Reaching Intertwined Roots

Last Sunday, I bought a new pair of walking shoes and retired a beat up, old, smelly pair. The old ones were oh-so-comfy, and the new ones oh-so-stiff and unyielding.

I decided that in order to break the new shoes in a little, I would venture over to Mill Grove, the home of John James Audubon and walk on the grass and dirt trails to give my feet some cushion.


While moseying around the meandering trails, I saw some Hawks high in the trees but was more taken by the white bark of the Sycamores. I found myself looking into the bright blue skies more and more and nearly tripped over...


...this marker. It reads "Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two."

I later found this to be a quote from "Captain Corelli's Mandolin" by Louis de Bernieres. In full, it goes:
Love is a temporary madness,
it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.
And when it subsides you have to make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together
that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.
Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness,
it is not excitement,
it is not the promulgation of eternal passion.
That is just being "in love" which any fool can do.
Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away,
and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground,
and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches,
they find that they are one tree and not two.



After my walk, I sat to rest my beat up feet and looked at this photograph that my Honorary Aunt Bea sent me in the mail that weekend. It is undated and unmarked. But I'd recognize that location any day. This was one of my grandmother's favorite photo op spots (note the last two photos taken about 25 years later).

It wasn't until later, after reading what Far Side of Fifty wrote about the old fashioned flashbulbs and reminded me of how troublesome they were, that I realized that my Grandmother liked this spot because it was in direct sunlight and it was right outside the kitchen door. Now I know why at least half of the old photographs she either took or had taken, were done at this very spot!

This is my Dad (who claims to not remember what the event might of been) standing with my Grandmother outside the kitchen door of their house in Phildadelphia, Pennsylvania. The best we can do dating this photo is "about 1948".


Here is an early color picture of my Dad dressed in his Army uniform holding my big brother in his arms. I wasn't born yet at the time this picture was taken in the spring of 1959. It was taken in the lawn area just off the walkway.

Later, my gardening-crazed Grandmother would have a row of red Azalea bushes planted along the walkway leading to the front of the house.

My family has some very deep, intertwined roots on, under and around that unremarkable slab of concrete.

Why? Oh Why??!?

British company Captive Media thinks it has developed a product that fills a gap in the market - a urinal mounted, urine-controlled games console for men.

It calls it the first "hands-free" video gaming console of its kind.

The sturdy device sits above the normal oval ceramic urinal bowl, opening up a whole new world of entertainment.

The user is presented with three generous targets to aim for in the urinal: stickers in the unit that read "Start", "Left" and "Right".

The console is able to detect where the urine is falling by means of an infra-red device.

And thus, a rudimentary "joystick" is set up.

Games offered include a skiing challenge, and a multiple choice pub quiz.

Once they have finished their business, customers can use their mobile phones to post their scores to Twitter and a live leader board.

The console unit has a 12 inch LCD screen, and sits behind toughened glass. So it can withstand collateral damage and be easily cleaned.

See for yourself...



Now I know why I need a Twitter account!

Good news for women is that Captive Media also wants to roll out units for the ladies' toilets.

"There are 'good anatomical reasons' that women can't use the original device," Mr MacSween says.

Source

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

No, this is not a report of a first Red-breasted Robin of the spring sighting. Oh, how I wish!

And while I did see some Buttercups and Crocuses (Croci?) in bloom early this week (before it snowed) I think that rascally Ground Pig named Punky Phil might be right... Darn it.

I've been alone in the office this week as the other "inmates" are at a conference and/or out of town for other sundry and various reasons. This past Monday morning, I sat at my desk with hot cup of coffee in hand and whilst still in the process of trying to boot my brain after a weekend shut down, I heard a "CHIRP!"

I opened a bleary, sleep-filled eye and thought, "What was that?" Looking around, I saw nothing. Thinking I had imagined it, I turned to my desk and started to shuffle the papers I found thereon in faint (and feeble too) hopes of jump starting my work week. The cars and trucks rumbled outside on the Main Street of town, and the radiator beside me popped loudly once or twice... but all seemed normal.

"Chhh-HIRP!"

No, I hadn't imagined it... there was something definitely chirping. The room has a number of Uninterrupted Power Supplies (UPS) under the desks to provide power to a desktop computer should the electric be interrupted for any reason. They normally chirp when the electric goes off. But no, the lights were on. And believe me, I had to check to see if that was the case.

"Chhh-HIRP!"

Since I am hearing impaired, localizing the source of this annoyance wasn't going to be easy. I started by looking at each UPS in case one was complaining (or had accidentally gotten unplugged) and did not find one. According to my count, there are 11 of them on the first floor and 8 on the second floor.

"Chhh-HIRP!" "Chhh-HIRP!"

By now my tinnitus was in full flare. Every other "Chhh-HIRP!" was only the sound in my head. Growing desperate, I "Chhh-HIRP!" actually sat down to think... what else could it "Chhh-HIRP!" be?

It sounded like a smoke "Chhh-HIRP!" detector that had a dying battery "Chhh-HIRP!".

But the ones in my office are all "wired" in to the electric main. "Chhh-HIRP!" They shouldn't have batteries in them... "Chhh-HIRP!" should they?

I forced myself to tune out the noise and get to work. I emailed a couple friends saying I was being driven "Chhh-HIRP!" batty. One of them, suggested that perhaps one of my co-workers had played a prank on me. Perhaps they had gotten a "ThinkGeek Annoy-a-tron"?

I sighed, well, a couple of them would! So I looked around some more. Hmmm...


The illuminated emergency Exit Signs have batteries in them. The sign is always lit, and when the power goes out, it stays lit, and the floods turn on. Could a battery be dying in one of these? I went around and tested all three of them.

Front door.. "Chhh-HIRP!" No, it lights up and it's not making any noise that I can hear. The back door? "Chhh-HIRP!" ... Nope. Same story. It's working fine.


Ut oh. The Exit Sign at the top of the stairs?

I got a ladder out, climbed up, and hanging onto it over the stairway (it's a long long way down), push the test button, and nothing happens. The Exit Sign is not lit. How long has that been the case? "Chhh-HIRP!" Oh my, I am close(r)! The flood lights next to the Exit Sign? No, those work fine.

Hmm.. is it the Exit Sign? I'm going to have to fix that immediately anyway. I've not seen a building inspector in 12 years, but with the gosh by golly sign out and my usual horrid luck, they'll be knocking on the door in within an hour!

But something's "Chhh-HIRP!" not right... It's not the Exit Sign that is "Chhh-HIRP!" making the noise. It seems to be behind me in the hallway... "Chhh-HIRP!"

What could it be? The only culprit left is a smoke detector.


Well, I'll be, wired in or not, it has a battery in it, and it finally failed after 12 years.

I got 4 new batteries and replaced each and every one of them. There is one on each floor (basement, 1st, 2nd, and attic), wired together so that when one goes off, they all go off.

I then replaced the entire Exit Sign since I couldn't get parts for the old one anymore, with a new (much "greener") LED version.

...and the silence was blissful.

...or it will be until my coworkers come back and fall prey to my hiding a "ThinkGeek Annoy-a-tron" where they'll never find it....

Eh, eh, eh.... :)

Those Swedes!

While the major Swedish immigration to the United States did not occur until 1870-1910, when over one million Swedes arrived, settling particularly in Minnesota and other states of the Upper Midwest, the Swedes were in North America long before that.

The first Swedish expedition to North America embarked from the port of Gothenburg, Sweden in late 1637 and the community that gradually expanded along the banks of the Delaware River called itself "Nya Sverige." In English, this means "New Sweden."

If one Swedish colonist had to be chosen to stand for them all, perhaps there is no better candidate than Peter Gunnarsson Rambo. He came to New Sweden from Hisingen, now a suburb of the major seaport of Gothenburg, in 1640. Peter Rambo brought with him "apple seeds in a box." A few years later he married a girl who had come here from Vaasa, Finland. Peter Rambo's apples are still grown locally.

William Penn first stepped ashore in America in 1682 at the Swedish village of Upland—which as the "new owner," he promptly renamed Chester. Penn soon learned to count on experienced Swedish fur traders to act as interpreters when he negotiated treaties or bought land from the Delaware and Susquehannock Indians. And when his agents had picked a site for the great metropolis that he was planning, Penn found it expedient to buy the land from three Swedish brothers named Svensson. They were farmers, as their father had been, in what is now downtown Philadelphia.

The town the I live in, Norristown, was originally called Swedesford. Peter Rambo is buried in a churchyard a couple miles down the road.

The Swedes spread up the Schyullkill River from Philadelphia towards the site of what would become Reading, PA. About half way between these two iconic Pennsylvania cities, is the hamlet of Douglassville. And in Douglassville, one finds the oldest house in Berks County.


The house is a little off the beaten track. The sign points the way.

Monce Jones (Jonasson), the son of Jonas Nielson and Gertrude Y Svensdotter was born 1663 in Philadelphia, PA, USA, and died March 29, 1728 in Douglassville, Berks County, PA, USA. He married Ingeborg Peterssdatter Laikan Lycon, the daughter of Peter Nilsson Laikan Lycon.

I wonder just what pet name Mounce had for Ingeborg...


As the access road was deeply rutted and rather wet, I decided to walk into the site last weekend. I took this picture of a big leaf for a Swede I know, some time ago.


The access road turns into a long driveway. The house stands along the Schuyllkill River.


I think the front of the house faced the river. There is a fenced in herb garden just outside the front door.


The opposite side of the house has a prominent oven built into it.


The end of the house has one, very small window - I think this is because glass was imported from the old country (likely England) and was very expensive.


I thought the window was interesting enough to take a close up of it. It is rather plain.


In the "front" of the house, above the entrance way, is a marker that shows "I M I 1716". I pondered this for a while, I think the top "I" is an old style "J", and that the "M" and "I" below that might be Mounce and Ingeborg's initials. There was no one to be found in this little park, so I resorted to asking Mr. Google to no avail.

But...

Mr. Google did turn up something most intriguing. It seems that there are very (as in incredibly) old photographs showing the contents of some unsuspecting immigrating Swede's luggage. Which, no doubt...


...shows how the Orange Cones came to America. This rare photo shows three members of the most invasive species known to the human race that hitched a ride from the old country...

Inscribed on the back, it says, "Harold Coneson and Jenny Ochasdatter, arrive in America with little Peter Haroldsson in 1684. Jenny was claimed to have been the first to use the newfangled traveler's pillow."

With my feeble computer skills, I was able to greatly enhance and colorize the photograph.


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