Labor Day

It's Labor Day again.  Time to take out the pier at Grandma Albright's house on the lake.

When I was growing up there were several holidays that brought Nana's family together. Christmas and Thanksgiving were big ones, and the May birthday party for Bob, Nancy, Nana, my mother, and the others later.  Homecoming weekend for VU was one for a while, and the Fourth of July parade back when they had the Soapbox Derby on Lincolnway.  All of these were held in Valparaiso, many of them at Nana's house (and later and Marilyn and Gerts' house as Nana grew older.)

Labor Day was the only one held out of Valpo at Grandma and Grandpa Albright's house on Flint Lake.  The May Birthday Party tradition started out as a Memorial Day picnic when we met at the lake to put in the pier for fishing and swimming.  Labor Day was the bookended picnic to take the pier out for the season.

During the summer I caught a lot of fish off that pier.  I jumped more than a few cannonballs off that pier, and pushed my fair shar of boats from that pier.  The pier was originally a rather dubious piece of construction by Grnadpa Albright of scrap lumber and diftwood that was the size and weight of a small span form the Golden Gate bridge, but in later years Uncle Gerts would make more sturdy, simple, and elegant designs from treated lumber that lasted longer and were better constructed.  They evolved from shaky affairs with thin ganglplanks tying them to the shore into sturdy outcroppings suitable for diving or launching small fleets of fishing boats.

The shoreline always looked full of hope and promise for the summer when the Pier was put out in May.  The shoreline looked desolate and forlorn when the pier disappeared in September.  But the lead-in to "Taking Out The Pier" was more celebration than wake.  Uncle Gerts manned the barbecue, as swarms of aunts set out a carry-in potluck feast of potato salads, beans, creamed corn, and corn-on-the-cob.  A watermelon or two were de riguer as well, and a cooler of beer was always around the corner.

Somewhere on the lake water-skiers were slaloming around the boat and leaving great waves that rocked our innertubes as we floated just offshore.  The sand and small fish were shadowboxed in the circles of the innertubes beneath us.  The sound of the outboard motors was deeper and richer traveling through the water

Towards the end of the day the glare from the sun in the western sky glared off the lake and hurt the eyes of the older relatives, so they would retreat to the cottage and talk.  Not me; I'd sit ont the shore and watch the waterskiers dwindle in number as the waves lapped gently on the shore.  A fish would jump here and there from time to time, as the mayflies skipped across the waves.

Writing that, I can smell the barbecues and the soft smell of seaweed and lake water.  The tang of a gasoline engine wafts thru from time to time as the outboards roar in the background.

Somewhere there's a cheeseburger with my name on it as Uncle Gerts leads the cousins and uncles into the water with a sledgehammer to knock out the pilings and return the pier to land for the winter.

Labor Day.  Here again, and gone forever.

~~JD~~

Kate Cook Arrives in San Antonio!

And goes to the Alamo. (She wanted to see the basement.)



She thinks this is a better pose.



Kate on a bridge over the Riverwalk. The restaurant we ate at (and fed the ducks at) is on the right.

So, yes, Nancy, your little girl is fine and happy.

~~JD~~

Happy Birthday Dear Nana

Today is May 23rd, 2009. Mt Nana. Isobel Florence Foster Shurr, was born 103 years ago today.

Whom I miss every single day.

I don't think I've ever recovered from her loss.

~~JD~~

Julian's Senior Concert May 12th, 2009

The audio's pretty muddy, the video is from a camera phone, but there are places where you can hear his solo quite well. It's a Tchaikovsky piece, and I loved it.

He's been accepted to George Washington university in Washington DC. Almost a full ride, First Chair in violin this year. Summa Cum Laude with a 4.35 gpa. Voted "Most Likely To Succeed," literally.

Better kid than I deserve, certainly.

~~JD~~

My Cousin Bob

Sorry For My Absence . . . I needed a personal day after my trip to Chicago last week for the funeral of my cousin Bob. His passing has been kind of difficult for me because of the closeness of our ages. So after working three nights in a row, I needed to decompress.

It’s hard to describe my cousin Bob. But if you had known him for more than five minutes in your life, you felt as if you had known him forever.

Bob loved life, and life loved Bob back ferociously. Bob taught me how to ride a bike – no hands – down a hill at full speed. Bob taught his sister and brother how to hide and make snowballs in the window wells of their house and pelt passing cars; whose drivers would crane their heads this way and that, unable to see Bob huddling down in the window wells, giggling madly. Bob talked me into doing all his yard work by raking all the leaves into a pile and jumping into them from the roof of the garage when we were 7 years old. He even made me a parachute for me out of one of his mom’s new sheets. But he forgot to tell me he’d put his tricycle in the pile while I climbed up the ladder to the garage roof.

Bob was the one during the summer at the lake during our teenaged years who gunned the ancient outboard motor and jumped it off the boat's transom to sink into the depths of Flint Lake, never to be seen again by man. Bob was the one who arranged the trip to Iowa for himself and me, forgetting to tell our grandmother he’d be borrowing her car for a week. Bob was the one who peppered his conversations with “Dang It – Sucka!!!!” when he tripped over a hammer, felt the ladder shake, or was called out at second playing a modified game of softball that included every kid for four blocks on his team and bases that mysteriously moved during play.

The hands-down funniest story I heard about Bob was one his sister told. When she was learning to drive, she was terrified of hitting another car, and didn't get her license at 16 like most of us. So her father drove her to the family farm of her grandparents in Iowa where she could drive in great slow circles around the barn and learn some confidence with the vehicle. After a few hours of practice, and just as she was almost gaining her confidence back, Bob popped out from around the corner of the barn and ran screaming towards the car, arms flailing and screaming "LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT!!!" (It was a week before she could bring herself to drive again.)

Bob was the one whose record collection included James Brown, Jethro Tull, and the Isley Brothers when I was still listening to the Carpenters (we were only 10 months apart, and in the same grade level at school.) Bob was the one who picked a mudball fight with the Tucker kids next door, and sought shelter by hiding amongst his mothers new clean sheets drying on the clotheslines. Bob had the suitors for his daughters shaking in abject terror because of his reputation – his first son-in-law Rodney was so scared he literally couldn’t form the question to ask for Bob’s daughter’s hand in marriage. But Bob put him at ease by saying, “Rodney, I know why we’re here, and I know what you want to ask me; and it would be an honor to have you as a son-in-law.”

Bob was a good person; and I’m the kind of person who doesn’t give that name lightly. He was genuine salt-of-the-earth good, as in the type of person who would drop everything and come running if you needed help. Need some yard work done? Bob’s there. Need some home repair or painting done? Bob’s got that covered. Need somebody to listen to your problems? Bob’s got two ears, no waiting; and a cold beer in the fridge. Need somebody to help you move? Bob will bring the truck, and his whole family to help you get unloaded – and they’ll stay until the work was done. (That’s how we got unloaded when we moved back to my hometown after we got out of the Army. Bob and his family were there at 5:30 pm – interrupting their own dinner – and stayed until almost 11:00 pm to get it all inside in freezing March weather.)

I like to think that Bob started out mowing yards for the neighborhood old ladies and parlayed that into a lifelong career. He mowed lawns in the summer, raked leaves in the fall, shoveled snow in the winter, and started over again in the spring. When his brothers and sister got older, he farmed the work out to them and started a family cottage industry. When the Presbyterian Church moved to their new building in 1973 and needed a custodian, Bob did the work for free for a year until the Elders decided they’d better hire him before he got away. Bob then added light carpentry to his job skills and painting when my Dad needed a helper, and a Jack-of-All-Trades was born.

Bob’s generosity was even more limitless than his occasional fits of insanity. Bob would clean out the gutters of the house he painted for little old ladies. No extra charge; and he barely charged enough to cover the cost of paint, if that. When the elders at his church were at an impasse how to appropriate money and which contractor to choose for some repair and paint work for the Sanctuary, Bob snuck in one afternoon and did the work himself - no charge - and refused to admit he’d done it. The next year he built a stage riser for the sanctuary band and carpeted it at his own cost without being asked. When Bob visited his sister down south and saw she had a hole in her wall, he went out after everyone was asleep and bought the materials and had the repair fixed, spackled, and painted by morning.

I mentioned at Bob’s eulogy that the greatest measure of the man is that his funeral and wake were not sad, depressing things, but joyful reunions with Bob’s memory. While his wife and daughters had a few sniffles and the occasional tear or two, it’s impossible to put two or more people who knew my cousin in the same room and not have half-a-dozen stories about Bob pop up, to much laughter and smiles. The mood in the wake Friday night was laughter, smiles, and rejoicing. There were no tears of sadness there; just tears of joy at how Bob made our lives so enjoyable.

My supervisor gave me one of the greatest compliments of my life after I got back from the funeral. She said that I didn’t just do my own work well; I volunteered to help others until the work was done and didn’t think twice about it. It was a sad moment for me, but that’s just the way Bob and I were raised. The work’s not done until everyone’s work is done. My work is your work. I’m done when you’re done, and not until. It’s a little something of him I’ll take with me always.

~~JD~~

My Butt's In The Air . . .

. . . as you read this. Thanks to the Miracle of wireless Internet, I have access in San Antonio airport. The Pundit's taking it on the road this morning.

Got up at 4am, showered, took the bags to the car. Blood sugar is 87, so apparently I'm nervous about flying (again.) Much as I love to have my butt at 30,000 feet going 650 mph, it always makes me a bit nervous; US Airways notwithstanding. Actually, US Airways is very likely the safest airline to fly on. MUslims are boycotting it for some damned reason; plus they appear to have excellent pilots.

It makes me feel no better that I'm flying on American Airlines. Visions of 9-11 dance in my head. Peachy.

Plane's scheduled to depart at 7:00am and arrive in Chicago at 10:00. I should be able to connect when I get to my hotel (I hope.) Updates as they happen.

~~JD~~

On The Road Again . . .

On my way to do some family business today. I'll be posting sporadically throughout the day as I get (a) time and (b) internet connectivity.

Stay Tuned.

~~JD~~

It's A Wonderful memory (A Christmas Memory)

It was the hot summer of 1967 when we moved into my great-grandmother's boarding house. (I know -- what's August got to do with Christmas?)

Honestly, it was a boarding house. Grandma Florence (whom we called "Grandma Florency") had inherited the house at some point and had taken in boarders after her divorce in the 1940's. Fortunately for her, the old house at 653 Garfield Street in my hometown of Valparaiso Indiana was a block or two from the University, so the house was always in demand by roomers ranging from drunks to college students to maiden ladies. The house was warrened into a subset of loose apartments by all the doors, but the only locks in the house were 1930's versions that used skeleton keys readily available from the Ace Hardware store downtown. In the mid 1960's Midwest, we really didn't need anything more secure.

The house was old and had basement apartments, mid-level apartments, upstairs apartments, and an attic room my bachelor Uncle Howard lived in for most of his adult life. He'd never married and never shown an interest in anybody but taking care of Momma, so he lived in the attic and worked as a janitor at the Indiana General Magnet plant. So we were surrounded by family and a traveling collection of weirdos when my parents divorced, and mom moved us into the big, rambling boarding house.

It was the perfect environment to be a nine-year-old. Uncle Bud and Aunt Margaret brought Grandma Florency dinner a couple of times a week and stopped to look in on Howard and us kids when Mom was going to school nights for her Nursing degree. Uncle Howard would drift in and out, almost ghostly, from his attic apartment from time to time. The doorway to his attic was right next to my bedroom and right across from the bathroom, so there was a sort of intersection of traffic right outside my door at all times.

Mom's sister and her husband (Aunt Marley and Uncle Gerts) would stop by once a month or so to make repairs to the old shambling house for Grandma Florency, and my grandmother (Florence's daughter-in-law) would babysit us kids on nights mom was at school. I'm not sure we even missed the absence of my father or would have cared with all this family flipping merrily through our house at any given time.

The center of the house was Grandma Florency's apartment. It was all dark wood and oak and crystal with beautiful oriental rugs on the floors and lace doilies on top of the furniture and backs of the couches. A pendulum clock on the mantle monotonously intoned the slow, steady passage of time when you stepped through it's doors, and all running children were stopped in their tracks. The air smelled of mothballs and the furniture creaked when you sat in it, if it didn't release a plume of long-withheld dust from deep inside the overstuffed cushions.

It was into this time-stifling atmosphere that I entered one day. I was to wait in Grandma Florency's apartment for someone to come pick me up after school. I really wanted to ride my bike in the warm afternoon sun, but Grandma wanted to keep an eye on me. i knocked on her door and she admitted me into her sanctum sanctorum living room with grave solemnity -- which is almost poisonous for a nine-year old. Another lady was sitting in the room with her, sipping tea in china cups and saucers, which was something she never did. This lady was important.

"Johnny, can you say Hello to Miss Bondy?,"asked my Great-grandmother. "Miss Bondy is one of my friends from out of town. She lives in California -- do you know where California is?" Of course I knew -- it was just past the land of Oz, on the end of the United States before you fell off the world into the Pacific Ocean, where strange and exotic human beings like Hawaiians and Alaskan eskimos lived. Grandma might as well have introduced me to Dorthy from The Wizard of Oz, or Santa Claus, or the Queen of England. They were all fictional characters as far as I was concerned, and I wasn't the least bit interested in her fantasies. Grandma explained she had grown up with the fictional Miss Bondy in Valparaiso, but Miss Bondy had moved to California for some reason, and they only kept up through letters.

I looked at Miss Bondy and said "H'lo." She very graciously smiled at me and had a mischievous twinkle to her eye, like there was some shared joke between the two of them that I didn't quite fathom. I asked to go ride my bike and she let me do that, and the two old childhood friends stood on the hot August sidewalk watching me ride in circles until whatever relative it was arrived to pick me up.

And that was the day I met Beulah Bondi.

I had no idea who she was at the time, and I kick myself today for not being more polite and gracious. I had no idea my grandmother was personal friends with Jimmy Stewart's screen mother, and John-Boy Walton's grandmother. I had no idea this woman had been nominated for Oscars many times, and would win an Emmy in just a few years for her work in The Waltons TV show.

And what did I care? I was nine years old and knew everything in the damned world.

Of course, today when I watch "It's a Wonderful Life" the movie seems much more familiar to me. The Baily Boarding House seems to be startlingly familiar -- and it should, because I grew up in a suspiciously similar house on Garfield Street. Bedford Falls could pass with few modifications for Valparaiso Indiana, and Ms Bailey looked just as "at-home" in that house as she had sitting in Grandma Florency's living room that hot August day.

We don't have anything like that day and place and time anymore. But at Christmas, we can pretend it is, just for a little while. We can sing "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing" and hear Janie Bailey banging the tune out on the piano, and crowd around the tree with family and friends, seeing Ma Bailey in the corner with that little twinkle in her eye again.

And, I do.

Merry Christmas.

~~JD~~

Verse of The Day for Advent

Luke 1: 26 In the sixth month, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, 27to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28The angel went to her and said, "Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you."

29Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. 30But the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God. 31You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. 32He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end."

Why "Arlo and Janis" is the Best Comic Strip Going Today

I just love Arlo and Janis:



Arlo and Janis parallels our lives. Our sons have grown up together; both Arlo and I want to run away to the Caribbean and buy a sailboat; and both our wives are incredibly sexy.

Great Stuff.

~~JD~~

Personal Time

* * * UPDATED * * *

I appear to be having a great deal of difficulty concentrating right now, after My post this morning about my distant cousins.

I'm going to take some personal time today and go put my Christmas lights up. I'll post again tomorrow.

Might go kick a vending machine or something . . .

* * * UPDATE: * * *

Did a little research through MyFamily.com; Alan Scherr is a third cousin through the line of one of the "Schurr" brothers who emigrated to Canada in the 1920's. His son returned to Virginia in the 1950's, and started the Virginia line.

~~JD~~

A Most Happy Thanksgivng, Indeed

Something to be Thankful for; as well as something pretty much Guaranteed to make you smile.

Really!

It's about 16 minutes long, but you will NOT regret watching this. After two minutes, you'll be transfixed. Watch it.



Big Ole' Texas Hat Tip: Urban Grounds.

Guess What I'm Thankful for?



Happy Thanksgiving!

~~JD~~

Sorry For My (Brief) Absence . . .

The lovely and gracious Miss Mommy managed to flatten a tire today, which means I've spent the better part of the day at Costco getting out tire warranty to work for us.

Fortunately, I got a little ahead with my posts last night and yesterday; and I think most everyone is traveling for Thanksgiving anyway. So I apologize for the lack of posts; I promise to make it up over the holiday and weekend.

~~JD~~

Puritans Spin In Their Graves as Pastor Challenges Flock to "7 Days of Sex"

I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to. This would be too corny, too unbelievable. And everyone would wish they attended This Church HERE:

7 Days Of Sex Challenge

Posted: Nov 17, 2008 06:10 PM

7 straight days of sex. That was the challenge Pastor Ed Young issued to all of the married couples at his Grapevine church. Too taboo, or right on time? Whatever your opinion, this conversation and tonight's story is strictly for adults. KLTV 7's Layron Livingston sat down with some local pastors to see if the message could make it's way to your church's pulpit.

"Everybody's whining about the economy and about the world....let's move from whining to whoopee!"

The message caught some members of Fellowship Church by surprise, and its perking the ears of East Texans.
"Between a married man and a married woman...the more, the better."

Young says the challenge will help couples in his church focus on each other, reclaiming sex for married people.

"I think I'll try it this evening!"

Reverend Jerome Milton says it's about time.

"God's Word has addressed it, we won't preach it. This challenge sort of stirs all of us up to teach and to preach it, so that people can have a better understanding about it," said Rev. Milton. "And if we don't address this, then I guarantee you, Desperate Housewives will!"

Minister Mark Edge says sex is in the Bible. So why not the church? In fact, he says last week's sermon was about Christian sexuality.
"God's Word is certainly not ashamed to talk about this. God's Word understands. God understands that it is a very important part of our lives....we really should have been talking about this all along," said Edge.

"I think the concept is awesome,"

Pastor Doug Clark agrees, but says it's unrealistic to expect struggling relationships to simply get better with a week of sex. He says sex is more than just physical.

"There's so much about connection, emotion stuff...there's so much about value that's being passed back and forth. If a wife doesn't feel valued, or if a husband doesn't feel love or respected, hey, there's some issues that have to be dealt with," said Clark.

Of course, you have to practice what you preach. Pastor Young says his membership includes him and his wife. They've also accepted the challenge.

And, or course, it's a Texas church. Gotta Love that.

Is K-Y Warming Fluid Scriptural? I'm just askin' here.

No word on whether this congregation is sponsored by the Mormon church. Or the Catholics. Or the Churches of Christ. Or the (Fill-In-Blank-Here).

~~JD~~

The Flu Has Arived in San Antonio

Half the staff of my hospital are hacking, coughing, puking, or calling in sick. Fortunately it appears to be a true 24-hour bug, and they're back at work the next day or two. Fortunately for me, never getting sick anymore has it's advantages.

Also fortunately, the bug appears to be a dead-on match for the flu vaccine this year. People who got the vaccine alrteady are reporting no symptoms at all.

~~JD~~