Goodbye 2010!!

As the year 2010 quickly runs down its final moments, I find myself trying not to remember the less pleasant moments and focus on the best ones. The best moments of course include sharing times with you. There has been some great sadness for some of us as loved ones were lost... from accidents, cancer, and other horrible causes... and some of us have struggled with persistent health issues... and those too, also affected how 2010 played out.

But through it all, thick and thin... We got each other and had each other's back - and over the past few weeks, trips to the mailbox, both snail and electronic, brought me plentiful reminders that a great bunch of people surround me - both far and near.


Beautiful cards and thoughts from from Ronda, Betty of A Corgi in South California, Rebecca of This Mom's Many Hats, Karen of Ryan's MommyNikki of Aunt of 14, Lynne of Ramblin' Southern Woman,
Martha (and Tara) of The Daily Grind, YaYa who finally has a son! Wonderful, left- and right-handed handmade cards from Rita of SoulComfort's Corner and her daughter-in-law Leah, Parsley of Seasons of My Mind, Alison and Leland of Adventures of a Yankee Girl, Tori of Torizworld, Karla, Punkn of My loves My Life, and Lickety of Pukka Purl, Pamela of The Dust Will Wait, LadyStyx and Ranger of The World Can Be Amazing..., Alice Kay of Alice Kay Is Here, Jeannie of Jeannie's Happy World, Anne of Anne's Phamily, and last but by no means least, a Marvin the Martian.


Alice Kay sent an awesome photo book - the pictures of her hometown area remind me of the times I've been able to get upstate and see her beautiful corner of the world. Pennsylvania is a beautiful state. As I slowly turned the pages, I could feel the presence of a friend wrapped around me.


Ladystyx and her husband Ranger sent a box containing an unwrapped, really nice book about "What Christmas is all about" and a gift wrapped box that simply said, "For Later". When Christmas day came, I unwrapped it and beamed a huge smile. The complete, first year's episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants on DVD! Do you know how long it took to watch a complete, first year's season of SpongeBob SquarePants? Well, I'll tell you. 3 days. :)

Jeannie sent a spectacular box of Italian goodies. Biscotti, olive oil, candles and other select goodies. Those that know her, know her move from Georgia to Italy wasn't the smoothest - and that was but part of the sacrifice she and her family make, serving in the Armed Forces to protect and preserve our freedoms. In that box of goodies was one of her handmade cards. Her cards are always amazing.

I put it with the two handmade ones from Rita and Leah. Having four thumbs on each hand, I can but greatly respect and appreciate their talents. Rebecca made a wonderful necklace/glasses holder for my mom - and a matching zipper pull. You can see some of her handmade works of art (here). My mom was thrilled - not so much by the fact she needed the "old librarian glasses chain" but by the beautiful bead work. YellowDogGranny sent a West Texas Cookbook that my niece is taking great delight in. In fact, she's sending another copy!

The next week or so will likely see more surprises. I, like everyone else, enjoy good mail - but more so, I celebrate the thoughts behind it.

A while back, my brother saw me looking at an old map on-line one day at work - and he asked, "What is that?" I replied, "It's a map printed in 1922 showing the neighborhood that 3-great-grandfather Mousley lived in - see? See how it shows what business is in the buildings? And right there... see that alley? That was called 'Mousley Street'!".

He looked closely and said, "Hey! That's really cool! Can you e-mail me the link?"

So I did, and then I pretty much forgot about it. See that big red tube on the left of all those cards in the first picture? That was his Christmas present for me - inside it were two of the maps we spend the day looking at. This time my smile was a little goofy and choked up...


My great-grandfather, grandfather, and father ran the foundry located at Cedar and Boston (lower left corner where it says "Brass Foundry"). The railroad tracks to the right that create a freight yard (above the "rights" in "all rights preserved") are long gone - and the location is a small mall parking lot at the end of the Girard Avenue exit ramp (northbound) of Interstate 95. My grandfather speaks of Cramp and Sons Shipbuilding which dominated the area - of which only a single small building survives today.


Remember the old rundown brewery I wrote about (here) and the "at least it's clean parking lot" that was my 3-great-grandfather's home? You can see where they are/were on this map - in the upper left corner just below the word "W. Oxford" where it crosses Germantown Avenue. Granddaddy's house was the 3d, 4th and 5th buildings across the street (to the right) from the brewery.

I plan to frame these maps, they are about 2 1/2 feet by 3 feet in size, and put labels on the glass/plastic indicating where what is or was.

And then it's time to look forward - what will 2011 bring?

I suspect a good deal more of the same that 2010 brought - and it wasn't all bad.

:)

May all of you have a wonderful new year!

Post Christmas 2010

As most of you know, the east coast was hit by a snowstorm late Christmas Day and into the day afterward. The worse of the coastal storm passed to the east of me, sparing me the 10-18 inches they got in many places in New Jersey.

I wasn't completely spared of the white stuff. Monday morning meant going to work and shoveling out the company parking lot.


This is the only reason I dislike snow!

If it would only fall on the grass! While I was shoveling and shoveling and shoveling, I took breaks to warm my hands - the wind was gusty and the snow powdery - and laughed at some comic strips.

One of my favorites is Mutts by Patrick McDonnell.


The snow is actually melting away pretty quickly and the forecast calls for temperatures in the upper-forties the rest of this week. I guess Mooch found the thermoshtat.

I enjoyed this one too - as I've been researching cousins lately.


I had a nice Christmas. Both of my brothers were in town with their families and my older brother, my nephews and I went to visit my Grandfather in the afternoon. We did a bunch of crossword puzzles, took walks on the canal, had three dinners together, shoveled snow at my parents house, and they went ice skating (I can't).

I received some awesome presents - I'm very blessed with friends and family. I will write about a few of the gifts later - and yes, SpongeBob SquarePants got unwrapped.

Merry Christmas - From Me to You

I've finally decorated my tree!

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and the happiest of new years!

A Boy and His Dog

Every now and then, I take a picture that I actually like. I've made this one my computer wallpaper - it will be replaced by another picture eventually but for now, each time I look at my monitor I see this scene:


Unbidden the thought comes to my mind, "A Boy and His Dog". My dad recently had a follow-up check with the Heart Specialist and was told that things looked good, very good, indeed. Hearing that news was the brightest spot the past week... and this picture shows him on the beach with his "puppy" Zoey.

Zoey loves running up and down the beach, free as a bird, and pretending she is a Sandpiper, following the rush of foamy wave lather up and down and nimbly keeping her feet dry. My dad watches her frolic - something she can only do in the winter time as come sometime before Memorial Day, she will be banned from the beach for the summer.

My dad is proudly wearing his C-5 Galaxy cap - a rare change from his Captain Bob or Water's Edge caps. He got this cap from my younger brother while at the Air Transport Museum in Dover, Delaware. The trip being completely arranged by my younger brother as a father's day gift. It included a behind the scenes peek at some cargo plane maintenance activities and cockpit visit in a Boeing C-17A Globemaster III as well as a visit to flight simulator where he crashed his "virtual" C-5 Galaxy trying to land it.

This morning, however, I was in an odd place mentally - and I gazed at this scene on my monitor and thought to myself, "Why do I keep half laughing and calling this 'A Boy and His Dog'"? On the way home from work, it finally hit me - there was novella written by Harlan Ellison (a magnificent Science Fiction author) with that title. And furthermore, I not only read it, I had seen it in movie form very late at night while in college - I remember being totally mentally beaten - a 4 hour final exam that day on "The Principles of Heat Transfer" really did a number on me.

The movie was shown in the college union, free popcorn, and reduced prices on Worx burgers (which at the time, I thought was the only edible food the campus cafeteria had). I remember reclining in a beanbag chair and watching this ... horrible, horrible movie... it was made around 1975... and the boy was the very young Don Johnson (of later Miami Vice fame).

In the movie a boy named Vic communicates telepathically with his dog named Blood as they scavenge for food and sex, and they stumble into an underground society where the daughter of one of the leaders of the community seduces Vic. The citizens have become unable to reproduce because of being underground so long. They use him for impregnation purposes, and then plan to be rid of him.

I'll not spoil the ending for you - but the closing scene still cracks me up. Just remembering the movie and where I saw it, fill me with nostalgia and make me look twice when eating barbecue.

An Odd Hobby

In my attempts to locate my ancestors grave sites, I found a free website appropriately called "Find A Grave."

Being mildly curious about the "famous" people buried in the many cemeteries near my home, I signed up as a volunteer "grave stone picture taker". As a result, every now and then, I find a request in my e-mail box asking if I can take a picture of some one's gravestone.

While this may sound rather ghoulish, my thoughts are of the difficulty I had finding my ancestors - and of wanting to help others find their ancestors and to be, in a small way, helpful in their finding their roots.

What I did not realize was, that within just 5 miles of my home there are literally dozens and dozens of cemeteries - some dating way back into the late 1600's and that I would get a fair number of requests.

Many of the stones I've seen over the few months are weathered beyond readability, or nearly so, such as Matthias Rittenhouse's shown below.


It reads, "In Memory of Matthias Rittenhouse who departed this Life June the 3rd 1793 .. Aged 59 Years".

Matthias was a Mennonite ("nearly-Amish") minister in the town of Skippack, PA.

Willem (William) Rittinghausen (1644-1708) was born in the Rhineland, Germany, and lived in Amsterdam before he immigrated to America in 1688. He became the first Mennonite minister in America and builder of the first paper mill at Philadelphia in 1690. It is believed that all American Mennonite Rittenhouses have descended from him.

The most famous person bearing the family name was David Rittenhouse (1732-96), the Philadelphia astronomer and scientist and the first director of the United States Mint, who was a son of Matthias of the third generation in America. He lived in a farmhouse a few blocks down the road from me, very near the Methacthon Oak - which he may very well have sat under - it being on the church grounds that his father preached at.

In my strolls up and down the old gravestones looking for the one someone requested a photo of, I have encountered many of the same names - names that the nearby towns, streets, and businesses also carry. Bergey, Detweiller, Bean, Kreible, Kulp, Landis, Clemens, Heebner, Beyers, Cassel, (Christopher) Dock and many more.

Usually, it takes a bit of walking, up and down rows, to find the one I am seeking - sometimes I end up walking miles and miles and sometimes I don't find the grave - but when I do, I get a thrill and think, "Aha!" and take the picture and move on.

The grave stones however, do not tell the person's story. Recently I was asked to take a picture of the grave of Harry "Tom" Collins Jr. - the requester only knew what year he died - as he died tragically. So... I took this picture -


Harry J. Collins Jr. (1916 - 1946)

Buried nearby are his sister Bertha Collins Lake (1918-2003), his father Harry Jay Collins (1875 - 1956) and mother Rose Mae Collins (1889 - 1978) and unknown relatives Claude R. Collins (1907 - 1989) with Elizabeth M. Collins (1897 - 1988).

Harry Jr. died at the age of 29 - 10 years before his father - and more than 50 years before his sister. A short investigation led me to this newspaper story published August 3d, 1946.


Attempting to zoom by a driver in a 15-lap midget auto race at the Yellow Jacket Speedway, Harry (Tom) Collins of Norrlstown, Pa., was killed "instantly" after his midget racer locked wheels with another car and crashed into a fence. Collins, 29, was attempting to pass Carl Miller of Trenton, N. J.,on the eighth lap of the race, but he got too close. A wheel of Collins' car tangled with one of Miller's. Miller eventually won the race.

"It is hard to picture the city of Philadelphia as the center of racing. But, back in the late 1930s the city of Philadelphia was the hot spot in the world of midget racing. Race teams from across the country would tow to Philadelphia to race at the two race tracks located inside the city limits. The two tracks, Yellow Jacket Speedway on G Street in Frankford, or at the National Stadium, provided some of the best in midget racing action." The track closed in 1950.

Quoted from http://www.thevintageracer.com/articles/phila_midgets.htm

I asked my dad about this and he said, "Oh my yes!! I remember seeing a few races there with my father!" I then asked, "Why does 'G' street sound familiar?" and he replied, "'G' Street was on the way to the foundry - we commuted down that road for years. The race track was at Erie and G., where we drove over those nasty trolley tracks." Then I remembered. The huge Philadelphia Coca Cola Bottling plant is at that site today. I said, "The Coke plant?" and he replied, "That's the place."

So many connections - and so many more invisible ones.

Thanksgiving, Turkey and what's in the water?

As many of you know, I was "home alone" for Thanksgiving day. I wasn't feeling well and the rest of family was out of town - some as far as Florida and some in South Carolina. Unperturbed, as the date of the holiday is far less important to me than the actual celebrating it - I waited til they came home and suggested we go down the shore like we usually do, the weekend following Thanksgiving.

Well, that weekend didn't work out but I did see my younger brother play one of his annual "Old People's Home" gigs with the three guys he plays guitar with... and I saw my niece play some hoity toity tunes with her High School orchestra chamber music set - Haydn and Bach (ugh!) but they woke up the crowd with some Leroy Anderson tunes like Sleigh Bells and Syncopated Clock.

So it came to pass, that this weekend was "Thanksgiving Day" down the New Jersey shore with my folks. The weekend adventure actually started last Tuesday, when my mom called and said, "Can you buy a 15 pound turkey right after work today and start thawing it? My grocery store is all out of them!" Always willing to oblige, and knowing my folks live about 20 miles from the nearest other grocery store, I acquired a 17 pound "bird" and put in my refrigerator so it would be thawed by the weekend.

Wednesday I gave the bird a poke and it was still a solid chunk. Thursday morning it was slightly more yielding, and by Friday morning it was "well on its way to thawsville".

I have been very behind in my blog reading, and had only recently read Matty Thoughts where he tells us of his recent memory problems. He's a good sport and is able to poke fun at his own follies.

Matty's entry reminded me of my own father, who has on more than one occasion when leaving the houseboat to head for home, has forgotten his car keys, gone back down the dock and gotten them, forgotten his cellphone, gone back and got it, left the car keys on the counter on the boat when he picked up his cell phone and had to go back and get them, forgotten his medicine and gone back and gotten the pill bottles - and on one occasion, making no less that 7 trips up and down the dock! I sat there in the car rolling my eyes while waiting for him to get his act together and slowly started to seethe.

And then I encountered my other neighbor Martha's blog entry (both Matty and Martha live nearby) where she writes her horror tale about remembering concert tickets (or rather, not remembering them!) over at The Daily Grind I was sitting smug and thinking to myself, "Sheesh, I would never do that!"

Last Friday was one where the minutes felt like hours as I looked at the clock hundreds of times, eager to get home, packed, and on my way down to the seashore. It has been a long time since I've last been down there! Once home, I threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed my briefcase with a bunch of Christmas Cards I wanted to address, grabbed my camera, and checked my email when I found one from a dear friend asking me to keep a close family member in thoughts and prayer... and deep in thought, I got into the car and headed to the seashore - in the dark.

About 85 miles down the road and within 20 minutes of getting to the beach, I suddenly realized I had left the turkey in the refrigerator...



Martha, Matty, Dad... I hope you will forgive me for silently snickering at your memory woes. Maybe it's something in the local water?

P.s., I'm going to meet my mom tomorrow to give her the turkey - she plans to cook it and give my grandfather some when she and my dad meet him for lunch sometime this upcoming week.

P.s.s., My mom got an oven-stuffer chicken when I called her to tell her I screwed up and forgot the turkey. We all had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.

A lost cousin is found...

A while back, I wrote about an accident in which one of my great-grandfathers was killed when the truck he was driving was hit by a railroad locomotive. I recently learned some things -

- one of those things is just where this accident occurred. If you look at the scene closely, you will notice that there are two tracks at this location.



I found a dusty old book which states, that the Camden And Burlington County Railroad (later the Pennsylvania Railroad's Pemberton Branch) was only double tracked between Smithville and Birmingham, New Jersey. This is the branch line that took hundreds of thousands of troops to Fort Dix during WWI and WWII.

I also found out where my great-grandfather was building a summer cottage. I've marked the street map I got from Google Maps below. If you click on it to "biggify" it, you will see two streets named Railroad Street and Indian Trail. These streets ran next to the tracks back when there were tracks there (they were removed twenty or thirty years ago).



On the satellite version of the map, I've drawn the length of railroad that was double tracked. The scene of my great-grandfather's accident is somewhere along that red line where a road crosses it.



This last picture was taken in 1961 and shows the remains of the Ewansville's train station. The second track has already been removed (around 1958)- and the trees and plant life is once again reclaiming what it can from man's impermanent works. Indian Trail Road is just to the left.



There are many visual "hints" of similarity between the first and last pictures.

And now for the what gave me goose-bumps. The main road in the area, Route 206 used to (and in my memory) go under a railroad bridge (removed in 1987) as it heads south from Ewansville to Vincentown - I've been down this road countless times from a tender age of weeks-old to the present - this is the route I take to go to the New Jersey shore. Could this have been the grade crossing? When was the bridge put in and the grade separated? I do not know - but the accident happened near here.

The second goose-bump causing result of my research into this accident was two-fold, I discovered the accident occurred November 9, 1924 around 8:30 AM. While trying to uncover this date with near desperate and quickly growing frustration, I encountered a family tree for the McClurken family on the MyHeritage website. And lo and behold, I discovered the date of death of my great-grandfather William Spence McClurken.

Having been stymied, mostly because every other male McClurken in my family tree name is "William" and every other female's name is "Margaret", I grew dizzy in my efforts to keep who is (or was) who straight. And there, on this MyHeritage website, was the many generations of Williams and Margarets all sorted out and neatly delineated. This glorious family tree is the work of the grand-daughter of my great-grandfather's brother.

I've never known any of my Grandmother's family beyond her brother and his children. I was beyond elated. And just to cap things off - she has a large picture of my great-grandmother's family - and once the rush of the holiday season is over - she will send me a reproduction of it!

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Today, I also heard one my college buddies had a heart attack over the weekend shoveling snow, and underwent triple-bypass surgery. My thoughts and prayers are with him and his family as well as with Rita of Soul Comfort's Corner's daughter-in-law, whose mother was recently diagnosed with late stage cancer.

"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows."
- Helen Keller

Morning (and Evening) Affirmation

I've been a bit of a "Debbie Downer" of late - I blame it on the seasonal shortened daylight - and having to drive home in the dark (amongst a number of other things...)

But I placed one of my birthday presents in a location were it is sure to be seen each day - morning or night.

I have to say, it's bold, brash, toothy, and makes me smile despite my mood.

Thank you Tori!

Going to Disney World

Well, what caught my eye when I was leaving my 4-great grandparents grave site, was a large monument.

Please pardon the names and relationships - they are mostly for myself, trying to keep all the old folks straight.


Driving towards the exit, I went by the Torresdale Lawn section of Lawnview Cemetery, because I knew my great-great-grandfather, Harry Lincoln Mousley's brother Thomas Charles Mousley was buried there.

Somewhat upset and tired of "not finding" my forefathers' graves, Lawnview was the 5th different cemetery I have visited over the course of nearly a year, I wasn't about to park the car and go walking up and down the rows of gravestones looking for him. I had gotten tired of dealing with the somewhat unhelpful person representing the cemetery and hadn't asked them "exactly" where Thomas was buried.

Just as I reached the end of the section, driving slowly in my car, I saw this monument.


Oh my goodness! What is this? Was this Thomas' grave? Am I related to Walt Disney? And what is that object resting on the monument under the "M"?

Feeling suddenly rejuvenated and thinking, "Yes! I finally found 'somebody'!" I parked and jumped out of the car. Well, it turned out it was Elmer Mousley and his wife's and her parents' grave.


Who then, was Elmer? And what was the Disney connection? I had to do some more research.

"Cousin" Elmer was the middle one of three sons of Thomas Charles.

He was an electrician in the Navy during WWI, and he served in Brest, France, and on the US Navy Repair Ship Bridgeport. He later worked at the Alexanderson Alternator Transmission Station, Tuckerton, NJ (located very near and visible from the fish factory I saw each summer as a boy when down the shore). This radio station was one of the earliest in the efforts to transmit a radio signal across the Atlantic Ocean. More on Alexanderson Alternator here. Later, Elmer worked for Western Electric installing the very first automatic phone switching station in Philadelphia.

He married Helen Disney on December 20, 1924 in Philadelphia, PA. Helen Marguerite was born July, 1899 to Charles Albert and Ella Virginia Disney of Baltimore, Maryland. I've spent about two hours tracing back this family tree all the way back to William & Sara Disney who had Margritt, born 28 Dec. 1686, & William, born 11 Aug. 1693 all and still in Baltimore, Maryland...

As for Walt Disney... The family name, originally d'Isigny ("from Isigny"), is of Norman French derivation, coming from the canton of Isigny-sur-Mer. The Disneys, among others, descended from Normans who settled in Normandy around the 11th century.

Well, you can search for yourself, I'll give you a start. Click on the 1st through 4th generation links. The answer is, no, there is no direct link going back about 10 generations.

Does knowing this qualify me for a 10% discount at my favorite place?

I doubt it. :)

Oh.. and I walked up and down the rows looking for Thomas Charles for nearly an hour and didn't find "him". Maybe next time.


The object on the monument was a photo of a young woman in a heart-shaped picture frame. I thought she is (was?) a very pretty woman... Who might she be? I might try tracking her down sometime. I might get lucky and find her... :)


This is what remains of my 4-great grandfather's home and all the buildings he owned on this block. The entire block is now a parking lot. Add to that the fact that the cemetery he was originally buried in is now a parking lot. I... was a bit emotionally stunned when I saw this. A day later, I am at least thankful the parking lot is a clean one - and the bumpers are straight and freshly painted. Irrational of me - but that is the best I can make of this.

Across the street, the view my forefather would have had out his bedroom window - is this...


...the boarded up, vandalized, graffiti covered, litter strewn ruin of a block of buildings that was once the Reiger & Gretz brewery. Founded in 1881 as Reiger & Gretz, this lager brewery re-open as William Gretz Brewing Company after the 1933 repeal of Prohibition. Most of the nearly one hundred Philadelphia breweries never recovered from the Prohibition; by 1950, there were only eight left. Gretz Brewing Company closed its doors in 1961.

I suspect my 4-great grandfather saw this building being built - and my 3-greatfather may have enjoyed a sip of their brew, owning a brewery himself only a couple blocks down this street...

My 3-great grandfather is ... the one I view as the most interesting of "the lot". More on Charles later and I promise I won't be as ... morose. But before that, I've a lot of your entries to catch up on.

Eight score and nine years ago...

Eight score and nine years ago, some of my forefathers left Belgrave Gate, Leicester, England and landed in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Others came over about the same time from County Antrim, Ireland, also to Philadelphia, where at least one of them made Steton Hats and one died in tragic train accident while those that remained entered the insurance business.

Some of the other forefathers came earlier - my mother's fathers family came over from England on the Neptune (1617) and the Gift (1619), settling in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia. From there, they slowly migrated west, going with Daniel Boone into Kentucky and later into Oklahoma.

Some came a little later, my mother's mother's father came over to Boston from Paisley, Scotland where fate would bring a young sailor from Oklahoma, enlisted during WWI, to his door asking for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Recently, I've been doing a bit of retrospective thinking, I don't know if it was because my last birthday made me feel old, or because I was alone on Thanksgiving Day with the family out of town, or because I've not been feeling my usually chipper self. Perhaps, it is because I have no children, that I am looking back into the past and not forward into the future?

At any rate, I've researched the family tree, looking for ... something.

169 years ago, my 4-greats-grandfather Joseph Mousley, entered this country. He married Sarah Elizabeth Hose on Christmas Day, 1826 in St. Margaret's Church, Leicester in a joint wedding with Sarah's brother Edward Hose and his bride Mary (Allen). Joseph and Sarah had ten children, three of which died before reaching the age of two and the last three were born in America.

I've sat and pondered what made him pull up stakes and move at the age of 38? Was his entire family enthusiastic about the move? What did nine year old Charles (my 3-greats-grandfather) think of the "great adventure"?

They settled at 1547 Germantown Avenue and Joseph went into business as a cordwainer (shoemaker) and shoe salesman. In a few years, Joseph owned the entire block and the courtyard alley was known as Mousley Street. Joseph retired about 1878 and was succeeded by his youngest son Joseph William.

Joseph passed away July, 1883 and his wife followed him in January, 1888. They were buried in Odd Fellows Cemetery, Diamond and 24th Street, Philadelphia. I went to find his grave and... the cemetery no longer exists.

I discovered, via the Internet, the following:

"Monument Cemetery, the second rural cemetery in Philadelphia, was founded in 1837 on North Broad Street, across from Temple University. In the 1950s, it fell victim to the school's need for parking lots. Thousands of those interred there were transferred to a mass grave in the suburbs. Their monuments were dumped into the Delaware River, where they are still visible today.

Other vanished cemeteries include Glenwood at Ridge Avenue and 27th Street, which gave way to the Philadelphia Housing Authority's first housing project in the 1930s; The original Odd Fellows at Diamond and 24th Streets, displaced for the Raymond Rosen towers (ed. note: a failed urban public housing effort); and Franklin Cemetery in Kensington, whose 8,000 bodies disappeared in the 1940s as part of a political swindle gone bad."

Further investigation lead me to Lawnview Cemetery, in Rockledge, PA, whose website states, "There are two Philadelphia Cemeteries which were closed and relocated to Lawnview Cemetery. In 1951, the original Odd Fellows' Cemetery was closed and the 65,000 bodies interred there were re-interred at Lawnview. When Monument Cemetery was closed in 1955, all 26,000 bodies were also re-interred at Lawnview."

I found many of my Philadelphia relatives had been buried in Glenwood, Franklin, and Monument cemeteries as well as the original Odd Fellows cemetery. So, many of them were dug up in the 1950's and reburied in Lawnview without their gravestones.


The office told me my 4-great grandparents, Joseph and Sarah, were re-buried in the Norris Lawn area, Section 14, Grave number 62 and drew an "x" on a map on the rough location.


Somewhere - in the shadow of an ancient oak tree, lie the unmarked remains of my great-great-great-great grandparents, who I suppose, came to this country with high hopes, much excitement, and a dream for a brighter future... and while unmarked, are not forgotten -


Somehow, I think my forefather might of liked knowing there was a small lane lined with big ol' oak trees nearby - and this one, in particular, which shades his grave... I gave it a big hug.

As I was leaving the cemetery, something caught my eye... I'll write about that later...

Centralia, Pennsylvania

When I drove up to see Alice Kay a week ago, I went through the town of Centralia. I've been there a couple times - but each time I see the place I find myself driving up and down the quaint streets lined with sidewalks...and without any houses.


Centralia is a ghost town a little ways north of Ashland, Pennsylvania. Its population has dwindled from over 2,000 in its heyday to 1,000 residents in 1981 to just 7 in 2010.

It is a typical Pennsylvania coal town. Alexander W. Rea, a civil and mining engineer for the Locust Mountain Coal and Iron Company, moved to the site after coal was discovered near the surface and laid out streets and lots for development in 1854.

Alexander Rea, being a "coal mine manager," was seen by the poor and rather abused miners as an evil man, and he was one of the victims of the secret order known as the Molly Maguires when he was murdered on October 17, 1868. Three individuals were convicted of the crime and hanged.

It is not known for certain how the fire that made Centralia essentially uninhabitable was ignited. The fire remained burning underground and spread through a hole in a rock pit used as the town dump and into the abandoned coal mines beneath the town.


Attempts to extinguish the fire were unsuccessful, and it continued to burn throughout the 1960s and 1970s. Adverse health effects were reported by several people due to the byproducts of the fire, carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide and a lack of healthy oxygen levels.


In 1992, Pennsylvania governor Bob Casey claimed eminent domain on all properties in the borough, condemning all the buildings within. Very few homes remain standing in Centralia; most of the abandoned buildings have been demolished by humans or nature. At a casual glance, the area now appears to be a field with many paved streets running through it complete with street signs and park benches.


It's our planet - and it's the only one we have.

Democrat and Chronicle Newspaper

R-H's Kody Mousley bowls 300
Staff report • November 18, 2010

Rush-Henrietta senior Kody Mousley bowled the first perfect game in school history on Wednesday. Mousley, 17, helped the Royal Comets defeat Webster Thomas 6-0 in the season opener at Clover Lanes.

"It was pretty cool and still feels surreal," said Mousley, who carries a 210 average. "I was just hoping to do decent in the first match of the year. I was a little nervous at the end. I pulled the last shot and that last pin seemed like it took a while to fall."

Source

That's my nephew!!! Way to go Kody!!! Yehaw!

Yesterday Morning at the Dandy Mini Mart...

Yesterday morning, I was 196.6 miles from home and pulled into a Dandy Mini Market to use the men's room. Of course, the restroom was out of order - Fortunately it wasn't an urgent, pants-threatening emergency - yet.

To my surprise, I met someone inside that I knew who was waiting at the line at the cash register. The Scuba Dude (Alice Kay's husband) and I think he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

I followed him out of the store - talking and when I finally got into my car and started to pull away, I noticed my car odometer was readding 100,000 miles. I pulled out my camera in a hurry but, drats, missed the magic number by a couple seconds.


Something tells me I need to dust and vacuum some (I'd say "more", except I never do it, so I can't say I need to do it more!)

I followed the Scuba Dude back to his house and had a nice visit with Alice Kay, the Dude himself, their daughter Karen and the little man, Ryan!

Goodness. I've not had the pleasure of playing with a happy, smiling, giggling little guy in a long time. Talk about a real "pick me up". Ryan is 20-months old now - so he and I are at the same "play level". :)

We played a nice game of Oops*! and one or two rounds of Whoa*! I think he and I hit it off, when it came to go bye-byes, he wanted to come for a ride with me!


*Oops! and Whoa! are made up games where I placed a plastic red engine from the world of Thomas the Train on his head - balancing them there... carefully, so that Ryan could lean slowly forward until the engine fell off - when it did, we both shouted "Oops!!" and then he'd crack up smiling and laughing - which was kind of infectious. :) Whoa! was played the same way, except with a different toy.

9 Years and 3 Months...

Have you ever been somewhere where you thought to yourself, "This is the place for me?"

A place, where even though no one knows you - you feel like you belong there?

You feel like you've stepped out of the pressures of being a responsible adult and feel like ... well... like you've just entered the gates of Disney World, and the place is closed to everyone except you and whoever you invited for the day?

Belhaven, North Carolina, a small town lies along the banks of Pantego Creek and the Pungo River, is such a place for me.

A typical "Main Street, U. S. A." small town, Belhaven has hosted an annual 4th of July parade and celebration for over fifty years and the Chamber of Commerce brags about it proudly when you stop in at its varnished wood train station built years ago and offers you a free t-shirt leftover from this year's parade.

On the second floor of the historic city hall building, the Belhaven Memorial Museum offers visitors a view of the eclectic collections of Mrs. Eva Blount Way. Gathered in the early 1900s as a means of raising money for the American Red Cross, they include an eight-legged pig, an exhibit of dressed (but very dead) fleas and over 30,000 buttons or varying colors and shapes.

The best known home in town is a grand Southern Plantation - and has a porch that has chairs and ice tea for the asking... is renown for it's Oyster Fritters.. and is oh-so-comfortable... and has a Boat Marina tucked in behind it?

It was 9 years and 3 months ago when I first visited this town. I was on a boat going from a little way south of Jacksonville, Florida and heading north to Oxford, Maryland on the Tred Avon River in the upper reaches of the Chesapeake Bay. This was an experience of a lifetime - over 1,200 miles by boat, where I navigated, minded the helm, tended the docking lines, and arranged places to refuel and overnight.


That first trip, which occurred just a month before the nastiness that took place September 11, 2001 changed the world, was a three and a half-week long expedition proving to myself, that I could be self-reliant, and make critical decisions -

I remember cruising into past the breakwater that protects the town's waterfront from the more than occasional gale-force winds and the accompanying white capped waves... The sky was dark that evening, the threat of an evening shower was in the air and the day's cruise had been a long one - the thought of tying up for the night and having a hot shower and some tasty food urged us along and we speedily refueled, and tied down the boat for the night.


We stayed at the River Forest Manor and Marina... it sounded deliciously off-beat when I read about it in the by now, well worn guidebook...

"Started in 1899 by John Aaron Wilkinson, President of a successful local lumber company and Vice-President of the Norfolk & Southern Railroad, and Italian craftsmen were called in to carve the ornate ceilings, and by 1904, the mansion was complete – with carved oak mantels for each of the eleven fireplaces, sparkling cut glass leaded into windows, crystal chandeliers glittering from the ceilings, tapestry placed above the mahogany wainscoting in the dining room and two baths so large that they included oversized tubs for two..."

The dining room was made into a restaurant and the bathroom's made available to marina guests.

After getting soaked by that evening shower while riding a loaned golf cart down the town streets back from the Food Lion grocery store with fresh bread and vegetables, the subsequent luxuriant shower followed by the taste of a true southern cooked meal (cooked by someone else for a change) soon had me snoring, contently in my berth.

I only had a short stay there the first time - but thoroughly enjoyed the place - and this time - the wind came up, threatening a rough boat ride - so we opted to stay there an extra day - surely we couldn't risk the expensive one-of-kind boat in broad reaches of the river if the wind was howling 25-30 mph.


So I wandered through the empty (of cars) streets of town and visited the Belhaven Memorial Museum, home of Mrs. Way's rather bizzare collection of "things, where I spotted this picture. The woman was Norman Cordon's mother, according to the penciled tag scotched taped to the bottom of the picture - a governess (are there still such things as governesses?), music teacher of Mrs Way's children and oh-so-lovely.

:)


The sunset that night was spectacular - the weather while windy was pleasant - behind the breakwater, the boat was gently rocked that night by the waves and I once again, snored contently in my berth.


I felt ... not only like I was "home again" but reinvigorated and once again .. alive. I don't know why Belhaven does this to me. I felt safe, comfortable, welcomed, and wanted. It was such a nice feeling after living alone at home for so long now and being alone at work for the last 3 months.

Since I got home - I've not felt right... edgy and out of sorts... I blamed it on the time change... but I really don't think so. I think it's nearly time to do something about how I'm living my life ... to move to another place - to a place that makes me feel "right" even if there isn't any reason why it should... and I've no idea what I would do once I got there.

Oriental, North Carolina

The town of Oriental is called the "Sailing Capital of North Carolina" and is home to more sailboats than people. In the late 1880's, Lou Midyette was named postmaster of what was then known as Smith’s Creek. Lou's wife, Rebecca, however thought the town's name was dull and commonplace, so disregarding the town's extensive history, she applied to the Post Office to get the community renamed "Oriental" after a nameplate from a sunken steamship ship that she found washed up on a local beach...

...a beach in which, legend claims, Blackbeard the Pirate buried his blood-drenched treasure as he lived in a house located a short distance out of town.

After a somewhat rough and exciting day's cruise across the Pamlico Sound and down the Neuse River in windy, overcast weather, we reached port just as it began to gently rain. After tying up at the dock, a brand new sailboat pulled in beside us and a sharp bark was heard - A Corgi bound for the Bahamas announced her presence aboard the "Mandalay". I was later able to pat her as she regally strolled across the Oriental Marina and Inn's lawn for her evening post-prandial "duties".

She reminded me of a friend of mine and was the highlight of a most invigorating day.

By the old moulmein pagoda
Looking eastward to the sea
There's a Burma gal a settin'
And I know that she waits for me

And the wind is in those palm trees
And the temple bells they say
Come you back you mother soldier
Come you back to Mandalay, come you back to Mandalay

Come you back to Mandalay
Where the old flotilla lay
I can hear those paddles chonkin'
From Rangoon to Mandalay

On the road to Mandalay
Where the flying fishes play
And the dawn comes up like thunder
Out of China across the bay

Ship me somewhere east of Suez
Where the best is like the worst
And there ain't no ten commandments
And a cat can raise a thirst

And those crazy bells keep ringing
'cause it's there that I long to be
By the egg foo young pagoda
Looking eastward to the sea

- Rudyard Kipling as sung by Frank Sinatra


There is a small fleet of Shrimp boats in Oriental. Boats like the "James T. Gillikin", named for a long time member of the North Carolina Fisheries Association and reknown boatbuilder on the Eastern Seaboard.

Later that evening, the rain tapered off and I was able to walk around the quiet streets of this most pleasant town.


The next day, November 4th, while enroute from Oriental to Beaufort, I saw a pair of Dolphin gracefully jump from the water in front of the boat - and after a short time looking for them to resurface, I was pleasantly surprised by the sound of a big splash right off the boat's port (left for you landlubbers) side. The two Dolphin I had spotted were part of a larger group of about six. For the next fifteen minutes or more, they joined me, playing in the bow wave of the boat, racing along and leaping into the air to grab a breath of air.


They reminded me of a friend of mine - and were the highlight of my birthday.

Beaufort, North Carolina

Last Thursday, as I grew another year older and not one whit smarter, I found myself looking at this granite marker located between a parking lot and the city docks of Beaufort (it's pronounced "Bow-fort," y'all), North Carolina.

High Flight
by John Gillespie McGee, Jr.
No. 412 Squadron, RCAF

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.

Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds—and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air,

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace

Where never lark or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
John Gillespie McGee, Jr. was an 18-year-old American when he went to Britain in October 1940, during World War II, and joined the Royal Canadian Air Force. He flew in a Spitfire squadron and was killed at age 19, on December 11, 1941, during a training flight from the airfield near Scopwick, Lincolnshire.

The poem was written on the back of a letter to his parents which stated, “I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed.”

I am thankful he finished it.


Michael John Smith
Captain
United States Navy
NASA Astronaut

Born
April 30th 1945
Beaufort, North Carolina

Died
January 28th 1986
Pilot
Space Shuttle Challenger

A fitting memorial - for a native of a little seaport town tucked along the Intercoastal Waterway on Taylor Creek, a short way from the Cape Lookout National Seashore (Outer Banks, North Carolina).

I've loaded dozens of pictures into Flickr and will be hours trying to label all the pictures I have taken the past week and few days.


I will be a while catching up with all of you (y'all) - but I want to thank you all for all the wonderful birthday wishes! I was stunned when I got back on-line to find so many well wishes and greeting. I've missed all of you - and saw things that reminded me of you each day while I was away - and will be sharing those things with you soon.

Enough is Enough -

It's been a long, hard, sort of week - so many of you are having a rough time, Dorkys with her Toby, Punkn with her ear, Parsley with seasonal blues, Aunt of 14 with a job prospect that didn't pan out due to her "handicap", many others with health issues, some with major job dissatisfaction, others with family having legal hassles... it seemed nearly every corner of my blogosphere was ailing. And then last night...

Last night, while reading an e-mail from a dear, heartbroken, friend who lost her father to cancer Sunday morning, my phone bleated, I had just gotten a text message from my Mom.

"Rough day today, Molly is no longer with us."


Molly enjoying a late autumn day in a warming sun. She was a happy, gentle soul. Content to just be with you at your side.


Molly got a little hard of hearing in her last years, so she slept at the backdoor so no one came or went without her knowing it. She wanted to be able to greet her family warmly when they arrived.


On the way home from work last night, it was drizzling lightly when I saw the clouds begin to thin and the sky brighten towards the west, so I pulled in to the parking lot at the Methacton Mennonite Church ... As I got out of the car, the sun broke through the overcast and was setting through the huge canopy of the 375+ year old Methacton Oak, casting a weird sort of light on the almost as ancient cemetery this magnificent tree towers over.

I walked the rows of gravestones rather aimlessly, looking for "Rittenhouse" and saw the many "Heebner"s and "Detwielers". All early settlers in my area.

Was the odd light...telling me something?

I felt uneasy, as if some mumbled voice was saying something, but I could not call it up to the forefront of my jumbled thoughts. Was it saying, "Some bad news is on the way"? or was it saying, "The dreary gloom will break and the sun will shine again - take courage"?

This morning, things are a little better - someone successfully carved a pumpkin, someone recently bravely conquered a leaf monster making me very proud of her. Another person, in the throes of ending a bad relationship, got a very cool job. And best of all, a certain kid named Ryan videoed antics cracked me up.

There are many kinds of shifting light, the brightening gloom, the clear sunshine drifting through puffy clouds, the pink colored sunset fading to violet and blackness, and there is a light that comes from within us and shines with various levels of intensity - depending on our moods.

Today, my feeble, flickering light shines through the colored lenses of another's handiwork... the combination of light and glass glows softly as I hope to offer comfort to those that are grieving, both family and friends... as well as those that are troubled... I haven't the ability to do much more - and must take leave for a while - but you will be with me - and as surely as you see orange cones on your daily path, I will see you through the many things that remind me of all of you.

Take care and see you soon -