Spelling Bee

The thing I enjoyed most in grade school was spelling. I can’t tell you why. I was just curious enough, I suppose, to like to spell words right.

I always won the contests in our grade. Then in the eighth grade, I won the class contest; the School contest; then went on to win second in the County.

Our Grandaughter Kelly found this newspaper photo, printed during the County Bee. My mother apparently gave it to Jean; she to Martha; she to Kelly; and “archivist” that she is, she e-mailed it to me. As you can see, I apparently came in second there.



(Note: If you "double-click" on the picture, you can read the caption.)

I was in the State of Ohio Spelling Bee at the Great Southern Hotel on South High Street in Columbus. The “Bee” was broadcast live on WBNS, the Columbus Dispatch radio station there. This was in the summer of 1938. I was fourteen years old, and had just been graduated from the eighth grade.

A little nervous, but nevertheless, we drove to Columbus and got situated in the Hotel - not overnight. (I suppose we MIGHT have stayed overnight IF I had won the state.)

Prior to the “Bee”, the “pronouncer”, a nice lady with a melodious voice, met each of us, trying to put us at ease. She tried to keep us from “being nervous”. Didn’t work. I was still nervous.

The deal was that once the broadcast began, the pronouncer would signal each of us to come to the microphone individually, with her on the other side facing us. She gave our names, then said the “word” we were to spell.

When it finally became my turn, I hesitatingly, and nervously stepped to the microphone.

She smiled, and after giving my name and town, she said, “The word is ‘merchandise.’”

Not a tough word at all. Except, that in trying to help me, she over-emphasized the last syllable, making it sound like “dyze”. (She later said that she didn’t want me to spell it “- dice”) Right!

I thought a few seconds, then said, “m e r c h a n d i (pause)Z e.”

“Oh I’m sorry. That is incorrect.”

ON THE RADIO in every home in Mechanicsburg - “right in front of God and everybody”, of course. And the FIRST round!

It took me a LONG time to live it down.

My nickname around town turned from “Myronie”, or “Mynie” or “Two pants”, to

(Loud trumpet sound) “MERCHANDISE”.

Like, “Hello there MERCHANDISE! How are you today?

Embarrassing!

I never gave up on spelling, though.

The redeeming time, however, was after I had retired from 34 years of Ministry with WEEC. The local literacy group sponsored an annual “Literacy Sting“, sponsored by Sertoma International, and the Clark County Literacy Coalition. It consisted of businesses and organizations in Springfield, vying for the Spelling Championship.

Any way you cut it, it was a Spelling Bee for adults.

Because of my noted interest in spelling, pronunciation and grammar (would you believe “obsession”?) Tracy Figley asked me to join Ryan Figley, and Lois Jean Britton, to be on the WEEC team.

I was a little hesitant (make that skittish, remembering 1938. At least this one wasn’t to be broadcast - - - was it?)

Ten years ago, our team joined thirteen other organizations in town, and eventually we won!

Since I happened to be the one that spelled the last word (with help from my fellow team members), when they announced us as the winners, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “Praise the Lord”.

This was the picture in the paper - THIS TIME! The actual photo was not available, but the Clark County Public Library had an archive photo of the newspaper. (Sorry for the quality!)



(Again - if you "double-click" on the picture, you can read the whole article.)

So typical of my not knowing to quit when I’m ahead, I reluctantly agreed to the same thing the next year.

Dummy me - WE LOST!

I’ll never learn!

Weddings

I’ll bet you readers of this blog think I just sit down and think of some subject to write about - then do it, don’t you? Like a pre-meditated novel. Right?

WRONG!

This subject would be a good one for me to use to describe how these come to pass. Did I touch on this before? If I did, I don’t remember it. That’s no guarantee that it didn’t happen, actually.

Anyway, here’s how this subject came about:

This morning after our 10 AM exercises here at The Grand Court, I overheard Kay - one of the nurses here - ask Timi - our intrepid Activities Director (oh…..Lifestyles Program Director, she reminds me) if she happened to have a greeting card for a resident’s sister’s 50th Wedding Anniversary.

(Can you follow this?)

Actually, I don’t generally “eavesdrop”, but since we were out on the patio blowing soap bubbles (we really were!), Kay’s speaking was louder than it would be inside, so I heard her. Timi seemed to pause as if to say she didn’t have one.

I interjected (don’t you just love these big words I use?),

“Did you say you needed an Anniversary card?”

“Yes”, she said.

Then I replied, “If you can’t find one, I can make it on my computer”.

“Really?”, she said. “That would be nice.”

Timi said, “I could too,”

Me being retired and all, I had more time than Timi, so I prevailed.

I went back to my apartment. “Apartment”? It’s just a room, with bath and shower, closet, patio and kitchenette, bed, TV, and computer, but VERY adequate for me. (That’s a “redundancy”, I guess, but I’m still going to use it, since it’s exactly how I feel about it.)

I have one of those Hallmark Card Studio programs for computers, and I had remembered making a 50th Anniversary Card for George and Marilyn Rice, friends from Chicago. Seemed easy.

When I “brought up” the program (We computer “geeks” use terms like “brought up”, “re-boot”, “delete”, “save to file”, “scroll down”, etc.), I found maybe a dozen different designs for 50th Anniversaries.

I went back to Kay and asked her if she would like to choose a certain design, since I had so many.

“No, just a ‘pretty’ one”, she said.

I found what appeared to be a nice card design, so I selected it and printed it out, putting an envelope with it.

I took it to Kay, and she said,

“You’re kidding! It’s beautiful! Thanks so much.”

I forgot about the whole thing, then went to lunch. A little later, while I was eating, Kay came by my table and said,

“Sarah just loved the card. Thanks.”

“Sarah?”, I said.

“Yes. Her sister is celebrating her 50th Anniversary and she was looking for a card.”

I looked to the next table at Sarah, and said,

“You have a sister who is married 50 years?!”

(I was planning my next sentence to be, “Surely she is much older than you.” But she beat me to it.)

“She’s actually younger than I, and was married at 19. My mother signed for her, though she said that if Dad were living, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Worked out fine, though, didn’t it?”, I retorted.

I then mentioned that neither Jean nor I was old enough to get married without parental permission. And, that Edna Hunt, the County Court House employee in charge of Marriage Licenses had said,

“This marriage will last”, though some thought it was doomed to fail - our being so young and all.

I said to Sarah,

“I dearly hope that Edna Hunt really knows that our marriage lasted 65 years!” (She’s been gone several years.)

That’s all it took.

Blog story!

I got up from the table, and resolutely came to my “room”, and started this posting. That was 45 minutes ago.

See how it works?

Moving along………

I noted in a previous posting how, during World War II, I had been drafted, then returned to Patterson Field (now WPAFB), for assignment to a Signal Company that installed and repaired aircraft radios.

I was at Patterson Field long enough to get married to my high school sweetheart, Jean Anderson.

But, why did the County Courthouse at Urbana have to stay open a little longer?

Well, Jean and I had to drive to Columbus for blood tests, before receiving our marriage license. We then had to drive back, through Mechanicsburg, to Urbana for the license. We were late. Edna waited for us!

People today - even Sarah to whom I had been speaking - can hardly remember when you had to have a blood test before marriage! The incongruous part of it is that today, in this era when STD, AIDS, etc. are so rampant, NO BLOOD TEST IS REQUIRED!

Doesn’t compute!

I just now remembered that I ALMOST fainted in the hospital in Columbus when they drew my blood. I wondered then what Jean thought now about her “he-man” fiance. “He-man?!” Mike? Really!

(OK. It was only meant to be “poetic license”!)

Back to the story.

I guess the thrust of my thinking here is the different sizes, types and expenses of various weddings.

In fact, I don’t know of a wedding that is smaller in size, nor expense, than that of Jean and me.

We met in the parsonage of the MP Church in Mechanicsburg (You know, it MIGHT have been named Trinity Methodist by then), and we were married by the Rev. Paul I. Wachs, minister of that church. We were witnessed by his wife, Helen; as well as my sister Miriam who stood beside Jean; and Bob Holman, my best man.

What I paid Rev. Wachs, I don’t remember, but it was certainly a “pittance” compared to what is normal today. Jean did have a corsage, I believe, but whether I had a boutonniere (It’s spelled right! I looked it up) or not, I don’t remember.

We drove to Springfield, and took a room at the Bancroft Hotel then located on East High Street. The next morning, we had this picture taken at the Olan Mills studios, right across the street. 1943!



Our honeymoon was taken AFTER World War II, along with our friends Jackie and Dave Wiant, on a trip to Niagara Falls.

Though I am ashamed to admit it, that night in the Hotel Room the four of us shared at Niagara Falls, I drank what was my first and LAST taste of whiskey.

We were celebrating. I apparently felt like I should drink a lot. After about 2 AM, I spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor of the bath room, with my legs surrounding the commode, regurgitating, to say the least.

This was NOT what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing.

Sometime before that, I had taken my first and ONLY swig of beer, and that almost made me sick. Still today, I can remember the “horrid” taste of it.

Never again!

I guess I should be thankful that I didn’t like either experience!

Here we are 50 years later!



Than, after 65 years.



The next wedding we participated in was that of Jim and his fiancee Betty Bach. It was held in Chicago, was quite elaborate, and the Reception was outstanding. It was “emceed” by Robert Parsons, long time Program Director of WMBI in Chicago. He attended Betty’s Church. I can’t imagine what the Bachs spent on that wedding.

The wedding of our son John, and Tonya Schrader was next, and as in Jim’s wedding, since we were parents of the groom instead of the bride, the cost to us was minimal - except, of course, the Rehearsal Dinner.

Then came Martha, and her fiance, Danny Smith. We WERE the parents of the bride, and bore the bulk of the expense. My memory of it is that it was ABOUT $1,000. (Early seventies.)

I can’t even imagine what weddings cost the brides’ parents these days, but it is undoubtedly ENORMOUS. There are, of course, SOME couples who want to pay for their own wedding. Must be some bill!

That, along with some College Student Loans, is a large burden on them as they start off their lives together.

But, “Ain’t love grand?!!!”

Haircuts

I have so many memories of haircuts that it’s hard to know where to begin. Of course, I’m assuming anyone would be interested in what I have to say about haircuts.

Well, I guess it’s no more outrageous to think anyone would be interested in my haircut stories, as in anything else I would have to say.

My excuse is, for a “blabber” like me, the important thing is NOT whether anyone reads them or not, but rather whether I can get this thing off my mind.

Don’t get me wrong! I appreciate the few friends who have told me they DO read these ramblings. It’s just that, having readers is NOT the PRIMARY motivator of a blabber. These things just have to be said, it seems.

Though I can’t remember my FIRST haircut, (I wish I could), I do remember, as a little boy of maybe 9 or 10, sitting in the Barber Shop on a Saturday morning, waiting on Garland Flowers to cut my hair. I was at least old enough to go to the Barber by myself. We just lived less that two blocks away, on the same street - East Sandusky.

One Saturday when it became my turn to sit in the “big” chair, one of the fellows waiting behind me said something like,

“Boy…..are you in a hurry to get a haircut?”

I answered, “No sir. Not really, Why?”

“Well, I was just wonderin’, if I gave you a nickel, would you let me have your place in line?” (I was next.) Haircuts were only a quarter.

A nickel? Are you kiddin’ me? That was a LOT of money to me.

“Sure”, I said. “I’ll take the nickel.”

You know, that idea really caught on. I made several nickels that day.

What do you think I did the NEXT time I needed a haircut? (NOT the next Saturday, if that’s what you’re thinking.)

I started my own little business of “place holding”. I “held a place” for the gentlemen who were in a hurry.

In some later years, Foster Griffin opened a Barber Shop in the basement of the Anderson Hotel in Mechanicsburg. The shop was available through an outside stair well, so one would not have to enter the Hotel to get to the barber.

Foster was the one who first taught me how to comb my hair. He said I should comb it straight down in the front, part it on the left side, then comb the right side down, then comb the ends backward, with a little “flip” in the front.

“Don Juan?” Or “Casanova?”

Combed it that way through most of the rest of my life - at least as long as my hair was long enough to do it. (Oh…..not when I went in the Army, though. It was short!)

I JUST NOW thought of a picture we used to have, of “Little Jimmy” getting his first haircut. Clarence Stoddard was the barber then, and Jimmy was “crying his eyes out”, as we say. Funny how kids “grow out” of that stage. Who knows what is so scary about a barber? Shears, maybe? Or even the “loud” clippers?

Two of the barbers I’ve already mentioned ended up selling car insurance, right in the barber shop. I think I bought from both of them, over time.

It’s amazing what you can learn in a barber shop, also.

In these later years, my barber was named Larry. He was very knowledgeable and astute. He was “up” on current events, and ran for public office one time (I forget which office). He was a Democrat, but had very strong conservative leanings - more like a Republican. He and his brother Jim were given the titles of “Kentucky Colonel” one time. How they got that, I’ll never know.

Larry hangs out in Florida now - especially in the winter - having had to sell out his share in the Barber Shop, as well as a two story rental property next door. They were right in the path of the new Regional Hospital being erected.

When we moved to Chicago in 1954, we had two boys of “barbering age”. Haircuts cost $1.50, I think. For the three of us boys, that was $4.50.

The summer after the haircuts went up to $1.75, I bought a barbering kit. Those poor boys! At least until I learned what I was doing. I still went to the barber, even though Jean offered to cut mine.

Since they both liked short hair, the cutting was relatively easy. We just got out the Chicago Telephone Directory, at least 3 or 4 inches thick, and they sat on that book, on top of a dining room chair. And, I whittled away. I did my best at “flat tops”, though I’m not sure John wanted that. Jim seemed happy with his flat top. I think I just cut John’s short.

One summer, we returned to Mechanicsburg for our annual vacation trip, and hadn’t cut Johnny’s hair yet.

I said, “Come on John. Let’s get your hair cut. Go get Grandpa’s telephone book.”

I waited, then sheepishly, John returned to the room with Grandpa’s phone book, which was about the thickness of 10 sheets of paper (more or less). He had the funniest grin on his face as he held up the book. “Is that all you’ve got?”, I said, laughing. We made it, without the phone book.

About 6 or 7 years ago, my hair was getting thinner and thinner, and harder to comb properly. John and Tonya were with us on vacation. John had started getting his hair cut short - the same length all over.

John said, “Dad, why don’t you get a flat top haircut?” I didn’t know what Larry would say about that.

So, John and Tonya joined me in Larry’s shop.

Tonya said, “He wants it real short on the sides, and a Number 4 on the flat top.”

Larry said, “Oh, I don’t think he wants it THAT short.”

“Oh yes he does”, said Tonya. And I did.

He started in, going shorter and shorter until I thought it was about right. I’ve kept it that way ever since. Different barbers do it slightly differently, but it’s basically the same.

I got a hair cut today, from a different barber (mine moved to Florida, remember.)

Back in February, I found that I couldn’t even find Larry’s brother, Jim. So, I asked OUR Jim where I should go. He said to try “Great Clips” on North Bechtle Avenue.

I went there, and the “barbers” were ALL female! I hadn’t let a woman cut my hair since my sister Miriam did it at age 12.

This was the week of WEEC’s SHARATHON, and I was a helper. Could I trust a FEMALE to cut my hair the way I wanted it?

I waited 5 minutes or so, when a nice, smiling, young African American girl called my name. She began working on my hair like she knew what she was doing. She did! I just told her, “Real short on the sides, and flat on top.” Her name is JJ.

After less than 20 minutes, she had me cut (and dried), after spraying a substance on it that made it stand up the way it should. (Not like the “wax” I had tried one time.) Just like I wanted it!

I ask for JJ every time now, and when I showed up today, she said, “I’ve just been thinking about you, and here you are!” Right!

I said, “It’s been great what you’ve been doing, but I want it even a little shorter this time.” When she finished, she said, “How’s that?”

“Terrific!”, I said.

I paid the shop $10 (the Senior Citizens rate), then gave her a two dollar tip, and said “See ya next time!”

(What ever happened to $1.75?)

West Virginia in 1938

My grandfather, John Melvin Maddex, along with 3 of his brothers, moved from Shepherdstown, West Virginia to central Ohio in the 19th Century.

One of them moved to Richwood, Ohio - Uncle Jim; another to Urbana - Uncle Butler; my grandfather - John, and his brother Joe, to Mechanicsburg. Joe’s son and daughter lived in Central Ohio, and his grandson Edwin - two weeks my junior - started school with me in Mechanicsburg.

An interesting bit of history to me and my immediate family is that we somehow early gathered that the original spelling of our name in West Virginia was MADDOX. We told all of my family that for years. The story was that the 4 brothers who came to Ohio themselves changed the spelling - to distinguish from those in Shepherdstown.

Not so!

In recent years, our son Jim became our family historian, and in the last 3 or 4 years has concluded that the ORIGINAL spelling was rather, MADDEX - our spelling.

Jim says: “The ‘ox’ part was assumed by Uncle Ewell (a brother of Grandpa who stayed in Shepherdstown), and of course, Horace Lee (Uncle Jim‘s son here in Ohio). They both assumed that everyone was spelling it wrong, so, they just arbitrarily changed it to "ox". Horace Lee was the more voracious of the two, and kept that spelling until his death. Jerry, his son, has kept it that way as well.”

It seems incongruous now that we didn’t just ask Granddad whether they changed the spelling when they arrived. Of course, we now know that they didn’t!

Though older family members traveled back to West Virginia on occasion, I had never done so - until 1938.

As previously recorded here, Dad had a 1937 Ford V8, and all four of our family members embarked on a journey to Shepherdstown in 1938, the year I turned 14.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned before that my dad was often uncomfortable driving the car - especially in heavy traffic - or, more especially, in uncharted territory to him. I don’t recall noticing this during the ride there, but later, when we journeyed from Shepherdstown to Washington, DC, it became all too apparent.

His most ardent “demons” were the “Circles” in DC.

One would enter these circles, bearing right, then left around the circle, then picking which street to follow from there, since several streets branched off from there. Of course, the CORRECT street was straight ahead, if perhaps, you were traveling on Northwest Connecticut Avenue, toward the White House, for example.

But, WHERE was “straight ahead”? With so many other streets meeting at the circle, a novice (which Dad was) had difficulty finding the street he wanted.

He broke out in a sweat!

This was my first trip to DC. The National Religious Broadcasters provided me the next few trips in later years. I faced those “circles” then also, and was likewise confused, but I didn’t sweat. (Jean might have while I was driving.)

I digress, as usual.

Back to the narration.

There were NO Interstates then, of course, so we headed east on US 40, or the original National Road (which actually had originated not far from our destination - in Cumberland, Maryland.) Even “racking my brain”, I have a hard time remembering any of the trip there at all. My hope is that the more I think and write about this, more memories will “flood in.”

(In re-reading the previous paragraph, I see that I rather imply that US 40 originated at Cumberland. Not so. The National Road did, apparently, but US 40 ran from Atlantic City, New Jersey to Park City, Utah.)

After arriving in Shepherdstown, I met for the first time, several of my relatives - Uncle Ewell (youngest brother of my Grandpa); Aunt Rose (his sister); cousin Marguerite (Ewell‘s daughter); cousin Evelyn (also Ewell’s daughter), and her daughter Betty (Ewell’s granddaughter, and the current documentary historian of the family); along with Mary Belle, also Uncle Ewell’s daughter, and others I fail to remember the names of.

Since my dad was in the first generation after the ones who moved to Ohio, and who also had gone to Shepherdstown in about 1917, he just re-acquainted himself with nearly every one.

My Uncle Ewell was a “joker”, as I remember him. Full of joking phrases - none of which I knew, or remember. Oh………I remember one time he talked about someone “flipping a wassip”, whatever that was. I can’t find the word anywhere. It seemed funny at the time. I wrote it down, I remember.

Though Dad was a nervous wreck, we did drive around DC some, and saw some sights from the windows of the 1937 Ford V8. I remember very little - though just now - the Washington Monument looms in my mind, like we may have climbed up part way, maybe. I’m not sure, since I have been there since.

Another aside:

I was told that when they went there in 1917, or thereabouts, they traveled in a Model T Ford. They had to “back” up hills, since, legend has it, the Model T had more power in reverse than in forward. More recently, however, that myth has been replaced by still another (maybe), that says since the Model T gas tank “outlet” was toward the front, going up a steep hill made a nearly empty tank hard to feed gas to the engine. (Who knows?)

But they did go in reverse, apparently - for whatever reason.

Where is Shepherdstown?

Well, it’s just across the Potomac River from Sharpsburg MD, which itself is next door to the Civil War Antietam National Battleground. Just south of Shepheredtown is Harpers Ferry WV, noted as the location of “John Brown’s Raid” on the Armory, in 1859 - near Civil War time.

In recent years, when Jean and I joined Jim and Joyce at a “latter day” Maddex Family Reunion near Shepherdstown, we saw the grave site of my great-grandfather - James Solomon Maddex - who fought in the Civil War, for the South. (HIS name was spelled MADDEX!)

Another interesting sidelight is the village of Uvilla, near Shepherdstown. This is where the later Maddex Family Reunions are held. During the Civil War days, the town was officially “Union Village”, but the southern sympathizers there (nearly every one), couldn’t stand the “Union” part of it, so they re-named it “Uvilla”.

And, prior to the Civil War, the state was just “Virginia”, “West” not being part of it.

(Who says my blog is not “elevating” and “historically” interesting?)

(Of course, these facts about Shepherdstown et al, will have to be checked by Jim, for accuracy. What you read now has his approval.)

(Whew! Jim had only ONE correction. I just made it. He’d be proud of me! “You‘re doing great!!!!”, he said.)

I’ve been doing this West Virginia thing now for some days, and so far, I can’t remember anything else I should report on.

What’s that old saying? “If you can’t think of anything helpful to say, Just Shut Up?”

I think I will!

Car Show

The Grand Court of Springfield just sponsored its 11th Annual Antique Car Show, right here in our parking lot. I saw at least 25 or 30 cars in the lot, and two especially took my interest.

The first, of course, was the 1917 Model T Ford, owned and shown by Mike Thompson of Springfield. Here are several consecutive photo shots of that car. One of them including the owner.



Here’s a long view:



Authentic 1917 Ohio Auto License Tag.



A rather “dim” view of the clutch (on left); reverse pedal (middle, leaning back; and brake (on right).




In my previous posting titled “Model T Ford”, posted in April (You can see it by “clicking" on April, then scrolling down to it.), I referred to the “throttle” and “spark” levers. They’re shown here, with the “throttle” under the wheel, sticking up to the right. The “spark” lever is barely visible, but is on the left side of the steering wheel, leaning down.



Oh……….how I wish I still had my 1927 Model T Ford. While this one is open, mine was closed, with a roof.

Anti-climactic for me was the 1929 Model A Ford, (shown here), which model followed the last year the Model T was made.



Followed by an authentic 1929 Ohio Auto License Tag.



Quite a show - for me!

Random Memories II

Here’s part of what I wrote at the beginning of Random Memories:

I think I’ve mentioned before, that when different stories, or “memories” come to mind, I jot them down - either here on the computer; or in my BlackBerry if I’m out of the apartment (or in bed!); or even on any piece of paper available, if I have a pencil.

WARNING! I’m going to start relating one “short” incident after another, including what I can remember about it, then move on to the next one. I don’t mind admitting, that if more incidents on that subject come to mind, I very likely will extend that into its own “posting” on this blog.

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New Year’s Eve
For the years that our grandchildren were younger than 15, we had an annual New Year’s Eve party at our house. They were all invited. At the last one, we had: Jimmy, Bobby, Kenny, Molly, Kelly, Jodi and Tim Sizemore, Jim‘s step-son.

Here’s a copy of a “Polaroid” picture from, probably, 1984 or 1985.



We started in the early evening. Grandma Jean made all kinds of snacks - enough for every one. We gathered in our “completed” basement (paid for by my dad, Walter Maddex, when he lived with us there in that basement) on Keene Avenue in Springfield.

We started out with such games as: Pac Man (Grandma was VERY good at it) (“Get the box. Get the box.”); Frogger; and others.

Jimmy just sent me an e-mail about New Year’s Eve:

Well I remember one year when we had Totino’s pizzas and we just got the game Frogger. Everyone had a hard time crossing the street with it. (In the game.)

At one point Kenny and I snuck upstairs to the other TV to watch the new Michael Jackson video "Thriller". Grandma caught us, but we kept switching channels. I didn’t mean to lie, because she asked us if we were watching it, but it was Michael Jackson. It was on MTV and playing in its entirety which was almost 12 minutes. That is probably still one of the longest music videos.

Also watched Safety Dance from Men without Hats. I dont remember if we got Pitfall 2 at that time but we spent a lot of time playing that game too. Dodging bats, snakes, alligators, jumping rocks, finding gold in the mines. I think we played a lot of board games too but I think this particular time we were all video games.

I remember also breaking grandma’s wooden spoons banging the pots and pans, also breaking the handle on one of the pots.

Then we watched “old” movies on TV and played parlor games.

At about 11:30, Grandma gathered every one in the kitchen and began “doling out” noise makers for midnight. No hitting them until we all got outside, right after the “TV Countdown” on NBC-TV. The wait for the last half hour was excruciating! It was hard to keep from “banging” on the “lid” we were each holding.

Our “poodle” Jenny, circled around, wondering what was all the fuss. (Her real name was “Mademoiselle Genevieve”. A registered poodle.)

The temptation to NOT hit the pan or lid we were holding was tremendous! The closer to midnight we got, the more Jenny was “circling”.

Watching the TV breathlessly, we nervously held our pans up, then when the “ball” dropped, we pushed open the door, and everyone rushed outside (including Jenny) and yelled, “Happy New Year! Happy New Year!” and banged on our pans. Jenny ran out into the yard, nervously trying to find out what was her role in this.

We yelled, banged on the pans, and ran around in the front yard. Jenny was a mess.

After 10 minutes, we “ran down”, and returned to the basement. It was a kind of let down for awhile, but the games and TV movies revived us. We kept playing until gradually, one by one, the grandchildren fell asleep.

Grandma and Grandpa fell asleep as well, filled with JOY!

Though this was Jodi’s first year to be old enough to join in, she outlasted every one!

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Crosley Field

In 1938 (I was 14 years old), Pearl Thompson, a life long friend of my Dad, invited us to a game of the Cincinnati Reds at Crosley Field. He said he’d drive, and Dad and I joined Pearl in a memorable experience.

I THINK this was the only time I ever went to Crosley Field. At least for now, I can’t remember another time.

The Reds were playing the Boston Braves (who later moved to Milwaukee to become the Milwaukee Braves). As we always have for professional ball games, we arrived early and took in batting practice, infield practice and a lot of other “gawking” experiences. We did that a lot for the Columbus Red Birds - then a St. Louis Cardinals franchise.

The early arrival, at least on this occasion, provided another “memorable experience”. We got to see Babe Ruth hit a home run.

Well, not REALLY a Home Run, because he wasn’t an active player then, only a coach, having rertired from active playing the year before.

Being only a “Coach” didn’t really take anything away from the thrill of watching “The Babe” walk up to the plate (in batting practice), stride to the right side of the plate, and left handedly, smash several “long balls” into the right field bleachers. What a thrill.

I don’t remember a single other thing about the game, the trip, or who even won the game. All paled in comparison to watching”The King Of Swat” smash baseballs into the right field bleachers.

“The Babe” died in 1948, having never played an official game of baseball again.

Both Dad and Pearl are gone now, but I still have fond memories of that trip!

Florida Trip Continued

Sunday morning at 10:45, we went to the Calvary Chapel of Melbourne for Church. VERY inspiring, with a teaching message by Pastor Mark Balmer. Thousands there. This was the third identical service - one on Saturday night, and another at 9AM Sunday.

Ben had suggested that we go to the "Dog Park" in the afternoon, but expected inclement weather hindered that. We waited it out. Good thing, since a Tornado Warning showed up at 3:15PM. Just a scare, though, since the "system" eventually passed us by. We watched the weather news.

What to do Sunday night? Are you kidding? Situated an hour's drive from Orlando, we HAD to watch "The Magic" play “The Lakers”, but they got beat in overtime. They had it won in regulation, but a last second "lay up" didn't drop.

Ben had an early job cleaning carpets on Monday, so he took off early.

In the afternoon, I discovered that since Sunday night, my BlackBerry was neither receiving nor sending e-mails. I asked Kelly if she knew of a Sprint store near by. She said she had seen a Repair store, and then took me to it.

Just after we left for the store, it rained “cats and dogs”, and we had to sit in the car for awhile before we went in. It seemed to slacken a bit, so we got out of the car and went to the store. We got soaked!

By the time the Technician got to me, I looked out and saw the sun gloriously shining. We didn’t have enough patience.

I explained to the Technician about my problem, plus the fact that I couldn’t seem to “zoom” when taking pictures. He confirmed the problems.

Then he said, “Let’s remove the battery and see what that does.”

Suddenly, I was embarrassed at myself, since 3 or 4 weeks ago, I had another problem with the BlackBerry, and a Technician in Springfield removed the battery, and solved the problem. I forgot, or I could have done that without bothering the Technician in Melbourne.

Sure enough, after re-installing the battery, the phone started beeping the way it does when an e-mail arrives - only it did it several times. The e-mails suddenly started to arrive.

“Whew”, I said. “I should have done that!”

“Let’s look at the zoom”, he said. It worked also.

I had also noticed that the charge on my battery didn’t seem to last as long as before. The Technician checked it, and found that it seemed OK, but I could buy one for about $60 if I wanted.

I didn’t.

Seems to be OK now.

Tuesday was “return home day”. My flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until 4:40PM.

Ben went to work early again on Tuesday, so after a pancake breakfast, and showers all around, I suggested the four of us go to a “fast food” place, eat lunch, then go to the beach to “hang out” until time to go to the airport.

McDonald’s it was, according to Olivia and Ethan, so from there we went to Canova Beach at the end of Eau Gallie Boulevard, basking ourselves in the sun, and enjoying the surf.

After maybe an hour, we went to Friendly’s again right near by, and THIS time, we BOUGHT our ice cream cones. We got free ones last Saturday afternoon.

Then, at about 2:30, we headed for the Airport, since, “early arriver” that I am, I wanted to be there by 3PM (plane scheduled to leave at 4:40.) Remembering my fiasco in Atlanta in missing my flight last Thursday, I was “skittish”.

All four of us hugged together while we had prayer, thanking God for the WONDERFUL time we all had for the past 5 days. I headed for the gate, and Kelly, Olivia and Ethan left for home. Tears were at the edges of our eyes.

Waiting near the gate, of course, was the lady checking me in. My ID was OK, as well as my Boarding Pass.

Right around the corner, though, was the Security machine, waiting for me to take off my shoes, dump my pockets and my BlackBerry in a box and put my coat and hat in another box.

When the officer looked at the “junk” I dumped there from my pockets, he spied a red, Swiss Army Knife. (I had forgotten I had it.) It was a small one, with not as many features as the real one, but he said, “What’s this?” I said, “Oh…….you can keep it!”

He took it to show somebody else, then came back and said, “How long have you had this?” “Several years”, I said. He walked away again, then came back with one of those “padded” envelopes.

“Write your name and address here, and we’ll send it to you.”

I did!

Whew!

The plane left about on time. Since it was smaller than some, our bags were left at the Jet Way, to be picked up on the ground at Atlanta. We got off the plane on the ground there, picked up our bags, then walked up two flights of stairs to the Concourse, dragging my “pull along“ and blue bags behind me. A man behind me offered to help. He had his own bag. I carried my own.

The plane had arrived at Gate D22 in Atlanta. My ticket said I’d be leaving from Gate A34. Experience told me to check that out. Sure enough, It turned out to be B15! Had I NOT checked, I would have taken the subway from Concourse D, to Concourse A, and potentially missed my flight again! (Memories of when the plane flew off without me on Thursday.)

Rode subway to Concourse B instead of Concourse A. Arrived at the proper gate at 6:45 for an 8PM flight. Stayed at the gate. Wasn’t interested in food! I think I've finally conquered Atlanta and Delta (one and the same, I think!)

When I have an aisle seat (my preference) I try to be the last one to board. No one climbing over me, etc. I just walk down the aisle, with everyone looking at me, find my row, put my bag under the seat, and sit down. Still on time.

I think I learned that from John!

The flight to Columbus was uneventful, though my “seat mate” was a 60 year old man from Columbus who was just returning from Puerto Rico. When we exchanged information, we found out that each of us was a Born Again Believer in Christ. He was tired from traveling, lacking in sleep. I normally don’t talk much on airplanes, but rather listen to my iPod. He took a nap.

We arrived at Columbus at about 11 PM. (Probably should have arranged for an earlier flight, but no problems showed up.)

I did have a slight scare. Just before leaving Kelly’s, I had put my hearing aids in one of the pockets of my “blue bag”. Getting the bag from the floor of the plane, I noticed one of the “pockets” had opened, while the bag was upside down. I thought sure I had lost my hearing aids, and assuming my stupidity had caused it, I dismissed it, and decided not to spend $800 for another pair (that’s with insurance). I’d just live without them.

When I arrived home, I opened up another “pocket” that was “zipped” up, and out fell the aids! I had really given them up, expecting some time in the future to have to buy some more. Praise the Lord, He helped me with my carelessness!

Taking the long walk from the boarding/arriving concourse to the front of the Airport, I asked about the shuttle for Long Range Red parking lot. “Right down front”, he said. It was just ready to leave.

I got to Bus Stop 7, went to row 23A, and THERE WAS MY CAR!

I followed the signs (construction, of course) for getting on I 670, and headed for home, arriving at about 11:30.

I had been listening to the Orlando/Los Angeles basketball game on the radio, then watched to the end on TV. Orlando eked out a win. Ben and Kelly are avid Orlando fans, and Kelly “texted” me about the win.

Got in bed at midnight.

What a WONDERFUL vacation I had with Ben, Kelly, Olivia and Ethan. Hope to see the grandchildren in Indiana and Chicago some time yet this summer.

Praise the Lord for family!

A Beach in Florida

"Grandpa, are you gonna wear that shirt at the beach?"

That was our great-grandson Ethan's question to me as we were leaving for the Beach near Patrick Air Force Base in Florida.

I looked at my family, and they all had T-shirts, tank tops, etc., while I, an Ohioan, had a dress shirt with no tie.

"You're gonna get sand in your shoes, Grandpa", said Kelly, Ethan's mom. I had no "flip-flops", either!

How could anyone doubt that I was NOT a Floridian!

Well, I guess I needn't have told you about my shirt, etc., since here's a picture taken at McDonald's on the way to the beach. I had my usual "Big Breakfast" there. That's Ben, Olivia, Kelly, Ethan and I waiting to eat.



I used to say, "Let's go fishing!". Now, it's rather, "Let's feed the fish!"

We did that last Saturday, but not catching any fish was not for lack of trying.




Ben caught Kelly, Olivia, Ethan and me on the beach. Do I look like a "Snowbird?" I'm sure I do. However, by this time, all the Snowbirds have "flown north". I'm just a "tourist".



Before we got to the beach, however, Ben got out his "net" and "seined" for "mullet" - to be used for bait.



He cast that thing, I think, eight times, and ended up with at least a dozen mullets, and a couple others I don't know about.



While I was trying to take pictures of Ben "seining", Kelly rubbed Coppertone on my arms, neck - and removing my hat - on my nearly bald head. Good thing. Since she couldn't get to my face, or the back of my hands, they got burnt. To be safe, though, I kept my hat on.

After three or four hours of "sunning" and "feeding the fish", we left the beach to go to Friendly's for a free Ice Cream Cone. Special offer that day. Not as long a line as I expected.

After a "nap or two", we went to Applebee's for supper, then caught the movie "A Night At The Museum", with Ben Stiller. We thought it was a cute movie.

Oh………On Friday night, Ethan’s neighbor girl - Karla - came over to play. She’s maybe ten years old, and wanted to know if she could call me “Grandpa”. “Of course“, I said. After playing outside for a little while, she and Ethan came in and wanted to know if I would play “Cranium” with them. Cranium”? As in “head”? Sure - we used our heads to solve the puzzle.



Olivia and I teamed up to play against Karla and Ethan. They won.

More on this trip in the next posting.

Wonderful time!!

Flying to Florida

I'm right now sitting in the Gate C55 area of the Columbus Airport. Not an easy task getting here! I'm writing, of course on my BlackBerry, so it's a little slow typing.

My flight leaves in about an hour.

Though I assumed the details of my trip would be uneventful, I still left home 3 1/2 hours becore the plane's departure. Par for me.

I arrived at the long term parking area timely.

It's been years since I've been at CMH, so I was shocked at the size of the Long Term Red parking Lot. Inside the lot, I drove and drove and...... drove before finding an empty space.

I had asked the Attendant about the daily cost, as well as if the Shuttle came there. Cost: $6/day, and yes, the shuttle comes near your car.

I found a spot near Bus Stop 7, and parked in row 23A. The Stop is quite close.

I shut down the car, got my "pull along" bag, and small blue case out of the trunk, and went to Stop 7. Shortly, another customer showed up, and we waited only a short time for the shuttle.

When it stopped for us, I picked up my "pull along" bag, and got on the bus. So did he.

We kept going thru several stops, picking up customers at each one.

Before we arrived at the Airport, one of tbe passengers quietly said to her husband, "I'm not sure I locked the car!". He told her that they would just ride the shuttle through again.

Suddenly I said to myself, "where's my blue case?". It wasn't with my "pull along" bag.

Had to "go around" again with the other elderly couple. The driver said that was fine.

Back at Bus Stop 7, he stopped for some other folk. I got off, and didn't see my bag, so I said, "I've lost my blue bag."

A guy getting on the bus said, "We sent it back with the other bus!"

Praise the Lord, it wasn't lost. The driver radioed the other bus and arranged the transfer back to me.

Whew! My boarding pass was in that bag - and a lot of other essential stuff!

Shortly, the husband got off to go lock his car. We waited. When he came back, I asked him if it was already locked. He said nothing, but whispered into his wife's ear. She looked in my direction, and mouthed, "It was locked."

I looked at them and said, "Of course! But you have to check anyway. Senior moment."

They laughed.

At least 3 of us had a "Senior Moment" on that bus trip.

I got my blue bag and went into the Airport - THANKFULLY!

(Only 5 not boarded. So, I have to stop. I try to be last.)

Later at Atlanta:

Whew! I may do a whole post about Atlanta Hartsfield Jackson Airport.

GULP! I just missed my flight! I had to travel by subway from Concourse A, where I came in, to Concourse D. I arrived 8 minutes early. The flight left 10 minutes early, from the SECOND gate they listed!

So, I'm sitting here at ONE of the gates listed. It's 3:25. I'm on Standby for 5:30, and confirmed at 8:20.

I just now talked to Kelly, and they will wait for me to call.

Mercy!!

Here's how that happened:

Getting on the Subway, I almost felt like I was in Manhattan!

The first train I got on was wrong. I was told wrong. I asked an employee about it, and was corrected.

I got off the train and headed for Gate D22. When I arrived, they had another flight listed. I was told to go to Gate D34. I was nervous.

At Gate D34 the flight was listed on the board as leaving at 2:40. I was OK, since it was only 2:28. I sat down waiting for the flight to be called.

First mistake.

(I already had my boarding pass and seat assignment from the Internet.)

I should have gone right to the agent, I see now.

He then called some names, none of which was mine. I got concerned, so went toward the Agent, and before I reached him, he disappeared down the Jetway.

When he came back, two other guys were there with me. When he appeared again, we told him we wanted to board for Melbourne.

He said, "It's gone!" We said "What?"

So, we're on standby.

5:40:No standby boardingon this flight. Full!

I'm waiting now at 6:30, for the 8:20 confirmed flight.

Finally got on it OK.

I was assigned seat 38A. I didn't know there were that many rows on the plane! I was in the last row, and the last seat on the plane! And when the engine started I thought sure it had a bad bearing. It kept getting louder when we took off.

The lady who was assigned seat 38B leaned her head back and fell asleep. When she awoke and went to the rest room, I said to the guy in 38C, "I don't know how she can sleep, with all that noise!"

He grinned at me and said, "I couldn't hear you because of all that noise!"

Though we left the gate 45 minutes late, we did make it, joyously in my case, to Melbourne, and the waving and hugging of the entire Farmer family.

Why did the plane leave 45 minutes late? Because two of the Flight Attendants were late.

I left home this morning before 9:00 AM, and arrived at Melbourne after 10 PM. The original flight was scheduled to arrive at 4:20 PM!

Kelly said that all of these delays and waits today were for a purpose, in God's Eyes.

I agree - aggravating as it was - if for no other reason than to test my patience. Fortunately, I didn't get upset!

Atlanta Airport? BLEAH!!

Self Talk

I’m not sure the title I’ve given to this is the proper technical name for “talking to yourself”, but it’ll do until I can come up with the right one.

When we were young, we all used to “look askance” at someone who “talked to himself”. I guess I still do, to a certain extent. That is, someone who “mumbles” things that can’t really be heard by anyone else. We think maybe there’s a “button loose”.

Now that I’m 85, I no longer do that “look” as I once did. Oh, if someone obviously is just mumbling, while not paying attention to anyone else, I suppose I would notice.

Sometime back, I heard someone say that, after living by yourself for awhile, you may have a tendency to make a comment that once would be only a silent thought, but now is openly expressed. Not loudly, necessarily. Or, if accompanied by someone, it WOULD be expressed aloud.

I don’t know.

I mention this now, because just this afternoon as I was returning alone to The Grand Court (my present domicile) from the Mall, I passed a sign promoting “The Springfield Browns Fans”. With both windows wide open, and the wind swirling around my crew cut, I found myself saying aloud: “Springfield Browns!!? There‘s no team in Springfield named The Browns!” Then 5 seconds later, I said, (also aloud): “Oh…….. CLEVELAND Browns fans - in Springfield! I get it!”

I’ve been trying to remember other instances like that.

“Oh pshaw! The Library closes at 5:00 on Sunday, rather than 6:00?”

(It was 5:20, and I had rushed to get there before 6:00 because I was out of books, having just completed The Mitford Series). The last time I wanted to go on Sunday evening, I had the presence of mind to call, and I found out that the library “closes at 6PM Saturdays, and 5PM on Sundays”. Today, I thought I had remembered 6:00 both days.

“Oh……..Speedway has an ATM owned by Chase Bank. Praise the Lord. I’ll save nearly ten bucks this week on that.” (I’m going to Florida on Thursday to visit my granddaughter Kelly and her family, and I’ll need cash.) Chase is my bank.

“Oh….. I think I’ll open the patio door?” To whom am I speaking?

MYSELF!

Glory be! (I only THOUGHT that as I said it. I can THINK things, too, without saying anything out loud, you know.)

“Oh……I wonder if Jim, Joyce and Charlotte are eating at Perkins today?” Then, “I don’t have to turn here, I can go around the corner.”

“Oh..there’s their car.”

Did anybody hear that? I hope not!

A couple of times I’ve heard someone talking to themselves, and I say (to friends, mind you), “Do you learn much that way?”

Thinking about this now, I find I can’t very well distinguish what I’ve thought from what I might have said out loud today. In my apartment, there’s no one to tell me whether I spoke or not.

“Oh right! ‘Family Reunions’. That’s a good subject for a short posting. Where’s my BlackBerry. I’ll write that down.”

Now I’m worried.

What have I said, and what have I just thought, today? I can’t really remember, but I’m going to pay more attention, now that I’m remembering that I’m 85, and MAY “think out loud” occasionally.

“Brethren, pray for us!”, I’m thinking.

I just remembered (not out loud): The Bible says, “Speaking to yourselves in psalms. hymns and spiritual songs, making melody in your hearts to the Lord.” (I just remembered that, but it may NOT be quoted accurately.) I’m thinking.

If there is anymore listing of “talking aloud to myself”, it was after what I have just written.

Later:

I don’t know about this. It’s now 9:10PM and I have been sitting here writing some other posts for my blog, and just now, I felt chilly. I looked over at the open patio door, and into the darkness, I said, “Oh….No wonder it’s cold. I’d better shut the door.” Out loud!

Whew!

Still later:

Just now, getting ready for bed, I began thinking about what I’ve written here, and thought maybe I DIDN’T say something out loud - even though I just reported that I did.

I DID say out loud, “Oh….maybe I DIDN’T say that.

I laughed out loud, uproariously.

Can a man REALLY be crazy if he can laugh that loudly at himself? I doubt it.

I’m Goin’ to bed. (Silently)

Yet later:

Whew. It’s now 10:15, and I’ve just been thinking. Actually, I’ve been listening - in bed - to the Boston Pops Orchestra playing some old Frank Sinatra selections, and also thinking.

I said to myself (not out loud). “Why isn’t it OK to either just think some thoughts or words, or say them out loud? When I think these thoughts and words, they make sense. When I say them out loud, they still make sense.”

What do you think of that?

(Since I can’t get an answer from you right now, what makes the difference if I ask the question in my mind, then on this screen, or aloud in this room - basically to myself?) I just thought that - no sound.

I’m still listening to the Boston Pops. They’re playing now, “The Shadow of Your Smile.” Previously, there has been, “Fly Me To The Moon”; “New York, New York”; “Strangers in the Night”; “Night and Day”, etc. Very conducive to thinking, not talking.

Boy this thinking about whether or not I’m talking to myself or not is “invigorating”. I may never decide which is better.

Whew!

I’m going back to bed.

Just started to play, “Chicago”.

It’s 10:25.

Did I make it clear that I’m listening to ear plugs from my iPod? If there WERE someone in the room, they couldn’t hear either the music, OR my thoughts, unless I verbalized them.

Good night!

Next day:

“Two-seventy five!!”, I said aloud in the car with the window open. “Whatever happened to fifteen cents a gallon?!” Of course, foolishly harking back to my early childhood, when my Uncle Ed Stover sold SOHIO gas, and was in a “gas war” with the two other gas stations in town. (The Speedway sign ACTUALLY said “2.75”).

Have mercy! Do you know where I can get a horse and buggy real cheap?

I’ve decided that talking out loud, even when by yourself, does not NECESSARILY indicate you’re crazy!

Though I’ve always said, “If you think you are, you’re not!” Crazy, that is. I don’t know about the reverse. If you think you’re not….are you?

Whew, again!

I THINK I'm not crazy!