And There Was Great Rejoicing

Our older son came up for John's birthday celebration and Josie wanted to know why he didn't bring his dogs, particularly Boo (Bucephalus,)  who's her favorite. She had to be satisfied with pictures.

There were, however, plenty of dogs.

Otter was especially insistent.

 

Two Lives

I'm recycling a post I did back in August of '08 about my maternal grandparents -- Victor Huborn and Ruby. 

1914 ~ Troy, Alabama

Riding in a rented buggy along a country road,
She smiles out at her unknown future,
Crisp in a dress of pale blue linen,
A dark-haired girl with flowers at her waist.

Stiff and correct in Sunday suit,
Her sweetheart wears a somber face
But
His new straw hat
Tilts at a jaunty courting angle.

Governor, the cynical livery hack,
Has seen it all; he poses for posterity;
As an unseen chaperon
Records the fleeting moment.

1973 ~ Tampa, Florida

Still side by side  they sit--  their life buttressed by
One daughter, two grandchildren,
Three great-grandchildren --
A stealthy progression of years and generations
Has somehow come to pass.

Stone-deaf in the now,
The old lady hears the voice
Somewhere deep inside,
The dark-haired girl is whispering:
Still here.
'She had the prettiest little ankles,'
The old man says.

John's Family Pictures

 

A Letter from My G G Grandmother

                                                         

Written in 1917 by his grandmother to my maternal grandfather in response to his request for family history:

Dear Huborn,

Just a few lines to thank you for your invitation to visit you. There is nothing I would enjoy more if my health would admit. I know I would have a pleasant time with you and Ruby but as I grow older I feel the need of staying at home. My health is very bad this winter-----Now these records I am sending are to the best of my memory. I do not remember dates. Now if this is not satisfactory please let me know & excuse all errors.

                                With a heart full of love for you both, as ever,

                                       Grammother Northcutt

Your grandfather J.H. Northcutt was the son of W.M. Northcutt who came with his father J.W. Northcutt from South Carolina and settled in Butler Co., Ala. Do not remember the date. J.W. Northcutt was a Methodist preacher. Your great grandmother Northcutt was a Miss Nancy Morrz (?) of Ahoobuta, Miss. who died when your grandfather was born. Don't know her parents.

Your great grandfather Benjamin Mason came to Alabama with his father Peter Mason from Savannah, Georgia. Do not remember their dates.

Your great grandmother Mason was Miss Margaret Mancil. Came from South Carolina with her father William Mancil during the trouble with the Indians. Do not remember these dates.

                                                   

As I was getting ready to post this, it occurred to me that possibly I was repeating myself (ah, old age!) And a quick search through this blog (now over 6K posts) told me that I'd already posted about this letter--and at considerably more length HERE

Too late to dream up another post . . . sorry.

Why Are These Two Laughing?

                                                                     

I've probably told this story before, but yesterday, as I was sorting through boxes of old photos, I came upon two that, I'm pretty sure, document said story.

                                                    

Here's a slightly earlier photo to set the scene. Breakfast at my grandparents' house. It's around 1979 and the boys and I are visiting. On the trip down, I had talked with the boys about proper Tampa behavior--no peeing outside, particularly, and certainly, n0 using naughty words, even if they had heard their parents using them. 

They seemed to understand.

All had gone well, and we were enjoying a quiet breakfast when darling little Justin looked over at me, and, out of the blue said, "We don't say sh*t."

Thankfully, my grandmother was deaf, and my grandfather was crunching cornflakes so neither heard him.

But Ethan and I did.

                                                    

                                                     

At the Beach--Long Ago

More from the trove of old pictures that didn't make it into my grandparents' albums. This first one, probably from the Twenties, puzzled and then startled me. The bulky fella on the left is identified as a Mr. Anderson, next to him, looking demure, is my grandmother, and on the far right is surely my grandfather. But who is the long-legged armful stretched across his lap? Mrs. Anderson? I know that my grandparents had friends named Anderson--but just how friendly were they? I know things loosened up a good deal in the Roaring Twenties but my grandparents?

Finally, I realized--that babe is my mother, probably in her mid-teens. Mrs. Anderson was likely behind the camera.

I zoomed in on my grandfather. When I knew him, he was mostly bald with a fringe of grey/white hair and a tidy little mustache. A distinguished gent. But back in the day, he was pretty darn good-looking.

When I showed this closeup to Josie, I asked if she knew who it was and she immediately said, "My daddy." Yep, there's a very strong resemblance.

Fast forward to the Thirties and my mother and a group of friends--probably at Indian Rocks, the favorite beach of Tampa folk. I love the beach house and actually remember visiting either it or one like it. Alas, all replaced by high rises now.

 

Tubby

More pictures from the long-forgotten stash. This is Tubby--my mother's dog when he was a girl. His name was familiar to me, mainly as a cautionary tale: poor Tubby contracted rabies--or hydrophobia as it was called back then--and had to be put down. And my grandmother had to have the dreaded series of shots in the belly that was the standard back then. I don't remember being told that she was bitten--just contact with the dog's saliva would have been enough. 

This picture, presumably my mother's work--was it made after his death as a memorial? The fact that it, as well as these other pictures, was saved suggests a sad fondness.

Tubby must have been a nice dog --to be trusted with a rabbit as in the picture below. 

But what a horrifying experience the rabies must have been. My grandparents never has another dog--until my grandfather developed a bond with John's and my beagle/spaniel mix who he cared for while we were in Europe for three months. When we returned, he would drive the 45 minute trip to our house outside Tampa, just to take Juno for a ride. And he always brought treats.

 Finally, after we adopted two German Shepherd pups, we gave Juno to my grandfather and she settled in to a life of walks and constant spoiling.

 

The Flower Girl

                                                                                                                                        

                

1949

When I was six, Dolly, my Great Aunt Mamie’s youngest, was getting married and Ba (my maternal grandmother and Dolly’s aunt) and I rode the train from Tampa to Troy, Alabama. I was to be the flower girl and Ba, using her treadle Singer sewing machine, had made me a dress of rosebud -sprinkled white satin with a sweetheart neckline and puffed sleeves.

The train ride was enormously exciting—we had one of those little private compartments with (oh joy) a bed that let down from above the window. And making our shaky way along the rattling corridor to the dining car and its white tablecloths was little short of magic.

In Troy, Aunt Mamie’s house was overflowing with family and Ba and I were given a bed in the attic, next to the big attic fan through whose opening we could hear the buzz of activity below. (Many years later, when Ba was in her nineties, bedridden after a stroke, she kept saying that there was a wedding going on downstairs.)

I remember nothing of the wedding but recall that at the reception I hung out with the ring bearer, a little boy named Rusty. Was his hair dark red? I think so. There was a fella playing the piano and I asked him to play Home on the Range—my favorite song at the time.

Over fifty years later, I had a letter from Dolly. She was facing terminal cancer and was using her time to contact everyone who’d ever been important in her life. I don’t think I’d seen her since the wedding, but she thanked me lovingly for the part I’d played on one of the happiest days of her life. 

1922 Trip Down Florida's East Coast

Saturday's clean out and reorganization of the mathom closet revealed a stash of old photos from my maternal grandparents. I already have several of their old photo albums but some of these were new to me. 

The photo above says on the back: Taken on trip down the east coast of Florida Dec, 1922.

My grandfather was thirty; my grandmother a few years older, and they'd been married for seven years. Along for the ride were their five-year-old daughter (my mother,) "Father' (my grandmother's widowed father who lived with them,) and a Mr. Quinn, about whom I know nothing. Possibly a friend of Father's?

Notice all the luggage (grips, as my grandparents called them) strapped on the running board. 

My grandparents had fairly recently moved from Troy, Alabama to Lakeland, Florida and this may have been their first exploration of the state that was to be their home. The pineapple field they visited must have been a source of amazement. (In later years, after their move to Tampa, my grandfather tended a succession of pineapple plants, grown from the tops of the fruit.  And some persevered to bear fruit themselves.)

At Miami Beach. That's my mother in the foreground, watched over by Father. I'm guessing that's my grandmother and grandfather in the background. Presumably Mr. Quinn took the picture.

The last shot is of West Palm Beach. The Florida land boom/bubble (1924-1926) with unchecked development is just a few years away.

 A hundred and two years and these lovely scenes are long gone. 

 

Family Ephemera

What a surprise! The daughter of my (late) mother's (late) longtime friend sent me this mixed bag of clippings and photos from the Thirties and Forties. 

Many of these are familiar to me--my grandmother was an assiduous scrapbooker--but at this remove in time I am struck  by their youth. I think my father was 25 and my mother 24 when they married. 

Frances, John's mother, was even younger.

I knew (from my grandmother's scrapbooks) of my grandfather's work for war bonds and his encounter with film star Veronica Lake. I've seen pictures of him on stage with the blonde bombshell and he doesn't look nearly so stern. In fact, he appears to be enjoying himself right much.

 

Birthday Puzzles

 

 Yikes! I put off posting for Sunday till I was already awash in bubbly and chocolate cake. Today is John's 80th birthday (OMG) and we celebrated last night rather thoroughly.

So this will have to do for a post. As always, the gifts were accompanied by puzzles. It's somewhat easier since, for John, the gifts are always Scotch. And we try to guess the brand and sometimes the particular iteration of that label.

It's a group endeavor, solving these puzzles. Usually they are pretty brief-- A Korean from the hills, who goes by the name ___ ____.

Justin had one that was not so brief. I'll give it to you now and provide answers tomorrow. It's pretty involved.

As soon as Mick Jagger finished singing the words "They can't say we never tried," former astronaut and senator John ____ began screaming, ____  ____, not only asking for an encore but a repeat performance of the same song. Next to him sat former Bono spouse ____, who thought she had seen a ghost on stage (just Keith Richards) and screamed out as if in  cartoon, "___!" Ans so she never heard John say to her with a wink, "It never hurts to ____."

Answer and unraveling tomorrow.

A Quirky Family Tradition

Our older son Ethan came home for a belated birthday celebration. It was cancelled twice, first due to covid at his end, then due to the same thing here with Justin's family. But finally, we could celebrate.

No family pictures, as a special favor to E who hates having his picture taken as much as I do. 

So here are pictures of two of our puzzle clues for two of his gifts. It's our family's annoying habit to ask the recipient of a gift to guess what it is with the dubious help of written or drawn clues. 

Since usually the recipient has either made a list of what they would like to receive or there are certain always popular choices. In Ethan's case, it's Port. The trick is to guess the brand. This time it was Warre's Warrior (see below.)

The other gift required help from everyone and hints from the clue maker (also traditional.) If I told you the gift was a hundred-dollar bill in a little container made by Ethan's father, could you follow the reasoning behind the picture at the top of the page?

 

We Were So Young . . .

My mother and her father. I wondered why they were standing out by the mailbox for this picture. (The house across the street belonged to the Hammers who had a daughter a bit older than I and who was entrusted, now and then, to walk with me the two or three blocks to the drug store where we would enjoy lime freezes. Mrs. Hammer had an amazing collection of little green ceramic elves on every surface in her Florida room. There were lily pads too. I admired them fiercely and suggested we start a collection, but my mother was having none of it.)

This picture suggested why my mother and grandfather were staring toward the house. I suspect that this brick walk was just installed as I think I remember concrete stepping-stones originally.

This was the early Fifties--a new development built on what had been pasture. (We found cow bones.) I still love the beautiful long leaf pines.

My brother and I had lots of friends in the growing neighborhood--a whole gang of kids to play kick-the-can or red rover or, when we got older, to ride bikes with. We owned the vacant lot between us and the McKays and in time my brother and his friends would play baseball there.

It was, for us, a happy time.

                                                                                 
 

More Blasts from the Past

John with tobacco sticks. Maybe 1977 or 78. Probably our first crop. . . The tobacco has been jammed onto the sticks and will be left a day or so to wilt and be easier to take to the barn for drying.

Summer of '75 or '76. Our mentor, Clifford Freeman on Nell (34 years old) with Ethan and his cousin Andrew. (3 or 4)

The boys had their own horses. 

And sometimes they went hiking.

(Is that a book under Ethan's arm? 

He was reading at 2 and a half.)

 

Memory Overload

Continuing on with the upstairs bookshelves--now I come to the picture albums.  My maternal grandmother's wedding album, ditto my parents, ditto mine and John's. Scrapbooks and yearbooks and photo albums reaching back to my childhood through our life together--till the time all my photos became digital and never got printed.

At present, I'm just trying to dust and organize the albums by year--eventually I may try to edit them considerably, getting rid of repetitious stuff. But it's exhausting mentally, al the memories and the time jumps.  

The two above are my paternal grandparents--much younger than when I knew them.

My parents in 1941--in the dining room of my grandparents' house. Twenty-two years later, John and I would cut our wedding cake in that same room--a cake baked by the same lady in the same cake pan.

Guests at my parents' wedding.

John and my grandmother at our wedding reception. And guests--including Mayor Julian Lane (a cousin) chatting with my grandfather.

A long time ago in a galaxy far away...