All the wonderful things my Dad did, albeit was mostly for his grandchildren, whom he really adored. Oh he didn't show it with love and kisses. My Dad was not that type. But he did show it by playing with them hours on end, and I mean playing, right down on the floor type of playing. He taught them to sew, color, create images and a plethora of kid stuff that in todays world, with all its technology, seems to be sometimes forgotten. My two daughters , Marcie and Linda, were the chief recipients of his attention. And then there was me. "Handy Andy". That's what he would occasionally call me because I wasn't--- handy that is. But we had purchased an "expandable home' and what that label inferred was it would expand if the owners put enough hard work into it. And I was trying!! I won't go into all the things I did to that house because it now is superfluous. However one thing I did was to purchase a storm door to be planed and cut and painted and hung on the side of our home. It was an all day deal and when Dad came over that evening I saw his eyes glance quickly at my handiwork and I was hoping for some sort of praise. But no, I could see he disapproved of a part of my work. The evening wore on and as they got up to leave I had to find out what was wrong with the door. And so I asked him. Dad, I saw you look at the door. I worked all day on it and apparently there is something you don't like. He looked at me and said, "You should have it open against the wind so that it won't be blown from its hinges". I excitedly said, "I did that Dad . Usually the wind comes from the west and that's the west". Oops, my mistake. He pointed in the opposite direction and said, "No Jim, that's the west". "But Dad, there's the sun and its setting". His reply was a shock to everything I have ever known about the setting sun. He stated, "I don't care what the sun is doing, that's the west"!! I just was numbed by his answer and then said to myself, "What a great story I will be able to tell my kids about the stubborn streak my lovable Dad had deep within his persona. And you know what? I miss him like crazy and I'll take a little stubbornness when its surrounded by love for my kids. But someday I am going to ask him if he remembers my storm door and his answer to my comments. I wonder if he will admit a mistake or somehow convince me I had the wrong direction. We'll see.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
DID I MENTION STUBBORN??
All the wonderful things my Dad did, albeit was mostly for his grandchildren, whom he really adored. Oh he didn't show it with love and kisses. My Dad was not that type. But he did show it by playing with them hours on end, and I mean playing, right down on the floor type of playing. He taught them to sew, color, create images and a plethora of kid stuff that in todays world, with all its technology, seems to be sometimes forgotten. My two daughters , Marcie and Linda, were the chief recipients of his attention. And then there was me. "Handy Andy". That's what he would occasionally call me because I wasn't--- handy that is. But we had purchased an "expandable home' and what that label inferred was it would expand if the owners put enough hard work into it. And I was trying!! I won't go into all the things I did to that house because it now is superfluous. However one thing I did was to purchase a storm door to be planed and cut and painted and hung on the side of our home. It was an all day deal and when Dad came over that evening I saw his eyes glance quickly at my handiwork and I was hoping for some sort of praise. But no, I could see he disapproved of a part of my work. The evening wore on and as they got up to leave I had to find out what was wrong with the door. And so I asked him. Dad, I saw you look at the door. I worked all day on it and apparently there is something you don't like. He looked at me and said, "You should have it open against the wind so that it won't be blown from its hinges". I excitedly said, "I did that Dad . Usually the wind comes from the west and that's the west". Oops, my mistake. He pointed in the opposite direction and said, "No Jim, that's the west". "But Dad, there's the sun and its setting". His reply was a shock to everything I have ever known about the setting sun. He stated, "I don't care what the sun is doing, that's the west"!! I just was numbed by his answer and then said to myself, "What a great story I will be able to tell my kids about the stubborn streak my lovable Dad had deep within his persona. And you know what? I miss him like crazy and I'll take a little stubbornness when its surrounded by love for my kids. But someday I am going to ask him if he remembers my storm door and his answer to my comments. I wonder if he will admit a mistake or somehow convince me I had the wrong direction. We'll see.
THE BEST IS YET TO BE
My Dad was forced to sell our house, something I never understood. This was during the days of depression but I later realized banks were accepting merely the interest on mortgage loans and it may have been my father's stubbornness that wouldn't allow him to accept anything that even resembled charity. But we moved into a "flat" that had three bedrooms. My brother, Burt and I shared a bed---yes I said a bed , in one of the rooms and I would now attend a new school. It was Bennett High School and I was 12 years old. Don't ask why I was so young. I don't remember all the details, but I do recall I skipped a grade, and here I am walking down Fillmore Avenue to Main and on to school. It was about one and a half miles and not one school bus came by. I wonder why?? Because there were no school buses in those days. My freshman and sophomore years passed rather uneventfully. I did play in the band and was active in some of the school plays. But it was in my 3rd year that I began to blossom. I began to get aggressive about getting into various activities that placed me on stage at all the school auditoriums. I began singing in all the stage events. It turned out I was selected to be a cheerleader. I think that was because it became evident that I had the biggest mouth in the school and a megaphone was superfluous. I came to realize this was fun and made up my mind to only take 2 subjects the next two years ----yes that meant I would be in school for 5 years before I would graduate. But, so what? I would still only be 17. It was still during the depression. There were no jobs available and there was no money for a continuing education. So I reasoned, I might as well stay in school. I took two basic subjects each of those remaining two years, was active in every stage event ---sports, plays, musicals and so on. I was on stage and loved it. Down deep there was a ham lurking somewhere. My best buddy, Moon, was similarly active and we made a great couple. I am still in touch with Moon and we reminisce about those long ago years. He flew 30 Missions over Europe in a B17, which doesn't mean much to most of my readers but it was a BIG deal. Well, that is the story of how I went to High School for 5 years and they were the best years of my life at that time. Our motto, "The Best is yet to Be" still resonates with me and when I look back at all that followed I realize the Best was a continuing source of happiness with marriage, children, grandchildren and now great grand children. Certainly things did continue to get better and in spite of a setback here or there, life was great and I am at peace wondering if the best is still yet to be.
Friday, July 27, 2007
THE FALSE TEETH EPISODE
Many years ago while attending High School, I used to work afternoon at my former grammar school and I would help the char-women to sweep the floor, dust around and clean the balckboard. When summer came, of course, there was no school and I hired on as one of a crew to prepare the school for the coming season. My brother was the crew chief and I had an in to the work. Mr Durr was the head custodian and you wanted to stay away from his temper. I had been assigned to work with Jimmie Gassman and clean windows---you know those great high windows where you needed a tall ladder to do them well. Jimmie was a riot and he was regaling me with some rediculous stories and we were sitting each on his own ladder when in comes Mr Durr. We sat quietly while he told us how worthless we were and threatened that if we didn't get to work, we would be fired. The morning time was passing and again Jimmie and I are sitting exchanging nonsense--one of which I still used to impress little kids. This is done by stretching the web of your thumb and forefinger, putting it against your mouth and blowing and the sound of a fog horn would resonate across the room. We did a few of those and were laughing when in come the ogre--Mr Durr Now he is really mad and as he begins to lay it on us he seems to have a problem getting the words out. With that encumbrance, he cups his hand, spits out his upper and lower denture and proceeds to scream at us. Well, here we are at about 14 and had never seen dentures before and instead of respecting his problem, we broke out the most hilarious laughter you have ever heard. How unkind!! Well, I wish this tale had a moral or something to make the story interesting but that was it. We were fired and walked out laughing. I never saw Jimmie Gassman again and always wondered "Is he still so very funny"?
Saturday, July 21, 2007
UPDATE ON DAD
Dad became ill a week or so ago after spending the day boating on the Mississippi River with my brother Rand's family. He went into the hospital and ended up getting three stints placed in his heart arteries. He said the procedure was painless (such a tough guy). He is now supposed to be on oxygen, as his heart was not getting enough. They put him on oxygen seven years ago when he had a stint procedure done. He stayed on it a short while and then decided it was bothersome and went off it. He has arranged to get oxygen delivered to his home in Arizona for when he arrives. Maybe he will take it a little more seriously this time, but probably not. He was back on the boat a week after surgery, no doubt waving at pretty girls and embarrassing his grandsons. If he could, he would jump around and act like a teenager, but his age and condition will not allow it. He finds that very frustrating. It is tough when the mind races forward and the body can't keep up. Yes, he is a very immature 84 year old!
He was planning to come and visit me in Virginia Beach, but decided that it would be best if he went home instead. I am in total agreement, as the flights these days cannot be depended upon, and he could end up racing to catch a flight or stranded. He may try and come here in the fall. Meanwhile, he is going home to Arizona on Tuesday, July 24th . He is feeling good, and that is most important! More later---
Posted by Marcie, his loving daughter!
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Profile Photo
Just so you know, I have been fussing with this picture for HOURS! Trying to get it loaded for Dad's profile picture. I am not a code reader and so I tried every html combination I could conceive of. I finally figured out that I had to make the title of the picture shorter. Instead of reading "Dad at Bear Lake" I changed it to "Dad.jpg". Isn't that nuts? But now there is a profile picture of him. Whew, too much work for something so simple. --Marcie
Saturday, July 7, 2007
A NOTE FROM MARCIE
Today I posted this cute picture of my dad on my own blog and generated some interest from a few people that indicated they were interested in reading what Dad has to say. He actually has a blog on Yahoo 360, but I started this one for him recently because I thought it might be easier to operate. It has some nice features that the other blog doesn't have. Plus, you have to sign into Yahoo to get to the other one, and this blog you can reach from any search engine.
Soooo, I went into his Yahoo blog and copied and pasted his posts onto this blog, for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy reading some of my dad's funny stories. He will love it if you leave comments!
From his loving daughter,
Marcie
UNCLE CHUCK
Entry for January 17, 2007 Photo shows Uncle Chuck, Susie and Aunt Alice
When I was a very young lad, probably around eight, I used to be banished to my Grandparents home in Syracuse, N.Y. I was never sure whether my parents wanted to get rid of me or whether they thought I would enjoy this form of punishment. Well, they were rewarded by not having to put up with this kid and they were happy and as it turned out so was I. For, with my grandparents, whom I really loved, there lived my Aunt Alice and her husband Charles Howell--my Uncle Chuck. This combination of little Jimmie and Uncle Chuck was a match made in Heaven---at least from my point of view.
Chuck never earned much of a salary. For many years he worked as clerk in a hardware store and only had Sundays off. Ah but that was when he headed for the out-of-doors. He was in love with any outdoor activity and I was a recipient of his fondness of his Sunday activity. He loved to fish, hunt, dig potatoes, pick peaches, berries, of various description or anything that would allow him to further his hobby. As a result, every Sunday morning around 5:30 A.M. from my bedroom I would hear the words "C'mon Jim, lets go. I would be up in a flash, grab some breakfast and we would be in his car by 6:00 o'clock. We would often head for the Adirondack Mountains for there would always be something in season, something to shoot, just something to do in the great outdoors.
I first learned to golf when I was about eleven because Chuck liked to golf. I learned to distinguish which mushroom were the edible variety and we often would head for the same gold course he played at because there was always a plethora of mushrooms and puff balls, a usually very large type of that edible fungus in the shape of a ball. I learned a gooseberry from a boysenberry. Picking peaches or apples at his Aunt's farm was fun. I shot my first rabbit with a 410 shotgun and inexpertly shot the tail off a woodchuck feasting near his hole up on the hillside. In short, it was a paradise for a small boy and I came to love hearing his voice "C’mon Jim, lets go". I went to Syracuse every time I had a week off or a summer vacation from school. When I was nine or ten, my parents would take me to the train and I would wear shorts and because I was pretty small then, I could ride a train for the price normally reserved for age seven and under. In those days, it was no big deal to ride the train alone. Who in the world would think of bringing harm to a small boy?
When I was about eleven we moved to the country in a small community on about 2 acres of land and raised a garden each year. I learned to play Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in E(?) Minor there. I also caught a bull frog about the same size as the rabbit I shot. I would hike up to a nearby golf course and caddie for $.75 a round after I finished hoeing the garden. I did many things waiting for the Sabbath morning because then the familiar words would once again be heard and I would be up in a flash.
Unfortunately, as much as I loved being with Chuck, I discovered girls at about age fourteen and that former part of my life lost most of its glamour. But I never forgot what Charlie did for that little kid. In later years I would bring him to Minneapolis and we would drive or fly into various fishing resorts. He would stay with Louise and me for a week or two (This was after my Aunt Alice, Chuck’s wife, had passed away) and I think he really enjoyed being away from the loneliness of his small trailer near one of the Finger Lakes where he still fished, but he was alone most of the time. Some years after, I went to work in New Jersey and drove up to his trailer and we would go to dinner and I would spend the weekend with him.
We never said anything that could be construed as sentimental. Neither he or I could start the words and our throats would close up but I remember one time as I was preparing to go back to Jersey, I heard him say very softly "I'm sure lucky to have a nephew as good as you". I was crying as I got in my car and as I waved goodbye, I thought "No, I was the lucky one for all you did to give me the memories I cherish now". I cry now as I type this once again remembering the joy and happiness he brought into my life with just those simple words “C'mon Jim, lets go".
When I was a very young lad, probably around eight, I used to be banished to my Grandparents home in Syracuse, N.Y. I was never sure whether my parents wanted to get rid of me or whether they thought I would enjoy this form of punishment. Well, they were rewarded by not having to put up with this kid and they were happy and as it turned out so was I. For, with my grandparents, whom I really loved, there lived my Aunt Alice and her husband Charles Howell--my Uncle Chuck. This combination of little Jimmie and Uncle Chuck was a match made in Heaven---at least from my point of view.
Chuck never earned much of a salary. For many years he worked as clerk in a hardware store and only had Sundays off. Ah but that was when he headed for the out-of-doors. He was in love with any outdoor activity and I was a recipient of his fondness of his Sunday activity. He loved to fish, hunt, dig potatoes, pick peaches, berries, of various description or anything that would allow him to further his hobby. As a result, every Sunday morning around 5:30 A.M. from my bedroom I would hear the words "C'mon Jim, lets go. I would be up in a flash, grab some breakfast and we would be in his car by 6:00 o'clock. We would often head for the Adirondack Mountains for there would always be something in season, something to shoot, just something to do in the great outdoors.
I first learned to golf when I was about eleven because Chuck liked to golf. I learned to distinguish which mushroom were the edible variety and we often would head for the same gold course he played at because there was always a plethora of mushrooms and puff balls, a usually very large type of that edible fungus in the shape of a ball. I learned a gooseberry from a boysenberry. Picking peaches or apples at his Aunt's farm was fun. I shot my first rabbit with a 410 shotgun and inexpertly shot the tail off a woodchuck feasting near his hole up on the hillside. In short, it was a paradise for a small boy and I came to love hearing his voice "C’mon Jim, lets go". I went to Syracuse every time I had a week off or a summer vacation from school. When I was nine or ten, my parents would take me to the train and I would wear shorts and because I was pretty small then, I could ride a train for the price normally reserved for age seven and under. In those days, it was no big deal to ride the train alone. Who in the world would think of bringing harm to a small boy?
When I was about eleven we moved to the country in a small community on about 2 acres of land and raised a garden each year. I learned to play Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in E(?) Minor there. I also caught a bull frog about the same size as the rabbit I shot. I would hike up to a nearby golf course and caddie for $.75 a round after I finished hoeing the garden. I did many things waiting for the Sabbath morning because then the familiar words would once again be heard and I would be up in a flash.
Unfortunately, as much as I loved being with Chuck, I discovered girls at about age fourteen and that former part of my life lost most of its glamour. But I never forgot what Charlie did for that little kid. In later years I would bring him to Minneapolis and we would drive or fly into various fishing resorts. He would stay with Louise and me for a week or two (This was after my Aunt Alice, Chuck’s wife, had passed away) and I think he really enjoyed being away from the loneliness of his small trailer near one of the Finger Lakes where he still fished, but he was alone most of the time. Some years after, I went to work in New Jersey and drove up to his trailer and we would go to dinner and I would spend the weekend with him.
We never said anything that could be construed as sentimental. Neither he or I could start the words and our throats would close up but I remember one time as I was preparing to go back to Jersey, I heard him say very softly "I'm sure lucky to have a nephew as good as you". I was crying as I got in my car and as I waved goodbye, I thought "No, I was the lucky one for all you did to give me the memories I cherish now". I cry now as I type this once again remembering the joy and happiness he brought into my life with just those simple words “C'mon Jim, lets go".
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