Going on 80

This is the 8th wedding anniversary of my great-niece Heather (Milner) and her husband Dan Roecker.  They were married on July 17, 2003.

It was a beautiful day in Jamaica, mon!  They and their families had a whee of a time and as far as the barefoot bride and groom are concerned, it’s a good thing. That was probably the last “time off” they’ve had.

Since then, their schedule hasn’t allowed much time for rum punch, romantic walks on the beach, or calypso dancing.

They settled down in Portland, Oregon where Dan worked in the semi-conductor world, and where Heather retired from the corporate marketplace (but kept working as an aerobics trainer) in order to produce their first baby – Jake. 

Shortly after his arrival, Dan’s company – a Netherlands-based company called ASML – moved them to Utah.

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They were barely unpacked before baby Ruby announced her intentions to be born, and so she was, now making the little family a foursome.  

It was probably about this time, that Heather and Dan could no longer remember where they’d stowed their straw hats, bongo drums, and tropical garb.  They had other fish to fry at the moment.  Called parenthood. 

Being barefoot was definitely de rigueur at the Milner/Roecker wedding! 

But the bride’s bare dancing feet at her wedding were now gracing the bathroom during potty training or making like “I’m a Little Teapot”.

Last December, Dan got promoted to serve as an account manager to the Intel account team for ASML, responsible for the Hillsboro, Oregon area.  The next six months were spent planning, packing and moving to Portland.  Just a few weeks ago, they moved into their new house there and are still probably trying to figure out where on earth their “spare time” went.

When Heather’s mom and dad – Chris and Mark Milner – and her brother Corey and his wife Rebecca came for a visit this month, they all almost took a train trip to visit us in Seattle. But schedules affecting preschoolers have to be – shall we say – flexible.  Strep throat and transportation logistics ruled (and unscheduled) the day.  There will be a train trip in the future though, if the train-fan Jake and Octo-woman have anything to say about it.

To celebrate their anniversary – and to remind them of their giddy days of yore – here’s the dancing feet of Heather and Dan out on the town, wearing shoes.  It’s not thee calypso exactly, but hey, don’t be picky.

Live it up, kids!

In case you don’t know everything yet, maybe this information will help fill in the gaps: (I hope most of it is true.)

The first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television were Fred and Wilma Flintstone.

Coca-Cola was originally green.

Every day more money is printed for Monopoly than the US Treasury.

The Hawaiian alphabet has 12 letters.

Men can read smaller print than women; women can hear better.

City with the most Rolls Royce’s per capita: Hong Kong.

State with the highest percentage of people who walk to work: Alaska.

Percentage of Africa that is wilderness: 28%
Percentage of North America that is wilderness: 38%

Barbie’s measurements if she were life size: 39-23-33

Cost of raising a medium-size dog to the age of eleven: $6,400. 

Average number of people airborne over the US any given hour: 61,000.

Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair.

The world’s youngest parents were 8 and 9 and lived in China in 1910. 

The youngest pope was between 11 to 20 years old.   Benedict IX

First novel ever written on a typewriter: Tom Sawyer.

The San Francisco Cable cars are the only mobile National Monuments.

Each king in a deck of playing cards represents a great king from history:
Spades – King David
Clubs – Alexander the Great,
Hearts-Charlemagne, and
Diamonds – Julius Caesar.

111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321

If a statue in the park of a person on a horse has both front legs in the air, the person died in battle; if the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes. (This may be an urban legend.)

Only two people signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4th, John Hancock and Charles Thomson. Most of the rest signed on August 2, but the last signature wasn’t added until 5 years later.

“I am.” is the shortest complete sentence in the English language.

The phrase “rule of thumb” is derived from an old English law which stated that you couldn’t beat your wife with anything wider than your thumb.

The name Jeep came from the abbreviation used in the army for the “General Purpose” vehicle, G.P. 

The cruise liner, Queen Elizabeth II, moves only six inches for each gallon of diesel that it burns. 

So now don’t you feel better informed?

Today is National Test Your Knowledge About Religion Day. 

Okay, I made that up.  Today is actually National Tapioca Pudding Day, but who could possibly write a meaningful blob about that.  

My son Matthew is convinced that you will appreciate enlarging and testing your knowledge about religion so you don’t have to limp along on blind faith alone. It’s better if you’ve seasoned it with some up-to-date intel.

Take the Jews, for instance.  Nobody had more faith than they did when they followed Moses through the desert for 40 years – with no map.  After a few years the kids fully deserved to keep pleading, “Are we there yet?”  

And surely somebody in the back row must have been muttering, “I don’t think this guy knows where he’s going.”  But Moses just needed some knowledge.  The Promised Land would have been a cinch to locate if he’d only known its GPS coordinates. 

That’s why Matthew thinks it’s a good idea if we all take this little test.  It only takes about five minutes to answer the 15 questions, and then it’ll grade your answers and tell you how you did. Since your answers will be compared to folks who may think the New Testament is a paperback version of the Old Testament, you should easily ace the test.

So click here,
and then – ready, set, go!

It may be because I have such low standards.

During the 66 years since I got my first job, I had several “dream jobs”. I still remember them fondly.

Among them was my very first real job. As an elevator operator at Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. (Don’t snicker. I wistfully remember every minute of the two years I spent operating that big, faithful, cranky, old Otis elevator.)

It was 1945, just before World War II ended.

When I applied for the part-time job that was posted by the hospital, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. They actually hired me! My only previous experience was as a “paperboy” delivering Des Moines Register morning newspapers.

I was only 14 years old, but there were no child labor laws at that time. Hospitals in wartime couldn’t afford to be choosy, and any young ones hired were expected to work side-by-side delivering good work along with everybody else.

I was paid – handsomely – at 40 cents per hour. All my friends were stuck babysitting and delivering newspapers, and there I was – awarded this “high-paying” position of what I considered to be an almost sacred responsibility.

Every day there was full of drama and of what I believed to be my important role in it. I never ceased to be awestruck.  Over-zealous can’t begin to describe it.

The people I transported on the Otis elevator were doctors, nurses, technicians, other staff, nuns, priests, messengers, patients, and visitors. I was convinced they couldn’t successfully complete their life-saving tasks without my professional intervention “elevating” them up and down.

There were actually two elevators in Mercy Hospital at the time.  Besides the antiquated Otis elevator which I operated, there was a “modern” electric elevator which the passengers could operate themselves at the other end of the hospital.  Because it was new technology, however, it kept breaking down, thus forcing passengers to either climb the stairs, or to seek out our noisy old Otis elevator at the other end of the hall.

The Otis was large enough to accommodate a gurney and several people as well.    Once everybody was on board, I had to pull shut a big door, and then slide closed a gate that further enclosed our space.  My left arm still has the biceps to prove it.

Once I had everybody on board, I would ready for take-off.  Creaking and wheezing, the elevator would go up when I pulled the crank toward me, or down when I pulled it forward. I almost always got it to work.

The hospital had five floors for patient care: I think Surgery was on fifth, Medical on fourth, Obstetrics and Nursery on third, offices, lobby, and chapel on first, and the Emergency Room and Pediatrics was on the basement floor.

Nearly every shift I worked was fraught with drama.  No babies were delivered on my elevator, but they sure came close.  Enclosed within the walls of the Otis, I literally observed life and death unfolding in front of me.

Besides women in labor, hospital staff and dozens of visitors, I dutifully transported dead people, accident victims, worried relatives, nervous surgery patients being escorted to their assigned rooms, heart and stroke victims sometimes unconscious, and frantic families.  There was blood, tears, a few screams, broken bones, terror, joy, happy patients being wheeled down for discharge, and sometimes terrible despair, sadness and grief. 

For a fourteen-year-old – or anybody else – there were many life lessons to be contemplated on that elevator.

And there were jokers, too.  At least once every shift one of my passengers would say to me with an evil grin, “You sure must have your ups and downs!”

I worked on the Otis for two years – part-time during the school year – and nearly full-time during the summers. Later on I worked as an information clerk, and still later as a registrar.  I worked at Mercy Hospital for six years altogether, till I went away to school.  Since I was also born in the same hospital, I figure much of my youth was spent there.  That’s probably why I find myself mentioning it so frequently on these blobs.

According to my standards, my gig as an elevator operator was definitely a “dream job”. A dream job is one which must never EVER bore you.

Plus that – okay, let’s face it, it was the only time in my life when I was able to professionally operate a “vehicle”.  I loved how the elevator would go up when I pulled the crank back, and down when I pushed it forward.  No matter how hard I tried in my later life, I could never get the shift on an automobile to be so friendly.

Today is the UN-birthday of Kensley Jade Melchior.  Her real birthday was on June 29th but her addle-pated great-great aunt Octo-woman mislaid it. Somehow, Kensley Jade forged ahead and managed to celebrate the big day anyway.  

On June 29th, this little beauty was one year old, and she was the leading lady for one of the bashes which only the Fitzpatricks can engineer.

Kensley is my great-great niece.  Her mom is Meghan Melchior who’s the daughter of my niece Rene’ and Dan Melchior.

My great niece Meghan Melchior wrote:

Kensley’s first birthday bash was so much fun. She really enjoyed herself and, yes, she knew about everything that was going on. She for sure knew that this day was meant for her. 

She was surrounded by friends and family that love and adore her. We had her party out on a pumpkin patch farm that has lots of fun activities. Her favorites were riding the pony and feeding the ducks. The most exciting part for her was seeing her cake. The expression on her face was priceless.

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Kensley was scheduled to arrive for us on July the 1st of 2010. She wasn’t having any of that though. She wanted to schedule her own arrival and decided while mommy was grocery shopping would be a lovely time. We went into the hospital the evening of June the 28th and she was born early in the morning on the 29th. 

She was a tiny petite baby compared to her 9 pound brothers. She weighed 7 pounds and was 20 inches long. At one-year-old she is still at only 15 pounds. She seemed like the tiniest, most precious thing I have ever held. Her daddy and I never wanted to put her down. Her nickname came from her daddy right away and so far has stuck with her. Her name is Kensley Jade and her family and friends all call her Jada.

Bringing her home to her brothers was emotional for both her daddy and me. Seeing them together and how sweet they were with her was too much for us to take in. I’ll never be able to put into words the feeling of warmth it gave me. It was similar to that feeling you have after eating that yummy Thanksgiving dinner. Just fulfillment, completeness and warmth.

Here’s a photo of Kensley with three more generations: her great-grandmother Joan Fitzpatrick, grandmother Rene’ Melchior, and mother Meghan Melchior.

She gets along with her brothers and little aunts and uncle very well. Everyone wants Kensley time, but there just isn’t enough of her to go around. She has her uncles Joshua, Dylan and Ian and also soon to be Auntie Andrea wrapped around her little finger. Her NayNay (Rene’) adores her and loves to get some time with her. I think her most favorite person right now would have to be her story-telling, song-singing, silly face-making, jungle gym-acting, loving-me-like-like-nobody-else PaPa!!

Kensley has done everything early just to prove everybody wrong. She started crawling at 4 months, pulling up and cruising at 8 months and was walking at 10 months. Her big day for walking was Mothers Day!! We were all very excited and proud of her. She is a very smart little girl!! This may sound corny but her favorite thing to is watch Your Baby Can Read. She knows and recognizes a lot of words from her videos.

Thanks for taking the time to get to know our little angel through this blob. Wish you could meet her in person. She is a Fitzpatrick\Gorman sweetheart no doubt about it!!

And thanks to Meghan for treating us to this little biography.  

Happy belated birthday, Kensley!

Started writing tonights’s blog about 10 pm tonight.  Came back to finish it and found that the whole story including photos had been deleted.

Stick with me.  I’ll re-figure it tomorrow.  I hope

I have played with various organs during my lifetime:

1.  The pipe organ at St. Patrick Church in Cedar Rapids, Iowa taught under Sister Mary Madelene, I played regular Masses – Requiem, High Masses, funeral and wedding and memorial Masses.  The biggest deal was at Christmastime, or at funerals or weddings.

Or – miracle of miracles – on the times when someone paid us money for a ceremony  (because that wasn’t usually done in those days).

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2.  The electric organ at Mount Mercy Academy in 1947-52 in Cedar Rapids, iowa. I helped pay my tuition at that school while fingering the keys under direction of Sister Mary de Lourdes.  I was a really awful organist, but somehow, they put with me.

3.  A home electric organ that we had for several years.  My favorite music at the time was anything by the Beatles. 

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4.  A mouth organ that some of us are currently learning to use, and,

5.  My final directives and my driver’s license which specify that in case of death, my organs – should any remain – are supposed to be re-cycled.

All of which is by way of bringing up the following story:

A minister was  preoccupied with thoughts of how he was going to ask the congregation to come up with more money than they were expecting for repairs to the church  building. Therefore, he was annoyed to find that  the regular organist was sick and a substitute had been brought in at the last minute. The substitute  wanted to know what to play.

“Here’s a copy of  the service,” he said impatiently. “But, you’ll  have to think of something to play after I make  the announcement about the finances.”

During  the service, the minister paused and said, “Brothers and Sisters, we are in great difficulty; the  roof repairs cost twice as much as we expected and  we need $4,000 more. Any of you who can pledge $100 or more, please stand up.”

At that moment, the substitute organist played “The Star  Spangled Banner.”

And that is how the substitute became the regular organist!

I wish Congress could get along like these guys do . . .

I need to talk to you about my son-in-law Brad. I’m certain that he missed his true calling.  

Brad lives next door to me in a house he shares with my daughter Gretchen and my grandchildren, Bryce, Ford and TT.  There’s plenty of room for them over there.  There’s a small apartment on the lower level of the house which has housed a succession of interns from their church, and which I may eventually move into when they’re not looking. I hope they won’t notice.

Brad was born 53 years ago today here in Seattle.  All of his childhood photos are the look-a-like image of his eldest son – my grandson Bryce.

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Brad is the middle child of Marilyn and Don Covey. His brother Duane and sister Linda and their families all live in Seattle, too.

In Boy Scouts, both Duane and Brad managed to achieve the rank of Eagle Scout, an award which explains a lot about their character and resourcefulness.  Their sister Linda couldn’t become an Eagle Scout, so she grew up to become a distinguished angel of good works instead.

Four of my daughters attended Roosevelt High School – the same one Brad and his siblings went to, and that’s where our paths first crossed.  

My daughter Gretchen and Brad were married in 1982. The year Bryce was born, they moved into the big house next door. It’s a stately old home that’s about one hundred years old. That’s when I first started observing an amazing phenomenon. Brad is the perfect homeowner of a place like that.  Because He Can Fix  ANYTHING. With invention and skill. And what he fixes, stays fixed.

As an example, one day Gretchen and I were lamenting how we couldn’t keep the gate between our houses closed. We were trying to prevent a little visiting dog from running out of the yard.  The next thing we knew, a piece of wood several inches long appeared in place on top between the two sections of the gate. A groove had been drilled along the center of its length. To keep the gate closed ever since, all we have to do is slide the wood strip to join the two sections. It’s ingenious.

Another time, my grandson Ford wanted to build a “fort” in my backyard.  Almost like magic, within a couple of days, Brad educated him and helped plan and construct a downright charming little building that still resides in my backyard.  I keep threatening to rent it out as a bed and breakfast. 

 I would tell you what Brad does for a living if I knew. I have been investigating this subject for the past twenty some years because, after all, I’m his mother-in-law. Snooping is part of my job description.

During interrogation, my granddaughter TT, said she thinks “it has something to do with investments”. This is not a satisfying answer, and I feel it is my responsibility to investigate further. 

Whatever Brad does, he does it in the privacy of his office on the first floor.  This part of the house is not a welcoming environment for nosy mothers-in-law.  The office is bunker-style with concrete walls you can’t hear through, a window you can see out of but not into, and a door which is kept securely closed.  I don’t know what goes on in there, but it’s not from lack of trying.  Unless I can acquire some new forensic techniques — what goes on in Brad’s office stays in Brad’s office. We may never know.

But why, I ponder, is he squandering his talent in the field of finance, when he could be contributing to the needs of the real world as a handyman?  A problem-solver. An inventor. A fixer. A rescuer. 

His cool head and resourcefulness was never more evident than the time six years ago when my 14 year old grandson Ford had a cardiac arrest while playing in a basketball game. My daughter Gretchen – herself a trained lifeguard well versed to CPR – – was frozen in shock – along with the rest of the stunned crowd. Resolutely and calmly, Brad moved in, took over, and applied CPR to his son for ten minutes till medics arrived and came running into the gym. Ford remained near death for several days following, but thanks to his dad’s actions was able to survive the ordeal.  

Lke I said, what Brad fixes, stays fixed.

Hmm. I keep assuming that all his gifts will continue to be used for good.  But what if he corrupted them to use in a life of crime?  In the Mafia for instance, Brad would make an exceedingly effective Cleaner – going in after the crime, and “fixing” it.  But not to worry..  His mother-in-law will stand by him.

Brad is a person whom I love and admire with intensity.  My life (and my house and yard) would be in ruins without him.  He is a decent person, and that’s what I’m going to tell the authorities.  No matter what he’s done, I shall stand by him.  I shall tell the jury about how he was an Eagle Scout and how, without fail, he has always taken my garbage and recycling and yard waste cans out to the curb.  

I know he’ll get a light sentence because the judge will probably think he’s suffered enough.  What poor guy gets to have his life story told by his mother-in-law? 

Yesterday’s blob failed me.  The recipe for 40 pounds of great barbecued chicken wings from any reader failed to materialize. I find myself forced to “wing it”, and you know what that means! The wings will be overcooked, scorched, too dry, too mild, too hot, or possibly too inedible for human consumption.

While I was searching tonight for a recipe for barbecue sauce that wouldn’t remove paint from the walls, I ran across this little tidbit on Will & Guy’s Joke of the Day”.   

** Inexperienced Chili Taster visits Texas **

Notes from an Inexperienced Chili Tester called Frank, who was visiting Texas from Washington.  This is how Frank reported his experience:

“Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge’s table asking directions to the beer wagon, when the call came. The other two judges (Native Texans) assured me that the chili wouldn’t be all that spicy, and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting. So I accepted.”

Here are the scorecards for the 8 Chili’s that were submitted for judging by Mike, Arthur, Fred, Bubba, Linda, Vera, Susan and Lester.

Chili # 1 Mike’s Mild Chili
JUDGE ONE: A little too heavy on tomato. Amusing kick.
JUDGE TWO: Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
FRANK: Crikey, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that’s the worst one. These Texans are crazy.

Chili # 2 Arthur’s Afterburner Chili
JUDGE ONE: Smokey, with a hint of pork. Slight Jalapeno tang.
JUDGE TWO: Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
FRANK: Keep this out of the reach of children I’m not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich manoeuvre. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

Chili # 3 Fred’s Famous Burn Down The Barn Chili
JUDGE ONE: Excellent firehouse chili! Great kick. Needs more beans.>
JUDGE TWO: A beanless chili, a bit salty, good use of peppers.
FRANK: Call the EPA, I’ve located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now: get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. Wey the beer is good stuff.

Chili # 4 Bubba’s Black Magic
JUDGE ONE: Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
JUDGE TWO: Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
FRANK: I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it, is it possible to burnout taste buds? Sally, the barmaid, was standing behind me with fresh refills; that 300 lb. lady is starting to look HOT, just like this nuclear waste I’m eating. Is chili an aphrodisiac?

Chili # 5 Linda’s Legal Lip Remover
JUDGE ONE: Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very Impressive.
JUDGE TWO: Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
FRANK: My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes.  The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage, Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. I wonder if I’m burning my lips off? It really cheeses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Crazy rednecks!

Chili # 6 Vera’s Very Vegetarian Variety
JUDGE ONE: Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spice and peppers.
JUDGE TWO: The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
FRANK: My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that slut Sally. She must be kinkier than I thought. Can’t feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my mouth with a snow cone!

Chili # 7 Susan’s Screeming Sensation Chili
JUDGE ONE: A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
JUDGE TWO: Ho Hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried about Judge Number 3, He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
FRANK: You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn’t feel a damn thing. I’ve lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. At least during the autopsy they’ll know what killed me. I致e decided to stop breathing; it’s too painful. Stuff it. I’m not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I’ll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

Chili # 8 Lester’s Last Of The Red-Hot Lover’s Chili
JUDGE ONE: A perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili, safe for all, not too bold but spicy enough to declare it’s existence.
JUDGE TWO: This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot.

Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge Number 3 passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he’s going to make it. Poor Yank, wonder how he’d have reacted to a really hot chili?