Box of History

As promised by Aunt Katie, residing in Nashville; "I am going to send you a box of a bunch of photos."  And sure enough, a big old square cardboard box was found on our doorstep, stuffed with photos and other items of Sue's, Cook Family History.

For some months now, with a lot of help from Ancestry.com, Sue has been sifting through years and connections, exploring the ancestral past and thinking of the places from which her people have come and places where they had gone.  It has been a fun endeavor, and now the dinning room table is spread with photographs, some of which have been in the family for almost a hundred years. A few old fashion photo albums have been purchased to sort the treasured memories.

There is her grandfather's high school diploma, and we now have pictures from the 1950's of the Snohomish County, Washington acreage (which we now own), with the old house and the old barn and lots of big old-growth stumps (long since cleared). There are glaring ancestors that seem awfully put-upon to pose for a photo and a then some nice portraits and some records of casual and some important events.  And then too many "photos of some people" (who are they?) - wish someone would have taken the time to write a note on the back. 

A few interesting lessons learned so far:

Back in Old Virginia, 17th Century times; one of my Grant ancestors actually married one of my wife's ancestors, and here it comes -- and apparently from the records, it looks like she "step out on him" and ran to live with another man, only to be left "one schilling" in his will for her wanton violation of the domestic tranquility.  So, maybe we are not related by marriage only?  It gets complicated.

Under the heading, "It's all been done before", or "You think you're the first - think again".  Our daughter Inga left Texas to attend college at the University of Oregon in Eugene.  Dallas, Texas to Eugene, Oregon, indeed they seem separated by a large gulf, on several levels, but it seemed safe that this was a new direction for the family to be in Eugene.  Not so.  Some of Sue's people left Iowa and headed west, landing in Eugene, Oregon as some of the early settlers, and they are purported to be buried in the Pioneer Cemetery.  Inga lives across the street from the Pioneer Cemetery, a headstone's throw from the final resting place of her great great grandparents.  The circle of life you know.

We now have some of the old 20th Century media of black & white photos as links to the past.  We wish we had more stories to go with these faces.  It makes me fear our text messages and emails with digital attachments will ultimately leave future generations the poorer.  But then again, who is to say that those Facebook videos of questionable conduct and frivolous texts won't be accessible to our great great grand kids. 

Better smile for the camera (or phone or tricorder) - you never know who will be sifting through your life or your blog, even four score and seven years from now.

The Folks Come to Town

The Folks from Montana drove to California in January.  They reported snow on the ground from Kalispel to Donner Pass. 
They said, "We won't do that again."

The Folks from Montana flew to Texas in February while our daffodils were in bloom.  Southwest Airlines treated 'em right all the way from Spokane to Love Field; and maybe they'll do that again.

Dad, just two days beyond his 82nd birthday when he landed in Dallas looked marvelous - as did Mom.  It being Mardi Gras - we fixed up an early shrimp-boil dinner with dirty rice and a traditional King Cake for dessert.  We put candles on top for a belated birthday party feel.  Dad even got the hidden "Baby Jesus" inside his piece of cake.  Guarantee of good luck for the year.

Dad's Mardi Gras King Cake/Birthday Cake
Let the Good Times Roll!

 But since they had gotten out of bed at 3:45 that morning to catch a shuttle to the Spokane Airport, we sang "Happy Birthday" and invoked the pre-Lenten spirit with a shout of "Let the good times roll!"  Then they rolled upstairs to the refurbished guest room to catch some Z's.

But they did not stay in bed long.  Hosting my parents is kind of like hosting a pair of border collies - you got to keep them busy or they may just get into some mischief.  What to do with my 80+ year-old parents?  Put 'em to work!
You're damn straight I did.

Dad made short work of rehanging the wooden side gates so they swing free and easy, latching with a satisfying solid sound as they close.  Then I had him scape and paint the trim around the back windows and the garage door this mid-February.  And since not even that was enough I then instructed him to re-attach some loose iron pickets on by back fence.  All accomplished, a job well done.  Mom was assigned some shirt modifications and hemming of some slacks.  No slacker there either.

Some nights we cooked at home, some nights we went out on Dad's dime.  We were sorry to see that Luna Del Noche, our preferred local, high-end Mexican restaurant had become Senor Chacha.  We then scrambled to a Plan B - Cafe Brazil.  Good food, but not on the "adventurous" side of the menu. 

For good Mexican food, we were invited over to Cousin Karl's house where he hosted a fine dinner with great enchiladas.  Karl is a transplant to Dallas from Montana, the son of my Dad's sister, which of course makes him my cousin and Dad's nephew.  He and Jini make for most pleasant company as we ate and shared family stories around the table.


For our Big City Food Adventure: I forced everyone to Saigon Block on Sunday night, and insisted we order the baked catfish.  Dad associates catfish with the south, and had some prejudices against the muddy fish, but I prevailed.  Minh, our waiter promised to show us how to handle a Vietnamese Catfish; after removing the backbone in a single motion, a portion of the fish covered in peanuts and herbs was pluck from the dish and placed in rice paper
and accessorized with fresh vegetables, rolled into an "Asian tortilla" [forgive me], dipped into the sauce and consumed hand-to-mouth.

Vietnamese Baked Catfish
Served in a platter with waiter's hand about to extract the fish's spine

Plate awaiting Catfish



Mom & Dad at Saigon Block
The Catfish Dinner!












After dinner, Dad said the meal was "interesting".

Prior to their arrival in Texas, our February was sunny with above average temperatures, the week before they landed in town we were at 79 degrees.  The rain and typically cool weather came in their suitcases.  Though some days reached up to the low 60's - which they thought was grand and ate their lunch outside (brrr).  Saturday's bright afternoon's sun did seem to call for a walk in the woods, so we headed to the Spring Creek Nature Preserve, parkland set aside to give us suburbanites a feel for the "Blackland Prairie" that existed before shopping complexes and planned neighborhood development.

A Walk in the Woods
Texas February Sun
Mom, Dad & Wife

Sue wishes she had a camera... because it was This BIG!

Moon Snag

Up early on Tuesday, leaving for Love Field at 5:30 AM for a 7:30 flight back to Spokane.  We made it in plenty of time.

Mom & Dad, thanks for everything. 

We see you on the lake in Montana later!

*************

When I was 11 years old, my grandparents came to visit us.  We were living in a small town, and the weekly newspaper was always looking to fill space.  So, the visit of my grandparents was noted on one of the interior pages with a simple, but unedited item that read as such:

      Coit and Anne Suneson from Montana, the parents of Alfred Suneson were in town visiting their son this past week the affair netted $300.

We are always the richer when we are visited by other generations.

Follow that plane! And Step On It (not in it)!

The local news media has intermittentently warned the residents of the Dallas-Fort Worth Area  over the past year-and-a-half; we were to watch out as we traveled through the highway interchanges between these two cities, for there was major improvements being made to these paved arterials.  The locus of the construction consternation and carfusion was centered near the north entrance to DFW Airport.  Watch Out!  Heavy enforcement, lane changes and ever changing routes and blockades - kind of like the disappearing and moving stair cases at Hogwarts.

Warning duly noted: I avoided the area for much of the construction time.  Actually I never really had to traverse that mix of old roadway and cement barriers to find where they placed the improved roadway.  Not my problem - until mid-December, anyway.

Inga was flying into DFW Airport for Christmas Break one clear night.  Sue was otherwise occupied with work that evening, so Grant and I left early enough to get to Terminal C in time and greet her as she arrived.  The trip to the airport was not given a second thought, after all, I've been driving to this location for over 20 years.  Not frequently, but enough to be very familiar with it all.  How hard can it be?

At least my familiarity was enough to realize that the usual exit to the airport had seemed to disappear.  Grant and I were engaged in conversation when it soon became apparent that we were not going to the airport, but where headed toward Six Flags Amusement Park.  I interrupted our conversation and asked Grant to fire up the iPhone in his pocket and find out where the next exit was, since we needed to make a U-turn.  He quickly pulled up a navigation app and suggested we take Trinity Blvd to the South Entrance of DFW.  We did indeed, and managed to park and be waiting for Inga before she arrived.

However, I do pride myself on my innate sense of direction and navigational skills and memory for topography and landmarks.  My confidence now shaken - or at the very least I was curious as to how I missed the airport.  Just glad those planes could find it OK.  Inga returned to school in January, but departed from Love Field within Dallas, there is no problem in getting there from here.

My chance to find where I had gone wrong came when I offered to drop my wife off at DFW on mid-week afternoon in early February for a week long church educator conference in Orlando, Florida.  She did take time to visit Universal Studios just across from her hotel where she excitedly partook in the Harry Potter world (here one can pay money to experience disappearing hallways and stairs, only to be amused by such quizzical apparitions).  Though even there, she got stuck in midair over the roof tops of Hogsmead and had to wait for muggle technicians to whomp on the circuits to get the ride moving again.

Driving in to DFW this time I paid acute attention to the signage (somewhat poor) and the new exit ramp (partially disguised behind a multitude of orange traffic barrels) and easily maneuvered off the highway and toward the North Entrance of DFW, just like I was supposed to.  There. I did it.  Only to be fooled as I drove home, thinking that, like before, I exit to the east to get back home.  Only now, the route home is most directly reached by the second exit, not the first exit that says "Dallas" (the other choice was to Ft. Worth, logically i chose Dallas).  I took the "Dallas" exit and found myself head for downtown Dallas.  Not my intention.  I swore to myself, "Next time I will do better".  I just need to pay closer attention.

When Sue returned from Florida, I met her at DFW that evening, confident I could now get BOTH to and from the airport without mishap.  As we headed for the 16 multilane airport exits, each with a toll booth and gate, I opted to pull around a mini-bus in front of me and switch to another lane for a faster exit.  My toll tag should let be slip right on through the gate.  I pulled up and the gate stayed down.  I looked at the immigrant who works in the toll booth and shrugged.  He came out and informed me that this was not a gate where my automatic toll tag would work.  "Don't all of your gates read toll tags?"
"No!!  The gates for toll tags are most clearly marked. I must now take your license plate number before you can go."

With a scolding and my license plate now on file with the VP for Humiliation of Naughty Airport Drivers, the gate was raised and we were headed home.  Sue saw the first exit that indicated "Dallas" and sputteringly tried to get me to switch lanes and exit.  I declined, knowing from previous experiences, this was a poorly marked exit.  I told her, "This is trickier that you think, if you want out get out of DFW, you have to just follow the planes - and there goes one now!"  I accelerated past the first exit and took the second exit and we were home free (except for whatever fines I get for using the wrong toll booth). 

Just follow those planes.