Horse Manure Park

Sinatra once sang, "Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention." I'm happy to say that  line applies to my life for the most part, although if I could hop in a time machine there is one thing I would change. You see, my children never met my parents. Even though the circumstances were far beyond my control, I have always felt guilty about that. I know this is irrational thinking. When I graduated from high school there is no way I could have known I would lose my mother in less than two years. Indeed, no one can see into the future (and that might be the greatest gift God has ever given us). But the guilt remains: Deep inside my psyche I fear I've cheated my kids. Because of this, I talk about my parents frequently with my girl and boy. I tell them stories all the time; things my dad would do or something my mom would say. At least once every summer we make sure to camp at "the farm," as we call it; this is where my parents liv...

I spent a good part of my day off today doing research on my family tree. Today was mostly a day of dead ends and cold trails. Some times the documenation ends and you have nowhere left to go. Today was one of those days. But even on days when I hit a brick wall, I still learn plenty. That's why I find researching my family history so intriguing. It is never a waste of time. One interesting detail I looked into today was mentioned in the McGowan family history book which my parents bought some 35 years ago. The authors of the book stated that for years there had been family folklore suggesting John Cabell Breckinridge, Vice President of the United States under James Buchanan (and later, Secretary of War under Jefferson Davis of the Confederate States of America), was a distant relative. At the time the book was published (1982), the authors could find no connection. A bit of a backstory here: my great-great-great grandmother's maiden name was Ann "Nancy" Breck...

I have to mark time on this day! I have, at last , figured out an enduring mystery on my mom's side of the family. I can't tell you what a thrill it is to finally solve this crazy, convoluted story! In the last couple of days, I have uncovered new information on my maternal great-great-great and great-great-great-great grandparents. I am finding much of my mom's ancestry can be traced back to Ireland. I am more Irish than I previously believed. More on that in a later post. Today was a great victory for Sam the Sleuth. My Campbell and Walker cousins will enjoy this too, because (obviously) this pertains to them as well. You see, for as long as I can remember, my mom and dad told me that we were related to Abraham Lincoln. They weren't quite sure how, but they thought Nancy Hanks (Lincoln's mother) had a connection to our family. So today I decided, using the relatively limited resources at my disposal, if I could figure out that connection (if, in fact, ther...

John Campbell was born in Tyrone County, Northern Ireland on 1 August 1821. He immigrated to the United States when he was seven years old. On 13 August 1844, in Montreal, Canada, he married Mary White (also known as LaBlanc in some records). Mary was born on 19 April 1829 in Saint-Martin, Quebec, Canada. Presumably, she spoke fluent French. On 18 October 1868, John and Mary had their ninth (and last) child, a son they named William Barnabus Campbell. On 14 September 1874, Margaret McGowan was born to David and Sarah McGowan. Margaret's great-grandfather was John McGowan, who was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland in 1784 and immigrated to the U.S. on 10 July 1804. On the day after Christmas in 1891, William Campbell and Margaret McGowan were married in Mantorville, Minnesota. William and Margaret Campbell Seventeen years later, they had a daughter on this day, 31 March 1908. They named her Wilma Jerusha Campbell. Wilma is my grandmother and the matriarch of my Walker ...

This time of year when the sun is never far off the horizon and noon shadows are long and frozen, I really start to get stir crazy. Cabin fever, I suppose.  Perhaps you can relate? Lately it is been ridiculously cold outside, so activities in the great outdoors are limited. Many of my indoor projects are completed, although the downstairs living room still needs to be painted (I am not doing that in the winter, sorry).  I can only read so much for so long. I am a notoriously slow reader, but I've already polished off several novels this winter - two were almost 900 pages long each - which is impressive by my standards.  So, as I do on occasion, but not nearly often enough, I turn to writing. But what to write about? Usually that's a difficult subject with which to negotiate, but today it is easy.  This time of year I think of my parents more than usual. They are always on my mind, but especially so in the cold, excruciatingly long winter months. In...

I'm attempting to make a few changes today, because I know when there's too much on my plate. I am speaking in figurative terms here. I never seem to know when there's literally too much on my plate. I eat everything within my ZIP code (figuratively). Especially pastries. I love me some pastries. But let me get back to my original thought... whatever that was. I shouldn't have mentioned doughnuts. Oh yeah, I was talking about changes.... Today I opted not to renew the domain name for my football web site (thelonepylon.com). It was a difficult decision, but this is about knowing one's limits: there are not enough minutes in the day for me to keep a fantasy football site up-to-date with accurate and timely information. The problem is this: I am gainfully employed, I have a couple of tax deductions, and occasionally I try to be a reasonably adequate husband. (You know, minor details.) This means something's got to give. And why pay money for a d...

Please forgive me. It has been two months since my last blog. I have no idea where that time went. I suppose it went to that place where all the other time goes. I was kind of surprised to get an email from someone who asked me if I had given up blogging. It made me feel kind of good that someone checks in to read now and then. Believe me, I think about writing all the time but "thinking" and "doing" are two different things. Actually, I have written a couple of posts over the last 60 days, mostly on rainy days (which has been 55 of the last 60 days), but I decided the posts got too political. There's nothing worse than somebody rambling on about their political/moral beliefs. Especially when you run the risk of upsetting others and when you don't really know what you're talking about. I confess I usually don't know what I'm talking about. So here I am sitting on my unstained deck, typing away. The neighborhood is alive with the sound of...

Home today with the Boy, who has been home sick for the last two days.  Running a fever, throwing up.  Who knows where this came from?  The winter maladies continue.  The good news is he's on the mend, watching Looney Tunes right now and just announced that he was "bored," which is an excellent indicator that it is definitely back to school tomorrow. My brothers and sister-in-laws visited this weekend.  It was great to see them again.  We had a good talk, ate some great food and my oldest brother brought a box full of old photos.  I've been going through them, archiving many on the computer; I'm planning to make a hard cover photo book to preserve family history. In the meantime, I've been doing considerable research on the family tree, although I'm finding the more I look, the more questions I have.  Indeed, much more research is warranted. The puzzle continues. I've been posting quite a few old pictures on my Facebook feed, but I've real...

When I was a kid, I remember looking through an old photo album that my parents used to have.  The pictures inside were black and white, full of unfamiliar faces.  One picture in particular always stood out to me and I often wondered who in the world that distinguished looking man was. The picture was obviously taken in a professional studio.  The man didn't have the rugged looks of a laborer or a farmer.  He had a thick mustache and heavy eyebrows under a nearly entirely bald head. He appeared comfortable in a suit.  He looked, for lack of a better word, wealthy . All I knew was his name.  Written below the picture, in neat but unfamiliar handwriting, was "Samuel Gray." Samuel Gray I remember asking Mom if I was named after him, but she said no, I wasn't.  She knew this was a relative on Dad's side of the family and the picture was very old, and my dad really never said much about the picture. Well, thanks to some rather relentle...

The last couple times around the sun, this has been an unpleasant time of year. Last year at this time, we were preparing to go to the funeral of my mother's sister, Bev.   This year, we've just returned from the funeral of my wife's grandmother, celebrating 93 years of a life well-lived. Luckily, the weather was fine (you never know this time of year in North Dakota).  We spent good time with family, but it's always nice to come home.  As the Boy said last night, "I missed my house." At the funeral, my father-in-law delivered a very thoughtful, eloquent eulogy to his mother.  His words about the Greatest Generation were especially meaningful to me because my parents were of the same generation as his mom (my father was born in 1915, my mother in 1928).   Interestingly enough, I have been doing a great deal of research on my family tree over the past several weeks.  I've been receiving help from my cousins when I encounter sticking poin...

DISCLAIMER:  If you're not interested in ancestry or family trees, you will want to skip this post; this won't be interesting to anyone other than my immediate family (and even then it might be a stretch to call it "interesting"), but that's okay.  It fascinates me and that's all that matters!   Get your own blog. It's funny how the little things in life can turn into the most unexpected and pleasant surprises. Case in point:  I was corresponding with my cousin, Debra, on Facebook a couple of weeks ago when she sent me this incredible piece of family history: my grandfather's World War I registration card. This card was fascinating to me for a couple of reasons.  First, I had never seen my grandfather's handwriting before.  Second, it solved a long-standing personal mystery for me.  I'll get to that in a  minute. There is no doubt in my mind that my dad never saw this; he was two years old when my grandfather filled i...

I remember holding my breath until I was dizzy, loss of consciousness was near as I started seeing black and purple spots. I remember involuntary tears rolling down my cheeks.   I remember thinking to myself (because I didn't dare say it aloud) "Man, I hate this." I'm talking, of course, about being forced against my will (gasp!) to help make home made horseradish sauce as a kid.  But more about that in a minute. Today's entry is a sort of continuation of a subject I broached back on May 3rd of last year.  I mentioned then that my sister-in-law, Marilyn, had given me an entire box of my mom's cookbooks; an absolute treasure of childhood memories.   In May, I was giving serious thought to launching a whole new blog devoted entirely to Mom's recipes.  I honestly have enough to post a new recipe a day for about five years. Instead, I think I will simply post a recipe here every now and then when I suffer from a lack of anything better...

One hundred years ago today a baby boy was born near Somers, Iowa. That baby grew up to be my dad. That's right, today is my father's 100th birthday.  I think of him every single day and use him as my role model through life. I know I will never be half the man he was, but I do my best to make him proud of the child he raised. My dad in Rome, 1944, after the Battle of Monte Cassino.  When I looked at this picture as a kid, I always thought my dad looked like a movie star. My dad with my two brothers, Bob (left) and Dale, about 1951.  Still one of my favorite pictures. Me and my dad in the spring of 1970.  He was a 55 year-old grandfather in this picture, starting all over with yet another son! Me, my hair and my dad, autumn of 1988. Happy birthday, Dad.  Thank you for your service to our country -- you were a true American hero, even though you never really talked about it. Thank you for passing on your love of football to me.  I a...

I spent the day at home with the Boy today.  He was sick and I wasn't all that well myself.  I got up with him at 2:00 AM; he was sitting in his bed crying for no apparent reason (which is highly unusual for him).  I knew there was a problem, but I didn't know what it was. Yet. It took him about an hour to "prime the pump" (so to speak) and he finally upchucked. I'll give him credit, he made it to the bathroom.  But he puked in the sink (he takes after his mother, but that's a whole other story).  No worries, however.  Nothing a little Liquid Plum'r couldn't handle. At 3:00 AM.   Blech. He seemed fine afterward, so back to bed we went and at 7:00 AM he seemed as spry as usual.  We ate breakfast, we loaded up the truck to go to school and... ...all of his breakfast came up in the back of the truck. Oh, the frickin' joys of parenthood.  A great start to the week.   Obviously, it had to be Monday. ~ ...