Bible study, expatriate life, family, Health, holidays, The Teachings

The Beginning of a Quiet Week

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Thanksgiving week is usually a busy week for us. People are coming in. Last year was larger than normal, as both of our children were here, with grandchildren, a sister, and a cousin, plus spouses. We had to set up an extra table for dinner. Thanksgiving has always been a busy time, yet a fun time.

This year, the pandemic has canceled all that. It will just be Lynda and me. Our son was here with his partner last week. They quarantined for two weeks in Chicago before coming, as did we here, so we all felt safe doing that. Charles also came for a week in October, and, if plans work out, they will do the same in mid-December. Our daughter’s family has sickness running through it. Not the corona virus, but the strep throat that kids seem to get every year in school and pass on to parents. So they will hunker down in West Texas.

Last week we had an early Thanksgiving dinner with our visitors, not quite traditional but close. We are now eating leftovers and soon I’ll be making soup and figuring out how much turkey I have to freeze, along with other things. For sure we will be eating leftovers on Thursday. So Thanksgiving will be a quiet affair.

That is actually back to normal. Life is quiet for us. Lynda’s health issues would have forced us into quietness even if there hadn’t been a pandemic. The double-whammy means we don’t go out. I still go to Wal-Mart for groceries and meds, but try to shop so as to go every nine or ten days instead of every five or six days as I used to. I still go to church, except when quarantining. We still see our neighbors on occasion. In this rural neighborhood we have more vacant lots than built-on lots, so you have to go out of your way to see you neighbors. Getting out of the house mostly means taking walks, not drives.

This week, as I look ahead on Monday and build my to-do list, looks to be a writing week. My stock trading activities are now quite efficient and don’t take more than an hour a day. I normally stretch that out to two or so. Last night I spent some time on a writing project: adding commentary to the transcribed letters from our Kuwait years. This went fairly quickly. I want to keep commentary to a minimum. At this point I’m halfway through the book with just a few hours work, and could easily finish it this week. I still have editing to do on the letters, then proofread it all and compare it to the original letters, then decide if I’m going to add photos and if so how many. I don’t know that I’m going to make this a continuous task or rather work on it in odd moment as the spirit moves me, such as when multi-tasking before the television.

I might spend a little time fleshing out the next Bible study I want to write. I’ve selected it and, having taught it twice, have a lot of beginning material. But other studies have been nagging at me, suggesting I develop and write them instead. I will have to spend some time deciding.

A letter to an old friend of my wife and me is in the offering, perhaps as early as today. Listing more things on Facebook Marketplace will also be a task quite soon, maybe even today. While I’ve been pleased with how that has gone, I’ve found it is time consuming. I plan on listing my box of JFK assassination magazines that I bought at auction some years ago, as well as our old treadmill and older bicycles. All of that will take some time. As will a few other downsizing activities.

Which brings me to my novel-in-progress. Yes, I want to get back to that. I think I know how to plow ahead with it and not be stymied by the historical elements. Ideas are floating through my mind and I need to get them written before they totally float away. It is a featured task on my to-do list, though I may need to do a few others first.

All of this is possible because of the quiet Thanksgiving. I will miss not seeing my children and grandchildren all together. But I will also feel good knowing they are protecting themselves where they are, perhaps getting some rest rather than going through all the trouble of travel. We will look forward to making Thanksgiving a busy time in 2021.

book reviews, Christianity

Book Review: “Then Sings My Soul”

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A great singer, a hard worker, and a wonderful man of God.

As part of our clean-up and dis-accumulation efforts, my wife and I have been going through boxes and bags we haven’t looked in in years. Part of the curse of having much storage space in the house is the ability to shove something against the wall or on a shelf and put off dealing with it. Maybe ten years ago a cousin brought us books that had belonged to her father-in-law, a retired preacher. I graciously accepted them and pushed them against a wall in the garage. In the last two months I finally looked in them. Well, I had looked in them previously and pulled a few old books out, but not looked fully in them. Now, I did.

A few of those books caught my eye as being good for the wife and I to read aloud in our evenings. This is one of them. Then Sings My Soul is an autobiography of George Beverly Shea. I suppose many who read this post will not have heard of Shea. He was a singer of gospel hymns and other songs, most famous for his solos at the Billy Graham crusades of the 1950s-60s-70s-and maybe 80s. A deep bass, Shea had a voice that would sooth you and at the same time challenge and encourage you. I know, that sounds strange, but that’s how I saw it.

I saw Shea a number of times on televised crusades in the 1970s and once in person in a crusade in Kansas City, either 1976 or 77. His voice was powerful, and he worked well with the choir. However, I didn’t know much about him. This book gave me that background. A Canadian by birth, Shea was the son of a minister who had churches in both Canada and the US. It was in the latter, in New Jersey just across the river from New York City, that the family was when Shea was old enough to begin his career.

The book goes through much about his upbringing, his encouragement in music by his mother, his meeting and courting the girl who would become his wife, his early work with a life insurance company, his rise in radio singing ministries, and his notice by those who formed the Billy Graham organization.

Reading this book was easy and fast, at only 103 pages, but it gave much information. We finished the book feeling like we had what we needed to understand Shea’s life, and appreciate his ministry. Afterwards we spent much time on YouTube listening to his songs.

I’ve always been fascinated at the stories behind the songs. This book was thus fulfilling for me.

But, the book actually had a bonus, because it is two books in one. Turn the book over and you have Songs That Life The Heart, also by Shea (both books coauthored by Fred Bauer). This is a two-in-one crusade edition. In this second book, Shea talks about various hymns and gospel songs that have touched him and the world, and about the composers of those songs. In these 75 pages are many anecdotes of how the songs came to be and how Shea interacted with the composers. This also was a very good book that we are glad to have read.

If you can pick up one of these, the reading will be well worth it. I don’t know how widely available they are.

Is this a keeper? Alas, no. Too many books being kept on our shelves, too few years left in the world, to assign permanent space to this. So into the sale/donation pile it goes, having graced our lives much, and now ready to grace others.

miscellaneous

Still Not Much Free Time

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Hey folks. As I stated in my last post, my time has been consumed with the garage sale and downsizing activities. Then we will have company (our son and partner) for a week then our daughter and family the week following, those visits offset to reduce the size of the gathering. I have no time for writing, no time for reading. Even today I have to dig into boxes of books to count them and prepare an offer for a man who may want to buy them all—all of my mom’s books, that is. Then it’s to the grocery store for the first time in two weeks. Then it’s cook a big pot of soup to hopefully last us a week. And, an important stock trade to watch today in what looks to be a huge up-market. Too much to do to even think about writing. Annual foot doc visit tomorrow.

I don’t know when things will calm down. I’ll try a simple post next Monday. At least I’m getting a few book sales of late, though my Amazon ads are not profitable any more.

books, family, home improvements, miscellaneous

A Busy Time Ahead

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On Friday this will all expand. Additional tables will be set up and moved out into the driveway and yard. I hope much of it goes.

For the next two weeks (at least), my life is going to be too full to keep up a regular blog schedule. I normally post on Monday and Friday. For a little while, however, I will likely do just once a week, probably on Monday.

What’s going on, you wonder? Since July my wife and I have been in the process of downsizing our possessions (not yet our house). We came to the realization that we have too much stuff, accumulated over 46 years of marriage and retrieved from the houses of three parents upon their deaths—or their own downsizing. We had to get rid of it.

This is a cute horse. Pinch its ear and it whinnies and moves it’s head and tail. But they grandkids don’t use it when they come. It fetched $25 on FB Marketplace, and some young child probably loves it now.

I started with my mother-in-law’s papers in July. Some I was able to discard, such as old health records and old financial records after shredding, but much my wife has to see before we can do that. She’s been in the process of that since my sorting gave her enough to look at. Things are being put into recycling. Cards and letters will all have to go, a very few saved for sentimental value.

Of course, I interrupted that work to transcribe the letter from our Kuwait years. They are now in the cloud and backed up. Someday, when life calms down, I’ll put them in book form for children and grandchildren. They aren’t great literature. No, simply a record of our time there. Someday I’ll do the same with the Saudi years.

Tools from Dad’s house. I’ve been surprised at how well tools are selling. Sure takes a lot of messaging, however, to get the sale made.

Slowly, slowly, we have been getting Esther’s things out of her room or our large basement storage room and making them ready for sale. Shelf decorations, boxed crystal, books, and clothes are all being gone through. It’s a slow process. I can only do so much and Lynda’s health and strength doesn’t allow her to work longer. She’s actually doing very well with it. I’d make the decisions on many things, but I know she has to be the one to do it.

Getting rid of Esther’s stuff, stuff that we don’t want or need and our children don’t want or need led me to look at our own stuff. While waiting on my wife’s strength to come back, I realized I had lots of stuff to get rid of that had come to us from Dad’s house back in 1997-98, stuff I never used. I wrote about this process before. All I’ll say now is last Saturday I found another tray of tools that can be sold.

But, it seems, no one wants this old, French postcard. Alas. Not sure where or how we will get rid of the postcards. We took hundreds of them from the house we owned in NC that had been left by the previous owner.

For all of this we are using Facebook Marketplace as our primary sales venue. For now, the only sales venue. I like the success we are having, but it is a slow process. Gent a new item listed and approved and almost immediately you will get “Is this item still available?” You tell them yes in a return message, and…never hear from them again. For one set of tools this resulted in five different people showing interest, even to the point of making appointments to come see and probably buy them. To the garage I went at the appointed time and…nothing. They didn’t show. Didn’t message that they wouldn’t show. Next day I get a message saying oh sorry but I just couldn’t come. Meanwhile I’ve told two other people that the tools are spoken for. Trying to be fair with buyers is turning into a lengthy and frustrating process.

This is a hard one. This tea and coffee brewer was a wedding gift for Lynda’s grandmother back in 1924. Hard to part with it, but we have decorations in abundance. Alas, so far almost no views of it on FB Marketplace.

Slow, frustrating, even maddening. But things are selling. First was a rocking horse that the grandkids have all outgrown. Then it was a 3-gallon aquarium I found on a shelf in the basement that neither of us knew when we got it or if we even used it. Then came the tools. Then came an old kerosene heater we haven’t used since about 1995. Clothes are listed but no one is looking at clothes ads. We have a few decorations listed but it’s too early to know if we will get any interest in them. I found a bunch of unused postcards that apparently belonged to my dad and listed those in several lots, but that doesn’t seem to be the type of things people are going to FB Marketplace to buy.

Meanwhile, we are setting up for a garage sale that will be this Friday and Saturday. I hate garage sales and said I would never do another. But here we are. The neighbors were doing one so we said we would do one too to try to generate more interest. At our last sale I think we did a little less than $200 worth. I’m hoping for a lot more this time around, but am prepared to be disappointed. The work involved is way too much for the reward.

But, the true downsizing/de-cluttering test comes when the sale is over and you have lots of leftover stuff to deal with. A friend has said, “Don’t bring it back in the house. Take it straight to Goodwill.” I’m prepared to do that but I’m not sure the wife is. That didn’t happen after our sale and we ended up with tables in the garage for years. I’m hoping and praying that doesn’t happen this time. If an item is marked as “we don’t need this anymore”, that should apply whether you could get money for it or not. Right?

A few of the bigger, more valuable items, the kind of things that potential buyers for are unlikely to be yard sale shoppers, sure, those can be kept for selling. But most things I think not.

books, family, home improvements, memories, Mom, reading

Goodbye, Books

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So many books to read, so little time left in this world to read them.

The house I grew up in had a lot of books in it. The secretary in the dining room, the bookcase with the glass doors in the hallway, and on shelves of books in the basement—some tied with twine, some in boxes, some in a row, and some under drop-cloths. I didn’t know what these books were. Once I took the drop-cloth off some and saw they were encyclopedias, published in 1900.

After Mom died and we three children grew up and moved out, Dad became an acquirer of books. He was retired by then, and he and his friend boyhood friend, Bob Tetrault, would get together once a month, have lunch, then go to flea markets. I don’t know what Bob bought (if anything), but Dad bought books. He bought paperbacks, hardbacks, on a variety of subjects. Seemingly mindless that he already had more than a thousand of Mom’s books, he bought more—and read them.

When Dad died 32 years after Mom did, and we cleaned out the house, I took the books. I sorted them into three categories: those it seemed Dad acquired, which were published mainly 1970 and later; those older than that that Mom had acquired, mainly hardbacks from the 1930s and 1940s; and then much older books, all hardbacks. These, I learned, had belonged to David Sexton, Mom’s grand-uncle, the man who took my grandmother in as a single mother and gave her a home. These are mainly from the late 1800s, though I found some that went back as early as 1829. I think my brother sold off a few older ones before I took the bulk of them away, but that’s another story.

Now we come down to 2020 and our new effort to reduce our possessions, looking toward that day sometime in the future when we’ll downsize and likely move away. As I reported in a prior post, I’m identifying things to part with and selling them on Facebook Marketplace—with some success. Dad’s tools, taking up space in boxes on shelves in the garage, are gone, at least many of them are. I still have a few. Toys that the grandchildren have outgrown are slowly going. We’ll give a number of them away to a needy family, sell others. Clothes that are surplus or that no longer fit (mostly due to weight loss) are being identified, sorted, and priced in anticipation of a yard sale a week from now. I’ve reported earlier about reduction in papers (cards, notes, letters), something that is on-going and not related to selling.

That brings us down to the books. What to do about them? Uncle Dave’s books are obviously keepers. Not many people have a set of Thomas Babbington Macaulay’s writings published in 1856, and another set from 1905. Not many have Shelley, Keats, Wordsworth, Longfellow, Tennyson, and Kipling from the 1800s. My interest in Thomas Carlyle began because of his books Uncle Dave left behind. The many books that Dad collected we can obviously get rid of. A few would be worth keeping and reading. We’ll sort through them, see what’s good, and keep them. That would be maybe 1 or 2 of 100.

The books that came from Lynda’s dad and mom are more contemporary. The subjects vary from World War 2 to Christian living. I suspect most of those will go. They are not as numerous as the books my parents had, and are not keepsakes. The books we accumulated on our own are a little tougher. If we read them they can go. If we haven’t read them, are we likely to read them? If yes, we keep; if no, out they go. I suspect this will be 50-50. That will get rid of another thousand or more.

This one I will NOT be selling. My heirs can figure out what to do with it. I’ve not yet read “Little Women”, but when I do it may be from this copy.

What about Mom’s books? This is the hardest part of the decision. Over the years, at yard sales and when we briefly sold books on line from 2000-2003, I’ve sold a few of them. Now, however, I’m looking at selling maybe 700 of them if I can find buyers. At the end of that, I might find a good place to donate them, or sell them to a used book store or dealer for 25¢ on the dollar. This is hard, harder than selling Dad’s tools. Harder than selling anything I acquired over the years. Mom bought these books and, I believe, read all of them. It’s a piece of her I have clung to, hoping to read them myself and experience them as she did. Alas, if I could read two a month it would take me 42 years to go through them all. Will I live to be 110 and read these books to the exclusion of all others? Give up all my other interests just to read these books? I don’t think so.

Signed when she was 9 years old, Mom continued that practice all her life.

As buyers come by and take a few of Mom’s books, I look at the half-title page, where she always signed it and put the date she bought it. I look at that and come close to crying. Another piece of Mom gone.

But what else is there to do? My children don’t want these books. My grandchildren, I’m sure, won’t want them either. As Emerson said, each generation must write their own books. Very few people in our family are still alive who knew Mom, with a few more who knew about her. Someday these will all be gone. Should I leave that task to someone who comes after me, letting them make a hard decision?

No, I’ll make that hard decision. It won’t happen in a day, but over months, perhaps years. Slowly these books will go. I’ve pulled a few out to read, and will get through them.

book reviews, fiction

Book Review: Assumed Identity

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Morrell is a master of the plot and an amazing character developer. This book doesn’t disappoint in those areas.

Some books you read you remember very well, some books you forget almost entirely. Some books you sort of remember, but can’t figure out specifics. Assumed Identity by David Morrell is in the later category.

David Morrell taught a half-day class on fiction writing at a writer’s conference I went to in 2006 in New Mexico. As chance would have it, he and I wound up at the same table at lunch and we had a good conversation. Many people don’t know his name but you know his most famous character: Rambo.

I read Assumed Identity in 29 sittings in August and September this year. My paperback is exactly 500 pages, so my reading averaged 17 pages per sitting. Not bad, but I’ve done better.

The book is about a man who worked in Army special forces, in a task group that tried to infiltrate and then root out drug lords in various places. Some of his assignments may have been with other situations as well. It was kind of hard to understand all his backstory. In this book he had six or eight different identities as situations unfolded. One mission went awry when, through bad luck, someone he’d know a few identities prior ran into him in Mexico when he was trying to infiltrate a drug organization. Four drug lords/their body guards turned on him. He killed or wounded all of them, was wounded in the gun fight then again in his escape.

But escape he did—not once, but multiple times in the book. His work was perfect. He approached each situation kind of like a Jedi knight in Star Wars, you know how they seemed always confident, always ready in every situation, always undaunted when taking on multiple enemies, alway having the right equipment, the right stamina, and oodles of mental tenacity. That was the protagonist in this story.

Through most of the book he was worried about a certain woman he had worked with a few identities ago, as he received a note from her to meet at a certain place at a certain time in New Orleans, which was an indication she was in trouble and needed his help. With considerable difficulty he got to that place, but something bad happened and he didn’t see her, being injured in a knife attack. Later, he becomes involved with another woman, a newspaper reporter, who was trying to make a name for herself by exposing this secret army operation.

As I’ve been writing this some of the details of the book have come back to me, such as the next-to-last plot twist that was very major. Such as the destruction of an archaeological site in the Yucatan Peninsula by one of the world’s wealthiest men looking for oil, an operation that kept being mentioned in seemingly meaningless chapters that finally came together in the end.

This was a good book. It blended together Army operations, secret missions, civilian news, petroleum, drugs, and archaeology, with much action. I recommend it to anyone who likes a good action book.

As to the question of whether I’ll keep it or not: no, I won’t. I have around five or six Morrell books. This was the last one to read. I’m going to put them together in a lot and sell them on Facebook Marketplace. Perhaps a David Morrell fan will see it and want them. If not, after a couple of months, I’ll just mix them in with the 500 other books I’m currently trying to sell. I think, among my David Morrell reads, this was my least favorite. Still I’m going to give it 4 stars. It lost a star for a few confusing parts.

America, Documenting America, History

Peaceful Transfer of Power: A Defining American Characteristic

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Both the people of the new nation and those who ran the government wanted power to transfer peacefully. With all in the same mindset, peaceful transfer happened.

This is now the third (and I think the last) post in my series on defining characteristics of the USA—those things that make us stand out from all other nations: peaceful transfer of power.

When we made our second attempt at being a new and independent nation, under a new Constitution, George Washington became our first president. So revered was he that he could have been president for life. Actually, Americans might have accepted him as king. But Washington knew that someday power would have to transfer from him to someone else. Two terms was enough, he thought. Let the transfer happen peacefully.

My book on the Constitution doesn’t spend a lot of time on transfer of power, but it’s a good primer on how we got this amazing document.

You see, historically, transfer of power had been a violent affair. If it was peaceful, it was because a monarch’s heir was clearly popular with the people and with those in leadership who had surrounded the now dead sovereign. Going back a long way, it was common for the new king to kill the other potential heirs, assuring that he wouldn’t be challenged in his position and that, sometime in the future, power would transfer to his own heir, without challenges. Yet, even at that, the new king (or queen) would often be challenged. Looking through the kings of Israel in the Bible books of Kings and Chronicles shows frequent struggles in the first few months of the new king’s reign.

This also happened in Europe. At least three times in British history a king was overthrown. Sometimes it occurred without bloodshed. The nation had become more sophisticated, so potential rivals weren’t killed off. Heirs in other nations weren’t always so lucky. A study of the transfer of power in Europe would be fascinating. The same for other countries outside Europe.

I just updated my first Documenting America book for conditions in 2020.

What about in America? Washington declined to run for a third term. The nation elected John Adams as president in 1796. Power transferred peacefully and the baby nation chugged on. But Washington and Adams were of the same political mindset. What would happen when someone with different beliefs came to power?

That happened in 1800, along with the first of what would later come to be called a “constitutional crisis”. Thomas Jefferson was elected president. Actually, he tied with his vice presidential running mate, Aaron Burr. It took a vote by the House of Representatives to break the tie, and a constitutional amendment to correct a minor flaw in the relatively new document so that such wouldn’t happen again. The point is, however, Jefferson, of a different political party than Adams, came to power and all was peaceful. The nation chugged on. Adams wasn’t exiled; his children weren’t killed; Jefferson didn’t kill off or exile other potential rivals. The people didn’t riot in the streets over who became president. All was peaceful.

The new nation was showing that we could govern ourselves. Peaceful transfer of power from one party to another occurred. No coercive force was necessary. The American experiment was succeeding.

Looking at future elections, the peaceful transfer of power occurred all the way up to 1860. The South couldn’t accept Lincoln as president and his new political party as the one that would be setting policy and making laws. Rather than accept that, they declared themselves no longer part of the United States of America. The government said no, you can’t do that. We have property in your state and we will defend that property. The southern states said oh yeah? Just try it. And civil war broke out. The North won (as we know), and the nation stayed as one nation.

After fourteen peaceful transfers of power, including once at the death of a president, we had our first experience with violent transfer. It wasn’t pretty.

We had a questionable transfer of power in 1876, as the winner of the election was in dispute. I have more study to do of that transfer. Suffice to say that a compromise was reached, a president was selected through a combination of constitutional provisions and cooler heads who didn’t want to go through another bloody transfer prevailing.

From that time on, we had peaceful transfers all the way up to 2000. Even in 2000 the transfer was peaceful, though the closeness of that election required the judicial branch to get involved. Some say the judicial branch stole the election from Gore and awarded it to Bush. Some say Bush won it outright (by a tiny margin) and the courts simply prevented Gore from demanding endless recounts. Either way, while the transfer of power was in question, and while we wish it hadn’t come down to the Supreme Court,  it happened peacefully.

Then came 2016. Trump won. Many people didn’t like it. The people who favored the other candidate took to protesting in the streets, though that died out. Transfer was contentious but, as the election wasn’t in doubt, was peaceful.

That brings us to 2020. While Biden appears to be leading and heading toward victory, that’s the way it was in 2016 and the outcome is not certain. But what is certain is that if Trump wins again there will again be protests in the street. Will these turn violent? Will the transfer of power—actually the need to not transfer power—be peaceful? Or, if Biden wins, will Trump peacefully allow the transfer of power to take place? Will we have a clear winner, or will the courts have to intervene again?

Peaceful transfer of power, a defining American characteristic. We are not far from seeing it end. It has happened because the people and leaders wanted it to happen, and because we had a supreme law that everyone accepted and revered. Right now we don’t know if either of them do. And that could have disastrous consequences of our country.

C.S. Lewis, family, home improvements, memories, miscellaneous

Footprints

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I hope there will be some relics of us left when we have settled that question of souteraines.

This book will take me several years to get through at the slow rate I’m reading it. I wonder if I’ll ever get to Vol. 2.

As my wife and are in the process of de-cluttering, we find a lot of things I can only describe as footprints: printed matter, souvenirs, old things we used to use but don’t any more. We are weeding through these. So far I’ve listed a number of things on Facebook Marketplace and some have sold. Not many, but some. And the amounts earned thereby are starting to add up.

I’m determined not to leave the mess for our children that our parents did for us. Two houses to clean out, plus all my mother-in-law’s stuff stuffed into our basement storeroom when she left her house for an apartment and more coming with each of her next moves. And this is after having multiple estate sales and yard sales in the past.

This drill set hung in the basement above Dad’s workbench. I could have sold it for more if it was all there, but the drill itself is missing as well as other parts.

My brother and I divided the tools and hardware from Dad’s basement. I took my share and stuffed them in our garage at our last house and faithfully moved them to our current, larger house and found space for them in the garage. A few—very few—I used. Most sat in cardboard boxes and tool boxes for the last 23 years, as they had at Dad’s for three or four decades before that. Some of those are gone. Some others will be picked up in 42 minutes [I write this on Sunday afternoon.]

When this process is over, a process that will take several years, I don’t know what we’ll have left. At some point we will have to consider our own stuff and decide what to do with it. But for now it’s enough to be dealing with our parent’s stuff. Our son is visiting us now. Before he came I told him to not expect much progress. I said what we had done so far was like cutting a millimeter off a 2-lbs. chunk of cheddar cheese. But progress is progress, even if it’s by millimeters instead of yards.

All of which is making me think of footprints, the footprints we leave in this world. Of course, as a genealogist, I’m thrilled when I find a footprint of an ancestor. It helps me to know a little about their life. The fact that so-and-so took someone to court in 1675 and won matters. Yet, I’m kind of glad I’m not looking at five pages of ancient court documents and trying to decide: “Do I keep this or not?” Footprints are good; a trampled wheat field is not. Hopefully the footprints that now adorn our house will, at such time as we leave this world, be just enough to be pleasing to our heirs, not overwhelming as we are now.

This box of odd clamps, files, and other tools came from Dad’s house in the box you see. I never used any of them.

The quote that starts this post I found in a letter C.S. Lewis wrote to his good friend Arthur Greaves on 10 November 1941. I’m slowly reading through Lewis’ letters. Volume 1 is 1024 pages of 10 point font. I assume Volumes 2 (which I also have) and 3 (which I do not have) are about the same. By “relics” I believe Lewis means the same as “footprints”. He hoped that he would make an impact on the world and that those who came after him would know who he was.

The word “souterrains” was a new one on me. Wikipedia defines it thusly:

Souterrain is a name given by archaeologists to a type of underground structure associated mainly with the European Atlantic Iron Age. These structures appear to have been brought northwards from Gaul during the late Iron Age. Regional names include earth houses, fogous and Pictish houses.

So it’s an archeological relic—a footprint of people long gone, something that tells us a little about how they lived. Lewis is saying that, just as these souterrains survived for a couple of millennia, so would his influence survive. He wrote that as a 16-year-old school boy.

At the moment, I think the biggest legacy I could leave my kids is to not leave a mess behind for them to have to deal with. Oh, there will be a few things. We don’t leave earth with absolutely nothing in our possession just prior. But I know it will be better than the three messes we received.

home improvements, miscellaneous

Goodbye, Old Friends

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The old kept better time, but it died. I’m sad to see this old friend go.

When I was in Saudi Arabia, I grew especially close to the Philipino men who worked for me. For some reason they liked me and I liked them. I learned a little Tagalog—not a lot, just enough for greetings and partings, maybe a bit more. But that seemed enough. When the time came for our family to leave Saudi, the company held a going-away party for us. The company sponsored a gift that the employees chipped in on—everyone except the Philipinos. They got together and bought me a nice wall clock.

Our shipment was already packed. We were flying to Vienna to start four weeks in Europe on our way home. We were to leave December 2, 1983. While four weeks was our plan, we were prepared to cut it short if, after three years of mild Arabian winters, we found the Austrian winter a bit too much. With a lot of luggage already, we stuff that clock in, carried it to Europe, thence to Rhode Island, thence to Kansas City, thence on the bus to Meade Kansas (where we picked up our cars), thence drove it on to Asheboro North Carolina, our next stop on the path of life.

Hopefully this is now gracing the wall of someone’s shop, now that it’s no longer gathering dust in my garage.

I’ll shorten the rest of this. That clock hung in our home in North Carolina, went into storage when we lived in Kuwait, then hung in our apartment in NC on our return then in two houses in NW Arkansas. It survived being dropped, being knocked off the wall when I errantly threw one of the dog’s toys. It always kept good time. Every two years or so it would die, and I’d have to change the batteries. Then it would start chiming again, every hour and half hour from 6 am to 10:30 pm.

I have no idea what these clamps were for. Hopefully their new owner can figure them out.

In our present house it’s been my companion in The Dungeon. It helped me to keep on schedule with my work. If I said I would work an hour on something, I’d wait for a chime and know when I should end. The chimes were just loud enough that you could hear it upstairs in the living room (if the TV was off or not too loud).

Then, we came back from our brief trip to Mexico last Christmastime and it wasn’t going. I got new batteries for it and…nothing. Didn’t start. I tried other new batteries to make sure I hadn’t picked up used batteries by mistake and…nothing. The clock had died. For 37 years it’s been a good and loyal friend, but it died. It’s been sitting on the table since January. A newer clock that doesn’t keep time very well is in its place. But I’ve had a hard time getting rid of my old friend. I was told I could replace the works inside the shell, but, that somehow doesn’t seem right. No, by the end of the day today this clock will be in the recycling pile in our garage.

Other things are going too as the wife and I contemplate down-sizing sometime in the coming years. Our children want us to do that sooner rather than later, but the amount of stuff we have suggests this will not be a quick or easy process. In July Lynda identified a rocking horse that our grandkids have outgrown. We could keep it around until great-grandkids come along, but that could be a long time and a new residence from now. So I listed it on Facebook Marketplace and it sold a month later.

I climbed this ladder a lot. Got a bee sting on it in NC, and it sunk into the ground, fell forward, and put my face on the sidewalk, also in NC. Not sorry to see it go.

Encouraged by that, I scoured the storeroom shelves and found a small aquarium we haven’t used since we moved to this house. That fetched $20 on the Marketplace. Three large plants brought $15, and I lost a few friends that had kept me company in the sunroom the last few years.

I’m not sure what type of plants these were. They were big, and my wife said they took a lot of care. I balked at first when she wanted to sell them, as they’ve been companions in the sunroom. But then I thought, I don’t want to dampen her notion of getting rid of stuff. So off they went, hopefully to a good home.

I decided to tackle the garage. In it I found lots of stuff that I had taken from Dad’s house after his death, when my brother and I divided up the tools and hardware. Boxes and boxes of the stuff have cluttered two different garages now for 23 years. Why didn’t I get rid of it long before now? I guess I thought I might use it some day. I listed for sale a wall “panel” for an old drill set that is now just a nice shop decoration. That sold in just a couple of days. Then there was a box of old clamps (probably used in woodworking). They sold in a day.

Then there’s that old wooden ladder that’s been just hanging on the wall since I got an aluminum one. That’s now waiting, hoping for a buyer. I next looked at a bottom shelf that had some boxes. I pulled them off and found them all to be empties. They are now flattened and waiting for the next trip to recycling, probably on Wednesday.

So, these old friends are slowly starting to make their way out of the house. Some, like the clock and the plants, were good friends. Others, like the tools and boxes, were just taking up space. I told my son that, when he comes to visit us soon, he’ll look at the house and say, “I thought you were getting rid of stuff!” I told him it’s a first step, like cutting one millimeter off a two pound block of cheddar cheese. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s less than was there before.

Hopefully we’ll continue this process and have motivation and strength enough to do a few more millimeters. Maybe in a year it will be noticeable. Meanwhile, it’s hard to say goodbye to some of these friends.

Author | Engineer