Friday, November 27, 2009
MAN KILLS SELF BEFORE SHOOTING WIFE AND DAUGHTER
(It took the editor two or three readings before he realized that what he was reading was impossible.)
PANDA MATING FAILS: Veterinarian Takes Over
(What a guy!)
MINERS REFUSE TO WORK AFTER DEATH
JUVENILE COURT TO TRY SHOOTING DEFENDANT
COLD WAVE LINKED TO TEMPERATURE
(Who wudda thought?!)
RED TAPE HOLDS UP NEW BRIDGE
(Wonder if they tried duct tape?)
MAN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING: Faces Battery Charge
(He probably IS the battery charge. It must have been a shocking experience. His new nickname is Sparky. Etc, etc…)
ASTRONAUT TAKES BALME FOR GAS IN SPACECRAFT
(It was the freeze-dried chili and refried beans.)
HOSPITALS ARE SUED BY SEVEN FOOT DOCTORS
(Boy, are they tall!)
TYPHOON RIPS THROUGHT CEMETERY: Hundreds Dead
(Did I read that right? Are they serious?)
Have a safe and sane Black Friday everyone.
Thanks for stopping by...
Saturday, October 24, 2009
THE PEACH PIT MYSTERY
Once upon a time, in a place and time not far from where I am sitting, there lives a friendly pup named Ramona. Sometimes she is called Bella, sometimes Bubba Puppy – depending on how smartly or un-smartly (not a word, but I don’t want to use the word ‘dumb’) she behaves. The obedience trainer warned me, “You will always have a two year old living with you.” And… we do.
Ramona (a.k.a. Bella, a.k.a. Bubba Puppy) is very much attached to my son Chris. When he leaves for work, she mopes. When he comes home, she is that two-year-old that the trainer warned us about. Luckily, Chris has a good handle on her. While he is gone, I must be the nurturing mother figure of a two-year-old… oh, that was such a naughty dog!! Oh, what a good puppy… etc, etc. To say the least, I am NOT her favorite person unless I am the only one home and it’s mealtime. She has a built in alarm that tells here when it’s time to eat. I don’t know HOW she knows when it is THAT time.
She has a fairly large back yard (by California standards) in which to run free. She is sometimes a barker. She will let the passers-by know without a doubt that this is HER territory. She is a herding breed (Border Collie mix) and she is protecting her herd. However, if they stop and chat with her, she will lick them to death. She really does love attention. The yards in this neighborhood are all bordered with fences. There is an access gate in our back fence where Ramona stands and watches the highway of human life. As darkness falls, she stands on our deck and is mesmerized by the car lights going by. Later in the evening she chats with the other canines within ear-shot (hers, not ours). She is let outside just before out bedtime with hopes that there will be no need to get up during the night for a trip outside.
The neighbor to our north has a yard full of trees. Every summer the peach tree (in the back corner) bears its juicy fruit. Many, many people walking along the street at the back of our yard stop and climb the neighbor’s fence to pick the fruit in the tree (yesterday a couple of peach thieves broke that fence). If Ramona is out, she barks at them. Bubba loves the fruit… Bella doesn’t know right from wrong with many things – especially peaches.
Since it has been peach time, I have been waking to painfully stepping on a peach pit on my way to the kitchen… or stumbling over a broken pit in the living room or in the sunroom. Every morning it is something to do with peach pits – at least one, sometimes more. One morning I heard her trying to chew on it in the hallway where the bedrooms are (crunch, crunch). Just the sound hurt my teeth and jaw.
Now these wake up calls are usually before 6 a.m. My normal rise and shine time is between 7 and 7:30. But since these peach pit mysteries began, I am not sleeping at all well. (This time has changed as I am up by 6 a.m. these days to get my son to work... our second car ceased operating in September.)
Where, in the name of all that is Ramona, is she getting these pits?? This has really stumped us. Have the squirrels that constantly antagonize Ramona been stashing these pits for the winter, and Ramona found their stash? It just had to be the frickin’ squirrels. They have been trying to get back at us ever since we had THEIR tree taken down before it fell down.
Then, one morning, about 5 a.m., I heard something strange… I couldn’t place the noise. But when I turned the hall light on, you guessed it, another peach pit!!!
This pit lay in a pool of saliva (a large pool of saliva). AH HA!!! That dumb Bubba Puppy is eating any peach she can find before coming in at bedtime. In the middle of the night she regurgitates the pit and VOILA! I step on the pit and incur the pain of the pit. OK… so now we know the source. I will take care of that. We have a 30 foot lead line left over from her training. Before Chris left for work this morning, he attached that lead line to the bottom rail of our deck stair railing. That was at 7:30 a.m. At 8:30 a.m. I heard her out there barking at a guy on a bicycle. Now… how could she be at the back gate?? The lead line is not that long. OH BUBBA PUPPY!! I stepped out onto the deck. There at the door was an uneaten peach – for me? And there was Bubba with about 6 inches of the lead line hanging from her collar. Darn dog had chewed through the line and set herself free. And, in the process, had found another peach.
The peach was thrown away and, of course, Ramona moped away the rest of the day on the cool kitchen floor. I hope that tree dies this winter. And then the city decided to beautify the easement that runs across the back property of us and many of our neighbors (perhaps another blog subject?).
Thanks for stopping by... hope your days is just grand.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Happy Labor Day. May you be able to rest on your vocational laurels for these 24 hours. It’s a shame that our holidays are no longer what they used to be. I would LOVE to hear that WalMart closed its doors for 24 hours straight – or that any and all other stores did the same for that matter. I have a lot of respect for those small operations that actually do respect our formerly time-honored tradition of actually taking a holiday from work.
So, if it’s Labor Day, it must be September. Being from New England, this IS my time of year. This is the color and smells and glory of another year dying into winter.
People say that because I live in California, we don’t experience the seasons. I say this is not quite correct. Our daily temperatures drop from what can be a suffocating 100* to being a bone chilling 50*. At night, we do have frost and freezing temps. Perhaps we don’t have snow here, but I can travel less than an hour to see it, walk in it, make a snowball and throw it at something or someone. Our summer does melt into an autumn-like melancholy and then into the winter doldrums. I do get cabin fever.
It was then I remembered a wonderful series that was aired on PBS a while ago. Victor Borge was a very accomplished Danish pianist and quite adeptly mingled humor into his concerts. This is my contribution to September Song for 2009.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
For those who are ill or suffering from life's not so nice turns in the highway, may you find peace and hope and strength... sprinkled with a little laughing and a lot of smiles.
For those who are about to build and ark and float away, may you have warm sunny days with very little humidity.
For those people finding the dry heat opressive and energy-zapping, may you have cooler days with a few rain showers thrown in for good measure.
For those having found themselves at a good place in time, may you journey continue along this path.
Peace and blessings to all my blogging community and friends.
Thanks for stopping by :o)
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Auburn Wildfire Tears Path Of Destruction
Dozens Of Homes Burn In Placer County
Last summer I did drive cross-country and back for the sixth and seventh times in my life. I cannot begin to count the times I have flown from coast to coast. A friend in Massachusetts remarked one time that she always thought I had a wanderlust-type spirit. As I discussed in one of my posts (June 29, 2009), I have actually stepped foot (or car tires have touched ground) in 42 of our 50 states. I have actually lived in only five of them (California, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Connecticut). Then there are all the places we have visited in our cruising life… the Bahamas, Antigua, Dominica, Barbados, St Thomas, St Kitts, St Maarten, Puerto Rico, Jamaica, Grand Cayman, Cozumel, Puerto Vallarta, Acapulco, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Panama, and Columbia. I think that pretty much covers most of the ports. We may be adding more in the near future. I never in my life thought I would own a passport, say nothing of travel outside of the USA -- except for Canada.
However, this summer my highway travel has been a tad different. It involves travels of the mind… to discover more about who and why I am who I am.
The wordy 1940’s brochure and the not-so-wordy 1950’s brochure about the summer camp my dad attended (and my grandfather had a hand in running) is finished. I spent hours looking at the poorly scanned pages under a magnifying glass (program) so I could make sense of the words. Then I printed out the 50 pages, incorporated what I figured out to be the printed words, made double-sided copies and placed the pages into report covers. I made 6 copies of this. My aunt (dad’s sister) sent me a collection of thoughts she had written during the years – mostly about Camp Tosebo. I have put them into Word and added appropriate pictures (if I have them). That needs to be copied and put into the report cover. There will be chapters with pictures on Todd School, Camp Tosebo and my memories of life with Dad – all interspersed with pictures and emails received from the still-living relatives. When it’s done, I believe I will have written my first book. I would love this project to be done and sent out for Christmas. This may be an unrealistic deadline as I have much more soul-searching and writing to do. At least I will have most of it done – the easy stuff. The things already written that only need to be organized.
I have been knitting and crocheting several things for the grandkids. I finally found a pattern for an ear-flap hat that seem to be popular with the kids these days, which I can make with some ease. I have also been making jewelry for Christmas gifts. This is not real high class stuff, just things I think will be neat for early teen boys and my 9 year old granddaughter. Now, if I were really ambitious, I would work on fixing my camera so that I could take pictures of all this.** That means finding the instruction book and reading it. These craft sessions also provide me with “thought time.” Some of these thoughts actually find their way to the printed page.
Two weeks ago, I was handed a gift from a friend – she had no idea. It is a book that I read very quickly back in 2000… UP ISLAND by Anne Rivers Siddons. It is taking me back through the early emotions of my divorce that occurred circa 1981-82. The emotions lasted a much longer time. The healing of the main character takes place on Martha’s Vineyard. I actually visited that island for one long Columbus Day weekend. It was a wonderful weekend and the book is allowing me to relive some of that wonder. Of course back then I didn’t take many pictures. Darn! I need to fix that camera!** I am enjoying this highway also.
So many highways to travel, so little time… BIG sigh.
Thanks for stopping by... have a great week.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
- Spend less time in this computer chair. My friend "sciatica" is letting me know that I am here too much and for far too long at a time.
- Get things ready for a BIG garage sale -- motivating hubby is becoming more and more difficult.
- Start making the Christmas presents -- the ideas have been running around in my mind for a couple weeks now.
- Work on the family history which I started.
- With my son now working, I have more home responsibilites... one of them being cooking (which is NOT on my list of favorite things to do in the summer). Also, one of our cars died last week, so we are down to 1 vehicle now... I find myself playing chauffeur.
I will still visit you and read the goings-on. And I shall return.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
When I was in the elementary school-age bracket, there was always a nice breakfast – bacon and eggs and sweet rolls. Then it was off to dress in our Sunday best, pile in the car and get to church. When we got home, the smell of a roast permeated the house. Mom had managed to get one prepared and into the oven while the rest of us fussed about our clothes. Dinner was served to the melodies of classical music coming from our new stereophonic record player in the living room.
Please visit more Take That Tune contributions here.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
My thanks to:
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I shall loosely refer to him/her/it as a commenter on this blog. Check out comment # 6 on the previous post (hurry because it is going to be deleted soon). My problem with this commenter is that his/her/its comments are posted in either Chinese or Japanese. I chose to NOT find out which. Sometimes there are words that magically appear in English. Off the top of my head, I remember chocolate and motel – and whatever that word is in the previous post’s comments. I really appreciate my native language -- ENGLISH. And it is really the only language in which I am fluent.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The following is a true story. It was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and people's priorities. The questions raised: "In a common place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?"
Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
After 3 minutes a middle-aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.
4 minutes later: The violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.
6 minutes: A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
10 minutes: A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children – every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.
45 minutes: The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money, but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
1 hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this… the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before this “experiment,” Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.
One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?
Would you have stopped and listened and applauded? Since I can't be in a hurry to go any where, this would have been a delightful rest stop for me. There will always be another train, another doctor's appointment, time for another lunch or dinner. You might NEVER have this opportunity again.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I suffered as a child… I was traumatized. Because of my father’s VERY strict upbringing, as children, my sister and I didn’t have much of a social life, or any social adventures. We went to school; we had piano lessons. We were even allowed to be Girl Scouts. There was church school and church choir… all the activities that my parents considered wholesome to a goodly upbringing. I never tasted a REAL pizza until late into my teen years. And McDonalds?? Heaven forbid! But I could mow our lawn in the wink of an eye. (Remember I mentioned always thinking that my parents were of original Puritan stock?) But there was nothing of a butterflies-are-free social life. Even in high school, I wasn’t allowed to “socialize” with the Fonzie-esk “hoodlums,” as my dad called them. Nothing that could be noted as just plain old fun.
Living in a New England climate meant the summer was THE season to experience the adventures of outdoor life – and FUN. Independence Day meant there was a two-hour parade in downtown and then the Firemen’s Muster (competition among the fire departments – volunteer and paid – throughout the county) and the Gillette Carnival. The parade originally was to display the fire engines and muster teams for the competition. These were places to spend your carefully saved allowance in one fell swoop. And then a huge fireworks display at night. Nope I wasn’t permitted to partake in any of these activities as a child unless my parents took me to the parade in the morning. Admittedly, that was fun.
Then this story took a peculiar turn. As I searched the web for pictures of our illustrious Fourth of July Parade, I found a blog written by a man from Arizona who actually went to and took pictures of my hometown parade last month. In fact, he was originally from my neck of the woods. You can visit his story and pictures HERE. At one time was one of the premier Fourth of July Parades in the U.S. For several years, it was broadcast on PBS. It is now listed as the sixth largest in the country.
Now, back to my story, Pittsfield, Massachusetts also has a baseball park which in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s hosted minor league baseball farm teams from the Red Sox, Senators (now the Nationals), Rangers, Brewers, Cubs, Mets and Astros (and probably a couple that I can’t remember). Wahconah Park One thing Dad allowed me was a baseball game or three during the summer… in his company, of course. If I remember correctly, I saw Carlton Fisk start his baseball career in double-A ball at THAT park; and Mark Grace too… Wahconah Park is a real one-of-a-kind place, and a throwback to another era. One of the last remaining wooden ballparks in the country, it's also one of only two in which the batter faces the setting sun in the early evening. Depending on your point of view, the ballpark is either a run-down relic ready for the wrecking ball or a charming, quirky slice of baseball history -- and I definitely subscribe to the latter interpretation. The main grandstand, complete with a full roof, really is constructed of wood. Plastic owls dangle from the rafters to thwart birds from nesting, and the "box" seats are simply folding chairs in the first few rows. With its ancient facilities and its setting in a mostly residential neighborhood, seeing a game here is a wonderful trip back in baseball history.
OK… I have gotten side-tracked a few times trying to get this written. We have gone from my not having a fantastically social childhood to the ballpark in summer.
Well, one summer the gal who baby sat for my sister and me when my parents, on a very few occasions, went out for the night was given one of the leads (Ado Annie) in the musical “Oklahoma!” This musical would be performed at the infamous baseball park. And guess what?? Dad said that Mom and I could go. It was a mosquito infested bleacher seat (the stage was in the home plate area) and they actually were able to have real animals in the cast. This production instilled in me a love of the musical theater. Alas, I never did land a part in a musical production myself, but in high school I did get a solo at our Christmas Concert. However, I certainly was the lil' devil in my parents' lives...
Friday, July 31, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009 4:57 AM
You commented that A, E. Johnson was always the first name on the register. Indeed we were the first people to open the clubhouse door in June. As you will see in my stories, we came by Pere Marquette boats from Milwaukee, in the early years. I was still young when started driving around Chicago to get to camp. The truck was driven up at that time with supplies from Todd (School). Through the winter the camp truck was housed in our garage, unused as it was not insured. Usually one of the counselors drove it to Woodstock. We could easily make it in a day. It was because of these trips that Dad (General Johnson) invented and patented the precursor to the cruise control. He called it the "Gas-master". That's another story.
Back to camp-- We were the ones that looked for damage from field mice etc. One year flying squirrels took over the Crow's Nest. Dad would get water system in operation. He knew where every plug went and he removed to drain the system. He laid the pipes that went up the hill when we had water. I don't have to tell you what it takes to open up after it's been closed all winter. We learned to leave dresser drawers upside down to keep the mice out.Which cottage do you have? The Shaw one or did you build a new one?
Enough of my ramblings.Micky
The original Camp Truck was and old Model T.
They surely could load it down for their canoeing trips.
A common sight on camp ground and around town, was my grandfather driving the newer version of the truck. I assume he drove the old Model T also, but this is the truck that most of the campers remember. (I believe this is the truck for which my grandfather invented the “gas-master”).
The people who have become partners in the new Old Camp Tosebo Inn have just had this truck fully renovated. One of these partners,Dave Wallace (a former camper), writes: The truck that the General is driving has just been restored - I didn't do the work, but I paid the bills. It brings smiles to the folks in Onekama and Manistee who remember when it came to town full of singing little boys.
So... that's the beginning of my dad's story. I am sure there is so much more that I do not now know... and probably never will. I just received another email from my Aunt Micky. She has an old photo album that she is sending me of Todd School and Camp Tosebo. There are also pictures of my grandfather (General Johnson) and grandmother (the Latin teacher) when they were students at Hiram College. Can't wait to get it!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
7:00 First Call
7:05 Assembly. Getting up drill.
7:15 Wash up
8:00 Make beds and put camp in order. Toothbrush brigade.
8:30 Athletics. Class instruction and individual coaching in track and field, athletics, baseball, and rowing(?). [I believe archery was in this group also.]
9:30 Classes. The camp is divided into eight groups according to age and there are eight subjects taught. This gives each boy one week in each class. The subjects taught are Rowing, Canoeing, Horsemanship, Woodcraft, Material (construction work, model sailboats, etc.) and structural, Photography, and Bird Lore.
1:30 Rest Period
2:30 Free for recreation. Sailing or motorboat trips. Fishing trips about twice a week. Horses available. Swimming.
Memories from another TOSEBO camper: For the activities involving competition the camp was divided into two tribes, the Blackfeet and the Chippewas. Some of the feature events of the season included the regular games of the "major" and "minor" leagues, tournaments in tennis, track, archery, BB's, and Tom Thumb Golf.
Another visible sign of the old Camp Tosebo is the boathouse. The Camp Tosebo Boathouse has been a landmark on the southern shore of Portage Lake since 1912. Until 1938 the Boathouse sat on cribs out in the water and boats were "driven in" through doors on the east side. The second floor was used for clothes changing and featured a slide that went right into the water. In the winter of 1938-39 the Boathouse was dragged to its current location. Clothes changing was moved to the first floor and the upstairs was used to hang out the sails to dry.
Memories from my Cousin Arlene…
July 22, 2009
…I appreciate that the old Boathouse has been restored and it appears to have the same colors it did for years. It originally was sort of a light gold color like some of the other buildings. One day Grandpa took me - and perhaps my brother Gary- in to Manistee to choose new paint colors for the boathouse. I remember choosing the light green (though perhaps I was "guided" in that choice) for the boathouse - but it was Grandpa who chose the red for the lettering. I remember thinking that those colors might not go together, but I'm glad I was overruled. We got to help paint the boathouse - at least at the lower levels and seeing it restored is gratifying.
I was going to include stories about the old camp truck. However, today I got an email with more information about the truck in it. So I will save that for later.
Thanks, again, for stopping by…
Have a great day !
Monday, July 27, 2009
Do y'all remember the rantings of a maniac mother a few weeks back? Yup, that one. The mother who threw the four inch telephone book at her 38-year-old son and said: have a job by the end of July... OR ELSE.
Well... the miracle has happened. This is Christopher (a.k.a. Son #1) -- doesn't he look like a Marine (in his own mind, he still is). He now has employment AND is working -- 2 shifts this weekend. He wears a uniform, too.
Anyway, he took the phone book, looked up Security Guard companies. Called. Sent resumes. And went 'visiting'. Now, in California, to become a security guard, you have to have a guard card. This involves taking an 8-hour class and getting some sort of scan and then waiting for your name and number to magically appear on some website. Last Tuesday the magic happened and on Wednesday Chris was employed by National Security Services/Industry. This is one of the places he visited after my short fuse exploded. Chris and the guy running the office hit it off really well. He told Chris everything he had to do to get THE CARD. Then said, if you get the card, you've got a job here.
On Friday, Chris picked up his uniforms. On Saturday, he worked a Sweet Sixteen party at one of the Sacramento Community Centers from 1:30 p.m. until 12:30 a.m. Last night he was called in to cover the grave yard shift in the parking garage in Old Town Sacramento. Apparently this security company contracts with the city. Tomorrow Chris reports to his regular post. After training this will be from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. at the Sacramento Convention Center.
It does a mother's heart good to see her son drag in at 9 a.m. Exhausted from the night's work --- YAHOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I am happy that he will be earning a living again. I am happy that he is doing something he loves to do. And I am really, really overjoyed that he will be associating with people other than his old mom and step-dad.
If I weren't his mother, I wouldn't mess with him... would you?
Thanks for stopping by... have a great Monday
Friday, July 24, 2009
There is a lot of information and more family memories for me to dig through here. It may take the form of a couple of different posts.
The second part of the pre-story history revolves around the place where my dad spent his summers. Again, his father was part of the running of this institution. My grandfather was referred to as “General Johnson.”
This is General Johnson fishing in the channel that connects Portage Lake and Lake Michigan.
Founded by Noble Hill, Camp Tosebo was established in 1912 as a private summer camp for the Todd Seminary for Boys in Woodstock, Illinois. The camp attracted boys from all over the country, and even though the Todd School was closed in 1953, the summer camp carried on with its eight-week summer program for another twenty-four years.
It is/was nestled in 56 acres of woods on the south shore of Portage Lake near Manistee, Michigan. Camp Tosebo was established in 1912 by Mr. Noble Hill who was at that time Headmaster of Todd School for Boys. From the old name of the school, Todd Seminary for Boys, was adopted the name TOSEBO. Orson Welles attended the camp during the early 1930's. [yup, there’s that name again… bet Dad was just thrilled.]
Today, long after the last campers have gone, Tosebo Inn retains their memories with camp photos on the walls and the camp credo, "There is nothing so kingly as kindness", painted on the large stone fireplace. If you look closely, you can see it carved in the mantle. These young men are watching a game of chess which was taking place in front of the great fireplace. It might have been a rainy day.
In the 1996 renovation of the Inn (formerly known as the Club House), details were carefully restored and as a result the entire camp was listed on the Michigan State Register of Historic Sites. The Inn now boasts eight guest rooms along with several sitting areas including a large living room, a library, a game room, a dining hall and two sitting porches, all lovingly decorated with camp furnishings. Comfort, privacy, relaxation and wide open spaces both inside and out, are what make Tosebo a unique B&B. The Old Camp Tosebo Inn - Bed and Breakfast - offers its guests the best in indoor comfort and outdoor pleasures in a romantic and historical setting...
These 2 pictures show part of the renovations taking place at Camp Tosebo. On the left is the old building called the Club House. On the right is the renovated Club House, now known as the Inn at Camp Tosebo.
The Clubhouse at Tosebo contained the most important rooms at camp - the kitchen and dining room. The food at Tosebo was good and wholesome. You could be sure that when you came in after a morning or afternoon of vigorous activity you would be able to put plenty of it away. The food was served family style by the counselor to the five boys sitting at his table. The clubhouse also housed the infirmary, the library and game room where you could play or sit inside by the fire and read stories on rainy days.
So that is a very brief introduction to Camp Tosebo. I have more to show you in my next post.
Thanks for stopping by…
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
About this Todd School picture: (an email from my aunt)
Friday, July 10, 2009 9:49 AM
Dear Carol, I was fascinated by the pictures you sent. Your grandpa was on the far left. The two young women you picked were my primary grade teachers. The older lady was Miss Miles, the Wallingford Hall housemother. This was the time when your dad was a student and might be in the picture.The Tosebo pictures are of the time I lived at camp and are very familiar. Although your grandpa was there at the time he tended to be camera shy. Love,aunt Micky
At the time, Woodstock, IL was a small community NW of Chicago. In this small community was a private boys’ school, Todd School for Boys. It was an independent school founded by Reverend Richard K. Todd who moved to Woodstock Illinois from Vermont in 1847 to be pastor of newly formed Presbyterian Church. He brought the New England philosophy of "plain living and high thinking, and in harmony with Puritan traditions." [note: It’s really ironic, at least to me, that all the while I was growing up I claimed that my parents were of true Puritan stock – not far from the truth, eh?].
In 1848 Rev Todd opened a day school in the parsonage, for both boys and girls. This small day school went through many scholastic changes, and in 1867 the school underwent "extensive improvements" at which time it became exclusively a seminary for boys, and became known as the Woodstock Institute. It held this name until 1873 when it became known as the Todd Seminary for Boys. Noble Hill joined the institution in 1888 as Reverend Todd's assistant. Hill resigned a year later due to differences in opinions with Todd. A year later Hill returned with a promise from Todd that he would have his full support. In June, 1892 Noble Hill arranged to purchase the Seminary from Reverend Todd, at a cost of $20,000. Noble Hill was headmaster at the school until he passed the school to his children in 1930. The following is an email from my dad’s sister:
Saturday, July 11, 2009 8:25 AM
… During the WW2 your grandma taught Latin. Since Todd was a private school people did not need to have a degree, Grandma could do that. Early on Grandpa was called the headmaster as he had the college degree and Roger Hill did not. After the son got the degree he took the title of headmaster and Grandpa was the principal.
Love, Aunt Micky
The school’s final name change occurred in 1930 when it became the Todd School for Boys. In addition, Woodstock can claim an important role in the creative development of Orson Welles. Welles attended the Todd School for Boys in Woodstock where he came under the positive influence and guidance of Roger Hill, a teacher who later became Todd's headmaster. Hill provided Welles with an ad hoc educational environment that proved invaluable to his creative experience, allowing Welles to concentrate on subjects that interested him. Welles performed and staged his first theatrical experiments and productions at Todd School. [One of my father’s claims to fame is that he once punched Orson Welles in the nose. Dad said, “He was just too big for his shoes.” – now didn’t that prove to be so very true? Welles' photo was pointed out in the web description of the above picture. I cannot find my dad in it. My grandfather is the gentleman on the left with his hat in his hand. ]
This picture is of one of the last buildings standing on the parcel where Todd School once lived. I do not know if it is still there.
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Monday, July 20, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Actually, there is a very simple connection between curse and computer. If it’s not running well, I curse. If it’s not giving me the information I want, I curse. Plain and simple, if the dang thing doesn’t do or say what I WANT it to do or say the result is a plethora of profanity.
NOW... I need to back peddle just a bit before I continue on my phone journey. When we got back from our mini get away, this email was waiting in my inbox.
Of course all this turns out to be legitimate, but I’m still thinking a scam artist is trying to steal my credit card number – not that someone has ALREADY STOLEN it. The B of A rep is so nice and trying to get information from me and I am NOT giving it up. “Will you please verify your email address for me?” “Nope, I get all my statements on line. Bank of America already has it.” I was so NOT going to give out any info. Damn that email… that cursed email!!
The ‘CURSE’ of our high-tech world presents all of us with such infinite choices that we forget the communications of 10, 15, 20 or more years ago. It has made life easier and more difficult at the same time. It can give us hours of enjoyment, provide infinite knowledge and keep us in touch with long-lost or distant friends and relatives. It can also steal your money, your identity, your life. My small incident on Saturday was scary enough for me. I’m not untouchable in this byte-size world. Sometimes I really miss a less technical world… and sometimes, I don’t.
Visit more Manic Monday stories here. Thanks Mo!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
One of the highlights of my visit this time was to participate in Old Farts' Day at the local Sonora grocery stores. Sonora is about 45% retirees and on Tuesday some of the grocery stores give the seniors 5% off on their entire grocery bill. Ed figured that last year he spent about $4000. on groceries. Since he shops on Tuesdays almost ALL the time, it worked out to a savings of about $200. Now that's nothing to sneeze at, right?
We also watched the State Farm Home Run Derby on Monday night and the All Star Game on Tuesday night.
I had a long long phone conversation with my 85+ year old aunt on Sunday. She lives in Wisconsin and I was hoping to garner some more knowledge about my dad's childhood from her. It looks like this is going to be quite a project for me. I want to do this for my sons and grandchildren, so they know something of their heritage... then again... that's another story that I will share with y'all some day.
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