theme; enjoyable
The Book Thief--opinions are polarized; this is a valuable book that should be read and discussed

YA novels:

The Princess Bride--I appreciate the movie way more

From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler--entertaining

Dairy Queen--this one and the two following are a series about the same character, a teenage girl running a dairy farm; I read them quickly because they were the book group choice and they are ok, but not enough substance for me

Front and Center

The Off Season

Superfreakeconomics: more of the same

One Less Body Part to Worry About

2010-12-28T22:07:00.000-08:00

Good riddance to my gallbladder. I never had anything against it or even gave a moment's thought to its function or existence.

Well, it reared its ugly head a week ago with an intensely punishing several hour episode. I had no idea what caused the terrible pain and made me to lose everything I had eaten that day. The next 3 days were routinely normal.

But on Christmas Eve once again the pain and purging returned with a vengeance. I chalked it up to bad heartburn. When it returned again on Christmas Steven took me to the ER at St. V's. Something was very wrong. After a few hours of tests to rule out heart and other stuff, the nurse said he'd seen my pathology report and I wasn't going home that night. That gave me a few minutes to consider the really unpleasant possibilities--pancreatic or lung cancer, liver trouble, etc. At first the doc thought it was hepatitis, and it was a great relief when the doc pronounced it gallbladder; that I could handle.

On Sunday the gall stone causing the immediate problem was removed and on Monday the gallbladder surgery was successful; the doc saw lots more stones queued up waiting their turn to cause mayhem in my system. Laproscopic surgery is a modern miracle. I have not taken any pain pills since the surgery and the interior tube was removed 24 hours after surgery.

Besides the pain it was hard not eating or drinking anything for nearly 72 hours. This morning I was allowed to eat Cream of Wheat (blah) and yogurt and tonight a friend brought over some delicious broth. In 2 days I can eat regular food so my first stop will be Burgerville for their classic hamburger made from organic grain-fed beef and secret sauce, then a stop at Pasta Pronto for their Washington County Blue Ribbon Salad and fresh Italian bread, and on the way home we'll swing by the Stockpot Broiler for a juicy steak. Mmmm, I can't wait.

On my dresser I now have an expensive piece of grit that probably cost $30,000 to remove!

St. Vincent Hospital, Portland Oregon

A White Christmas

2010-12-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

A person from Minnesota or the Northeast would laugh at how Oregonians react to snow, especially in the Portland Metro area. At the first flake people make alternate plans for work, schools consider shutting down, Tri-Met chains up its bus fleet, and grocery stores are mobbed with folks stocking up as if for an extended siege. To be fair, it must be said that there are only 2 or 3 snowplows to cover the entire tri-county area which Portland covers. Which means if you live in suburbia you're on your own. Your roads will not be plowed or sanded or rocked. The freeways and overpasses will be, but you'll have to rent a sleigh to get there.

Though snow usually falls over one or two days, then melts within a few days, December 2008 was not like that. On Sunday morning, Dec. 14, the snow began to fall thickly. By church-time the buildup caused the cancellation of all meetings, and the Bishop directed people to hold services in homes with their neighbors from the ward. We joined a memorable sweet service at the Hyde's apartment with about a dozen others that day.

grandkids sledding on our hill

Over the next two weeks, snow fell every day but one which led to the cancellation of an entire week of school, 3 weeks without garbage pickup, and a second Sunday of meetings held with neighbors. On that Sunday I skiied over to the Laney's house while the rest of the family walked. Freezing rain had left a sheet of ice between layers of snow. Every glide sounded like breaking glass as my skis punched through the ice.

our small congregation December 21

This snow was a wonderful gift. I was able to go out on my x-c skis almost daily (except during freezing rain), and most days, twice. I toured neighborhoods in every direction and skiied around the golf course after dark. Night skiing is magical; it's solitude at its finest. I felt immersed in a Christmas carol or part of a Christmas card scene.

These next two photos are a little blurry due to water drops on the lens. When gliding through this narrow path in the drifts I half expected to meet Lucy and Mr. Tumnus by the lampost at the other end.

our backyard

other area views

We enjoyed an unusual White Christmas. Some events were postponed because of the snow and the cancellation of school. Our church Christmas program was held on Dec 28. The Westview High School choir concert, always held just before the two-week vacation begins, was held after Christmas. Hundreds of attendees and musicians were all smiles as we sang together, I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas . . . On January 7th!

Places (continued)

2010-12-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

I wasn't actually done with yesterday's post. It ended abruptly with our move to the house where we have lived for 26 years.

It was a shock at first to come to Portland from little old Meridian Idaho. People here spent money which meant they had boats and trailers and went on vacation to places like Hawaii. During 5+ years in Idaho I never knew anyone to go to Hawaii. There's nothing wrong with that. We were the proverbial country bumpkins that had just rolled in on the turnip truck.

Well, the years have passed quickly. What's so great that we would stay 26 years in the same house?

close to big city culture and offerings without being in the big city
situated about halfway between snowy mountains, hiking trails and dramatic coast
scenic no matter which direction you face
high caliber / quality schools
near enough to Craig's job that he can cycle to work
just around the corner from our church
close to schools our children have attended
a high education level in this area's population
love the weather no matter what it is on any given day
enjoyable 4 seasons
25 minutes from a temple
release-time seminary for our children
public bus service to our neighborhood
close to pool / athletic facilities
farms within a few miles where we can buy a multitude of fruits and vegs, and cut our own Christmas tree!

And many other attractive features of our area!

our house December 2008

Places I Have Lived

2010-11-30T07:00:00.001-08:00

Decades ago I made up my mind to love every place I lived. No matter the initial impressions, you can find beauty and pleasantness and friends anywhere.

Some places I don't remember living, such as Brooklyn New York, my birthplace, or Perryopolis Pennsylvania where my Mom stayed with me in between moves, or Sherman Oaks California where we lived for a year. Actually, I remember one thing about that place--tumbling down the concrete stairs at our apartment building.

When I was two we moved to Sepulveda California and lived there until I was 13. It was white-bread dullsville suburbia and life was predictable and safe and comfortable in our 1400 square foot one-story ranch-style home with a big backyard.

My life took an exciting turn when my folks found a larger (2200 sq ft) house in Valencia (Santa Clairita Valley) (1968-1974). The area was still rural country then, and I discovered peers who were not like me. My college-educated father went off to work daily to an office job. Some of these kids came from homes that were hardly better than shacks, and their fathers were blue-collar workers, if they even had jobs at all. My high school was attended by blacks from Val Verde and Mexicans whose parents had been migrant workers before they settled down. A few of my friends had horses and was that ever fun--one of my favorite memories is the day I rode my friend's chestnut down the main drag to Thrifty Drug to buy supplies for our school project.

Then it was off to college at BYU (1973-1976) in probably the grandest setting of any university anywhere. But again, these people weren't like me. I was a brand-new Mormon. My roommates fully embraced me and helped me learn how to be a Mormon. As for Provo, I didn't really care for it much, once I started working downtown. Folks were either active LDS, or they were inactive bitter anti-LDS and made life hard for the other ones.

Craig's first job was in Ridgecrest California (1977-1978) in the Mojave Desert, sandwiched between Death Valley on the east and the Sierra Nevada Range on the west. What a nice small town. There were disadvantages such as a dearth of retail establishments. On the plus side the people were humble, strong and faithful, the landscape was beautiful and wide-open and fascinating. We stayed two short years.

Meridian Idaho (1978-1984). Meridian had the deepest effect on who I am today than any place I've lived. We turned our half acre into an orchard and garden, sometimes weeding on summer nights until it was fully dark at 11 p.m. Our neighbors came from all over; there were tons of children in the neighborhood. We belonged to Meridian First Ward which took in the "downtown," if a farm town actually has a downtown. These farmers had lived in their homes for 40 or 50 years or more and raised their children in these 2 or 3 bedroom little boxes. They spoke out about what was right, even criticizing when appropriate. They put up with me and I came to love and appreciate them. These old folks (many of them widows) reached out to we younguns, taught us about hardship and life and canning and every practical skill. From them I learned a person didn't need much to get by; the virtues of faith and hard work were what got you by.

Portland's Rock Creek (1984). We spent such a short time in that area while waiting for our house to be built. We still have life-long friends made that year.

In December 1984 we moved 4 miles down the road to the Beaverton area, where we have lived 26 years.

Introverts Unite!

2010-11-29T10:10:00.000-08:00

I am an introvert. There, I said it. And I am not ashamed. It's past time for we introverts to embrace our introvert-ism and let the world know it's acceptable to prefer quiet or alone activities over crowds or parties or large public gatherings. Solitude is empowering!

Being born an introvert does not mean a person cannot function in high-profile roles. And it does not indicate that a person is un-adept at public speaking or teaching or leadership positions. We operate successfully in our own way.

During my entire lifetime I have been misjudged by extroverts. Extros assume there is something wrong with a person who doesn't babble incessantly, who doesn't desire to be the focus of attention, or who seeks a quiet corner in a group situation. My most dreaded part of this misunderstanding is for an extro to ask me "What's the matter?" In fact, in an article published in the Wall Street Journal online, Jennifer Kahnweiler wrote, " . . . avoid many introverts' least favorite question: "What's wrong?" For these quiet, reserved types, nothing is wrong. So, why not leave them alone—and enjoy a little peace and quiet yourself?"

On numerous occasions peers who didn't know me well would say in a situation, "Why don't you talk?" Or, "Why don't you ever say anything?" Wish I'd had a smarty-pants answer then. My usual reply was, "There's nothing to say," or "What do you want me to say?" It's OK to to enjoy the moment people!

The same WSJ article mentions that introverts tend away from showing emotion and do remain calm in heated situations. I can think of many times that has been true in my life. Others might ask why I'm unaffected by the turmoil around me; I am affected but it's not my nature to "go public" about it.

I've been thinking about this since visiting my 2 grandgirls, Meme and Majd. They are polar opposites. Majd is the extrovert, Meme reminds me of me as an introvert child. She enjoys quietly coloring, or standing on the 'sidelines' observing without commenting, or being happy without proclaiming it from the housetops. And I understand her perfectly.

Home-Grown Terrorist?

2010-11-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Pioneer Courthouse Square setting up the Christmas tree Friday

When I saw the photo of the Somali fellow arrested Friday night for attempting to blow up downtown PDX, it occurred to me that he might be from around here, because we have a large Somali community. And sure enough, he is a graduate of our very own Westview High School. 4 of our 5 kids have graduated from WV. Steven knows him from some common classes. Kristi says, " . . .I have known him since the 7th grade when he moved to America. I got to know him in my social studies class when we were learning about Islam. He was the only Muslim in the class and he talked a lot of his culture. It is so weird to think that he turned into what he is now. I cannot understand why anybody would want to hurt so many innocent people."

I sincerely hope this does not make our local Somalis targets of the idiots who would blame them by association. They appear to be law-abiding people and can't help that they had to flee the horror in their own country. I see the tall, willowy graceful Somali women around town. They make a lovely scene as they practically glide rather than walk, robed in stunning, vivid draping fabrics.

This guy doesn't appear to have been the sharpest tool in the shed though. He bought into an elaborate FBI ruse so he cooked his own goose, as they say. If convicted he'll probably get life. What a waste. He could have lived out his life here in the wonderful comfortable USA. As it is, life in prison here is in some ways better than life outside of prison in Somalia.

The tree was happily (and safely) lit Friday night

Washington County Fair

2010-11-27T07:00:00.000-08:00

Last year Brooklyn decided she wanted to make a quilt for the Washington County Fair, held every end-of-July. I had some assorted pink fabrics lying around that I had gotten for free, and she just happened to like them, and here is the quilt she made. Brooklyn cut the fabrics, pinned and sewed them, then tied the knots at the corners to hold it all together. She sewed the binding on too. Cousin Lacey and I assisted her with the tasks but she did most of it herself. And she won a blue ribbon!

You can enter just about anything you want in the fair--baked goods, preserves, textiles, flowers, vegetables, table settings, photographs etc. Over the years we have entered quilts, pillowcases, photographs, and applesauce.

This year Jonah decided a week before the fair to sew a quilt. We rushed to the fabric store and found some nice fabrics with wild animals on them. Here is his quilt below, and he won a blue ribbon too!

Four Things Past Their Prime

2010-11-26T07:00:00.000-08:00

We all have 'old favorites' around the house that would be trash to others. Here's a few of my favorites:

Crock Pot--in 1977, fresh out of college, we moved to Ridgecrest California. We didn't have much, and we even lacked normal equipment essential in a kitchen. During a conversation one day a gal in my ward, Vera Todd, picked up that I did not own a crock pot. She had two. She showed up with the extra one for me to keep. Here it is in all its glory, the Simmer-On II. Yes they make better more versatile crock-pots now. This one still works well and the bonus is that I think of Vera every time I use it. And try to be more like her.

Cinnamon Shaker--Don't know where or when my Mom got this dandy little shaker, but I grew up with it. We liked cinnamon toast and this is what we used as a shaker for as long as I can remember. It still does the job and rustles up memories every time.

Tiger Cup--Craig took Teresa to the Barnum and Bailey Circus in Portland when she was about 4. That would be 1989. She brought home this cup which I adopted as my water cup. I like the handle, the thick base that keeps it stable, and the capacity is just about right. About 5 years ago it cracked down the side and formed a small hole, but as long as I periodically refill the hole with rubber cement it doesn't leak on me.

Mom's Jacket--When Mom died in 1994 my sisters and I went through her clothes. We helped ourselves to a few things before donating the rest. I brought home this snazzy "jogging" jacket and pants. The pants eventually gave up the ghost but the jacket still lives, and I enjoy thinking about Mom when I wear it. Its most redeeming feature is that it's a very thin shell, which is all I need most of the time on exercise walks. Anything heavier makes me sweat too much. I know it makes me look like a relic from the 80s but I don't care.

Majd

2010-11-25T07:00:00.001-08:00

One of our granddaughters has the Arabic name, Majd. When we visited her in October she was barely 2 years old. Yet she has a command of language that surpasses that age. At times I couldn't help laughing at our conversations, because you don't expect a young child to say certain things.

She was playing with a set of 3 cheap dolls that happen to have wings. I asked her, "Majd, where are your dolls?" She vehemently replied, "They're not dolls. They're fairies."

I asked her if she would like to visit me at my house. She cheerfully blurted out, "Do you have toys?" And after a pause, "Do you have kids???"

If I teased her by calling her 'be-be' she became very serious and said, "No! I called Majd!"

When she was eating a piece of bread I broke off a corner and put it in my mouth. Sternly and in a huff she said, "You ruined it!!" And marched away with her bread.

The day before my departure I wanted to prepare her, so I explained that tomorrow I would be going home on an airplane. She became genuinely solemn and declared, "I'm sad." I wasn't even sure she would understand what I meant, but she did and it made her sad.

Majd also narrates her life continually. While awake she is constantly talking, describing everything she is doing. At dinner, "I put pasta in my mouth." Changing clothes, "I take off my dress." And so on. And on.

Majd is a little firecracker, a little imp. She is enthusiastic about life and it's catching. One day we got off the ferris wheel at the Casbah and immediately she darted out of our presence to where she could get a good view of the fair. She sucked in her breath and jumped up and down at the sight. It was then I realized what a beautiful sight it was with all the lights, the boats on the creek, etc. She garners attention by intentionally being naughty, as when she takes her arms out of her car-seat straps and makes sure we all know about it. She knows how to have fun!

neighborhood playground

fun at the Casbah

She is queen of the souk. Every visit she is mobbed by shopkeepers who want to hold her, hug her and bestow a gift on her. One day 3 different shopkeepers gifted her. Two gave her tiny bracelets which they bothered to resize for her and the other gave her a little plastic bell which she called "my pretty fragile thing."

merchant sizing a free bracelet for Majd

The storekeeper did not give her this more expensive necklace but let her wear it until we left!

An Historic Night on the Road to Damascus

2010-11-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

Even though we make history every day, it's rare that we are eye-witnesses to national or international historic events. Thousands have watched the inauguration of presidents and the coronation of kings; some are involuntarily sucked into an event such as the tragedy of 9/11. I have never had that degree of an historically significant experience. However, in April 2005 I was eye-witness to the Syrian Army's evacuation of Lebanon. Not a well-known event, true, but significant in the Middle East and an important success in the presidency of GW Bush. Here's how it unfolded:

We traveled with Bridget's family to Lattakia Syria to enjoy a few days on the Mediterranean. Rather than catch a bus straight back to Damascus, we hired a driver to take us home via Beirut Lebanon.

In the Lebanese immigration station we filled out paper work, then waited. Nervousness permeated the heavy concrete bunker that was staffed by Lebanese soldiers sporting automatic weapons. When one of them yelled out "Steven Walker!!" my heart skipped a beat. Why were they singling out my 12-year-old son?

We all walked up to the counter with Steven. The soldier sternly summoned the attention of his comrades, held Steven's passport high above his head, then regally declared, "Steven Walker! Your visa number is 1559!" The soldiers clapped and cheered and we nervously smiled while Bridget quickly explained to us that 1559 was the number of the United Nations resolution that ordered Syria to remove its troops from Lebanon. We joined in the frivolity celebrating his lucky number.

We spent some hours in Beirut, then hired a driver to take us back to Damascus. In deep darkness the station wagon crawled up the lofty Anti-Lebanon Mountains toward Syria. Suddenly we were passing a long military convoy, a convoy of Syrian trucks carrying tanks, weapons, and soldiers. It was the fulfillment of UN Resolution #1559! We continued to pass lines of Syrian military heading for the border and their hero's welcome, after 29 years of occupation. All of this happened after intense pressure from Pres. George W. Bush, precipitated by the Feb. 2005 assassination of former Lebanese Prime Minister Hariri. And we saw it happen.

Wise Words

2010-11-23T07:00:00.000-08:00

Last spring I visited Bridget and her family in Ithaca New York. We took a day to visit historic sites up in Palmyra and Bridget and Jeremy attended the temple there while I watched the girls. We took some long walks around the temple and down by the Smith homes, and then we drove to the Hill Cumorah which both girls climbed all by themselves--remarkable considering they were only 4.5 and 1.5 years old at the time.

Down by the Smith homes there was a fox family on the trail. The mother took off into the meadow when we approached but the 3 little kits played right in front of us for almost an hour, rolling and skipping, then hiding and reappearing. We were enthralled and entertained! Mama fox kept watch from the meadow. We could see only her pointy ears fixed above the grass.

Later all of us went to a diner in town for some dinner. On the wall of the diner was posted this "food for thought." I don't drink coffee but I like the analogy and the moral.

I Was Run Off the Road by a Cell-Phone User and Lived to Tell About It

2010-11-22T07:00:00.000-08:00

Like many others, I have my own personal story of being run off the road by a driver talking on his cell phone. Only this guy was operating an enormous dump truck which was pulling a very long flatbed trailer behind it. I exited Sunset Hwy at Helvetia Rd., and at the top of the exit ramp I was in the right-most of the two left-turn lanes. Mr. Gigantic Dump Truck beside me was turning left from the left-most lane.

Because he was a large truck I fully expected him to swing wide on the turn, so when the light changed I gave him plenty of space as we entered the intersection. But yikes, he kept coming closer to me during the turn, and thank heaven for the very wide shoulder here because by the time we completed the turn I was forced 100% onto the shoulder as he slid all the way into my lane as if he owned the place.

I paused momentarily to catch my breath, then took off after him. About half mile down the road I pulled up on his left and leaning over to look up at him I could see him chatting away on his cell phone without a care in the world. The name and phone of his trucking company was proudly displayed on his truck door, which I copied down. At the next intersection he turned right while I continued straight. As he turned he was still yakking on the phone.

From home I called the trucking company number to report the dude. The woman who answered said that was her husband driving the truck, and he wasn't at home for me to talk to. I explained what happened and her first response was "he would never talk on his cell phone while driving." Well lady, he was. We ended up having a 4 or 5 minute conversation in which she still claimed he wouldn't talk and drive, then it switched to her telling me it wasn't my fault. What the???? I insisted that she tell him that he could have injured me or worse and that he must never ever do that to someone else. She said she would and I left it at that. Looking back I wish I had called back to talk to him. Hope he got the message before he drives right over somebody.

A Funeral, a Wedding, and a Scout Meeting

2010-11-21T07:45:00.000-08:00

On Friday I attended 3 very divergent events. All three were attended by some of the same people.

The first was the heartbreaking funeral of a young mother who died of cancer. We stood at the grave site under dark skies. The cold wind and rain seemed fitting until the service began. The theme repeated by several speakers and prayers was the hope and gift of the resurrection. The wonderful woman secure in the casket, whose physical self was wracked by cancer, will again be with her husband and baby. The mood transformed giving way to optimism and hope in spite of the gloomy skies.

The wedding reception (wedding had occurred a few days before in Utah) was extra joyous because this nice young man in his 30s finally found a bride. His family is thrilled. The mother of the groom is the best friend of the mother-in-law of the deceased mentioned above. Her gladness is tempered by her friend's grief.

I left the reception to zip over to Cub Scout Pack Meeting. My den was responsible for the flag ceremony, which we had not practiced. We pulled it together. The awards were given including the Whittling Chip card for two of the boys, one of whom specifically requested we earn it because he loves anything to do with knives or swords. Two weeks ago at den meeting we spent a pleasant afternoon on the church front lawn carving shapes out of Ivory soap.

Life is a patchwork quilt. Some patches are dark, dreary and mournful, others are eye-catchingly beautiful, and still others take their place quietly, a bridge between the two. Sew them all together and you have a beautiful work of art.

She Really is One Tough Mother

2010-11-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

85-year-old Gert Boyle is the ad front for her company, Columbia Sportswear, whose headquarters are two miles from our house. She is billed as "head mother" and "one tough mother." Their employee store displays some of the most popular ads featuring Gert, including this one:

One ad campaign says "Before it passes Mother Nature, it has to pass Mother Boyle." Another says,

“She’ll gladly retire when hell freezes over, but that’s when we’ll need her most." And here's a video link to a TV commercial.

She's noted for her witty remarks. Says Gert: "One morning I had a guy call and he said, “I want to talk to the president of the company.” I said, “Speaking.” He said, “You’re a woman.” And I said, “You know, when I got up this morning, I noticed that.”

Gert's family fled Nazi Germany in 1939 when she was 13. Her father bought a hat company in Portland and renamed it Columbia. Gert's husband later became head of the company, but when he died suddenly in 1970 she and her 21-year-old son rescued the company from bankruptcy. It is now a multi-billion dollar company, largely because the Walkers can't stop buying Columbia Sportswear. It's the perfect clothing for our active selves and PDX wet, cool weather and we get it at employee prices so close to home!

Anyway, a few days ago she arrived at her home in West Linn and came face to face with an intruder and his gun. She cooly told him she needed to disable the alarm, but it was a ruse to get to the 'cop button.' He tied her up, the cops came, he was apprehended. Two others were arrested later; turns out this was a conspiracy to kidnap Gert for ransom. According to www.kgw.com, "Boyle had enough composure to dress down the West Linn police chief when he visited to brief her on the investigation. He mistakenly wore a North Face jacket, and he asked her how she was doing. She said she was doing fine until that jacket walked through the door.""

Gert is back at work.

an Oregon icon

Skansen

2010-11-19T06:00:00.001-08:00

I couldn't leave Slovakia behind on this blog without talking about the Skansen, or open-air museum, in Humenne.

A little more than generation ago it was realized that the traditional Slovak way of life had all but vanished. Before it was too late, preservationists established a museum where surviving examples of traditional buildings could be displayed. The buildings come from around the eastern part of the country and are representative of that whole area. The "crown jewel" is St. Michael the Archangel Byzantine Catholic Church, a wooden church built 1754 in Novy Sedlica.

Wooden churches were the earthy, humble vehicle for Ruthenian worship. Most Ruthenians (Carpatho-Rusyn) were shepherd-farmers who lived in remote hamlets in the Carpathian Mountains. They grew flax for linen cloth then intricately embroidered it, lived on a meager diet of coarse bread and a little meat, roots and tubers, hazelnuts and berries, did their farm work completely by hand, and didn't live long due to a harsh existence and frequent epidemics.

Inside the church was a loft for the women. Men stood on the main floor. There were no chairs or pews. The iconostasis is a screen that separated people from the altar, symbolic of the separation between God and man. Since man is unworthy to be in the presence of God, the only person who can enter the golden doors is the priest, who acts as intermediary. The icons taught the scriptures to illiterate peasants. The vibrant colors in the icons reflect the natural outdoors.

iconostasis

the golden doors, icons

a peek at the altar

The Byzantine Catholic Church separated from the Greek Orthodox Church about 300 years ago. The Byzantines follow the Pope in Rome, not the Patriarch in Constantinople. The liturgy has an eastern feel to it; there is no Latin to be heard. Old Church Slavonic is chanted by the priest, the cantor and the worshipers. Priests are usually married with families (not in the US).

I've seen other wooden churches around the countryside but have only been inside this one. More than anything else in this part of the world, these aging churches emanate the character and spirit of the Ruthenian culture. I hope this one will last many more years to be appreciated by future generations.

Poruba

2010-11-18T06:00:00.000-08:00

My Baba (grandma) came from a village in Slovakia called Nemet Poruba. Nemet or Nemecka means "German." Poruba indicates "cutting" or "slashing," thus the axes in the village crest. Wood cutting and charcoal making were the main money-makers here. Jews were about 1/3 of the population and ran the businesses. Gypsies lived here too but they were not integrated with the rest of the villagers.

Because it was located just below the Carpathian mountains, life was a little easier here than in Valaskovce where my Grandfather's family lived. Lots of arable land meant reasonably bounteous crops and good forage for the animals. Commerce was healthy because Poruba was easy to reach. Though the village was burned by retreating Germans in December 1944, it was rebuilt and many of the same family names have been there for two centuries or more--Maczko, Csornej, Andrejko, Tovcsak, Csurpakovics, Kovacs, Ondrik, Ihnat, Mikula, Czuprik, Scserbak, and so on.

On Sunday morning we attended the liturgy at the Byzantine Catholic Church my Baba attended as a youth. It's certainly more gilded now than it would have been a hundred years ago.

The nearby cemetery is very full of stones typical of Slavic graves even here in the US; photographs and laser etchings are very common.

I still have relatives in Poruba, probably more than I even know about. Last month we visited with some of them.

Center: cousins L'udmila and Tatiana with their mother, Mary

Back: Peter and Lubomir

Front: Peter Jr.

Little Peter is adorable. When I greeted him he shook my hand and said "Pleased to meet you" in the best English a 5-year-old could have. Mary cooked a delicious dinner for us. Afterwards we drove to the trail-head to hike to Morske Oko, a beautiful lake in the mountains.

On our next trip to Poruba we plan to find more family and do more hiking!

My Slovak Family

2010-11-17T07:00:00.000-08:00

My Humenne cousins are a lot of fun; they're great cooks and hospitable in every way. I have met all of them over the past 13 years but it took 3 visits to Slovakia to see them all.

They are all descended from George Bubnas, who was the oldest of the 5 Bubnas brothers of Valaskovce.

3 of those brothers, John, Andrew and Michael, immigrated to the US in the 1880s-90s and settled in Great Falls Montana before 1900 to work in the coal mines. They eventually became ranchers and farmers. Another brother (and my gr-grandfather), Paul, came to the US in the 1880s, then returned to Valaskovce and died of TB at the age of 29 in 1891. The above-mentioned George Bubnas came to work in the Pennsylvania coal mines and then returned home to Valaskovce to inherit the family's land as the eldest son. Most of his descendants still live there today.

Circa 1938 the Czechoslovak government claimed the land in the mountains where Valaskovce was located, for use as a military base where troops were trained in using tanks and weapons. One reason it was a desirable spot for the military is because of its remoteness. All the people in the village were relocated below the mountains to a newly built area of Humenne christened New Valaskovce. Most of my relatives still live in that part of the city.

On our trip there last month Marian and Matus met us at the hotel; actually, they did that in 2002 as well. We felt so welcome seeing family waiting for us! Anna cooked a chicken dinner for us, Gabi we saw at the bakery, Magda provided us with pastries from the bakery, and Lucia--Lucia translated for us. She speaks excellent English!

My cousins who live outside of Humenne in Modra--Eva, Jozef, Monika and Jozef Jr.--took care of us on our first visit. I stayed with them and Monika went everywhere with me to translate for me. We visited them during our 2010 visit and Monika still speaks great English and now has three children! Eva cooked us some delicious halupky. Jozef and Eva are wonderful hosts.

My cousin Juraj's family lives in Prievidza, further west than Humenne. They grow a huge garden every year. We have enjoyed visiting with them at their home and through the internet. All 3 children are now married and living in Bratislava.

2010
front: Ladislav Jr. and his girfriend, Irina

center: Magda, Monika, me, Pavel Jr., Lucia

back: Pavel, Anna, Ladislav Sr.

2002

seated: Marian, Ladislav

center: Marianna, Daniela, me, Gabi

back: Matus, Anna, Ratislav [?], Lucia, Ladislav Jr.

2010

seated: Ladislav, Zofia, Darina, Magda, Irina

standing: Viktor, Maria, Lucia, Villiam, me, Jozef, Anna, Janka, Eva

2002

Craig, Juraj, Veronika, me, Juraj Jr., Katka, Katarina

2010

Craig, me, Juraj, Katharina

Humenne, Slovakia

2010-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

The largest city in far Eastern Slovakia, Humenne is cradled in a valley created by the confluence of the Cirocha and Laborec Rivers. To the south Vihorlat, an extinct volcano and the highest peak in the eastern Carpathian Mountains, towers over the valley. My Grandfather was born about 2/3 up the north slope of Vihorlat. The Ukrainian border is 23 miles to the east, Poland 20 miles to the north.

Humenne with Vihorlat to the south (photo by Jan Kocak)

Humenne has been a town for over 700 years and was a small settlement before that. For centuries it was the center of a vast feudal kingdom ruled by the Drugeths, then later by the Rakoczi and Andrassy families. The manor house, or castle, built in the early 1600s still stands and is used now for offices and a museum. My ancestors were serfs bound to the Humenne Estate until about 1850, but even later some were employed at the manor house. Some of their surnames were Barna, Szorokacs, Bubnas, Kassai, Mihaly, Vadszita. During most of its history Humenne was part of the Hungarian Empire yet much of its population was Slovak or Ruthenian with thousands of Jews and even some Romani.

Drugeth Castle, Humenne

Ruins of medieval castles are found in every direction fanning out from Humenne. Some of these were already old and past their usefulness by the mid-1600s. Revolts against the Austrian Hapsburgs took their toll on the castles.

Brekov Castle (Wikipedia's photo here is way better than mine)

The town has seen local conflicts and destructive fighting from both World Wars. On 21 Aug 1968 when Warsaw Pact nations invaded Slovakia, Humenne residents woke up to a shocking sight: Russian tanks were situated on high points around the city, guns pointing toward homes and businesses. It was a time of fear and terror for people who already had seen much of that.

memorial near Snina

The first couple of times we visited Humenne (1997, 2002) it still felt like a backwater town that had not reached its potential. An unfortunate building boom during the Soviet era filled the region with ugly concrete slab apartment towers. Happily though, in 2010 Humenne is a thriving city. The central core of the city is full of new shops and businesses, a few hotels, and a very nice pedestrian park with fountains and a stage for musical performances. Optimism and prosperity permeate the air. Even at 8 in the morning the pedestrian area was busy. Further south more pedestrian areas are appearing making access to commercial areas more pleasant.

Looking south along the pedestrian mall.

Humenne core 2010 (fountain emptied for winter)

Tomorrow: my Humenne family!

The Missing Shoes at the Danube

2010-11-15T06:00:00.000-08:00

On November 4th my daily blog post was about the Jews of Budapest, specifically their tragic experience during WW2. At the end of that post is displayed a photograph of a Holocaust memorial found on the bank of the Danube River. Rather than a statue or pillar-type remembrance, the memorial consists of a long line of bronze shoes scattered along the lip of the river wall. Old-fashioned shoes. World War 2 era Hungarian-style shoes. Jewish shoes.

A week after arriving home from Europe I saw an announcement in our newspaper that a lecture was to be given by Holocaust survivors and former Budapest residents, Eva and Les Aigner. I don't believe in coincidences. Last Wednesday a friend and I attended the lecture.

I introduced myself to Eva, mentioning that I had recently been in Budapest at the synagogue and the riverfront memorial. She said she had escaped the slaughter at the Danube through a miracle in Dec. 1944. Here is the story:

Eva's mother was taken from the Budapest ghetto to a transport headed for a death camp. As the train slowed near the camp she leaped out and made a run for it but was pursued by a German soldier. She fell onto his boots and begged for her life so she could return to her two daughters. He said he couldn't let her go because he would be shot. Then he momentarily turned his back and she ran. It took her a week to get back to the ghetto. Her two daughters were not there and she heard about the executions at the Danube. At the river she found her daughters by their crying voices. The girls had been listening for hours to the never-ceasing machine guns killing their friends and neighbors. Their mother removed her wedding ring and offered it to a German soldier in exchange for her daughters. He took it and they escaped back into the ghetto. The following month the Russians arrived, unlocked the ghetto gates, and told the residents they were free to go.

I'll never forget the shoes on the bank of the Danube and that there were at least two survivors of that terrible purge.

Pretty Sights

2010-11-14T06:00:00.000-08:00

Pretty architecture and designs abound in the Arab world. Arab calligraphy and illumination rival that created in medieval European monasteries. Intricate medieval calligraphic motifs have been transferred to stone, ceramic, wood, and metal all over Arabia. Some of these designs would lend themselves to quilting using the Celtic weaving technique. I captured samples of the beauty in Emirates.

inside admin building at American University of Sharjah

I don't remember where this is; sometimes my camera just couldn't help itself taking pictures of anything and everything without noting what or where it was

wooden doors in old town area of Sharjah

wood chest decorated with metal at old town museum in Sharjah

old town museum motifs

metal decoration above doorway in old town Sharjah

not sure which building this is or the one below

Oops, this is not a traditional Arab design! It's the enormous ferris wheel at the Casbah down by Sharjah Creek

Al-Ain

2010-11-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Al-Ain is a city in Abu-Dhabi on the Omani border, and it was not on our list of places to see on our first trip to UAE. Then an Emirati friend of Jeremy's stopped by to say hello and invited us to come see his city, so we took him up on the offer. We drove out to Al-Ain early one afternoon and met Mr. Emirati here:

The coffee pot, signifying hospitality, is the centerpiece of the giant roundabout at the entrance to the city. We didn't meet him on the roundabout, but a half a block down. Mr. E loaded us into his Lexus SUV and off we went on the grand tour. Al-Ain is an oasis that has grown into a very full city that is still expanding.

First stop, the camel race track. No races were on at the moment but hundreds of the beasts were being exercised and we enjoyed watching them trotting by in their colorful coats herded by expert trainers.

Next stop was the city gardens full of potted plants and various ground covers that looked a lot like plants we grew in our yard in the Mojave Desert, namely lantana and verbena. You get used to seeing displays like this one in the Middle East, featuring past, present and future rulers:

Our guide was so hospitable, and was pleased to show us around his city. When the girls were antsy he stopped at a convenience store to buy them snacks, and didn't even mind that they dropped crumbs all over his car. He took us out to eat at a Lebanese restaurant--delicious! We also drove up to the highest mountain in Emriates to take in the view. He was not in the least concerned about time; he only wanted us to enjoy his home town as much as he did. When we exited his car to head back home in ours, he caught me brushing crumbs off the seat and forbid me to worry about it because "my driver will take care of it tomorrow."

We had time to view only half the wonderful sites of Al-Ain; next time, the other half!

The Real Middle East

2010-11-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

Dubai / UAE are best known for its oil supply, unusual and fantastic skyscrapers, and an outrageous indoor ski slope. The traditional Middle East exists here also--concrete slab houses and apartments, the ubiquitous satellite dishes on top of said buildings, grimy dusty streets and sidewalks in various states of disrepair, insane traffic, skilled drivers, fragrant souks, glitzy souks, and even fabric souks doubling as eye-candy. These photos are from Deira (near Dubai Creek).

rooftops of Deira

souk

just what I was looking for . . .

fits perfectly with my wardrobe

street scene

fabric, thread, trims, etc.

a seamstress's wildest dream come true

it must be 1 p.m.--shops close, everybody sleeps

freight business on Dubai Creek

Veterans Day 2010

2010-11-11T08:00:00.000-08:00

I am skipping a day of Dubai posts to commemorate Veteran's Day, established as a tribute to the ending of World War One. The armistice was signed in France on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. Here are some in our family who served their country:

My Grandfather's cousin John Brosnahan, US Army World War 1.

Killed fighting the Germans at Fismes France, 19 Aug 1918.

Thomas Ashe (Grandfather's cousin), Irish Revolutionary. Commander of Fingal Battalion, Irish Volunteers. Fought the British at the Easter Rising in Dublin 1916. Condemned to death along with Eamon de Valera (later president of Ireland); both sentences commuted to life in prison. Went on a hunger strike to protest brutal conditions in prison, was force-fed by British resulting in his death 25 Sep 1917, age 33.

My Dad, George Bubnash (right), with a buddy on the streets of New York, 1942

He was USN 1942-1947 and served 3 of those years on the USS Missouri in the Pacific

My father-in-law, Charles Walker, career USAF, World War 2

World War 2 vets: Uncle Mike Bubnash (left), USN; Dad (center), Uncle John Bubnash, US Army Air Corps.

Mike was on a supply ship in the Pacific and twice met up with his brother George.

John's plane went down in the Philippines about 1944 so was MIA for about 10 days.

My Uncle Bill Wasmuth, US Army in Europe World War 2

Uncle Jim Ashe, US Army in Europe World War 2

Uncle Paul Bubnash, US Army Korea

Brother-in-law Barry Walker, career USAF, Desert Shield/Desert Storm

Dad's Japanese Officer's Sword which he 'smuggled' home from Japan

USS Missouri heading home through Pearl Harbor 1945

Burj Khalifa aka Burj Dubaj

2010-11-10T06:00:00.000-08:00

The Burj Khalifa opened earlier this year, a new 'world's tallest building,' located next to Dubai Mall. An attractive building yes, and so tall that the perspective is lost close by. From a distance the height is easier to appreciate. It's stunning to scan the city's skyline from a few miles away, admiring all of the tall beautiful buildings, then suddenly there's that needled skyscraper piercing the sky.

We bought our timed tickets to the top (about $27 each) in Dubai Mall ahead of time. If you wait to buy until you actually want to enter, tickets cost over $100. Tourists are permitted as high as the observation deck, around the 130th floor. At 1500 feet up, the deck is higher than the roof of the WTC (I took in that view in 1990) and the Empire State Building (which I ascended for the first time in 1962 when it was the world's tallest).

The elevator whisked us to the observation deck very quickly. I don't know why, but on this elevator your stomach doesn't do flips.

The view from the top this night was spectacular, even though the air wasn't clear. The Burj is surrounded by family-oriented tourist sites which you can see in this photo. The center is taken up by Dubai Mall; the fabulous water show is done in the lagoon on the lower right.

the water show

Dubai Mall

2010-11-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

United Arab Emirates stands out as a land of amazing elements: plentiful enormous traffic roundabouts; roads chopped by huge speed bumps; some of the world's most memorable architecture, men in crisply starched, pressed and creased snow-white jelabiyas; gorgeously made-up women in every arrangement of wispy draped ebony abayas; vast cloudless skies; bathtub temp Gulf waters; worn but fragrant neighborhoods typical of Middle Eastern cities, all of it spiced with flavors and colors contributed by Asian and African immigrants.

The city of Dubai is Vegas on steroids. But as Craig says, "it's real." No imitation here. The world's tallest building hovers over the world's largest indoor shopping mall and possibly the world's largest water show. Hordes of families from every continent bring their big bucks to spend. We spent hours at Dubai Mall without stepping inside a store. Every storefront featured stunning, eye-catching displays and it was all I could do to window-shop dozens of them. Dubai Mall must hold the record for the most fine chocolatiers and Bombay style furniture, most spacious food court, and the largest aquarium and zoo inside a mall. Ordinarily I'd rather have a root canal than head for a mall, but this place was as good as Disneyland (without the rides) (although it wouldn't surprise me if a few of those appeared someday).

In Dubai Mall I consumed the most delicious fruit drink ever, blended from pomegranates, lemons, and oranges. I'll post some photos of the mall today and more about UAE later this week.

one of many fantastic focus points in Dubai Mall

scores of restaurants

gifts from many countries

children's clothing and gifts

one corner of the huge food court; yes you see McDs and Subway, but they have Arabic, Thai, Japanese, Lebanese, you name it--even Johnny Rocket's hamburgers

one of dozens of candy shops

the gold souk--if you plan to shop here, don't forget to take out a second mortgage before you come

fine pastries and cakes

gelato served here!

more sweets

furniture

Vacation

2010-11-08T06:00:00.000-08:00

This post should have been put up the first of November before all the photographs of Budapest, as an explanation of what was to come.

But here it is. Craig and I traveled to Munich on October 13 and from there we drove to Budapest, where we spent a very full day. We headed northeast to Slovakia for three days to visit my cousins. This was our third visit to Slovakia over the past 13 years.

We returned the car to Munich, then flew to Dubai to visit Bridget and her family. So that is why I have posted about Budapest, and posts are to come on Slovakia and Dubai. Even though it will be out of order I'll cover Dubai first.

Bridget's family lives in a brand-new townhouse on the campus of the American University of Sharjah where Jeremy is a professor of Arabic. They have 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms, a spacious living/dining area, modern American-style kitchen, tons of storage and closets. The girls have a playroom under the staircase. They have a small backyard, yet to be landscaped. Their neighbors have come from all over the world to work at the university. Miriam attends kindergarten at the British school on campus. There is a playground just down the street. Jeremy has a five-minute walk to work.

This is the Palmer's townhouse and new car in the photo and below that is Meme on her way to school on a foggy morning.

Majd likes to come along on the walk to pick up Meme from school.

The Annual Verboort Sausage and Kraut Fest

2010-11-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

We don't make it out to the Verboort Sausage and Kraut Fest every year, but we regularly attend this annual fund-raiser so I can get my hunkie food fix. Verboort was settled by Dutch Catholics about 1870 and descendants of the original settlers still live there--names like Vandehey, Evers, VanDomelan, VanDyke, Duyck, Schmidlkofer, Vandecoevering are common. The church funds the the K-8 Visitation School for the children of the area through this fund-raising dinner. They have been doing it for 76 years.

Visitation Church framed by giant sequoias

school pledge

the parking dude has the most scenic job of all

To make this annual dinner a success, everybody helps. Young men direct the parking. The younger children roll the silverware into the napkins. The next older group sets the tables and keeps the water pitchers filled. The teenagers assist the adults in serving the food. And the adults and teens work all year long raising the beef, pork, cabbage, and apples for sauce. The menu:

sausage
sauerkraut
salad
green beans
potatoes
applesauce
rolls
apple or lemon meringue pie

dinner!

The organizers have the process down to a science. All summer and fall they are making and smoking sausage and preparing the kraut and applesauce. They plan on serving 8000 dinners the first Saturday of November. Every year. Tickets cost $15 and each is numbered. You can't sit down to the table until your number is lower than the posted number. Yesterday our tickets were in the 700s so we entered when the posted number was 1600 (we could have gone in earlier; when we came out the number was up to 2400).

the sign indicates that ticket numbers 1600 and under are now being served

The parish hall is built with two large banquet rooms each holding close to 200 diners. Servers in Dutch hats bring you a plate fully loaded with dinner. The salad and applesauce are already on the table. Other servers circulate with more sausage and kraut. When you are about to burst and manage to waddle out the door, your table is cleared and reset for the next diner.

servers lined up at kitchen to fetch dinners

our fellow diners

Along with the dinner, there is a beer garden, bingo, holiday bazaar, quilt raffle, and take-out sales. The Visitation Catholic Church and school are built in the shade of 140-year-old giant sequoias. It's a great way to spend part of a Saturday and help a good cause.

mmmm, that was delicious

Statue Park

2010-11-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

On the outskirts of Budapest is an unusual tourist site called Statue Park. Here rest statues and monuments that formerly glorified the wonders of communism, and which were quickly toppled by the newly-free masses in the early 90s. Now they are objects of derision and some are so hideous you wonder how they were ever erected in the first place. Here's a select few, but every one of them is amusing in some way.

Inspiring, no??

The Budapest guidebook says this enormous hulk represents communism's glorious future, but to the locals it was a spa attendant chasing after a patron who forgot his towel.

This rusting hulk gives me nightmares.

Also on display, a tribute to communist ingenuity--the Trabant, or "people's car"--it claimed to hold 4 adults plus luggage. A buyer paid 50% up front, then waited 6-8 years for delivery. Imagine cruising Interstate 5 in this 2-cylinder, 26 HP beauty. How do you double the value of your Trabant? Fill up the gas tank.

One of These Things is Not Like the Others

2010-11-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here are some pretty shots taken in Budapest. Except one of these things is not like the others.

The Budapest Opera House

fine woodwork

museum window

synagogue detail

yikes! see the metro ticket office in center of photo;
you can probably guess in what era THAT was built

The Jews of Budapest

2010-11-04T06:00:00.000-07:00

We were not able to see every important site during our short Budapest stay Oct. 15-16. The Dohany Street Synagogue (Dohány utcai zsinagóga/nagy zsinagóga) is one of those we missed touring, but we did see it from the outside. It's the world's second largest synagogue and was built 1859. It suffered plenty of damage during WW2, and once communism was erased the building and grounds were beautifully restored. There is a museum on the grounds, and a cemetery with several thousand burials of those who died in the ghetto during WW2. There is also a monument to the Hungarian Jews who died in the Holocaust.

At the onset of WW2 Budapest was 25% Jewish. In fact, before the World Wars the cities of the Hungarian Empire in general were notably Jewish, some major cities having as much as 45% Hebrew-speakers. Jews tended to cluster in the cities--they were not agriculturalists. The reasons for this include that they were restricted in owning land, and were relegated to certain occupations, mostly those of the business world and also professions such as engineer and doctor.

Though the Jewish population in Budapest was drastically reduced due to the Holocaust, there are remarkable accounts of large numbers of Jews being saved by Christian people. The best known of these is Raoul Wallenburg, a diplomat who issued Swedish passports to over 10,000 Jews. Others also found ways to thwart the German drive to exterminate them. At least one Catholic priest gave baptismal certificates to Jews, thereby saving many thousands from deportation and certain death. In the cheerless summer months of 1944 over half a million Hungarian Jews were deported to Auschwitz. Today there is a Jewish community in Budapest that includes over 50,000, about 20% of the pre-WW2 number.

One more thing--in the waning days of WW2 the Germans couldn't seem to get rid of the Jews fast enough. At one point instead of taking the trouble to deport them, they herded groups of Jews down to the Danube, lined them up on the bank wall, and shot them, so their bodies would fall into the water. Later, to save ammunition, they began tying up groups together and shooting only one; the others drowned in the river. This photo shows the memorial to those who perished this dreadful way--the pairs of shoes remind one of individuals lost here.

What is a Hungarian?

2010-11-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

When Craig and I were in Budapest in October, as usual when in a foreign place we paid careful attention to the people we saw. We like to analyze what makes up an ethnicity or a nationality. Every culture has its "riches and vibes." After a half a day of wandering the streets of Budapest, Craig asked me, "What is a Hungarian?" My answer is, that they look like Americans, only not so many blonds. And by that I mean two things: that most everyone I saw would not stand out on the streets of America, and that the Hungarians are a blend of about every ethnicity you can think of, as are we.

This isn't surprising given Hungary's geography. The country is located on a broad plain making for easy transversing; central Europe's major river (Danube) bisects the country; and Hungary is on the way to somewhere else, no matter which direction you are going. Traveling through this area was easy given the topography and the river, so the country was a crossroads but also easily invaded. After we left Budapest we read in a guidebook that the DNA of the Hungarian people is the most diverse of any nation.

I don't have any good photos of the people of Hungary but here are some of the city we took while walking along the Danube at dusk.

the Chain Bridge

the banks of the Danube

St. Matthias Church

the Parliament House