What’s Stuck In My Head – 30 April

A.K.A. The Sleepless Night Edition

Short and quick today…

The ending of this song has been stuck for a while now;

There is no Eden or
Heavenly gates
That you’re gonna make it to one day
But all of the answers you seek
Can be found
In the dreams that you dream on the way

‘Nuff said.

Peace,
B

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What’s Stuck In My Head – 25 April

A.K.A. The History Edition

Let me set the scene;

  • Date: Summer of 1979
  • Location: Somewhere in Georgia, maybe Duluth.

First a little back story. I was in the Air Force, stationed at Homestead AFB, just south of Miami. My family home was also just south of Miami, just not as far south. My parents had a 32′ motorhome that was used to travel around the eastern seaboard for vacations.

This particular summer, my brother and his wife were going to join mom and dad on vacation.  Their plan was to go to New Orleans, then up into the mountains of North Carolina, then to the Atlanta area, finally ending in Disney World where my brother was to play in a company golf tournament.  My plan was to take some leave and stay at the house and basically party the entire time.

Of course, I didn’t tell them that. As far as they knew my leave was not approved, which was a big fat lie. I can say this now since both mom and dad have passed. 

During this trip, they would call back to the house on a semi-regular basis. Obviously checking up on me. I’m guessing my brother knew what was up.

Everything was fine until the one evening they called, and I was, shall we say, just a bit drunk.  While talking to my brother I let it slip that my leave had been approved.  Plans were immediately set for me to fly up to Greensboro, NC to meet them and spend the rest of the trip with them. I was not too happy about this plan. The motorhome didn’t have that many sleeping places. Dad was an emphysema patient and had a nebulizer in the back of the RV where his and mom’s beds were. Having spent several other vacations in that RV, I knew how loud that nebulizer was at 2 AM.  I wasn’t looking forward to cramped sleeping quarters and being woken up at any hour of the morning.

In the end, it was a good thing I joined them.  The new plan was for me to fly into Greensboro and rent a car, then drive to meet them at the campground, just across the state line in Greensboro, SC.  Big problem.  I was only 20 at the time.  The minimum age to rent a car was 26. Even with a military ID, they legally could not rent me any vehicle.  So, the family unhooked the motorhome and drove up to the airport to rent a car and pick me up.

I’m not sure who exactly rented the car, but I was listed as the primary driver. Following them back to the campground I noticed something very bad.  None of the lights on the back of the RV were working. No tail lights, no turn signals, no brake lights, nothing!  When we made it back to the campground and got everything hooked back up we started looking at what was wrong.

If I remember correctly (always a challenge), we found a bundle of wires that had been burned out. But that wasn’t the worst of it.  Every single wire in the RV was brown.  Not brown as in burned or singed, but molded in brown plastic. None of the usual red, black, and green wires.  Everything was the same dull brown, from the front to the rear.  It would appear that the previous owner rewired the RV with only one color of wire. We had no idea which wire was hot, neutral, or ground!  That meant one thing. I was to follow, as closely as possible, the RV to Atlanta where we would park it in a friend’s driveway and rewire the entire motorhome. An entire weekend of vacation would be lost. But it was something very critical.

As I remember (again – we’re talking shaky ground here), we fixed all the wiring and all the lights worked, and we took off for Disney for that golf outing. That’s when the next issue showed up.  And now, we’re up to date, and where are somewhere around Duluth, GA.

As I mentioned dad has emphysema. While we were working on the motorhome, we could all see he was sinking into a major breathing issue.  That’s when we made the stop at a local hospital to see if we could get dad breathing better, hoping a more powerful breathing treatment would allow him to continue with us.  It didn’t work.  He spent a night or two in that hospital (my brother thinks it was “Joan Clancy Hospital”). Then he and mom flew back to Miami, while my brother, his wife and I went to Disney.

But, that’s not what I cam here to talk about.  While dad was in that hospital, my brother pointed out someone to me.  Down the hospital hall was a young guy with a big beard and longer than usual hair. His room was the only one that didn’t have a name outside the door. We would see this gentleman walk up and down the hall, stop and chat with the nurses, and really look like he didn’t need to be there. Plus, he looked very familiar to us.  It took me a little bit, but then I saw it. If it wasn’t Kenny Loggins, then it was a doppelganger! It looked just like him.  But why was he in the hospital? To complete the conspiracy theory, once he realized we noticed him he didn’t come back out of the room while we were there.

Was it Kenny?  Doubtful. But it’s fun to look back and wonder. 

All this finally leads to today’s video.  The song was originally released on the 1976 album The Best Of Friends.  The video isn’t the best, but I used this version for two reasons. The live version, while musically beautiful, is very boring.  They just stand there nothing exciting.  Second, the image of Kenny Loggins (the guy on the left) is who we saw in the hospital!

Enjoy!

That’s him! There on the left!

Peace,
B

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What’s Stuck In My Head – 18 April

A.K.A. The anxious edition..

While you are reading this (you are reading this and not just jumping to see which video I’m using this time, right??), I’m sitting in my dentist’s chair having yet another crown done. This isn’t just another crown, it’s a replacement crown for a job done only 14 months ago. Sheesh..

I do have a moderate phobia of dentists. Which is a bit odd when you consider that I went through several years of orthodontic works as a teenager with no real issues. Plus, the fact that I spent the majority of my young adult life as an Army Combat Medic (equivalent to a Paramedic).  I taught many classes on giving immunizations and even intravenous (IV) classes.  I’ve given myself an IV (as a demonstration), and even sutured both of my sons.  Needles and blood are not the problem.

The problem started long ago. In 1986 to be exact.  I was leaving Fort Bragg, NC the next day.  My wife and son (only had the one at the time), were leaving first to Florida to drop them off, then I was headed to Fort Greely Alaska.  This particular afternoon, I was playing racquetball with a few of friends that were staying at Fort Bragg.  While running to the back wall of the court my ankle turned and I went face first into that concrete back wall. I ended up shattering my right front tooth (number 8 if you’re really interested).

Upon arrival at Fort Greely, as with any military posting, you must turn in your personnel, education, medical, and dental records at the appropriate offices.  When I showed up at the dental clinic, they immediately scheduled an appointment with the dentist to have that shattered tooth evaluated.

Here’s the kicker.  About 20 years before this I was hit in the mouth by a baseball.  This damaged the tooth extensively, and according to the family dentist the tooth was “dead”.  I had no feeling in the tooth, and it yellowed quickly.

I told the dentist in Alaska the story and she decided I needed a root canal.  I wasn’t really surprised that she wanted one, but since the tooth had been damaged so long ago, I wasn’t sure it was really needed.

Now, I don’t know if this dentist was right out of school or what. But it was almost three hours in the chair, and so many injections of lidocaine; all for naught.  In the end all she could say was the root was too calcified to her to get it out. And I’m thinking, I could have told you that.  I have my suspicions that I was her first root canal without supervision and she was not about to fail.

Sad to say that I now have a dislike for dentists.

But the dentist we use is anything but that. He is a really nice guy, has great music playing, and even tries to make you laugh whenever possible.  Since this is just a replacement, and the temporary is already there, it should be cake and pie. Maybe. Hopefully.  Let’s hope he’s not having a bad day.

Peace,
B

P.S. Have a medical phobia of your own? Leave a comment so we can all commiserate with you!

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Genealogy & Travel Plans

We are at T minus 30 days for our long overdue trip to Scotland! I say it’s overdue because we’ve been trying to get there for about five years. Well, it’s finally happening.

That’s all for the travel plans, I’ll have more, hopefully when we’re there. The two issues that will make it difficult will be lack of internet connection and that I’m only bringing my tablet, not my laptop, so I may need Wifey’s help in transcribing stuff. You think my regular typing is bad, wait until you see if from a virtual keyboard!

Genealogy – specifically DNA. (Disclaimer: I am very new to this whole DNA stuff. My conclusions may be way off. Please correct anything in the comments.) I have posted about genealogy and DNA before, but this time I have some specifics.

Most of my testing has been done through Family Tree DNA (FTDNA from here on out). The main reason I used them instead of Ancestry (which I have also used), is that FTDNA does Y – DNA testing. For those that don’t know the difference, Y-DNA is a male only test. The Y (and X) chromosome are sex chromosomes. Men have one Y chromosome and one X chromosome, women have two X chromosomes. Each father passes an almost exact copy of his Y-DNA to his sons.

The other types of DNA testing that are common are Mitochondrial (mtDNA) and Autosomal (atDNA). I won’t go into specifics of each test, but everyone can do these types of tests. Ancestry does atDNA, and FTDNA calls their atDNA “Family Finder”. These kinds of tests look at genetically stored data that give you a greater sense of where your origins are. They can help you find cousins, half siblings (that maybe you didn’t about), and also help adoptees find birth parents. But are accurate to only five to seven generations back. Y-DNA and mtDNA can go back (generally) thousands of years.

But I’m interested in finding where my male line comes from. I have several goals in this endeavor;

  • Find the “Immigrant Ancestor”. Who, and maybe why, did they leave wherever they called home? And when?
  • Where did the ancestor come from? Family stories indicated Scotland. According to my dad, specifically Argyll. Of course, Argyll is a large area in the southeast part of Scotland. Not exactly a simple place.
  • Do we have any connection to older peoples living in whatever area I find?
  • Can we go beyond that time? Was it even possible since there wouldn’t be any written records.

I did my first Y-DNA test with FTDNA way back in 2008. More than 11 years ago now. The first test gave me a very generic Y-DNA Haplogroup of R-M269. Think of a haplogroup as a branch on a tree.

The R-M269 haplogroup is the most common group in Europe for males. It is estimated to have arisen about 11,000 BCE. And makes up a large part of the R1b main branch of the haplotree. The image below may help.

Starting near the top of the image, you’ll see the M269 subclade, just left of center in the red. Follow that straight down and near the bottom of the red go left to the big P312 in dark green with yellow letters. From there continue left to the light green with yellow letters L21. Now it gets a little harder. From L21, you go down and slightly right to DF13, then a little more right you’ll find Z39589. Almost there, don’t give up, as we zig just a tad right to Z251 and stop there, for now. My line continues down from here, but this tree doesn’t go that far.

About eight branches further down the tree you will, hopefully, find BY69143, just not on that image above. That’s as far as my DNA can be traced at the moment. It’s referred to a “Terminal SNP”. But it’s anything but terminal. In the less than 6 weeks since my last test has been completed, I have moved “downstream” two branches. It’s a constantly changing environment.

So, lets jump back up to my lists of goals. How does this DNA test help me? I was hoping to find a cousin with the Campbell surname that had some more of a paper trail than I have. The biggest problem that I have encountered in this genealogy quest, which I started back in 1999 before DNA tests were commercially available, is the fact that my father was an only child. That means I had no Campbell uncles. I knew his father’s name, but that was about all.

I was lucky that my dad’s mother had many pictures and notes from her late husband. And then just by chance I found my oldest sister’s baby book in a long-forgotten box at our mom’s house. In those pages I found my great-grandfather’s name. That allowed me to find him, and my grandfather and his siblings in census records in the correct area of Pennsylvania. But not the next generation. I had several leads on that generation, but I couldn’t nail it down. Basically, I was looking at two men, a James R. Campbell and a Richard Campbell. Each of those men had different fathers.

Enter DNA. My hope was that one of my grandfather’s siblings’ son’s (my great uncle’s) had done a DNA test, AND that we would match enough to be sure of our findings. That cousin hopefully also had a good paper trail to help me along. Yeah, it was pretty one sided at this point.

However, I do believe that any one named “Campbell” is deathly afraid of taking a DNA test! I had absolutely no matches with a Campbell surname. Nothing, not even a fourth or fifth cousin. I guess they were afraid of being charged with cattle theft or some such thing from medieval Scotland. Only thing left for me to do was to order a more advance test. And wait… Lots of waiting with this DNA stuff.

Out of nowhere I received an email one day. I did have a Campbell cousin that had completed a Y-DNA test. Not from a sibling of my grandfather not even my great-grandfather. But from a sibling of my great-great-grandfather. Just like that the problem of which man was my 2x great-grandfather was solved. James Richard Campbell was my line, and a different Richard Campbell (not the one I was also researching) was this cousin’s line.

This cousin had records too! He had lived in Pennsylvania before retiring here to Florida. He could back everything up with history! Needless to say, I commenced to doing the genealogy happy-dance (you don’t want to see that). Oh, this newly discovered 2x great was a junior. At least that takes some of the guess work out of his father’s name. But my cousin also had his information as well. James Richard Campbell, Sr. was quickly entered as 3x great-grandfather. Now, how to get that next generation?

Another great DNA site is GEDMatch. They don’t offer any DNA testing, you just upload your DNA data to the site. They have so many free and paid tools that will allow you to search their database of uploads for matches. You can do a wide one-to-many search or even compare two kits on a one-to-one basis. GEDMatch takes uploads of DNA data from several different DNA testing companies. You’re still limited by only being able to compare kits from folks that uploaded, and agreed to allow their kits to be searched, you can match folks that have tested at different companies. Ancestry and 23 and Me, do not allow the uploading of DNA to their databases. GEDMatch takes both of those company’s results and several others. By using my DNA, my older brother’s DNA, and this cousin’s DNA, we were able to find another cousin. This time way down in South Africa.

This cousin had the next generation. Once again, the unusual name and the senior/junior come into play. John Campbell. Really? Now there are two John Campbell’s to look for. A father and son. Out of what, maybe 10,000,000 listed in archives strewn all over the internet? Most old records don’t list things such as a senior or junior. Just the names. This new cousin claims to have a passenger list of when this Campbell family came over, but looking at the reference, I’m not positive about this claim. But that’s another job, and another post.

This gave me a partial answer to the first question. I now have two possibilities of the “Immigrant Ancestor”. It was either my newly discovered 3x great, or his father. The “two John’s”. If this is making your head spin, you can imagine how I was feeling. I put all this away for a bit to just look at DNA to see if I could get any answers to my goals.

All these Campbell’s do come from Scotland. The lead we have on John Sr., states he was born in 1745 in Perth, Scotland. Well, that’s not in Argyll on any map, in any time frame. Not a big deal, as the Campbell Clan is quite large, and has several branches. Maybe I am a descendant from one of the cadet branches.

Going back to FTDNA and the Campbell discussion group, I ask if there is a way via DNA to see if one belongs to the right haplogoup that indicates which, if any, Campbell one can trace back to. Sadly, it appears that I do not belong to the Argyll subclade (R-FGC10125), my path branches off right after the Z39589 subclade a couple of thousand years ago. Hey – not a problem. This just means that some ancestor in the way back past either swore an oath of loyalty to the clan chief, was absorbed into the clan (either peacefully or…), or maybe married into the clan and took the name. If I can go back to the mid 1700’s and still find Campbell in my direct line. I’m good with that.

So, if not Argyll, where does my line come from? I do have a DNA marker, S145/M529/L21. This marker, usually just listed as L21, is highly correlated with the geography of ancient Celts. In the words of Bill Murray “I’ve got that going for me.” Just where is the L21 most prevalent? Seems to be in area of Stirling and Falkirk, Scotland. Which is just southwest of Perth! Hey! I may be on to something here. It would appear to my untrained eye that my line stayed in the lowlands area and those with the Argyll marker continued westward across the island. But I’m just guessing here. Could be the other way around for all I know.

All in all, it means my Y-DNA Haplogroup is R1b1a1a2a1a2. At least that’s the last one I can find. I believe that stops at subclade R-P312, and there are 13 further mutations I have listed to get me to the R-BY69143 SNP.

It does appear that I am a Scot, as the top image says. I don’t have to go back 100 generations to find Scots roots. But I can, my DNA points to a Copper or Iron Age Scots ancestry. Wifey too has Scots heritage. Of course, I can’t test her Y-DNA (she doesn’t have any). Her brother has done the Ancestry test, but Ancestry doesn’t give raw data, only their visuals and estimates. Which leaves me unsure of their Y-DNA Haplogroup. Maybe one day I can afford to have him to the Big Y-700 at FTDNA. We’ll probably find out our tribes fought each other all the time!

In a way, this trip to Scotland will be a homecoming.

If you are using any of the DNA resources I’ve mentioned and wish to contact me about those sites, please use the links below to contact me on social media (Twitter works best), or leave a comment. I would be very happy to see if there is anything we can do to help each other!

Resources I used for this:

Books: (All links go to Amazon – I am not an affiliate. I get nothing if you buy from these links.
Genetic Genealogy In Practice
The Scots: A Genetic Journey
Celts: The History and Legacy of One of the Oldest Cultures in Europe
The Seven Daughters of Eve: The Science That Reveals Our Genetic Ancestry
Saxons, Vikings and Celts: The Genetic Roots of Britian and Ireland
A History of Scotland

Websites other than already mentioned:
Genetic Homeland
Clan Campbell Society (North America)
Eupedia
International Society of Genetic Genealogy

Software:
Family Tree Maker
Legacy Family Tree
Roots Magic

Peace,
B

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Let’s Talk Food!

Specifically, two ladies that gave me a love of good food and how to prepare it.

Those two ladies, are my paternal grandmother “Nanny” and my great aunt (my maternal grandmother’s sister), Arline. I’ve mentioned Nanny several times before on this blog, so I will start with Aunt Arline.

Just about every year of my childhood we would all pile into the family station wagon (mom always drove a station wagon) and head out to visit mom’s family in South Carolina. We would leave way before the sun came up and drive the 14 or so hours straight through, stopping only for gas, restroom breaks, and a quick meal. Since this was before I-95 was completed, we had to travel the entire distance of the Florida Turnpike. The turnpike is, without a doubt, one the most boring drives in America. Flat and straight, and the same damn trees the entire way. Since it runs through the middle of the state, there aren’t even any alligators to break up the monotomy.

But it did have well maintained and clean rest areas. Several of them, such as the one at Fort Pierce, even had full service restuarants. Dad wouldn’t dare pass up that rest area. It was a great place to gas up the car and fill our bellies as well. The only other stop would be somewhere in Georgia at a Stucky’s for the filling up of both car and kids.

The basic Stuckey’s. There were some bigger than this one.

Finally arriving at our destination of Marion, SC things would go downhill quickly as all the cousins showed up. Many days were spent running around in the yards of various family members; especially Aunt Arline’s yard. You do remember Aunt Arline right? This part of the post is about her.

She had a pond in her back yard. I wasn’t allowed to go down to the pond by myself. My mom couldn’t swim and was deathly afraid I would fall in and drown. And with good reason, as when I was abvout 5 I did fall into a pool at a friend’s house; and if it wasn’t for my brother who noticed my struggling to get to the side of the pool and jumped in a brought me safely out of the water, I probably would have drowned.

Out of that pond Aunt Arline would catch some little brim or sunfish. She would scale and gut them, then fry them whole. Remember, this is South Carolina in the 60’s. Damn near everything was fried. I will admit that at first I didn’t even want to try a whole fried fish (I means bones??). But one of my uncles showed me how to open them up and get to the good stuff. I was hooked after that – bones and all. Aunt Arline also had a cage that she kept crickets in for bait. She would somehow catch these crickets by hand! I never did figure out how.

So, let’s talk about Sunday dinners at Aunt Arline’s. There would so much food! There isn’t a buffet around that could compare. Of course there were, at times, 20 or so of us eating. I was not allowed in the kitchen then. That was all the women. My mom, her sisters, my older sisters and some cousins that were old enough handled all the cooking. The “men folk” sat out front talking weather, politics and such. My cousins that were too young to take part in the serious talk would be outside playing in the mud, trying to get down to pond, and just basically getting into trouble.

But then, those magic words – “Dinner is ready”! Naturally, we all had to wash up, which took quite some time since there was only one bathroom we were allowed to use. But by the time the kids got to our table, our moms would have a plate ready for us.

And what a plate! There would be at least three kinds of meats; ham, the fish she caught, and my all time favorite – fried chicken. Fried chicken is still my most favorite meal. Many times there would also be a turkey or a beef roast! Then there would be so many veggies – all fresh. Lima beans (another of my favorites), corn, black-eyed peas, collard and/or mustard greens. Then mashed potatoes and rice. Three kinds of bread – cornbread, dinner rolls, and just plain white. Three or four sticks of real butter would be placed around the tables, along with the usual vinegear for the greens, and if needed, condiments to make sandwiches. One thing I don’t remember is ever seeing a “garden salad”; you know lettuce and chopped veggies. But I don’t think I missed it. To this day, I still don’t care for greens.

We would sit around and eat and drink (Carolina Sweet Tea) until we couldn’t move. Then at some secret signal (unknown to “men folk” and kids), out of nowhere large white bed sheets would be used to cover everything up. Nothing put into little plastic containers that go “burp” when you do that other secret thing men folk are not allowed to understand. Nothing even close to a precaution except keeping the bugs off (and kids out).

Then, at another prearranged secret signal the sheets would be taken off and everyone would sit back down and eat. Remember, this is the 60’s in rural South Carolina. Microwave ovens are still a good 10 – 15 years away from general use, so everything was at “room tempature”, whatever that is.

Now, I had no issues with the meat not being reheated. And as much as I love mashed potatoes and limas, I balked at eating them cold. This was where the sandwich fixings came in for me. But mom still wasn’t happy. I had to have a “balanced meal”, meaning veggies. But I would not eat them cold like that. So Aunt Arline came up with a fix. She would take a big helping of the limas (she knew I would eat them all), toss them into a small pan with another stick of butter (Paula Dean has nothing on my family), and heat them up for me. Such a sweet lady! I would then take the entire pot of butter and beans and pour it over a mound of mashed potatoes or rice, depending on which I could get my hands on. Guess it’s not really odd that the majority of my mom’s family died of cholestrol issues, and that I fight that myself.

Aunt Arline is holding the baby, her sister, my grandmother Dora is to her right. Mom is to her left. We think the baby is my oldest sister. But no clue who the lady at the far right is.

Let’s switch gears and sides (in a civil war theme). Obvisiouly, my mom is from South Carolina. The little town her daddy’s tobacco farm was in, Fork, is no longer there. She couldn’t remember exactly where the town was but believed it was swallowed by Marion. And that’s where Aunt Arline lived, Marion, South Carolina.

Dad, on the other hand, was from central Pennsylvania. I joke we had the civil war in our house growing up. Mom was a southerner and grew up Baptist. Dad, a yankee (and a damn yankee at that), grew up in a Methodist church. After WWII they settled in the south (if you can consider Miami part of the “south”) and went to a Methodist church. Best of both worlds?

Nanny (again, you do remember Nanny, right? This part of the post is about her), was an exceptional lady. She was widowed at the age of 34 in 1919. Dad was all of 6. She never remarried. From 1919 until she came to live with us about 1968 or so, she was out on her own. She spent a lot of time going between Pennsylvania and Florida, playing the snowbird roll, before she stayed permantly. This was mostly before my time and when I was an infant, so I don’t really remember it.

What I do remember is her cooking. We may not have had the big ol’ spread that we had in South Carolina, but the quality was every bit as good. Nanny was the one that really started me cooking. I was old enough (well almost) to stay around when she was preparing meals. It also helped that I was the only child at home then and our little kitchen had a dining table. I could sit there out of the way and watch, ask questions and more importantly taste!

Not only did she cook your basic meals, she could bake. She would make bread from scratch. This is where I learned how to use yeast. Being the smart woman that she was, she always made me a small loaf when she was baking bread. As soon as it was cool enough to remove from the pan she would give me the first loaf and yet another stick of butter and send me off to get out of her way.

And here is another example of fried chicken; yet completly different from Aunt Arline’s. The crust was different and she would use a buttermilk bath on the chicken pieces. Still every bit as good, just different. Not to brag (who am I kidding??) I have been told that my fried chicken is better than either of their’s. That may be, but I will admit that I am nowhere as consistent as either of these ladies.

But Nanny taught me something more than fried chicken and bread. She taught me BBQ. We didn’t have a smoker growing up, and I can only remember my dad grilling something once. But both my brother and I love to cook with fire. We had to get it from somewhere. It was Nanny. She had a BBQ resuarant in the Altoona, Pennsylvania area. I can find city directories from 1935 and 1936 that list her as the owner. Can you imagine being a widow with a young adult son, in the middle of the Great Depression, and making a good living from a restuarant? The industry that has a very high if not the highest failure rate? Blows my mind.

Her potato salad, fresh made coleslaw and beans were out of this world! And a meatloaf to die for. Somewhere there is a recipe book with all these notes. I really think the printed recipes were there as a distraction. The true treasure were the handwritten notes in the back. My mom, a better than average cook in her own right, added to that collection.

Nanny’s BBQ joint

It makes me a bit sad to know that I didn’t get the chance to cook for these ladies before they shuffled off to wherever great cooks go. I’m sure there would have been lots of “this is nice, but if you had done ….” comments. And I would have taken everyone of those comments to heart and tried to live up to their legacy another time.

Peace,
B

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What’s Stuck In My Head – 12 April

Now I have to admit that the first time I heard this song it was a cover by The Lumineers. And even though I had never heard of The Lumineers at that time, I was totally entranced by the song and the band.

This is a Tom Petty song. Tom has long been one of my favorite musicians. Either solo, with The Heartbreakers, The Traveling Wilburys as “Charlie T. WIlbury Jr.”, and later (ironically since it was his first band) Mudcrutch. When Wifey got her new car and a subscription to SiriusXM Radio, she came home saying she had been listening to the Tom Petty channel, and was wondering about this band Mudcrutch and why they were being played on that channel. Once again my “music-savant” superpower came through!

This is part of the soundtrack from the movie, “She’s The One”. Needless to say, I’ve never seen the movie. Can’t even recall an advertisment for it. Judging by the listings on YouTube, it’s been covered many times. The cover by The Lumineers was on the first anniversary of Tom’s untimely death. The soundtrack actually has two versions of the song. I’m using (No. 3) version for the video. It’s a bit more mellow than the first release, although Jennifer Aniston isn’t in the video for (No. 3), but is in the video for (Circus). And no, I haven’t seen that either. I really don’t watch much TV or movies. Yeah, I’m boring.

Well enough of that, here’s “Walls (No. 3)”. And yeah, this video sucks, but the song is excellent!

Enjoy.

Peace,
B

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Random Photographs

Just a few photos of our random life. And I promise, no pictures of food (my older brother laughs at me for posting pictures of my food. But there’s lots of that on my Instagram – link at the bottom of the post).

My early morning crack genealogy crew! Animaniacs Forever!!!
Baron von LardAss hanging out in my beatup truck. Please note the beer and bluetooth speaker blaring the tunes. A typical Sunday afternoon.
A small muder of crows carousing in the road. At any given time there will be three times this number in the area.
The granddaughters striking a pose at Castillo de San Marcos, St. Augustine.
A foggy morning in the backyard.

All pictures were taken on my Google Pixel 3XL cellphone. Only the first picture uses the “Night Sight” option, all others were a simple point and shoot.

Hope you enjoyed these. Post some of your photos in a comment!

Peace,
B

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What’s Stuck In My Head – 29 March

The other evening, Wifey and I were relaxing having just got home from work and deciding what to make for dinner. As usual, I had music playing while we were talking. I have music playing all the time. If not out loud, it’s playing in my head. Hence this series of posts.

Instead of the usual streaming music, SiriusXM, Spotify or Pandora, I had a YouTube playlist going. Some song would come on, and I would interrupt, or just pop out with some obscure fact about the song, band, or event that was playing. Wifey usually just smiles and goes back to whatever she was doing. She tolerates me well.

But then this song came on. And she stopped what she was doing, picked up her wine glass and came over to the computer desk where I was sitting to see the video. My playlists tend to feature guitar playing. This particular list is heavy with Eric Clapton. But this isn’t a Clapton song, even though he’s featured in the video.

Tracy Chapman has been a favorite of ours since we first heard “Fast Car“. Her music is so deeply personal it almost hurts. And she is so expressive. Her smile can light up a room, and that smile is so present in this video. As wifey said, she must be thinking “Eric Clapton is playing my song!!!!!”. Who wouldn’t simile when that happens.

So here’s Tracy Chapman and Eric Clapton playing “Give Me One Reason” from 1999. Enjoy!

Peace,
B

Fish tacos

Oh, and we decided on fish tacos for dinner. They were excellent!

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A Week Of Birthdays

I’m guessing that this was quite the week back in the day.

Yesterday would have been my paternal grandmother’s 134th birthday. Josephine “Nanny” Bodle was born 27 March 1885. Nanny lived with us for most of my childhood. She is where I get my love of cooking. She ran her own BBQ resturant in Altoona, Pennsylvania.

Josie maybe 1900?

Today is my father’s birthday, Donald Campbell would have been 107. Dad was born 28 March 1912. He was a pretty remarkable guy. We had our differences, but then what kid doesn’t have issues with their parents at some point?

Donald Campbell maybe 1930?

And then to complete the trifecta, my paternal grandfather’s 135th birthday would have been on Sunday. Herbert J. Campbell born 31 March 1884, and died 5 February 1919, a victim of the flu pandemic.

Herbert J. Campbell 1905

I can only imagine how this week was celebrated in my Campbell ancestor’s house. I love the convergence of my father and his parents birthdays all together in one week.

And a Happy Birthday to anyone that has a birthday this week! You’re in good company.

Peace,
B

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Chipping Away At That Wall

I have been working very hard on my genealogy again. While I do have a very good lead on that ever elusive “immigrant ancestor”, I have still been looking for more information on my father’s first wife.

I have now proven that the lovely lady I mentioned in this post, is in fact Trudie. I used Facebook, of all things to get the needed info.

Using the Blair County, Pennsylvania, Genealogy Society Facebook page, I found the email for their research assistant, Patti. She was ever so helpful. For a small donation to the society, she found Don & Trudie’s marriage documents.

Marriage certificate for Donald Campbell and Mary Gertrude Lyman.

Not only did she find the certificate, she found the application as well.

Marriage application

Now being the nosey guy that I am, I couldn’t help but wonder where did the ceremony take place? Was it in a church, the city office, where? The first step was to figure out who the Thos. W. Kelley was that performed the actual ceremony was. My oldest sister remembers dad saying that Trudie was Catholic. My new friend Patti was able to locate a Father Thomas W. Kelley that was listed in several other marriages at St. Therese’s Catholic church in Altoona. And on the scan of the city record book, it lists Fr. Kelley as “Priest”.

Now that I knew they were married in the Catholic tradition, if not in a Catholic church building, a big question popped into my pointy head. Did my dad have to convert or at least sign a statement of some kind that he would convert to Catholisim? This is a very common thing with many of the world’s religions.

So, with the help of my other friend, Google, I was able to locate St. Therese’s church in Altoona. They don’t have a website, but they do have an email. After much pondering, moreover what to ask, than if I should even send an email, I sent an email asking if they had any records of the marriage and if my dad had to make any kind of conversion promise.

Lo and behold, this was the answer I received;


Dear Mr. Campbell, 
The marriage of Donald Sherwood Campbell and Mary Gertrude Lyman took place at St. Therese Parish, whether in the Church or at the Rectory is unknown.  Mary was a member of St. Leo’s Parish, and received the permission from Fr. O’Connell for the marriage to take place at St. Therese.  The records shows that the couple received a dispensation for Mixed Religion.  And that indicates that Donald was still a Protestant at the time of the wedding.  Mary would have signed a document promising to raise any children Catholic to the best of their ability and that this marriage would not endanger her faith.  Father Kelley would have informed Donald that Mary made these promises.  
During the day of Bishop Guilfoyle, he was strict about non-Catholics marrying Catholics wanting the non-Catholics to convert.  However the Bishop seems to have signed the dispensation.  
Documents are sparse.  We have only the granted dispensations and the record in the registry.  I hope this helps.   If Donald became Catholic it was after his marriage.

Sincerely,
Fr. D. Timothy Grimme
Pastor

Pretty cool. I could cross this off my genealogical to-do list. The next step in my search on Trudie is to find a cause of death. I have requested a death certificate from the folks in Washington, D.C. but have not received anything back.

It is interesting that her name is listed as Mary Gertrude. I understand the use of Mary, as it is normal, if not required, to use a saint’s name in the Catholic tradition. The odd thing is that every other record I have of her lists her as Gertrude M., the names are reversed. Even in early records such as the 1920 census when she’s still with her parents, she’s listed as Gertrude. Oh well. I’ve seen odder things.

Mary Gertrude “Trudie” and Donald Sherwood Campbell.

I really do wish I had a date for that picture. Love the pencil thin mustache my dad’s sporting!

Peace,
B

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