Independence Day - and a yellow tablet

My late father-in-law joined the Navy in June of 1943. World War II was raging and the young man knew his country needed him. He was three months short of his 18th birthday when his mom reluctantly signed the parental consent. Fortunately, he kept his promise to her and came home in one piece.

Like most of the veterans from the Greatest Generation, Dad had not been one to share the events of his war service. Nor had he discussed his feelings and thoughts in our presence.

I will never forget that day when he let down his guard.

* * * *

It was July of 1999 and I invited my husbands extended family to celebrate the 4th of July with us at a barbecue in our back yard.

"Dad" was in the 28th year of his fourth marriage. He'd been a father to his step-daughter and step-son ... something he'd not been allowed to do with his own two children.

I called him several weeks before the event and made a special request.

"Dad," I asked, "Would you be the guest of honor at the party and tell us about your experience in World War II and the Korean Conflict?"

His response indicated reluctance, but I was not giving in easily.

"I know WR is looking forward to hearing your story."

I wasn't really lying. I knew that WR knew nothing of his dad's time in the armed forces. I also knew that in his heart he felt cheated out of his fathers relationship, time, and love. There was no doubt that WR would embrace my appeal.

The weather was gorgeous, the food was exceptional, and the children and grandchildren of his two families enjoyed the camaraderie that one expects of an Independence Day gathering.

Dad pulled out his war memoirs handwritten on a yellow tablet.

We sat quietly - even the very small step-grandchild - as he read about joining the Navy.

After flunking the V-12 unit, Dad switched to Sonar School in San Diego, CA. We heard of his journey to New Hebrides and Tulagi, and dropping depth charges that may have hit the target.

He convoyed to Bouganville with supplies and troops.

After "10 days R&R in New Zealand, beautiful country - but on the way we ran into the rim of a typhoon."

He spent months on mine sweeping duty near New Caledonia, performed search and rescue off the cost of Guam, and towards the end of the war served harbor duty in the Philippines.

The boat's trip home was delayed twice by a broken shaft. He and and his fellow conquering heroes arrived in San Francisco harbor after a weary journey at the end of tug boat tow line.

September 1950: "This was tough, almost unbearable. Married --2 kids, WR Jr & Sherry, and on my birthday - Sept 2 - I got orders in the mail and was ordered to report to Pier 91 in Seattle in one week for Korea."

Dads voice broke and he wept as he told us of his agony in leaving his family; and then came the loss of his good friend and cousin Robert in combat (Battle of Chosin Resevoir). Twice his ship ferried South Korean guerrilla fighters into northern territory where they were massacred. He felt complicit.

Other than one memorable raid that blew up a railroad tunnel and slowed the enemy supply line, most of his long and lonely nights were spent stationed on the sonar gear, creeping along the coastline "doing my pinging."

His boat was eventually relieved by another A.P.D and they "came home...was discharged...life went on. That's my story -- WR, Sr.

I asked him if I could keep the sheets from his lined yellow tablet. The paper not only has his words, in his own pen... but is punctuated with his tears. I knew it would be a priceless family keepsake.

Dad died of cardiac arrest in December 2002.

Thank you, Grace (Mama Rehama), for choosing a memorable Independence Day Holiday as the subject for this week's Fun Monday.

Art ?

My neighbor bill brought this piece of art over to our house last week. He sees me toting my camera everywhere - so he asked me to snap a picture of this masterpiece before it went away.

Looking at the close up above, one might never guess the medium on which it was created. Apparently there was dust on the seat of a child's old metal chair that sits on his back porch. Then it rained.

I think it was a mosquito larvae that wriggled itself until it died - or possibly survived long enough to mature.

What do you think?

What's in Your Wallet?

The Church Lady is the host of Fun Monday this week. She wishes to see our purse and hear about the contents.

I skipped the purse shot and instead dumped the contents on my table top. You're so lucky I cleaned it out just before I took my last trip.





I really need to employ that spa coupon and take care of my aching back - a result of carrying this stuff all around with me.

Link over to TCL and sign up on Mr. Linky. What's in your wallet?

My Cup, My Smile.

My cup was the copper colored one. I think my sister had a green one. When I first rested my mouth against it to drink, I felt what seemed like a a tiny electrical current snap me.

I suspect that my Kool-Aid reacted with the metal somehow to bite my lip. We rarely got Kool-Aid so it was an electrifying moment even without the cup.

In this old photo I am with cup in hand. My sister Trish is giving me a casual hug while my brother Mike attempts to look serious and distinguished. Our dog Bobbie looks smaller than I remember him. Whoever took the photo should have told me to get that cup out of my face.

I was hiding my mouth.

My front four baby teeth came in dark and disintegrating.

The dentist told my mom that she'd probably been sick during the pregnancy, or I had experienced a high fever as a new born. He pulled them .

(I'm sure the dentist was wrong. I think it's some kind of genetic thing. My sisters eldest daughter had the same problem. The dentist covered her teeth with silver until her permanent teeth came in fine. Now my granddaughter Curlymop had the same problem. Her teeth are painted with something that is barely noticeable. I'm sure her permanent teeth will come in fine, too.)

My permanent teeth came in straight and white. And BIG.

Thus, my brothers called me Bucky Beaver. They may have only done that once, but when you are small and impressionable you remember it as if it was a daily occurrence.

The attention and comments that my huge new teeth drew caused me to be very self conscious. To the point that I didn't want to smile for photos or open my mouth around strangers. That ugly duckling feeling stayed with me through elementary school and into my early teens.

That changed one summer day when I was in a furniture store. We never bought furniture so I have no idea what I was doing there.

The salesman walked past me where I was leaning up against the counter and then stopped and turned back.

"Gee," he commented before he moved on, "You've got the prettiest smile I think I've ever seen!"

I must have smiled in response and disbelief.

"Yes, indeed - I just love a big white smile on a beautiful face." And then he went on about his business.

Why I believed him is a mystery. But, I did.

I smiled from that day forward.

When my mom passed away in 1993 I found the cup stashed away in one of her cupboards. It now sits by my husband's bronzed baby shoes in our china hutch.


And my smile sits on my face.

Thirteen and Bored

I picked up a hitchhiker on the drive home from California: Our thirteen year old grand son, Lil' Bud.

It appears that one week with us is all he can handle. Texting, My Space, computer games. The life and times of a 13 year old.

Poor kid isn't flying home until Thursday.

Last Saturday we took him and some of our friends tubing on the Snake River - so it hasn't been a total dud for him. He was proud of his bumps and bruises, and the fact that he body slammed the water less often than the other young fellows.

We visited the museum today. Here you will find him posing in one of the cells from the old Washington State Penitentiary. He enjoyed sitting in the cell, acting the part of a felon, and begging to be set free.


The blurry photo is possibly his great great grandfather who worked there. I attempted to zoom in on a tiny photo of the employees that was on the far wall of a glass display case.

Of course we enjoyed the old fire engine and buggies. (He has his grandpa's eyes!)



There was plenty of antique equipment associated with wheat harvest.

This is an original 33 mule team combine...with plastic mules of course. His Great Great Grandfather (Pops) and Pops brother Speedo* worked with mule teams during harvest. To its right is an original wagon that hauled the wheat behind four huge draft horses. The guy who "sacked" the wheat earned $5 a day.



"Hey Grandma," he called, "Come over here and take a picture of this scary baby!"



Eeek. She sure is.



*The name Speedo was his moniker long before there were any swimsuits adorned with that tag. He earned that nick name in 1908, when he caught a fly in mid air while eating breakfast in his high chair.