More Thoughts on the Valpo Weekend

I had the privilege of spending much of the day Friday, December 13 then all day Saturday and Sunday with my kids. We were in Valparaiso, IN to share in the joy of Kristi graduating with her BSN degree from VU. Daughter Jenny flew in from Minneapolis, I drove from Arkansas, and Kris was home. So began a remarkable weekend for me.

We spent time in downtown Chicago and had a ball. We toured the Willis Tower, known to us as the Sear's Tower which was a remarkable experience. I had never been there and the kids had been there maybe 20 years ago. They are getting older, damn. It was so much fun to see the city from 1000 feet up. We talked about various landmarks, we took pictures, we laughed and all stood in awe of the little transparent booths that hung out from the side of the building giving you a view of straight down. Roads looked like ribbons and cars seemed as though you could reach down and wind them up to keep them going. Jenny took a picture of her hand lined up over a building that gave the appearance of a giant hand going to pinch the building.

We had a fun cab ride back to the corner of Michigan and Jackson with a cabbie who was from Nigeria. A very nice man and we had a nice conversation with him.

Back to Valpo and our first night sampling the dining spots in Valpo. The decor was wonderful, the food, well so-so. We had intermittent snow throughout the weekend making the whole experience very Christmasy and even more wonderful because we have not shared that experience in many years. We took outdoor pictures of the girls sitting next to a statue of Orville Redenbacher. He was a native son of the area. We took pictures in various place we visited.

We had one of the best times visiting Pick's Bar. I had a real old fashioned and the kids a beer and some wine. But we sat there in the convivial atmosphere of an old tavern with Christmas lights, the people in the bar stopping to converse with us, the bartender very attentive and pleasant. The conversation was light, fun and the laughter of my girls just rang in my ears with such a pleasant sound. I could have stayed there all afternoon.

This really is not about the food and the atmosphere. I was not really looking for any grand insight, just the opportunity to spend some time with my kids. I did come away with a great deal of parental satisfaction and joy. The kids and I had time to sit and visit, to follow a line of thought to some kind of conclusion, to ask questions and learn what rationale might be behind some of the things we talked about.

I was especially honored that they took a real interest in one of my old work war stories. It made me feel good. Not many have heard those stories, my ex-wife did not understand them and there just isn't much interest in what you've done from you more recent employers. So that really made me feel good.

I also came to a better understanding of just how well grounded my kids are in their lives. They have friends, Jenny and her husband Wayne seem to have got the parenting and career efforts sorted out. Kristi has a plan and is executing it to her own need. They are good kids. I find myself having different opinions on some things and similarities on other, but that is how it should be. I believe their mother and I raised them without preconceived notions of who they should be. They appear to have formed their values and ideas and direction, certainly with some hereditary input, but a lot of it on their own. They are both very independent, stand up for themselves with ease and confidence and project the finest I think we can expect of our offspring.

Both girls are extremely close to one another, yet they are different in so many ways. I think that they understand each other without feeling threatened or criticized, I think they care for each other simply because they can. I came away from that weekend assured in my mind that I don't have to worry about either girl. They really do have it all together. I feel privileged that they ask for advice and listen and that we have such a good "grown up" relationship. I am extremely comfortable in their presence and they in mine.

I hope we can repeat that experience again some day. It was a real treasure for me.

A Weekend of Memories

I left Arkansas Wednesday, December 11 bound for the Chicago area and my niece Debbie and husband John's home in Oswego, Il. The trip was punctuated by frequent stops to deal with my "new normal" after my abdominal surgery two years ago. However it wasn't bad and was not much of and issue for the entire weekend.

I arrived in time for dinner at Deb's and she and I sat around the rest of the evening visiting about family and things. Thursday morning was "jammy" time. She and I sat around in our pajamas, drank coffee and "gabooned." That is my Dad's word for visit at length. We were joined by John and had just and excellent day.

In the afternoon as Debbie prepared an excellent baked chicken, potatoes, chicken gravy and green bean dinner I went through old family pictures she had brought back from her mother's home after my sister Carol's passing last February. It was a real trip down memory lane. I could relate a number of stories to Debbie that she had not heard before and we relived many memories of when Chap and Carol and the kids came to Munising.

It was so nice to be among good family, you can't help but feel comfortable and at ease with Deb & John.

Friday morning I left and went to Valparaiso, IN to see my oldest daughter Kristi. We unloaded my car at Ned's house, my hospitable digs while in Valpo, then on the road to Midway Airport to pick up the youngest daughter Jenny.

I will relate some more in another blog as it would make this one too long. Suffice it to say it was a memorable weekend. We had time to sit and "gaboon" without having to be any place except for Sunday we had to go to Kristi's graduation from Valpo. The time allowed me to gain further insight into the lives of my two lovely daughters. It was the kind of weekend where you are relaxed, enjoying each other's company and just talking about anything that pops into your head. 

Those kids have grown into mature young adults, Jenny and Wayne raising a family and Kristi is just divorced but seems happy and looking forward to new life events. Both have a good handle on their lives and are so animated and enjoyable to be with, I could not have asked for a better weekend.

We were able to spend Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning together and I wouldn't trade it for anything. It was enough time that I came away reassured that all is OK with both, that their lives, while challenging, are rewarding and fulfilled. I cannot tell you what that peace of mind means to a parent. It was long enough that the ride back to Arkansas was pleasant and not regretful. I am a joyful man.

The Ride from Marquette

When I was quite young, say five years old it would've been 1950. I was born in December, 1944 so I had almost a full year to wait until the subtraction of age from year became accurate.

My Uncle Earl and Aunt Becky (Rebbecca) lived in Marquette, MI where he was a pharmacist at Pendle's Drug Store. Earl was my father's brother. Several time a year my Mother, Father and I drove to Marquette to have dinner with Earl, Becky and their sons John and Pete. It was a good outing for me. I was quite young and my cousin Jon was some eight years my senior and Pete was five or six years older than I so I wasn't good playing material. However, they did try to include me in things their play, but I'm sure I was an anchor.

Aunt Becky always set a formal table. There was a dining room in the small two story home, and it featured a real solid wood Dining Room set with a Hutch and Buffet. Usually dinner was a nice beef roast or some traditional Sunday fare. Aunt Becky was English, so we had things that I am sure were traditional for that ethnic background. One of the things Aunt Becky made was to most delicious coffee I've ever tasted. I did not drink coffee when I was five, but in later years when my wife and I visited she would serve lunch and after the meal coffee. Beck always asked how many cups of coffee you would drink after lunch, and always just made enough. Somehow she mixed an egg in with the ground, and I believe she boiled the coffee. I've tried it and ended up with coffee grounds lumped by the egg and a very weak imitation of the drink. So, her recipe died with her.

Back to my story. We usually left to return to Munising, some 50 miles East, about 6 or 7 PM. It was about a hour home and we would be home in time for bed and Monday morning. It was the trip home that sticks in my memory. Marquette had one of the only radio stations in the Upper Peninsula. I'm sure Escanaba had radio and perhaps Sault Ste. Marie, but we got Marquette loud and clear. Sunday evenings radio broadcast the various radio dramas. The Green Hornet, The Shadow, Amos & Andy, The Great Gildersleeve, etc. My dad would tune in Marquette on the way home and I was treated to all my favorite radio stories.

Many of our trips were in cold or cool weather, it is that climate that tends to dominate the U.P. So I would be in the back seat by myself while Mom and Dad sat in the front. Heat from the car heater would blow under the front seat and warm my area nicely. Many times I would lay down on the back seat and listen to the radio shows. This my friends was security at its highest. Warm heat, The Shadow knowing "what evil lurks in the hearts and minds of men." I usually did not sleep, I just laid there and listened. I was safe, secure, and was going home where a warm bed and peaceful sleep waited for me. It is my belief that at no other time do we know such safe security as when we are little children being cared for by Mom and Dad.

There are children who missed that period, and miss it today. I find myself, at times walking in the quiet woods of our home wishing for that sense of security and safety again because now I have the responsibility. When a wise man said we may never return home, I know in my heart what that means. I accept it, but it doesn't mean I don't long for that feeling form time to time.

My version of Alice's Restaurant

Years ago Arlo Guthrie, son of the legendary folk singer Woody Guthrie was in a movie that panned the draft in the Army. I saw that movie once and it has stayed with me ever since. I lived a part of that movie and I can pretty much vouch that everything in that movie is based on real life.

I had graduated from the University of Wisconsin in 1967, well I say graduated because I never did get my degree. I flunked the second semester of Calculus and I needed to complete my degree requirements. I would try over and over in the intervening years, but I did not complete my degree work until 1976 nine years after I graduated.

I was working in Racine, WI for the J I Case Co on a management training program. It was extension, tedious and down right boring, but it would build a wonderful foundation for my later years in manufacturing.

Bonnie, my first wife, and I lived in a set of apartments call Diamond Head. They were the early version of apartment complexes with a nice swimming pool and such. It was the high life. Work at day, grill out in the evening with cocktails by the pool. We were embarking on the grand adventure.

I had been working for Case since February 1967 and was thoroughly enjoyed finally being in the big time. I had made friends with some of the old timers and they were showing me the ropes and were treating me well. Well, four months had gone by and in June 1967 I received notice to report for my physical exam for the draft board. My heart sank. Vietnam was really getting hot, now I do not have a degree, so I saw trouble. Plus I was just getting started on my career, making friends, drinking beer, swimming in the evening and being with my wife enjoying the idea of finally being grown up.

I had to report to the processing station in Milwaukee to go through the physical. The site was in downtown Milwaukee on the industrial side of the river. It was a big old building that looked more like a deserted factory than a medical facility. Herded like cattle we youngsters were lined up, made to strip, bend over to check for hemorrhoids, pushed pulled, yelled at and had to pee in a cup in front of everybody. No time for modesty here. The process was fairly long and it was the classic hurry up and wait situation. Among us newbies there was little interaction other than to voice concern over being drafted, what would happen if we were drafted and how much this process reminded us of what we'd heard about a slaughterhouse.

I got back to Racine in one piece, my ego bruised and my fears of leaving home, wife, and my comfort zone thoroughly aroused. One thing we had heard was that exemptions to the draft were being granted to men who had a family. So Bonnie and I undertook a somewhat desperate, but unsuccessful to become pregnant. Time ground on, work took my interest. I was learning to play golf and almost every Friday evening was spent with some friends drinking beer and playing cards. The worry of being drafted lost its edge and we hoped some how the terrible idea of being drafted would bypass us. It didn't.

In July, about 30 days after the physical I received my draft notice. Uncle Sam want ME! I felt like I had a terminal illness. There was now hope, my life was going to end prematurely ground into dust by the bureaucracy of the United States Army. Life was now filled with telling my employer. Conversations with other parts of the family about what Bonnie would do. Notifying the apartment complex we would be moving out. I was ordered to report to the draft receiving area in Milwaukee on Sept. 10, 1967. The date of my execution. Death! In the middle of August Bonnie and I went north to Munising and spent a long time out at Dana Lake. I fished, we made love, we walked, we talked the conversation of two youngsters about to embark on a long separation and tried to reassure one and other that things would be OK and we would be OK. I was sure things were not OK and I felt like I would not see her again.

In the meantime trying to protect my skin and insure that Bonnie and I would be together after Basic Training I ended up enlisting for four years so I could get a guaranteed assignment back to Milwaukee for 15 months in the guided missile field. I was going to have to endure 8 weeks of Basic Training at Ft. Campbell, KY, and then 8 weeks of AIT (Advanced Individual Training) at Ft. Bliss, TX.

I recall driving north that August. We would meet people on the highway who were obviously coming back from camp/vacation. Their cars were pulling boats, the back loaded with life preservers, fishing gear, and the other stuff associated with freedom and fun. In the meantime I felt smothered, I felt sad, no hope, no prospects, no future - shit!

Finally, in mid-September Bonnie and I head back to Milwaukee, my leaping off place and had a few night's visits with my parents and sister and brother-in-law. My brother came over for a visit and we played a round of golf and got drunk together at my sister's home. Then, without fanfare the day came. My Dad and Bonnie drove me down to wherever I was to report to leave Milwaukee. A group from around the region met and we were bussed to Mitchell Field to take a plant to Hopkinsville, KY where our executions would take place. A more somber, morose group of young men you ever met. However, as in most situations where there is an external threat we began bonding immediately. Where are you from? Who are your parents. Searching desperately for a connections, a point of commonality that would allow us to grasp some form of alliance. This is how we flew to Kentucky.

When we arrived it was late, like 1 AM. I was dead tired. We were taken to a barracks by bus and didn't arrive there until about 3 in the morning. I was so tired I thought I would be physically sick. We got some bedding and crawled into a bunk bed and passed out. Three hours later we were awakened and taken to breakfast. Then we were moved to the reception center.

The reception center is where you go for one week prior to being assigned to a Basic Training battalion. Hundreds of us are brought there. We go through another physical. We get our hair buzzed off. Most disquieting is we are given a complete set of military clothing and then have to pack our civilian clothes into cardboard boxes and send them home. We lost our contact with civilian life, now we all looked like green beans with a baseball cap on. I recall Bonnie later telling me that receiving that package of clothing was like receiving the final effects of a dead person. I did not know that was going to happen, but I sure recall swallowing hard when it did.

Reception center is like hell week. The GI's returning from NAM are usually held there spending their last few weeks in the Army by serving as guides and leaders for the group of new recruits. Many of them, battle tested, psychologically beaten up, or deranged are assholes. Oh, they don't hit you or punish you, but they will tell you stories calculated to strike fear in your heart. They succeed. The officers that you see are often in the same category, or their new officers still unsure of the power they will wield.

We are told that the training Battalion if forming and that we will be taken to our new training barracks on Sunday. Now my 8 weeks of Basic Training is now 9, one week wasted at the reception center. We are not given any instruction on what is to happen, we are not given any information about where we are going. The lines are long, the waiting is tiring, and we do nothing to fill the idle hours. We are restricted to the barracks, and it is a little like being in prison.

Sunday afternoon we are marched, if you can call it marching, to a huge field somewhere on Ft. Campbell. We are in a formation and given the command "Parade Rest" which is standing up right kind of like at attention but with your hands crossed behind your back. Then the people who took us there left. We are standing in this huge field, no officials, leaders, or anybody around at parade rest. You can only hold that position so long and then you slump. Then you are tired of standing so you sit on the ground. Pretty soon you have your duffel bag next to you and you rest your head on it. You wait. Time passes so slowly. Your nerves are on edge and you wonder what is going to take place. Perhaps we have been forgotten and will spend four years in this field.

Late afternoon some cars show up on the road in front of us. Not too close so we can make out who is in them, but we now know we are being watched. Still no one gets up, we smoke, we lay back, some sleep. Finally about 5 PM some men come, form us up again and march us to a mess hall nearby to eat some dinner. Then back to the field, formation and given parade rest. This time the people who took us to dinner leave and we all immediately light up, slump to the ground and wait.

About 7 or 8 PM the people in these cars started getting out and they put on this hats called Smokey Bear hats, or drill sergeant hats. They approach us, gently tell us to put out the cigarettes, stand up get into formation, they seem a decent sort and certainly know where we are going although they aren't telling us. Many big Army buses pull up and we are marched to the buses and load up. One or two DI's, Drill Instructor's, get on each bus and off we go. We ride for about an hour. Where in God's name they took us I have no idea, but I figured out later that it was just around the perimter of Fr. Campbell, we were probably not too far from the training center. It is now dark. Guys are singing, the windows are down, they are yelling and acting up just as a bunch of young, nervous, scared men would do to show some form of bravado.

Finally the buses pull into an area where you can see there are low wooden buildings. We've arrived. The yelling continues, the caterwauling is in peak form. Unnoticed is the fact that there are no lights on in the barracks, no lights on in the compound, in fact there are no lights period.

When the buses stop the DI's who have been sitting quietly transition into crazed men with flash lights yelling at us the the fun is over, this is it. They get in your face, belittling you, scaring the bejesus out of you. You stumble from the bus. All around recruits are being told to drop and "give me ten." We are roughly organized into a line. We are herded by a door opening where a bundle of bedding, sheets, pillow, pillowcase, and blankets is launched at you with uncommon force. I almost thought they had some kind of a slingshot device in there. I see several smaller men knocked to the ground, or men who are not as coordinated miss catching their bedding to see it scatter to the distance. They are followed by a DI who tells they guy he'd better hit the ground before his bedding does and if he can't catch it before it gets dirty to "give me ten."

What is a sister?

What is a sister? I’ve been blessed with two. I did not grow up with them;                                            both are quite a bit older than I. One sister was born in 1926 and is 86 years old, the other in 1930 and was 82 when she passed last month. I am 68, quite a few years difference. The older sister was out of the house when I came along, or at least she was gone when my memory kicked in. My sister who just passed was tasked with raising me along with my mom, and I do remember her, but barely.

I do not think we were very close as siblings can be; I was always a pain in the butt for them, or at least the younger sister. I had a brother, but he was even older and passed away some thirty years ago. He was in World War II when I was born and was not a significant factor in my upbringing although he and I did some fishing together and hunted birds together in my early adult years.

My brother has been gone many years and while I do keep track of his family we are not close.  So, what does that have to do with sisters? Nothing. We are not a dysfunctional family, we communicate quite regularly, I maintain a weekly newsletter that reaches out to the clan, and I sense no jealousies, resentments or any manner of disharmony. My remaining sister and I care deeply about one another and greatly miss the two siblings that are gone.

One sister meant a great deal to me. She was always there for me, she offered advice, she offered friendship and she offered unconditional love. The other offered the same, but her nature is more reserved so we don’t relate to one another as well as the younger sister and I did.

One difference between the two sisters is my younger sister raised a family of four with compassion, love, and direction. The older sister raised a single daughter but what I saw there was criticism for behavior that did not exist in the younger sister’s family. It was as though my older sister had a model in mind that her daughter had to fit. My younger sister seemed to have a direction that was flexible and positive that encouraged imagination and freedom. What has been the result? The oldest sister’s daughter is a loving, gracious lady and is in the same profession as her mother. My younger sister’s family is diverse, independent, and remarkably creative, willing to dare new things. Nothing is wrong with either family to my reckoning; it is just in the shading of personality. I love them all and follow their successes as well as rebuffs with great interest and love.

There was something special about my younger sister though. She could make a grey day bright, she could make you feel good about life, she had a zest, a yen to see and try. My older sister is more sedate and structured.  My younger sister was willing to let you try; my older sister seemed to caution you to be careful. My older sister worries about her health and cannot stand to feel ill. My younger sister fought asthma and COPD for years and plowed on unconcerned handling her fears and dealing with her life like a bulldozer. She was busy right up to the end. It is like she ran out of gas, fell over and her motor died. I don’t know what the end of life will spell for my older sister, but it will be different, of that I am sure.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

A Few Floria Farts

My parents left the U.P. in 1966 and moved to Milwaukee. They lived with my sister and her husband for about a year and then found an apartment of their own. My mother took to the move very well, in fact they both did even after living for over 50 years in Munising, MI. Dad started over pumping gas in a station on the third shift, mother eventually found work as the dessert lady for the Bluemound Tennis & Racquet Club, an upscale club in the suburbs of Milwaukee. Life settled into a nice routine, both worked, Dad eventually kept the books for Mitch the gas station owner, then moved on the Real Estate, eventually settling in at the same place of employment my mother worked, the Bluemound Tennis & Racquet Club.

They split duties at home, Mother would come home and make dinner and dad would do the dishes. When my dad did dishes he always lit up a small cigar and wore an apron. The apron was to keep his clothes clean, the cigar to remind everyone that he was still the husband.

One evening Dad and Mom came home and as they came into the house Mom passed some gas. It was an SBD, silent but deadly. Little noise escaped other than that tell-tale woosh, but the old man damn near passed out. He said "Margaret, my God, that is terrible, have you been like that all day?"

Mom almost doubled over in laughter. She said, "I have a cold and can't smell a thing. I wondered why no one was coming into my area to get a dessert, piece of pie or any treats like usual. In fact people just stayed away. I guess I couldn't smell anything all day."

My poor mother.

Along the gas line, another tale.

We lived in an apartment from 1958 until 1961 at 820 W. Superior Street, Munising, MI. It was and upstairs apartment in a home owned by Bill and Dolly Revord, who lived downstairs. My mother was a hefty woman and in those days tightly girdled. I was sitting in the living room one day and Mom was in the kitchen making dinner. All of a sudden I hear three sharp claps, as though someone clapped their hands together mightily. Almost as soon as the thunderclaps passed my mother rounded the corner, legs crossed and unable to speak because she was laughing so hard. I asked what that noise was. My mother, God love her, told me that she had let a fart in the kitchen and apparently the girdle had the cheeks of her behind so tightly compressed it came out as three distinct claps. My, my, my Mom could applaud with her butt.

Another time:

When my brother Dean was young, before I was born there was an incident that lived long and loud in my Father's memory. Dad always slept in the "raw." The house at 812 W. Superior had hardwood floors and the bedrooms were no different. Dad would take a bath before going to work and when he went to get dressed he would often sit on the floor to put his socks on. He said the floor felt good because it was cool.

One morning as he sat to put his socks on a concussion erupted that my Dad described as thunderous. His words were, "It rolled across the floor and hit the baseboard," between their room and Dean's, "with a resounding BANGO." Dad then heard Dean from his room exclaim, "WOW!"

Small events, but lived long in the annals of Floria humor.

The Holidays 2012

Christmas 2012 and New Year's 2013 are now behind us. It was a good holiday season for me. For the first time in several years I felt well, very well. I enjoyed the anticipation, I enjoyed Christmas night lying in bed next to Terry, nice and warm while inches from my feet sleet pelted the window and wind shook the house. I enjoyed the time between Christmas and New Year's as we puttered with little chores, went to Jonesboro and did some shopping, and sat in our "sitting area" upstairs in the morning drinking coffee and playing holiday music on the stereo. It was a good time.

I saved a few shopping items for December 24th. I always like to do that as it is my birthday and I go and get a sense of the season. My Dad would pick up a big box of candy usually from a drugstore as a house gift. My mother and I had our favorites as did dad and over the week or so of the holiday season we would finish that box. I decided to resurrect that tradition so I went to Walgreen's and bought a Whitman Sampler. It did not seem very big. It was on a candy display shelf and not out on a display on the corner with decorations around it. It was kind of blah. I purchased the candy anyway. It sat on the counter, unopened until the day after Christmas. That is when Terry brought it upstairs to our sitting area and we enjoyed the candy for a number of days as a treat with our morning coffee. It was nice. I shall continue that tradition.

Our daughter Jessi's car is broken down and not safe to drive long distances. So on the Sunday before Christmas we asked Tracy and her boyfriend Zeb to take our van and go get Jessi and granddaughter Presley so they would be with us for Christmas. It was a kind of Christmas Carol type event and made me feel good.

The Moose Chef is the first Christmas decoration that comes out of the box. Usually about Thanksgiving. It is a ceramic incense burner made up like a moose with a chef's hat. It has a cookie sheet with cookies and the smoke from the incense comes up through a hole in the sheet making the cookies look like they are fresh from the oven. It was given to us years ago by my daughter Jenny, as I call her Tootermoose and we have found special ornaments or decorations with moose on them that we send each other.

I have a tradition that is now three years old. I order a nice box of sausage and meats from a small shop in Northern Wisconsin. Both daughters, Kristi and Jenny look forward to the arrival just before Christmas and the supply of cinnamon apple bacon, sausages, cheeses and such like. They both are difficult to buy for as they have most of the things a person needs and I don't like buying baubles. So this is nice, and I can replenish it every year. Besides food and the holiday's seem to have a special link and it is just fun.

This Christmas I had a lot to be grateful for and think about. A wife who is dedicated to my welfare and is such a caring person. Children who love me and I enjoy watching them mature and become such good, contributing members of our society. A home that is warm and safe. Dogs and a cat that share our life with us and add so much in the way of love and comic relief. Yes, this is a good life and I hope I have many more, I do not wish the last few years on anybody.