Oddly enough, I have no pictures to go with this post!

Gilda was our first.  We got her six months after we were married, the day before we moved 400 miles away to Tennessee .  She rode in the car with me all the way, spent most of the time whining her box and some between my neck and the car seat head-rest.  She was a cutie.  Eleven ounces and six weeks old when we got her, she actually fit in the inside coat pocket of my old Navy Pea Coat.

We took her everywhere.

She chewed up everything, would not sleep in her bed, wound up in ours, and woke me up everyday like clock work once she was house broken.

But we loved her.

Eight years later, when our daughter was born, Gilda had to go.  She was jealous, snippy, and snappy.  I really didn’t want to A. permanently scar my child’s face; and B. Explain all that to the Department of Children’s Services.  I hear they can be picky.

After child number 2 came along, grew to walking stage, wiping his own butt stage (hallelujah, one of the greatest days of all time and a whole ‘nother blog), we all felt the ‘call of dog’.  Many feel the call of God, but alas, we felt the call of dog.

Then came Lacy.  A blonde Cocker Spaniel that was obviously more inbred than I, had the IQ of a lawn chair, and came with her own IEP.

She would dig one hole under the fence to get out and another one to get back in.  After a while it looked like it was warped, and the neighbors would point and shake their heads as they walked by.

One day she disappeared.  Really, just gone.  I had nothing to do with it, though I was accused, glared at and repeatedly questioned.  The lie detector test was “inconclusive”.  But alas, another one gone.  (Remarkably, my Sister-in-law’s dog, who was Lacy’s litter mate vanished the same week.  My brother-in-law survived the questioning much better than I.)  We never found either of them.  I was not sad.

Again, the dog conversation started.  I hedged, said no, fought, and as all of us do, gave in…just as you will Emily.

That was Dagy, or Dagmar.  Pure bred, black as coal, sweet as sugar and the most wonderful companion ever.  She met me at the door every night.    When every one else was mad, she loved me, when every one else was out, she was at the door.

Then her back went out.  $600.00 and several days at the vet’s later, we had to let her go.  On my 50^th birthday.  Yeah, happy freakin’ birthday.

I swore off dogs, again.

Forever.

But, again, I heard the call of dog.  So I bought two at the same time.  Don’t ever do this.  They won’t learn their own names, they will both come when you call one, they will not train, they will not stop chewing, and they encourage each other to mischief.

After I cam home from my quadruple bypass surgery (I promise to talk about that at length some day),  I was actually afraid they would jump up on me and open up every slice and dice the doctors had done.  Thank goodness for rescue sites.  They were both gone in 2 days.

Then one day, Mugly (short for my ugly dog, ‘cause she was clock stopping hideous – I mean, seriously, “cover your watch!”) showed up.  Really, she just arrived in the yard, decided she liked the place and stayed…for exactly a year.  Then she moved on.

Oh, I looked for her.  I put UP post-it notes advertising “lost dog” on telephone poles, canvassed the neighborhood…all ten houses…but alas, we never found her.  Until I went walking a week later and there she was, dead on the side of the road.  She wasn’t hit; she just went off to die.  I was sad, and swore off dogs, once again.

Then there was Lola.  Lola was my son’s dog.  She had feet the size of hams when she was born.  Now, the biggest dog I had weighed in at about 18 pounds.  This one was 40 at six months.

She was part yellow lab and part idiot.  She was a chewer, a whiner, a barker, a digger, just like all the others.

She had to go.

I bided my time.

Well, the boy decides to go to college.  (I’m happy about that.) He left his dog at home.

Error!

Duh!  Working two jobs and napping got in the way of play time with Lola, so she had to go.

Napping is important.

It just wasn’t fair to her.

One add on kijiji.com and 8 hours later.  I was runnin’ through the house singing “Dog Free” and praising Jesus.

This dog, the last dog, didn’t die.  She went to a nice family with four kids and big fenced yard.  She could have been a science project at UGA and I’d have lost no sleep!

She was the last dog…well, for now.

Seriously, Em, get that bunch under control!  Heed not the Call of Dog!

Well, everyone came through.

I got these…

…I’m the envy of Martha Stewart, I’m sure.

I got this…

…I read 1491, loved it, and when this came out, I had to have it.

I got Waffle House gift cards…

…very useful!

Cash…

…which always comes in handy.  I mean, Who doesn’t love the dead Presidents?

…and yes, a bag of salad from Donovan…

…It’s not like I won’t use it!

Sweat pants…

…always handy!

And, since my house slippers were ratty, these…

Amazingly, I found out that you can’t go out and pick UP a piece of sheet music these days, you have to down load it on line!!!  So, instead of ’sheet music’, I got a ’sheet music’ gift card…I’ll let you know how that works!

How 21st Century of them!

And of course, as a reminder of Ohio, I got a box of this…

…the best candy EVER!

Yes, a very practical Christmas…it’s a good thing…but, I still want that darn cake plate!

…Oh well, there’s always 2012, unless the Mayans were right!

Ok, my Dad was about as “anti-Christmas” as you could get.

Oh, he loved the day, the family time, the fun, the gifts, and especially the gift-giving, but he hated what Christmas had become and from whence it came.

We knew that Mom and Dad did all the Santa Clausing at our house, because Mother had a Christmas Club at First National Bank of Germantown, and we knew she planned to spend it all on us.

We liked that part.

What Daddy didn’t like about Christmas was the commercialism and the ‘pagan’ roots of the holiday.

“Pagan,” you ask, “isn’t it about the birth of Jesus Christ?”

Well, the true meaning of Christmas is about the birth of Jesus, but all the trappings that come with it are deeply rooted in pagan rituals from thousands of years gone by.

Take the Christmas colors for example; red, green, gold, and silver were the colors of the Yule season. Yule was a pagan festival celebrated by Germanic tribes prior to the onset of Christianity.  When many of the pagans became Christians, they brought the trappings of their pagan festivals with them into the new religion.  The green color represented the ecology and the trees that were worshiped by the Germanic tribes.  The Gold and Silver was for the precious metals of the same name.  Coins were given for “favors” at the Yule parties.

Yule was a 12 day festival of drinking and partying, etc.  It was centered around pagan deities, and many of the celebrations were raunchy at best.  Some were practically orgies.  An analysis of “The 12 Days of Christmas” could provide some insight.  ’Ladies’ dancing, my foot! And just exactly what kind of leaping were all those Lords a doin’?  But, I’ll spare you.  Plus, I hate that song almost as much as the barking dogs’ “Jingle Bells” and anything by Jennifer Nettles!

But, when the pagans came into the Christian church, red represented the blood of Christ, green eternal life, etc.

Saturnalia was a Roman festival which honored the Roman god Saturn, and hovered around the Winter Solstice.  The festival was a time when the tables were turned.  Slaves were served by masters, women acted as men, men as women, and stuff like that.  Coins and other gifts were given on December 23rd.  And the gift giving we know at Christmas time has its roots in the Saturnalia festival.

Saturn was the god of the harvest.  Saturnalia was a celebration of the reaping.  The parties were pretty wild.

And don’t even get me started on the roots of Santa Claus!  Plus Santa is an anagram for Satan.

So, Daddy just didn’t like it.  Oh, we had Christmas, we had lots of food, there were gifts and toys, and all that.  But every year, we heard the real meaning of Christmas and that Santa was a myth, a little fun, pretend, and that Mom and Dad bought the presents.

So, after learning this week that poor little Justin Beiber grew UP not believing in Santa Claus, well, I just felt so much better!

I mean, really, if a kid like Justin, with all his disadvantages, can survive it, I’m sure I can!

The war effort started long before.

My father was drafted when my brother, Charlie was about 6 months old.  He went to boot camp, then shipped out overseas and was in The Philipines and Korea.   Daddy spent 219 continuous days in combat.  He was a sniper in the infantry, and was never the same afterwards.

Bill Steinmetz was in the Airborne, and during his stay in Germany was able to recover a Nazi Flag from the top of Goebels’ Castle.  The flag, which the Steinmetz family still has, can be seen at the Veterans’ Museum in Germantown.  For those of you who don’t know, it is located at the Old Masonic Hall on Cherry Street.  You should check it out, there are wonderful displays regarding the sacrifices many from the area have made for our Country.

Prior to that, Daddy worked on C Line at the Hercules Powder Plant in Blacksburg, VA.

They, like thousands of other G.I.s left brides at home while they were at war.

We hear of “Rosie the Riveter” often, and we see her picture.

She symbolizes the hard work and dedication of hundreds of thousands of American women who kept the country working while the men were off defending it.

But, we rarely, if ever put a real face with the name.

But, there were real women working.  Real women sacrificing, and real women keeping the country going as well as keeping the home-fires burning.

Bill was stationed at Ft. Myers, VA.  Louise, a pretty West Virginia girl, was serving cookies at a USO function in Arlington Farms, VA when she met Bill.  He was playing volley ball, and asked her to join the game.  Three days later, they were married.  They stayed married for almost 50 years before Bill passed away.

The pretty bride was a secretary for the State Department in Washington, D.C.   As a matter of fact, she worked for Cordell Hull, the Secretary of State under FDR, and was Mr. Hull’s personal secretary.   She had graduated from high school at 16, and went to work immediately.

Bill went to Germany, Louise stayed home, worked, and provided exemplary service to the State Department in a time when doing a good job was more than critical.

Louise kept the home-fires burning as well.  After her job ended, she moved to Dayton, Ohio, and moved in with her in-laws, whom she had never met!  When Bill came home, it was on the QE II, and he got home in six days.  He was anxious to see his bride!

Over the years, Bill and Louise would have six children, three boys and three girls.

Like I said, my Dad went to the Pacific Theater. Daddy took his physical the day my brother, Charlie, was born, 09-17-1944.   When Daddy was drafted, they were living in Radford, Virginia.  Mother was working at the same Hercules Powder Plant in Blacksburg, VA, she stayed there three years.

Mother and Daddy had two kids, Judy and Charlie, when Daddy went off to war.  My grandmother Brads came and stayed two weeks with mom and the kids while Mother worked.  Grandpa needed Grandma back at home in Glasgow, VA, and Grandma was on the hunt for a capable sitter to watch her grandkids.

Enter Mrs. Sumner.  I’ve no idea what her first name was, but she moved in with Mother, cooked, cleaned, took care of the kids, and did every thing except iron.

She did not iron – AT ALL.  Mom said, when telling me her war time story that, “…every thing had to be ironed back then.”  Apparently, no one was fond of it.

Mom worked in the nitro-cotton lab and weighed, tested, and produced gun-powder.  It was a labor of love as she knew that Daddy might be using it shooting “The Japs”.   It was ok to say that then, we were at war.

[The dress code for the ladies was a coverall and matching turban. In the lab the employees measured the strength and texture of the powder. They also made the nitro glycerin that tested the powder and they tested the viscosity of the nitro glycerin.]

Having no car, she rode to work in a ‘car-pool’ with others.  No one used that term back then.

To get to work each week, she had to give the driver a gas stamp, and on some weeks, $1.00 for gas.  Gas, sugar, and other items were rationed, and ration stamps were like gold.

With gas at 21 cents a gallon, a buck was almost five gallons.  These days, with a dollar you can smell the hose!  Maybe!

Women did with out ‘nylons’, hair-pins, and other niceties.  Meat was rationed as well.  The boys over seas needed to be fed.

When the war ended, so did Mother’s job.  Daddy came home, she quit working, and Mrs. Sumner went back to her family too.

Mother and Louise are just two of thousands of women who made America great.  Sacrifice, substance, sincerity:  all qualities that last.

Does your Mother or Grandmother have a war time story?  Ask, you just might find a whole new woman in the family you didn’t know existed!

And today, as we welcome soldiers home from another war, think of those who are serving now and the ones at home who are keeping home front strong.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to the troops!

It, like all other collections got obsessive hoarderesque out of control crazy to be a bit much.

We had all kinds of angels, paper ones, plastic ones, cloth ones, country ones, Snow Baby ones, pretty ones, scary ones, ugly ones, you name it, we had have them.

The two I like to call The Baldwin Sisters, Judy and Ann, UP in North Carolina caught wind of this disturbing obsession hobby, and sent us a glass angel.

It had a light bulb inside and it lit UP.

Very cute, very nice, a “keeper”.

When the kids were little, lived at home, cared enough to call and not text , and were super excited about Christmas morning, the Glass Angel came in handy.

You see, when he was done leaving presents under the tree, Santa would turn the on angel before he swooshed UP the chimney.

What the old dog was doing to turn the little strumpet on is beyond me, but none the less, she was lit UP every Christmas morning.

And the kids knew they couldn’t come out of their rooms until the Angel was “lit”.

Amazingly, they were always really good about that.  Shelby and Donovan stayed in their rooms anxiously waiting to see the light come on, and if it wasn’t, they didn’t budge.

So, when the boy came over this past weekend, and put UP the tree, I was pleased to see the Glass Angel sitting on the table in the entryway at the bottom of the stairs.  Take that, Elf on a Shelf!

Some traditions take hold.

Some memories keep.

Some things matter.

And some things touch a little kid.

And a Dad.

Party like it’s 1989!!

Frankly, the first “family” event we attended after we were engaged was a culture shock for me.  No one told me about the ‘differences’, because they were all used to them.

I, not so much.

And you know me.

Gawking, speechless – well, maybe not speechless – stunned.

Every married man there had a beard that hadn’t been cut since he said “I do.”, and all the women were in bonnets, the same style dress, and all the guys had broad brimmed hats.

I kept looking for Rod Serling.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  They are wonderful people.  Good people.  Devout people.  I just wasn’t expecting it.  My wife’s father had grown UP in the church, but when he married my mother-in-law, she said, “Are you kidding me?”  No make UP, no store bought dresses, sensible shoes.  It just wasn’t gonna’ happen.  So, since my wife’s immediate family wasn’t brought UP that way, I had no idea.

And I had questions.

Lots of questions.

There were little things, like, where’s the TV?

They don’t have them.

What’s your favorite radio station, they don’t have radios.

Why is everyone kissing each other when they meet.  (There’s a verse in the Bible that tells us to “greet the brethren with an holy kiss.”)

I thought I’d married into the Amish.  But, not really.  It was Amish-lite.

They drive cars.

My greatest faux pas happened one Christmas when they all came to Florida for the holidays.  We were all sitting around the family room enjoying the colorful lights on the tree , drinking cider, and just enjoying one another.  I asked one Aunt if she had left her tree UP while they were gone, or taken it down before they left.

The room fell silent.

She simply replied, “Oh, we don’t ever put UP a tree.”

Needless to say, Christmas without a Christmas tree is an anathema to me, and I replied, as only I can do, “No, tree?  That would be awful.  I can’t imagine Christmas without a tree.”  The delivery was NOT drama free!

She simply said, “Well, we see it as a form of pagan worship, so we just don’t do it.”

Really, someone could have told me.

Just a little hint would have been nice.  You know, pull me aside and say, “Hey, they don’t put UP trees, so don’t ask, and for goodness sake, don’t tell!”

But, nooooooooooooo.

Hung out to dry.

You may wonder why this story ever made it into a blog post, but recently, I saw a picture of Amish Christmas Lights, and it brought back memories of times and Christmases gone by, so I thought I’d share the picture and the story.

Yes, here it is, an Amish home decorated for Christmas.

They don’t have electricity either.

This is my most recent picture of her.

She’s a tad camera shy.  Born on Pearl Harbor Day, not THE Pearl Harbor Day, but many, many, many years later, her birthday is often over shadowed here at Redneck Latte Ravings due to my compunction to honor our veterans.  But, today, I’ll take a break from that and wish her a Happy Birthday.

She’s a great sister-in-law, who speaks frankly and honestly, and we get along pretty well as long as I agree with her on most topics.

An avid reader like myself, we discuss books and writers, and steer clear of topics we know will bring emotions to the rise.

Diane married my brother, Charlie on 6-8-68, when she was a mere child, and is the mom and aunt of the two whiners incredibly talented ladies over at MomminitUP!  Also know as Jenny and Emily.

She’s also mom to Jenny’s two under discussed brothers, Charles and Andy, grandmother to a passel of kids that would make Mrs. Duggar jealous, and a non-meddling mother-in-law to two very intelligent ladies and a guy I like to call “The Bobster”.

We not only share books, and she is THE only person on the planet I’ll loan a book to with the exception of my daughter, we share recipes, thoughts, ideas, and have great conversations on the rare occasion we are able to spend some time together.

She also reads my blog every day!  BAZINGA!

I’ve never seen her take the spotlight, but in the family of attention seeking  maniacs star-wannabes into which she married, and with a media hog for a daughter, who has time?

Please don’t go thinking she’s a wall-flower, that’s truly not the case, and when there is something that needs to be said, she will.

Some of my favorite quotes are:

“Raised by wolves.”  And in every case, she’s right.

“You need to forgive people even when they don’t know they need forgiving.”

and, my all time favorite, when nothing else need be said, is, “Some people.”

Really, it applies to so many!

So, happy birthday, Diane, I hope it’s a great one.  I hope you’re surrounded by the people you love and those who love you.

I’ve had several, and have posted about a few in the past; my Dad, and my Uncle Chuck.  Both served their country well in WW II, and both paid a price for it.  Daddy suffered from PTSD for years, and Uncle Chuck was crazy as a bed bug odd for the rest of his life!

But, today, I’d like to remember Grandpa.  Not MY grandpa, but my Mother-in-law’s dad, Herb Woodard.

Herb was born in 1909, he married a woman he really loved, treated her like a queen, spoiled her rotten, and put UP with her selfish behavior from 1933 until her death in 1995.

By the time I was 16, all my grandparents were gone. My Mother’s dad died when I was 15 months old, so there was no connection for me to remember.  My grandmothers died two days apart in 1966, one on Wednesday and one Friday of that same week, while we were at the Funeral Home Visitation for the first one no less!

Grandpa Brads died in January of 1968.  I remember it clearly, as it was just after the first Christmas we didn’t go home to Virginia since the Silver Bridge at Point Pleasant, West Virginia fell that November, and Daddy hadn’t mapped out a new route back home.  46 people lost their lives when that bridge fell.  The new bridge wasn’t completed until late in 1968.

He found one pretty quickly in January.

So, when I married in 1977, it was a new experience for me to have grandparents again.  The in-laws came with six grandparents, including a set of Great-Grandparents who were in their 90s.

I was closer to Herb over the years, mainly because he was around more.  The sun rose and set on my wife in his eyes.  Grandma was worse about it, referring to my wife and her sisters as “Diane and the girls.”  They had names, but you might not catch them if you talked to Grandma.  But that’s a story for another post!

Herb was the baby of his family.  His Dad, Andrew left the family when Herb was a youngster, as he would say, moved to another town, six miles away, and married another woman.  He started a new family there.

Herb didn’t see his dad much, and in all the years I knew Grandpa, he spoke of him only once.

In 1933, he married Grandma (Eula), a spoiled, but loving woman, and he doted on her.  When he knew that Uncle Sam was about to call him UP, he joined the US Navy and became a CB.

The SeaBees are the Construction Battalion of the US Navy.   The boys go back to WW II, it was a new thing then, and Grandpa was proud to be a part of it.  They built bases, bulldozed and paved roadways and airstrips, worked in a vast variety of war theaters.

Grandpa’s was in Alaska.

He often talked of Alaska and how he’d like to have gone back.  He never made it there, he spent too much time taking care of everyone else.

He doted on his granddaughters, cared for his sister-in-law through her final years, cared for his wife through the last stages of Alzheimer’s, going to the Rest Home and sitting with her every day, even though she had no idea he was there.   When she died, he looked at me and said, “Well, I’ve lost my job.”

He treated me like gold.  In all the years I knew him I only heard him say an unkind word about a very few people, you really had to be a rat for Grandpa to comment.

Everyone loved Grandpa; he was an unassuming man whom every one respected;  after very little thought, it’s easy to see why.

He was just a good guy.

Herb died 12 years ago today, on Veteran’s Day 1999.

It was only fitting that he got to ‘muster out’ on that day!

Thanks to all the SeaBees and other Service men and women who have served in wars past.  And thanks to the ones who are serving our country today!

But I do remember Halloween costumes as a kid that were either from the 5 and Dime, or things we threw together.

Fortunately, when my kids were little, their Mom used her many creative talents to come UP with memorable costumes.

If you’re wondering what to put your kids in this year, here are a couple of blasts from the past.

Who doesn’t love a Cowboy or Cowgirl!

And my friend Kasie over at Moon Pies, White Lies, and the View From The High Dive’s post the other day inspired me to dig out the Peter Pan and Wendy Halloween pictures from long ago.

That’s Shelby rocking the Wendy look when she was about 7 years old.

And this is just about the best Peter Pan I’ve ever seen.

Sadly, he grew UP!