An Aging Process

I’m back to reading on Kindle and although I haven’t yet finished it, am reading Boys for Men. The author, a Vietnam vet, had read a friend’s ancestor’s account of joining the army in 1876 in Montana and becoming part of the group involved in the battle we know as “Custer’s Last Stand.” (Obviously, the fellow who wrote the journal wasn’t with Custer)

At any rate, the vet who had wanted to write a memoir of his time in Vietnam, decided to write parallel accounts of his friend’s ancestor’s war experience and his own. To add to the interesting parallels was the fact that the two men’s experiences occurred about 100 years apart as the author served in ‘Nam in 1970. 

This book was of added interest to me because I possess a copy of my great-great-grandfather’s account of his experience as a teenaged soldier in the Union Army in 1863. The comparison of the three men’s experiences during day to day life has a common thread: totally boring and pretty much horrible. The only soldier who mentions having any favorable days is the soldier in 1876 and I credit most of that to the fact that he was marching through Montana.

The Civil War soldier and the Vietnam vet both suffered with horrible food, horrible sleeping arrangements, and all three soldiers appeared to have had idiots for commanding officers. (I know, they might have been prejudiced, but…)

Boys for Men is based on the premise that boys are sent to war to do a man’s job, and that was certainly the case for my Civil War ancestor. The author mentions that many in his platoon were teenagers and he was only twenty-one or so. Despite that, the boys got the job done (can’t discount the men who were also present), and if they lived through the battles, they became men in spite of it all.

It didn’t hit me until mid-week that this had to be the weekend to write about this book since Memorial Day is almost upon us. So, in honor,of all the boys, men and women who fought for freedom throughout the history of our country—I salute you! Thank you for your sacrifice.

The Day the Sky Fell

During my visit to Kansas City the first of May, my family took me to Union Station to see the Pompeii Exhibit. Ordinarily, one would have to visit the museum in Naples, Italy to see these artifacts. However, the museum is renovating the wing housing the items so instead of storing them in a warehouse, the Italians boxed them up and sent them on tour to three American cities, including Kansas City.

Pompeii was a wealthy city of 11,000 mostly Roman people. This city, along with several others were located at the base and flanks of Mt. Vesuvius. At the time of the disaster, the volcano had been giving warning of subterranean cataclysm via earth tremors, smoke and steam. In fact seventeen years earlier Pompeii had suffered a major earthquake  they were still recovering from in 79 AD All (Wikipedia has a great article on Pompeii.)

When Vesuvius finally blew her top, Pompeii’s neighboring city of Herculaeneiu and its population were covered with lava but the inhabitants of Pompeii were overcome by poisonous gases which they could not outrun and everything and everyone was covered with a fine ash. According to Wikipedia, 2,000 people died, actually succumbing to heat of 250 degrees rather than suffocation). I'm not sure how the other 9,000 escaped--maybe they were out of town:)

Seeing the actual forms of people trying to protect themselves from the choking ash and heat is extremely sobering as you can tell from this picture of a person praying.

The beauty of the gardens and the pristine condition of the ceramic vases rescued was superb. Because the city was buried under 13-20 feet of volcanic ash the buildings, artifacts and skeletons were preserved almost intact. This gives us a fascinating window into the lives of the Roman world at that time.

Villa Garden

Ceramic vases in near-perfect condition

The entire catastrophe makes me think of the frog that was boiled alive. The people of Pompeii had plenty of warning the area in which they lived was not conducive to their health, but they ignored them,                                                     it, thinking life would go on as it always had.

(This jewelry was found on a woman holding a child along with others who had taken refuge under a stairway--obviously a family of great wealth.)

I was awed by the exhibit but saddened. The plight of those people is a frightening example of doing the ostrich thing—hiding one’s  head in the sand. An ironic  factoid: these folks had just celebrated a feast to the god, Vulcan, the day before Vesuvius blew. Almost makes me think God, the Creator, had finally had enough!

Cousins, Cousins, Cousins

My mother, who took pictures of any and every type of family gathering, is probably turning over in her grave (not reallyJ I just spent a week plus back in Missouri visiting family and friends and have almost no pictures to show for it!

Bob and Lynda, my brother and sister-in-law, kindly housed, fed and pampered me while I was in Kansas City. And, my sweet brother drove me everywhere I had scheduled to visit many cousins of various levels of kinship as well as classmates

We began our travels by visiting a first cousin on our Dad’s side of the family. Marjory had done a lot of genealogy work on various sides of her family and that day she helped us discover tidbits of information re: our maternal great-great grandmother. I was very grateful because my next novel will be based on the life of this ancestor.

Two days later we headed for the Hannibal area, that city being the birthplace of both Bob and me. After a fun time eating lunch with classmates in Palmyra, a nearby town, Bob and I toured the local cemetery and with help, found the Reber grave markers as well as related folks. Bob had spent his lunch hour looking through Land Records at the local courthouse and felt like he’d hit pay dirt there

It was soon time to check in to our motel and eat dinner with more cousins. These folks were all third cousins through our mother’s  maternal grandmother. In other words, our great-grandmothers were sisters. My brother would be eating dinner with a group of people he swore he’d never met. (He didn’t remember them because he was a five-year-old when we left the Hannibal area.)

However, I was renewing acquaintances with friends, most of whom I’d not seen for fifty plus years. I had attended a country school, grades 1-4 with one batch of these cousins and had attended church each week with the other batch. (Oh, I forgot to mention, the two families of cousins I’m referring to are double first cousins.) If anyone is still reading to this post, I imagine you are thoroughly confused. At any rate, it was a delightful evening, even for my brotherJ and I’m grateful to cousin Mervin for arranging it.

The next day found us on the road again to rural Marion county near Palmyra to the home of our mother’s first cousin on her father’s side. It turns out that our grea-great-grandfather Reber was a Union soldier while our great-great-grandfather Triplett fought for the Confederacy. My brother is writing a novel based on a Civil War battle and knew that these cousins had done considerable genealogy work on their family ancestors. It was good to see Jack and Mary again as well as their son, Keith and we gained good information from the visit.

Our next stop was a lunch hosted by my school friend from country school days. Some cousins from the previous evening’s dinner were present since, with the exception of Bob and me, they had all gone to country school together at one location or another. Friends/relatives from the Hannibal area, Kansas City, Illinois, Maryland, and Nevada were represented in that that little group of seven .

I’m writing all of this family “stuff” to say that family is precious, even to the third and fourth generations. God ordained the family back in the very beginning and I truly thank Him for mine. 

A Slight Recycling

Easter Sunday or Resurrection Sunday is such a glorious time of celebration for God’s children. How wondrously breath-catching it must have been for the women who had followed Jesus to be shown--Jesus was alive! And then the news came to the remaining Eleven as well as others like the two walking home to Emmaus, eye witnesses—He is alive!

But first there had to be Gethsemane. Last year around this time I wrote about our personal gethsemani comparing those to the ponderous huge stones that grind the olives down to dry skins and pits to yield luscious olive oil.

The olive tree orchard/mill I mentioned in last week’s post had a huge old stone olive press in their courtyard at the start of the tour we took. The guide didn’t call the stone a gethsemanes because that is an Aramaic word and the stone we saw in Arizona came from Italy. But the function was the same: to grind away at the fruit, separating the skin and pits from the precious olive oil.  

We know from the Gospel accounts that Jesus so dreaded the anguish he was about to face that he sweat drops of blood as he prayed to his Father about the task laid before him. Yet He was obedient, loving us so much He was willing to pay the sin-debt we owed. Because of our sin, He was separated from His Father since God will not look upon sin. This was a soul-wrenching pain we cannot fathom in our humanness  because God is always with us on this side of the Cross.

So having faced that night in Gethsemane, the brutal beatings, the anguish of being isolated from His Father, and finally the excruciating, suffocating death on a cross, Jesus’ body was laid in a tomb. His followers had to do a hurry-up job to prepare His body for burial because Sabbath was soon to begin and Jews were prohibited from working.

Cutting a wondrous story short, on Sunday, Jesus appeared to the women who followed Him. John and Peter checked out their unbelievable story, where they, too, found an empty grave.  However, John records that the grave clothes were in a heap but the napkin that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head, was neatly folded and set aside separately. (See John 20:3-8)

Now think of a dinner party using cloth napkins. If a guest is called away from the table for some reason, the napkin will be folded beside the plate ready to be picked up again for use when he returns. However, if the guest is finished with the meal, the napkin is merely crumpled up beside, or on the plate.

Jesus was leaving a visible sign to His followers. He had been called away but was returning. And much to their joy, He did return on Resurrection Sunday.

But the good news continues. The Bridegroom was called away but His napkin is folded, ready to be used again. And He is returning for His bride, the Church. That’s us, folks!  Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps. Happy Resurrection Sunday!

Tucson Times

We made what has become our annual trek to Tucson, most recently in March so we could help celebrate our Aunt Dorothy’s 90^th birthday. A good time was had by all, even Aunt Dorothy, although she wasn’t too excited about the prospect at first. Having achieved an additional decade in life is always worth celebrating, no matter what age we are and nine decades is a pretty awesome number. 

In addition, to partying with the Tucson relatives, we were able to visit with other friends and relatives along the way as well as visiting some interesting sights in the Tucson/Phoenix area.

The Tiny Miniature Museum was a delightful place, full of dollhouses complete with furniture as well as other miniatures like portraits as silhouettes, cameos, etc. In one room an entire miniature village pictured in winter was mounted under plexiglass so you could look down on all the little buildings. 

Occasionally, you would hear a thump as someone’s head hit a glass display case, trying to see around a corner or further back in a room. (I know about those thumps because my head collided with a display case more than onceJ

The picture at the right shows the entrance (I'm standing by the actual door, but one could classify the doors' as "Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear").

California no longer holds a monopoly on growing olives in the US. These beautiful blossoms will become olives in about three months or less

We visited an olive mill/olive grove outside of Phoenix and took a short tour, learning about this particular company which produces organic, pesticide-free extra virgin olive oil as well as olives and other related products. Quality items and an interesting tour. (To see two Diehls wearing olive branch crowns, you will have to go to Brian's FB page--whenever he gets them posted.)

Historical Coincidence?

My mother was an elementary school teacher the last sixteen years of her professional life. I remember her talking about reading to her students, many times from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books about “The Little House on the Prairie.” They meant little to me at the time as I didn’t read the books as a youngster   and the TV series was more contemporary with my two sons’ growing up years.

However, when Mom died, I inherited many of her books, among them being the Little House on the Prairie volumes I’m sure many of her young students enjoyed. Being the inquisitive reader I am, I set out to read through the books Mom had collected and after reading them I could understand the interest in the era these books portrayed.

I’m sure Mom was delighted to discover that Laura and her husband actually ended up settling in the southern part of Missouri and I remember that one summer Mom and Dad actually made a trip to Wilder’s home in Mansfield.

While I was in the midst of reading through the Wilder books, my husband and I went to a garage sale here in Elko, Nevada and there in a pile of tattered, disreputable looking books, I discovered a Wilder book not included in Mom’s collection. Farm Boy is actually Laura’s description of Almanzo’s life on an upper New York state farm in the 1870’s as he progresses from age almost-nine to age ten. Her description of farm life in those days is priceless since farm life as I knew it in the 1950’s and 60’s was totally different in the fashion in which work was accomplished.

My reason for reflecting on all this stems from the parallels I see between Almanzo Wilder and my great-grandfather Reber, both of whom came west to Missouri to farm, Wilder to south Missouri, Reber to northeastern Missouri. Contemporaries in age, occupation, and, perhaps, vision. Yet they never met—or perhaps they did? 

Brush Strokes

The characters standing for the animals pictured are a method of communication, in this case extending back thousands of years. Instead of thinking specifically of the animals pictured, I preferred to envision the genius of the first person who marked a surface of clay or papyrus or strips of bark with a pointed object or paint brush of some type, all towards the end of communicating with others.

How individual marks came to mean specific or general objects or even thoughts is an awesome process to me. This led me to research the beginnings of written communication. Surprisingly, the first site to pop up on Google was a greeting card site with a handy little time line of what probably happened when.

Around 3000 BC a Sumerian discovered the concept of marking a clay tablet with a pointed object. Whether he was tallying his sheep or communicating the fact he was traveling from Ninevah to Byblos is unknown (to me, at least).

Next, our timeline takes us to Egypt between 2500-2000 BC where an ingenious person discovered they could dry strips of reed to make papyrus and paint their hieroglyphs on this surface. (This was much more satisfactory than etching the forms in the dirt as their lofty thoughts had a tendency to wash away during the the rainy season.)

The next timeline marker using a different writing surface for communication spotlights a Chinese brushing pictograms on an animal shoulder bone some time in the 1500 ‘s (BC, that is).

Between 1500-1000 BC we move to a different part of the world as well as a different writing surface. This time we see the Aztecs who used beaten bark from tapa, (barkcloth originally from the paper mulberry tree), amate (bark paper from ficus trees), and hunn (paper made from rice) to paint their designs which I presume were forms of communication.

The Greeks come to the forefront in 600 BC when some enterprising person developed parchment by stretching sheepskin and soaking it in lime for two weeks. As a side note, vellum, made from calf or goatskin in a similar fashion to parchment was used by the Romans.

By now I can see my ideas on communication via brush strokes have veered to the surface on which the brushstrokes reside, but I must travel on to paper.

We are once again back with some ingenious Chinese who first developed paper in 200 BC made from silk shreds. Very expensive. Ah, but now we focus again on brush strokes of a sort. Believe it or not, the Chinese invented the first printing press in 593 AD.

That brings us full circle, in a way, to the idea of brush strokes or communication. Lower species of the animal kingdom communicate aurally as do human beings. But we have obviously realized the need for our communication to have a more lasting effect than interaction carried via sound wave.

Brushstrokes—communication—interaction—relationships. How do our brushstrokes affect others? A question probably worth a few moments pondering.