::My homepage::

10/24/05
When a kid, I had a wonderful playground. Many of the small towns in downstate Illinois had left over waste land from early coal
mining. Some were shaft mines, but where the coal was near the surface they had strip mines. Strip mining is just that; using cranes with
drag buckets, the topsoil is removed down to the layer of coal and they then dig out the coal. They start at one of the coal field, dig a wide
trench, extract the coal, and dump the dirt from the next trench into the previous trench. When they are finshed they leave a Martian
surface of dead soil in randomly dumped piles. By the time I started to play there,there were scrub trees, swampy spots with reeds and
cattails, exposed rocks with fossils, and a few arrowheads lying around. It was Heaven on Earth.

The town folk called this wasteland the Bottoms; we called it the "Bots". Our town was located on high ground overlooking a river, and the
Bots was down the hill and adjacent to the river. Fortunately I lived only a ten minute bike ride away. I'd zoom down the hill, maneuver the
path through the 80 acres of Valhalla and meet with friends at the Rock.

The Rock was a flat sandstone outcrop about 30 foot square, four feet above the water, surrounded with large Cottonwood trees, and
girls weren't allowed. The Rock was the gathering place. We had a tire hung from one of the trees, and BA of course, we would swing out
and drop into the river. Across the river from the Rock was a truck farm where delicious watermelons and sweet corn were grown. We
would swim across grab a watermelon and float it back across the river. On occasion if the farmer was in his field he would fire a shot or
two of rocksalt in our direction. Fishworms were in abundance around the rock and a cut willow branch made a great pole, and the river
was always good for a Bluegill or two.

A few feet back of the Rock the Bots began. We would recklessly ride our bikes over the hills, and through the valleys; I wonder if the off
road name "Whoop-T-Doo", came from the Bots. A willow stick and piece of fishline made a bow if we played cowboys and Indians. Some
times it was Dillinger or Capone and the FBI. Most of the guys, and me, had a secret spot back in the hills where we kept our treasure. Mine
was a buried coffee can under a rock. I kept girly pictures, Boy Scout knife, farmer matches, cash (.10 to .20 cents), and meaningful things
at the time.

And then the good times came to an end. I was no longer a kid. I became a teenager in high school. The bike was exchanged for a car, I
had to get a job, and the Bots was forgotten for big guy stuff. I went back to the Bots a few days before I joined the Navy. My cache was
still there. The can was rusted and the contents soggy, the Rock seemed smaller, and the river narrower, the tire swing was gone, but my
initials were still visible in the sandstone rock, and memories were everywhere.

11/16/05
For years I have been collecting `how to be an author' books. Each day as I pass my library I randomly select
a book and read a few paragraphs. The idea being that I might hit on something that reminds me to do something
that I'm not doing, or something I'm doing that I should not do. (My Strunk and White is dog-eared and coffee
stained.)

A while back I chose the book The 30 Minute Writer by Connie Emerson. It encourages the wantabe writer, who
can only sneak in a few minutes at a time, to produce, not a novel, but short items. This category includes short
storys, op-eds, anecdotes, fillers, and contests, and there is a market for short items if you persevere The word
contest caught my eye; I had just scanned a contest offered in Cooking Light magazine, and I had a recipe that I
knew would be a winner.

Following the rules (and you must follow the rules), I wrote how delicious my Cucumber Stuffed Chinese
Sausage recipe tasted, what ingredients made it so, the cooking instructions, and emailed it to contest
headquarters. Now it's just kick back and wait for the first place $600 check to arrive.

Meanwhile I thought I'd surf the net for contests. Did you know Google says there are 71,300,000 Websites for
contests? Wow! Well how many sites are there on recipes? 76,600,000, Hmmm, a bit more than the lottery. OK,
let's narrow it down to my recipe dish of Cucumbers & Sausage combo; only 270,000. Now that's more in line; I
still might have a chance to win.

I'm sure Cooking Light's contest department lost my address, but I am now on their mailing list. Their sales office
sends me offerings every week.

11/16/05
Everyday when I fire up the computer, I check out California Earthquakes, then Astronomy Picture of the Day. If the picture is of some
beautiful nebulea I set it as background for my desktop. The one that now covers my screen is not so beautiful, but it is unusual and
makes one wonder what else ET is hiding out there.

I put the link to these wonders of the universe on the left side of the screen but if that doesn't work it is http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov . To
see the photo I mentioned above, go to the site and click on Discover the Cosmos; then click on November 7, 2005. You will see the
Bubble Nebula.

I wonder what it would look like if the bubble burst. It may have already burst. We wouldn't know for many many years, maybe
generations, after it did..

9/5/06
Wow,what a shockeroo! I checked this website just now and found a blank homepage. I
believe I forgot to SAVE it before it was sent to the publisher. I can see quality control is
lacking, but I can't fire the blogger. Me.

What I thought I would see was the printed ancedotes and memories from the genealogy work I
have resumed. About every two years I start digging for ancestoral information with a new
approach and a surge of determination and I run into the same big block walls. Napolean's
warring army removed many records during his trek across Germany. WWII didn't help my
quest either. I did find that one of my German ancestors was a driver assigned to Napolean's
carraige.

In one of the limbs of the family tree a long ago relative had a unique experience when he was
a Union soldier during the Civil War. He was severly wounded and was discharged from the
army. After a recuperation period he enlisted for the second time. Again he was wounded, but
this time captured by the Confederates and sent to the infamous Andersonville Prison.
Fraternal organizations were active throughout the country at this time, and when the Masonic
Order arranged for a swap of Blues for Grays, being a Mason, he was included, sent home and
discharged for the second time.He then received a monthly wounded veteran benefit. His family
saved the monthly stubs and there were piles of them.

I learned that my Dad's parents came from Hamburg to New York on the same ship one year
apart. 1887 and 1888. Grandpa was about to be drafted in Der Kaiser's army and hurridly
immigrated. In fact that was true of many German youths. On my Mom's side her maternal
Grandpop left the Fatherland for the same reason in 1848 on a saling ship. And her paternal
Grandpa did too in 1840. He was a mail carrier and he covered his route with a six horse rig
from the Wurttemburg area to the Holland border. Apparantly he could tell from the government
mail he carried that his name would soon be called so one day he parked the rig at the Dutch
border, took a boat down the Amstel river to the coast and caught a sailboat to New York.

My Grandmother, on Dad's side use to tell me we had royal blood. Her Mother's name was
Christianson, and they lived in Schleswig-Holstine, Denmark.The Kings of Denmark were
named Christian, and I have read they were promiscuous little fellows and slept around. So
down through the ages when the pregnant maiden was asked, "Whose is it?" she would
answer "Oh, it's Christian's son." Thus my hunt for Grandma so far, stops on the Hamburg
dock. I have a hunch that all the records I need to continue are locked in the safe of the
Luisitania.

I remember my Mom's Aunt Rose. She was from Kansas, and we only saw her on special
occasions. She and her husband Jack Newman would arrive in a new fancy car. Usually a
Roadster with chrome or gold trim all over the car. I remember the relatives called him a
"Dandy".Aunt Rose wore exotic parfumes. None of the Evening in Paris or Chanels , and she
wore silks; what a gal. I have a picture of them. Uncle Jack with suspenders,starched collar
and bowtie and holding a skimmer. He looks much like Paul Newman. I should send him a
copy.

Genealogy something you can really get involved in