My life has had its shares of ups and downs, like any life.  There have been jobs that have come and gone.  Friends have come and gone.  Relationships have come and gone.  My residence has changed so many times I’ve lost count, and everything I’ve owned has cycled through my hands to the point that I don’t have much of anything that has lasted longer than 5 years.

My son has spent as much time away from me as with me.  Let’s not comment on your particular opinion of me as a mother because of that.  The reasons were sound and seemed for the best with the information available at the time.  My parents are constant and true – but, they aren’t with me … they are there for me.  They love me and cherish me; but, they are a continent away…sometimes farther than that.  My sister and her family and all the rest of my family (Gordon and Debbie included) are wonderful, loving and just bless me completely.  But, they aren’t here.  The one, solid constant I’ve had in my life for the last 12 years – longer than anything else in my life – has been my friend, Loki.

My Sweet Baby

His heart was bigger than this solar system.  No one who ever met him could help themselves – even those who hated dogs – they would inevitably fall prey to his precious soul.  You’d find people who claim to be anti-dog slipping their hands down to pet him.  And, random people on the street couldn’t help but just fall in love with him.  I lost count of how many said they wanted him to go home with them (even my sister).  He just had a presence about him that reached out and touched you where you hurt most, and made it all ok.

The Crew

And me…well…what I told my father says it best:

He pulled me through nights that I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to pull through.  He is the reason I had for getting up in the morning, making it through the day and just taking care of myself.  Because he relied on me, he needed me, he trusted me to take care of him and he loved me – even when I fell down on the job.  It didn’t matter one whit to him…I was still “mama” and he loved me anyway.

He was happy and full of life.  Even on the day he passed away, he was bouncing and playing ball and convinced he was 10 years younger than he actually was.  He quickly faded, though.  By the time midnight rolled around he was in serious cardiac distress.  We rushed him to the emergency room where they said that his heart was failing due to congestive heart failure and pulmonary edema with a very bad heart murmur.   After much discussion (re: arguing), crying, wailing and otherwise denying that he wasn’t going to be living through the night, we made the decision to have him put down.  I refused to let them do it without me present.  He was there for me through all the hard times in my life.  It was only right that I be there when he slipped this mortal coil.  The vet brought him in to the room where I snuggled with him for a little while and committed to my mind the feel of his fur between my hands and the trust and love pouring out from him as he leaned into me.  Eventually, I gave in and let the vet do his job.  And, I held my dear, dear friend as he breathed his last breath, my heart breaking.

I will never forget my dear friend.  He will always be writ deep upon my heart and the hearts of all who had the joy of ever meeting him – human and animal alike.  We will never be the same, forever changed for the better, because of his gentle, loving presence. He blessed this world by being in it.  I only hope I blessed his life by being his human.  

Circa 1982

I never was very good at remembering to put the great in front of “Grandaddy”. There was just a tone I’d get in my voice that would differentiate between Meemaw and Grandaddy and….my grandaddy.

The term “salt of the earth” has been around a long time. Some of you might even use it from time to time. Well, that was grandaddy. I don’t think I ever saw him in a bad mood.  He just took life as it came and kept putting one foot in front of the other with an unshakable resolve…and, never with a bad attitude.  Maybe that’s just a young woman’s memory filtering out the negative; but, I don’t believe that is the case.  I have heard nary a negative word about my great-grandaddy spoken, even in passing.

We would follow him around like little shadows – and, his house.  I loved his house.  We’d sit out on the porch with him and just … just be.  There was nothing ever so peaceful as the time with grandaddy on his porch.  Oh how I loved to go with him to check on the cows.  We’d pile into the truck and go down the road a ways…it wasn’t all that far down the road – just before the little bridge at the bend in the road.  Down the dirt track, back a ways we’d go bumping along.  And, there they’d be.  Or we’d wander over the property.  I remember days before the property that is now “Possum Bottom” was developed.  We’d wander down the little creek and grandaddy would remind us to be careful of snakes.  I can’t say I ever worried about them.  Somehow you just knew everything would be ok because grandaddy was there.  Nothing could go wrong if grandaddy was around.

When he was struck down with his illness (believed to have been a heat stroke), I was attending Auburn at Montgomery and would stop by every day to visit with him. He loved to see me in my ROTC uniform.  As I’d walk in he’d say, “There she is.” He had trouble talking because he was partially paralyzed. I always regretted that I kept putting off asking him to tell me in his own words so many of the stories I had heard second and third hand. But, I would sit for hours with him just knowing he would get better. He was my hero and he was going to live to see my great grandchildren. There was nothing my great-grandaddy couldn’t do. I just knew it. I would rattle on at him about my classes and so many things of no real consequence.  I cherish that time with him.  It was a great gift.

When I left Alabama in September of 1990 to go to basic training for the USAF, it never dawned on me that my farewell to him was more than just a temporary thing. When I got the call that November day at technical school, I couldn’t comprehend what they were telling me. Then it clicked and I understood. I fell apart and cried for two days. I cried so much and so hard that I couldn’t eat.  I could hardly talk.  The instructors were so concerned that they actually put me on suicide watch.  They just couldn’t understand. My hero – the man who was able to do anything he put his mind to…he was gone. He wasn’t supposed to be gone.  He was supposed to sit on the porch with my great-grandchildren and tell them stories about his first car and how things had changed since he was born in 1895…he just wasn’t supposed to die. And, worst of it all – I wasn’t there to say goodbye. Oh, I know it makes no logical sense.  We all die.  But, even at 19 years of age, somehow I had this deep, firmly entrenched belief that he would always be there.  And he was gone.

He was – and to this day still is – my hero. He was bigger than life and had a heart to match. Always, he had time for me.  Always, he had a hug and a smile. He never minded me being his shadow and loved to tell tales. He had a way of making the world just seem a brighter and better place.

One such example of this type of event is our trip to Alabama this last weekend to be married.  If any of you have ever seen the movie Forces of Nature you will be snickering and wondering if I am possibly trying to play on the movie.  I assure you…all I am about to write is exactly what happened from the evening of September the 1st to the evening of September the 2nd.  Bear in mind, we had to be in Montgomery County, Alabama before the courts closed on the 3rd so we could have our license in hand for the service on Sunday the 5th.

Wednesday, 1st September 2010, 7PM PST:

The car is packed and we begin the drive to Los Angeles where we will stay the night so not to be rushed in the morning; and, to avoid having to deal with rush hour traffic into LA. On the way, my phone rings. This truly is as unusual as that sentence makes it sound. I answer and it is my bank’s fraud department worried about some transactions that had taken place. They are breaking up pretty badly and I lose the connection. I figure I will deal with it once we reach the hotel.

Wednesday,  1st September 2010, 9PM PST:

We reach the hotel and get checked in.  All seems to be in order.  I pull out the laptop and log in to my bank…to discover that the temporary hold that had been placed on my card was due to $339.43 in various charges to sites such as Match.com and CCBILLEU.com (which I later found out tends to service the credit card needs of adult entertainment websites).  After much difficulty, I managed to get the fraud department on the line (that number is now permanently saved into my phone, it was so hard to get) – I had them laughing and they were extremely helpful.  The young man commiserated with me about the fact that I was heading to a state that did not have any BoA locations (not kidding) and said that if I had time to hit a local bank before we depart LA in the morning, I would be able to get a temporary card.  So, all my money was refunded and my card canceled.  But, no biggie – I will get a temporary one come morning.  Tuck ourselves into bed in a surprisingly nice room and sleep fairly well.

Thursday, 2nd September 2010, 7AM PST:

All packed up with the room paid for and breakfast on the way, all looks great.  Though – could someone please explain to me the portions provided by American restaurants?  Seriously.  I got what I thought would be a light breakfast…yogurt, granola, fresh fruit and an English muffin.  The bowl of granola was HUGE.  I expected it to be small like the bowl for the yogurt…mistake on my part for not asking first.  And, they brought milk with the granola which I had no interest in consuming. The fruit was three times what I expected (though very tasty).  I hate leaving food behind; but, there was no way I was going to eat all that food.  It astounds me that you aren’t offered a portions option or something – they won’t even let you order from the child’s menu if you are over a certain age, even if that is all you care to eat.

Thursday, 2nd September 2010, 9AM PST:

The bank has opened, we have found it without trouble (thank you GPS) and I am one of the first customers of the day – only to find out that since my account was opened in Texas, not California, they cannot provide me a temporary card.  This does not make me feel overly thrilled, I assure you.  So, I withdraw some money – part in cash and part in a cashier’s check.  I just really did not feel comfortable walking around with that much cash on my person.  As I’m leaving the bank, it dawns on me that I have an account with another bank, and I have the debit card for that bank in my wallet.  We look for the closest branch (thank you GPS) and find that it is literally in the same parking lot.  So, in I go and deposit the cashier’s check and all is right with our world.  Working debit card, and a half hour early to the parking garage.  Catastrophe avoided and we are ahead of schedule – always a good thing when girding up to enter the maelstrom that is LAX.

Thursday, 2nd September 2010, Noon PST:

The flight is just now boarding.  We were supposed to be departing at this point in time.  I’m a touch concerned since our connecting flight is so close to ours; but, I’ve never missed a flight in my life and figure we will make up some time in the air…until they discover a used needle in the plane’s lavatory and take 20 minutes to do what should have taken merely two.  We arrive at Houston’s George Bush airport three minutes before our departing flight …well, departs.  Yeah.  We arrive in terminal C…our departing flight is in terminal B.  Panic sets in until the pilot informs us that the flights know we were delayed and we just need to get to our connecting flights as quickly as possible.  We arrive at our gate – to find no plane to board.  It had left on time.  Wonderful!

The “customer service” individual tells us that the best they can do is put us on standby for the last flight of the night which departs at 8:05 PM CST.  We ask about any other flights and are told that all flights through Monday are booked solid.  Our only option is standby.  So…off we go to sit standby for the next departing flight.  We had a grand time while waiting.  Lots of laughter and teasing.  A young girl on her way home for the weekend from college to visit her family and an older gentleman whose wife was not quite understanding what was happening when he tried to call and let her know had both been on the same delayed flight as us.  This meant there were four of us sitting standby for the upcoming flight.  Mike and I determined that if there were only two seats available, we’d give up ours and just drive to Birmingham…where my bag was already headed without us….my bag that had my wedding dress, pearls, shoes, etc in it.

Thursday, 2nd September 2010, 8:05PM CST:

The standby calls were made and only two seats were available.  Time to catch the bus over to the rental car terminal and see what was available for a one way trip from Houston to Birmingham.  We finally find one that won’t cost us an arm and a leg – only to have them tell me my card was declined.  I could not believe it.  I had deposited my money and thus knew the money had to be in the account, right?  We go over to the ATM machine only to find a lonely 58¢ in said bank account.  Because it had been a cashier’s check and not cash, they had not instantly credited it to my account.

We attempt to use Mike’s card, but it is just a touch short of what we needed to get the car.  I am about ready to throw my hands in the air and give up when I recall that Mike has a PayPal debit card.  I ask him if he has it with him.  He does.  I ask the rental car guy (Kenneth) if the rental terminal has wifi…it does not.  So, we head back to the airport to use the wifi service.  After painful moments attempting to connect, I manage to transfer money from my original bank account via PayPal to Mike’s PayPal account – where he instantly has it available on his debit card.

Thursday, 2nd September 2010, 10:35PM CST:

We have successfully acquired a vehicle for a one way trip to the Birmingham airport – where my father and son will make a second trip (since the first one was a bust) and pick us and my bag up and take us down to Montgomery to pick up the license…we are on our way. The drive was actually quite uneventful and lovely. Particularly one stretch of about 87 miles through a national forest. We were blessed to be able to help a man who was in difficulty and making his day a little brighter, because of driving to Alabama. And, we arrived into Birmingham International Airport around 11:30AM CST on the 3rd. This gave us enough time to get the bag, get lunch, and drive the two hours south to Montgomery to get the license (which was essentially waiting for us thanks to “who you know”) and were down to the house in plenty of time to have a couple hours to decompress before heading back into Montgomery to have a family dinner celebrating Mama and Matt’s birthdays.

Definitely a case of “are you sure you want to do this?” It would have been so easy to quit along the way. I’m certainly glad we did not. I love my honey and the wedding and the visit was worth every moment of stress and anxiety to get from California to Alabama.

Six years ago, an abused, hurting and scared dog came into my life.  Long haired, snaggle toothed, the little guy we consistently called the “king of pitiful” made his entrance and my life has never been the same since.  There were many times at first that I wasn’t sure it would work out.  He had so many wounds.  At any loud noise he would cower away.  He never did become one to bark.  I can count the number of times he’s barked in the six years I’ve had him on one hand.  It took forever to get him house trained because the people who had him before me had kept him caged up so long and so often that he learned to do his business wherever he was instead of anything else.  His jaw had been broken.  His teeth rotted out and we had to pull all but his canines.  He growled and tried to hide if anyone (including me or Loki) would come near him.

And, yet, as time went on, he blossomed.  Oh, he never became a dog that would do tricks or anything.  But, he had his moments where he would bounce through the house.  And, because it was so out of character for him, when he did it you couldn’t help but laugh.  He would tear through the house to come find me and then drop his front end down with his butt in the air and tail just wagging.  Then pounce forward a little bit and just – play.  Bart’s version of play has always been milder than Loki’s or Valkyrie’s.  But to see that come out in a pup that had been so beaten down for so long – it was wonderful.

He was never one that people would necessarily be drawn to for his antics – but, he had a quiet charm that suckered you in.  He loved to lay beside you and watch movies while you brushed him.  And, as long as he was near me, as long as he could see me – he was happy.  He was one of the most undemanding and most loving dogs I’ve every known.

And, I have to say goodbye to him today.

He’s given up and decided it’s time to to walk around somewhere else where he won’t hurt when he walks, where he can eat with all his teeth and he can bounce and play like he hasn’t really been able to, here.  I’m going to miss him.  He stopped eating two weeks ago, and I tried everything I could think of to interest him.  Twice he formed some interest and would eat the tiniest bit from my hand; but, not enough.  As hard as it is to do, it’s what he wants.  Dogs know these things.  They know when it’s time to go – and, Bart’s decided it is his time.  I can’t keep him here when he’s starving and ready to go.  But, the selfish part of myself…the little girl who still sits there deep inside…wants to grab him up and hold on and never let go.

My dogs have been my constants in life.  My jobs, my boyfriends, my homes, my furniture, my cars, my computers – they all change.  My friends come and go.  My son and my family – as much as I absolutely adore and love them (and not a one of them doubts on that score) – are all constants…but, they are distant constants.  Constants that I have to pick up the phone and call or sit at a computer and write.  It’s my dogs that have been there when my world has fallen apart.  My dogs that curl up around me and make me feel loved when I feel unlovable.  My dogs that have helped me make it through nights I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to make it through.

And, now it’s time to say goodbye to one of them.  I’ve been blessed to have had him for five years more than they figured I would.  He was in such bad shape when he came to me.  I wouldn’t change a thing in all those years where he’s concerned.  I just wish I could turn off the waterworks.  I keep getting hit randomly by tears and I know it’s driving Mike nuts.  I know they are ‘just dogs’ and logically they die long before us.  I know Bart’s had a great life with me and has been loved and experienced the kind of life he should have had those nine years before he came to me.  I know he never wanted for anything; and, I know it’s time for him to go.  The logical part of my mind is completely on board with the decision, as hard as it is.  It’s the emotional part of my mind – the little girl hidden down there that I don’t let come out to play too often – who is rising up and throwing a fit.  It isn’t that I don’t want to let go – I know it’s time.  It’s just that I’m going to miss him.  The beds that I kept scattered around in the office and bedroom because he always followed me from one room to the other won’t have his quiet self curled up in them anymore.  There won’t be any moments of spastic darting through the house to try and beat me to the room he thinks I’m going to so he can be there waiting for me (a common occurrence).  I’ll miss that.

I know he’s going to a better place and will be healthy and happy and have the ability to have the kind of life he should have had here.  And, I’m happy about that.  But, the selfish part of me needs to indulge a little while in grieving and letting go.  I love this dog…some say you can only “cathect” where dogs are concerned.  I disagree.  They are my family and I adore each one of them.  And, it hurts and makes me sad to have to say goodbye.

Between lack of communication and lack of dating — well, how is a relationship supposed to thrive? You need the communication — lots and lots of people already know this and they focus on it. Even to the point of having a mantra that says “communicate, communicate, communicate”. And, communication is all well and good. It’s certainly a key ingredient in a healthy and long lasting relationship. Trust, honesty, communication…love…all necessities. Absolutely. I don’t disagree in the least. But, in addition to that, you have to feed the spark that makes that relationship thrive. I think at one point I listed trust as the cornerstone, communication the foundation and love the actual building itself. Yet, that is just the framework…what makes it home? What makes it a place you desire to come back to time and again? A place that fills you with joy and peace and happiness? What makes you “in love” with it? You have to take time to make it home.

I keep hearing “well, the kids come first”. You know, that’s so sad. Oh, dear Lord, I can hear the squealing all the way over here. Seriously, stop for a moment. Calm down and let’s get rational. I grew up knowing I was not THE most important thing in my parents lives. My mother was the most important thing to my father – and, vice versa. Let me tell you something, there is no more wonderful thing for a child to know than that their parents are crazy in love with each other. Oh, Julia and I were right on Mom’s coattails — it’s not like we were way down the list or that we didn’t matter. I don’t think Julia ever felt less because she knew Mom came first. I know I never did. As a matter of fact, the solidarity of my parents, the love they shared, the passion for each other, the romance they worked so hard to keep alive…all of that was a recipe for a family unit of which I think the world could use many more.

Oh, I’m a horrible failure at relationships. I freely acknowledge I’ve chosen some real winners…and, the few who actually were good guys – well, I managed to screw those up all on my own quite handily. Yet, with every screw up. With every knock down and set back…I learned. I grew. I dusted myself off, notated my mistake, and figured out how to avoid the same one in the future. I can honestly say that I’ve never had the same mistake twice. That’s a good thing. It’s also helped me to be able to understand where people are coming from in ways I never would have been able to if I had stepped right into a solid relationship like my sister has. Don’t get me wrong — I envy my sister sometimes. Marrying her highschool sweetheart, having a great marriage (which has taken a lot of hard work on their part) and not having to go through the pain and weariness that I have experienced. At the same time, I can’t say I’d do anything different because it’s brought me to where I am — and, where I am allows me to be there for my friends and others in a way I could not have been able to do otherwise.

What’s that have to do with anything? Well, I’m not writing this as an expert on what works. I’m writing it as an expert on what doesn’t work — and, an observer on what does. My parents were seriously on to something when they told me and my sister to never, ever stop dating. These are parents who understood that one of the most precious gifts we can give our children is a home where the parents love, admire, respect and are passionately in love with each other — where their partner comes first because it is the healthiest thing for the family…and, they love their children enough to know that a secure home, a loving home, a home in one accord is the most nurturing thing a parental unit can provide. Regardless of income, regardless of the clothes they wear, regardless of the gadgets and anything else…to have a solid, firm foundation to run to — a core that is solid and united…it’s a priceless gift that I wish we could all give to our children.

I am blessed enough that my son is a beautiful soul and he and I have a great love for each other. He’s the most precious thing in my life — the best thing I’ve ever done with my life…and, he knows I feel that way. We have had some tough times because of poor decisions on my part, and miscommunication between us. But, over the years, we have found a way to overcome. My sister, on the other hand, has been a beacon of hope to me that parents and families do stand a chance of giving that wonderful gift to their kids.

My friends that I’ve been talking to lately…well, I hope they realize soon, what they are taking away from not only themselves, but their children. If they continue to focus on their children at the expense of their partners (and they are good relationships, and good people)…their relationships are going to die…and one of the things those children count on and rely on and are so drawn to (not all are actually their children, but some neighborhood kids that need a loving place to come)…that precious core that draws those children to it like bees to honey is going to disintegrate. And everyone will be the poorer for it.

I’m not saying that they should be putting each other in a place that neglects the children or their needs. I hope those reading this see that what I am saying is that you have to foster a healthy relationship with your partner if you want your children to have a healthy home. For those of us who are bringing in a partner after the children are here — it’s a much slower process. But, once that person is the partner you choose to share your life with…they need to be number one on your list (within reason – we aren’t talking extremes here). They need to be someone you form a solid, supportive core around which the rest of the world exists. A core that draws people to you and makes them say, “Dude, I want some of that.”

I would set my parents out as an example of a heck of a lot of hard work and effort at perfecting that line to walk of putting your partner first and yet never neglecting your kids or making them feel anything less than the precious gift they are. My folks would say that a lot of it is due to God’s grace as well — but, I know it couldn’t have been done without a heck of a lot of effort on their part. They don’t just “do stuff” together – though they do. They take the time to “date”. They take the time to remind each other how precious and wonderful and blessed they feel to be a part of each others’ lives.

I wish each and every one of my friends the joy of that. The peace that comes to their children when the kids see their parents with the person they love and are in love with — and, can almost physically feel the love and admiration their parents feel for each other just by being around them. The joy and happiness that comes when they find a partner who is willing to work hard to keep that little building with the cornerstone of trust and the foundation of communication – that home that love built — shining bright and warm with the passion and romance of a lifetime…no matter what storms may rage in the world outside.

© Kili Land 2010

I kept telling him to not worry about it.  That at some point in the not too distant future, the logic and patterns of basic arithmetic would click for him and he’d be off and running.  He just had to find the rhythm and the pattern; and, I had no doubt he would do so in his own time.

Well, it seems his time has come.  Here is an update from his gran – and I can honestly say, I’m so very proud of my boy.  Not just for this – but, for all he’s overcome in life and how absolutely beautiful his heart remains.

Many of you know that math was more than a challenge for Jason in earlier years.  He grasped higher math concepts…like say, Quantum theory, but really struggled with the basics functions.  We are very proud of him for his hard work! [...] You can tell by the results that he did a superb job in guiding himself through the first basic course.  (The first course is designed to span a year of math work, which he completed in just over six months with lots of vacation time included).

Congratulations, Jason!  You do great work.

Granny

Place Values
Place Values of six digit numbers                        100%
Specific Place Values                                                100%
Place Values – Expanded Form                              100%
Identifying Place Values                                         100%        
Specific Place Values                                                100%
Comparing and Ordering Numbers
Comparing Six Digit Numbers                               100%
Ordering Six Digit Numbers                                   100%
Comparing Numbers through Millions                100%
Ordering Seven Digit Numbers                              100%
Compare Fractions and Decimals                           100%
Ordering Decimals                                                      100%
Compare Integers I                                                      100%
Compare Integers II                                                     100%        
Compare IntegersIII                                                     100% 

My mother finished the king sized quilt she’s been working on for me for years. I love it!

Then, if that weren’t enough to blow me away – Daddy gave me a spinning wheel! He made it out of jarrah wood. It’s got ash splines in the wheel; but, otherwise, it’s 100% jarrah. It’s gorgeous and the weight of it is surreal. It definitely won’t be walking across the floor when I use it.

Plus a gorgeous cedar box. And, Dad let me play with his lathe and make myself a jarrah rolling pin out of the left over wood. How much does my Daddy love me? Well, he found out he was allergic to jarrah when he started making the wheel. Yet, he pushed on through and finished it for me – in a wood he’s allergic to!

Finally, we pieced together the family blanket. Each of the blocks was made by someone in the family:

Emily – age 10 – did the brown and blue variegated squares.
Jessica – age 12 – did the rainbow variegated squares.
Jason – age 17 – did the ivory squares.
Julia – my sister – did the maroon squares.
I did the oatmeal squares.
Mom did the green squares.

I did a key square to fill the one spot that was left empty. As you can see, not everyone got their full number of squares done.

I love how it turned out.

Photos:

They all opened their presents at the same time and loved them. I managed to select the perfect colours for each of them. Yay!

Then the cuteness overload began:

Of course, who can focus on just the knitting when there are so many other wonderful things going on and so much wonderful family and laughter?

I am going to cheat and just post the whole crew here, to help keep the post from going way overboard in the photo area – but, I am so glad to be a part of this family. I can’t even begin to explain how much they mean to me – each and every one of them.

Back Row (left to right): Grace, Emily, Matt, Jessica, Deborah, Wayne
Front Row (left to right): Bryan, Kaylee, Lesli, Dianne, Robert, Helen, Carol, Delbert, Julia

If only Jaz had been there, it would have been perfect. As it was, we all thought of him and called to let him know he was missed and loved.

Heck, one cousin I consider as close as a sister is a bit more distant than that in the family tree. Let’s see….my eleven times great-grandaddy had two wives. The first wife’s children is who she is descended from and I am from the second. Or is it the other way around? I’ll have to go look. Needless to say, it amused us no end to find that out, since we’d been friends for years before we realized it. Even more amusing is that she is most likely a cousin to my son from both my side of the family and his father’s side of the family. Closer on his father’s, but still. What can I say? I’m easily entertained.

On a totally different subject…There is this homeless man who stands on the corner with a little sign that says “Lear jet out of fuel”. It always makes me chuckle when I see it. That man is always there. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of days I’ve headed to work and he’s not been there. And, every time, I worry about him. Is he ok? Did he have difficulty? Has he gotten sick? He’s by no means young. He always has a smile and a kind word. And always nary a whiff of alcohol, nor a glaze in his eye. I don’t ever recall having seen him smoking, either. He’s always so sweet. And…he’s always there. Day in and day out, he is there.

Today, it is cold and rainy out. Nasty weather. Yet, he walks up and down that little stretch of road with a smile and a kind word for everyone who takes the time to see him. Just see him. I’m not the only one won over by this gentle, old man. I saw someone the other day do something I do for him from time to time. She gave him her lunch. I, sometimes, stop for coffee on my way in to work in the morning. Almost every time I do so, I get him one too. Especially on days like today.

I want to make him this big, toasty scarf to be able to wrap up around his ears and lower face to help keep him warm – maybe brown with a darker brown jet worked into the end of it. Just because I want to do something for this man who inspires me. And, he does – if that man can be on that corner every day…in weather like this…at the age he is. I can sure as heck manage to survive in my comfortable office, sitting on my arse.

You know the one reason I hesitate to do such a thing for him, though? And, I find myself so ashamed of the comfortable people for this…but, if he had a nice scarf on, along with other warm clothes so he could more readily withstand the weather he braves every day…the thought that would go through people’s minds who see him (and I dare any of you to deny it) is that he has money enough to afford something nice and how stupid would it be to pander to him even more?

Maybe he could get a job – even at his age – I don’t know. I do know, if he did, whoever his employer was would have one of the most reliable employees they had ever had the good fortune to employ.

_{**Photo: Portait of Homeless Man in a Pensive State By: Leroy Skalstad, Milwaukee, Wisconsin,USA, Formerly Homeless. This photo looks much like the gentle man I am speaking of.}

My great, great, yeah many great grandfather Piercifor was fostered in Uniontown, PA. Family history has it that he and his family came over from Wales to the Philadelphia harbor. His parents died either en route or in quarantine. The lovely man, of course, goes and puts that he was born in Pennsylvania on every bloody census. I swear, if I ever meet him I’m going to kill him.

Anyway, the lovely people at Great Bethel gave me the list of ministers back through the centuries and I found the Rev. William Brownfield. Per the census of 1820, he was the proud head of the household to one child. That one child was between the ages of 10 and 15. Piercifor would have been 13 on that census. Lovely people that they were in the 1820s, the only person whose name mattered was the head of the household. So I cannot know for certain that it was Piercifor; but, the evidence seems to indicate that it very well could have been. I’d give it a 3 out of 5 for source. Certainly nothing to build bridges on…but enough to keep me poking around.

Along that vein, I contacted the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. They will happily poke around records that I can’t get to (since I’m so far away) for a fee, of course. Almshouse records, Orphan Court records, cemetery records, etc. Though they then point out that the Almshouse records do not cover the 1820s. Of course not, that would be too easy.

Right now, my only real shot at tracking this blasted ancestor down is the Orphan Court – or maybe church records. The church records really depends on the church and what they considered pertinent to their parish.

I have found a copy of the passenger arrivals to Philadelphia over that period at the local University library. I hope to get over there this weekend to poke around. Passenger arrivals, 1819-1820; a transcript of the list of passengers who arrived in the United States from the 1st October, 1819, to the 30th September, 1820. by United States. Dept. of State. If I am right and the 1820 census of William Brownfield is indicating Piercifor as the child, and if family history is correct…then my ancestor would have arrived prior to the census and prior to the cut off of the book’s listing (30 Sep 1820).

On to a different branch all together, and it appears I’ve found a source for the arrival of Hans Gartner in 1752. HACKER, WERNER. Auswanderungen aus Baden und dem Breisgau: Obere und mittlere rechtsseitige Oberrheinlande im 18. Jahrhundert archivalisch dokumentiert. Stuttgart [Germany]: Konrad Theiss, 1980. Page 342. Now, if I could get a hard copy of the book, I’d be thrilled. An English version would be even nicer since I develop a rather nasty headache about 10 minutes into trying to decipher German.

And on toward another branch, I got in touch with a cousin the other day. It was really neat getting to talk to him. Actually, I’ve gotten in touch with two cousins in the last week. One is in Texas, and the other in Illinois. Both are genealogy buffs. I only got to actually speak with one cousin. The one in Texas and I are playing phone tag at the moment. However, the cousin in Illinois had all sorts of fun facts, and I loved listening to him talk about the family. He’s 77 and is the nephew of one of my great grandmothers. He is searching around for a copy of the last revision of the Bushue family book and is going to send it to me. This makes me very happy.

So, all in all, it’s been pretty productive. Even if Piercifor is making me want to pull my hair out…

Ok. I must be a masochist, I know. But, really – it’s a lot of fun.