Embarking on a New Adventure

Tomorrow I embark on a new adventure. I begin classes for training as a census enumerator for the 2010 census. Classes are at the Light House Church in Laurel, Delaware, 23 miles from where I live. Classes will be for one week, 9 to 5. The first three days are classroom training. The remaining two days will be in the field. When I first was told that classes would be held so far away, I told the Census Bureau representative I wasn’t interested. Part of the reason was my fear that I would be assigned to conduct census training to far away from my home. Late on Friday a higher up in the bureau called and assured me that they would make every reasonable effort see that my area of responsibility would be in the Milton-Lewes area. I was persuaded. I’m easily persuaded. So, we will see.

I’ve held many different jobs in my lifetime. But I’ve never been a census taker. Somehow this is fitting because for years I’ve worked with old census records in doing my Tipton family genealogy research. I’ve looked at those old census records and noted the misspellings and thought “why couldn’t they be more careful?” Now I will have a chance to correct that error for future generations of genealogy researchers. Maybe this is my legacy as an amateur genealogist.

Life’s patterns do work in strange ways. I started out my work career as a five year old child running errands to the local grocery store for relatives and neighbors. From there I progressed to newspaper boy, office cleaner, dishwasher at local restaurant, meat counter clerk at local farmer’s market, soldier in the Army, hotel night auditor at the Pittsburgh Hilton hotel, accounts payable clerk at Lipsett Steel Products, remittance clerk at Girard Bank, trust operations manager at Mellon Bank, research project reconcilement and control manager for Fidelity Bank, gardener on private estate, trust operations manager (again) at Downingtown National Bank, front desk clerk at Hampton Inn (hotel work again), trust operations consultant at First Financial Bank, front desk clerk at Marriott Hotel (again), front desk clerk at the Inn at Canal Square, and now U. S. Census Bureau enumerator. Along the way I took no acting jobs.

For the past sixty years I’ve always had one kind of job or another. I’ve always had to keep bringing the money in. I wasn’t one of those fortunate children whose parents were committed to putting me through college (although I wanted to go in the worst way.) I didn’t have enough self-confidence to work my way through college so I joined the Army, perhaps the best decision I ever made in my life. I learned more in the Army that I ever would have in college. I matured immensely and gained a level of self confidence one I got away from the environment that did little to nurture self-confidence.

Through the G. I. Bill I gained a college degree (associate degree in business management from Peirce College in Philadelphia.) Also, because of my service in the Army I am now receiving lifetime care from the Veterans Administration. All the years I had complete medical coverage from my banking jobs, I never used it once. It wasn’t until I lost my job with the bank that I was in need of medical care. The care I received from the Veterans Administration Medical Center was the best I’ve ever received in my life for which I will be ever thankful. Socialized medicine work for me, so there Harry and Louise.

The only serious medical care I received before was when I was 17 years old. I had failed my medical induction exam to join the Army. I was informed that I was born with a hernia. The Army would not take me until I got it fixed. I had the operation. The operation went fine but I caught a staph infection from the hospital which almost killed me. I had the staph infection for six months. After a series of operations, the staph infection finally disappeared. I took the medical examination again. This time I passed and I joined the Army January 27, 1960.

Someday I will sit down and write the story of my life. My story may be of little interest to most people but I would like to do it for myself at least and for those future Tipton family genealogy researchers. Fifty or a hundred years from now some researcher may pick that book of my life story and be encouraged to write their own life story. In the meantime, my life story isn’t over yet. I have a whole new chapter to write starting tomorrow. The adventure continues.

Pictures

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to take pictures. I was always fascinated by photographs, that magic way to capture a moment in time. Unfortunately, growing up poor in the Fifties didn’t offer the financial resources for such a hobby. Growing up in the Fifties in Downingtown, Pennsylvania my family was like many other families, poor. We lived in a two bedroom rented second floor apartment at 120 Washington Avenue in the white trash section of town (it still is by the way.)

My Mother knew how much I was interested in photography so one Christmas Santa gave me a Kodak Brownie camera. Oh what a treasure that was. Not only because it was one of the few Christmases that Santa gave to me only, but because it was a present that I wanted and I got. “Santa” had a bad habit of giving Christmas presents to me and my two brothers with the proviso it was for “all of us.” I can remember one painful Christmas that me and the bros got a much wanted Lionel train set. Mom told us “Santa said this is for all of you.” I think that’s what I stopped believing there was a Santa Claus because I thought Santa would know better than to give ONE electric train set to three boys, especially brothers who were only a year apart in age. It didn’t work. Being the oldest, I got the engine. My middle brother Isaac; got the two middle cars and my youngest brother John; got the caboose. No one was happy. But I digress.

The Christmas I received the Kodak Brownie camera I was 11 years old, 1955. Now I had a new problem. I didn't have the money to buy and process the film of the pictures I was about to start taking. Fortunately for me I had recently secured a newspaper delivery job. I didn’t make a lot of money (about $5.00 a week), but I sometimes did have enough money left over at the end of the week (after buying candy and comic books) to buy a role of black and white Kodak film. Thus began Ron's Wonderful Adventure of taking pictures.

Taking pictures and getting them developed back in the Fifties was quite an ordeal. Once I took my pictures, I would take them to the Charles newsstand for processing. This was before the 1-hour processing; take it for granted, photo-processing days of many years later. Oh no, when one took film to be processed at Sam Charles (he owned the newsstand – we never called it the “Charles Newstand”), one waited at least a week until the film came back from some unknown mysterious location where they processed the film. I can still remember the butterflies in my stomach the magical day would approach when I could pick up my pictures. Sometimes I could hardly wait until I got home until I opened the enveloped and witness the miracle of capturing these Moments in History.

Now fast forward to today. Almost everyone has a digital camera or a camera phone. We can see our pictures almost instantly after they’re processed. Film that one has to thread in a camera is but a memory of the past. Now we download our digital images into our computers. It doesn’t cost us anything. No more trips to the local photography processing store to wait for the film to be processed. If we want a print we can either do it ourselves on our own printer or go to the local Wal-Mart and have it in an hour. Instant gratification.

What about my old black and white pictures that I took back in the Fifties? Those pictures I lovingly secured them with those pyramid shaped glued photo corners in those photo albums with black pages. Then I put those photo ablums in a closet, never to be seen again.

Later, in the 70’s, the miracle of color photography arrived. Now I had more money and I could take more pictures. Yet, I still had to take them to the local Camera Shop for processing. These photos I secured in plastic paged photo albums. I also put those in the same closet, never to be seen again except, by the administrator of my estate after I die.

Over the years I went through periods of taking a lot of pictures, and then years of not taking any pictures. I don’t know why I did this other than I preoccupied with the different transitions in my life and just didn’t have the time to take pictures nor the money for processing the prints. One such period was when I lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania after I got out of the Army in January of 1963. I have no pictures of that important period of my life.

Another regret I have is that I didn’t take many pictures of people. Back then I was quite shy and reluctant to shove my camera into someone’s face to take their pictures (I have since gotten over that shyness as many of my friends and relatives can now attest.) I also didn’t have many pictures taken of myself. Again, I think my inherit shyness was the cause. And again, I have gotten over that shyness. I now have a lot of pictures taken of myself. Unfortunately, I am in my advanced years now and the subject matter of my face isn’t quite as appealing (if it ever was) but that is a subject for another blog posting.

One of my big goals in my retirement was to scan all my old photographs into my computer for permanent storage and history. The past two years I have scanned some of my old photos into my computer but only on an individual basis of a particular photo that was of some interest. This morning I changed that. I scanned my first whole photo album into my computer. It took me about three hours but it was worth it. I will put those pictures into several photo albums on my Facebook account for friends and relatives to enjoy (and copy if they wish.)

Scanning my old photos into my computer this morning brought back many fond memories of a more innocent time. And then I thought, that’s why we take photos, to bring back fond memories and remember a time that is long gone. It is also to remember those we know and love that are no longer with us. Were they the “good old days” as is so often referred? Maybe not but they were a time and a place which will never happen again.

During my genealogy research, I often request old photographs from my relatives so I can scan them into my computer for a permanent record and for future generations to look back on and wonder how life was back in the “good old days.” I may not write that book about my life that I have planned all my life, but I will leave this rich treasury of photos that I have accumulated during my lifetime. That is my legacy.

Back to Normal

We’re back to normal around here, or at least what passes for normal. I made the first move yesterday morning. I knocked on Bill’s basement bedroom door. Instead of saying “Go away” he said “What do you want?” This is a break. I asked if I could talk to him. Without waiting for an answer I went into his darkened bedroom and asked him a question (which I forget now, but it was to break the ice.) I forget what he said but at least we got the conversation started. Oh, I remember. I asked him to come upstairs in the sun room to enjoy the light. He said he wanted to continue to sit in his room for awhile. The world “awhile” was another break. I told him “Okay” and left him and went upstairs.

About an hour later I went back downstairs again and he was at his computer in his basement office, which adjoins his bedroom. Thus there was a break in the solid frozen over lake of our relationship. I talked to him about some other innocuous things about the house. We talked about our neighbor’s new dog. Bill was still distant but relaxing a bit. He still said he wished he was dead. He frequently says that. He’ll probably outlive me. I returned upstairs to my office and caught up on my e-mail.

Through my Find a Grave web site, a distant relative contacted me regarding my research in our common family tree. At this time of my life my favorite activity (other than taking digital pictures and gardening) is researching my family tree. This lady from Washington State is descended from my great great grandmother Cynthia Lou Rhudy. This is a branch on my family tree of which I have very little information. It is also the only line of my family tree which leads to German and Swiss ancestry. Up until this discovery, all my ancestry has been English and Scotch-Irish. She could help me fill in a lot of empty branches and I could help her. She also put me in contact with another distant relative who also has information on our family tree. We exchanged files yesterday. Finding these distant relatives like this who are also researching our common family tree is one of the joys of my life at this time. It's like find pots of gold at the end of the rainbow. Not only do I get to fill in heretofore unknown branches on my family tree, I'm also discovering more about my family and, in turn, more about myself. Two dreams of the dreams I had when I was a young man, owning my own house and discovering my roots. I have achieved both of those dreams. I was also hoping to find Prince Charming. I did, sort of.

During the past two weeks I have tried to bury myself in this favorite activity of mine, researching and recording my family history. But I wasn’t getting the same pleasure from it that I had in the past. I think a lot of it had to do with the stress and tension of the home situation with Bill. Now that we’re back on track I have my enthusiasm back for digging into my family tree.

I’m looking forward to this weekend’s activity. Four times a year a gay bingo event takes place at the Rehoboth Convention center. I’ve missed these events for the past year and a half because I’ve had to work. However, this weekend I don’t have to work. My friend Paul called and invited me to join him and his friend Jack for dinner then a night of festive fun and laughs at the Bingo – A – Go – Go. I asked my neighbor and friend Barbara to go with me. The weekend is looking good. Who knows, one of us might even win a prize.

I am so relieved that Bill and I are back on track again. The past two weeks have been exhausting. It never gets any easier no matter how many times it happens. It will probably happen again but I'm not going to worry about that now. I'm going to enjoy the moment. Life is good again.

A New Day

As I opened up my garage door this morning to put out my trash can for pickup, this was the view that greeted me. Frost covered the grass on my front lawn. Without the wind, the 27 degree temperature was bracing instead of painful. Lights from my neighbors’ houses punctured the early morning haze. This literally is the dawn of a new day for me.

At 10 o’clock this morning I have an appointment at the Inn to take a census employment test. I have my birth certificate, Social Security card and DD-214 (proof that I was in the Army) certificate at the ready to prove that I am a citizen of these United States. This is a job that is almost a perfect fit for me. As part of my genealogy research, I work with census records through Ancestry.com. I am a stickler for detail and accuracy. I also like to get out, ride around and meet people. The only downside is if I have to take a census in an area away from my home. I’ll work the census if it is in my neighborhood or nearby. I won’t work if I’m assigned to an area like Georgetown or Dover. I wouldn’t think that I would be assigned those areas but you never know with the government. I'm hoping common sense applies.

Speaking of the government, I’m sorry to see Barack Obama get off to such a bad start choosing people for his cabinet who don’t know how to pay their taxes. What kind of rules do those people play by anyway? If I make a mistake on my taxes I get notices from the IRS threatening fines and/or jail time. Annually I fill out a means test form for the VA. If I make a mistake of even $1.00, that form is bounced back to me, threatening to take me off the VA medical care system. I guess what Leona Helmsley said all those years ago before her arrogance caught up with her, “Only the little people pay taxes.”

The other thing that makes me angry are the bonuses the Wall Street and banking executives continue to pay themselves, even though their financial institutions are failing. It’s like Senator Claire McCaskell said “What planet are these people living on?” The tired old excuse that these crooks use is “You have to pay good money to keep good people.” What? A million dollars won’t do? What’s with the billions of dollars in bonuses? It’s not that hard to understand really. The past eight years have seen the greatest transference of wealth in this country from the middle class to the upper class in our history. Now we see the result; loss of jobs, home values falling, and zero interest rates. Great job Republicans and Democrats. They’re all in it together.

Thank goodness I have my genealogy research to get me away from all of this. Recently I have met (through e-mail) several distant relatives who are researching heretofore unknown branches of my family tree. I get a great deal of pleasure and comfort discovering and sharing information about my family with other family members. I am so thankful that I have the time and resources to indulge in this favorite pastime of mine. Genealogy research and taking digital are my two favorite activities at this time of my life. I’m looking forward to spring when I can begin my other favorite activity, gardening. Each year I try to outdo myself from the previous year with an outstanding floral display. Even though I continue to have sadness in my home, I still have a lot to live for. For that I am very thankful.

Visit To Pennsylvania

Yesterday I made my long put off trip to Pennsylvania to visit Mom. The trip is a 2 ½ hour drive one way for a total 5 hour plus trip. I always come back the same day. Yesterday posed a problem because it gets dark at 5 PM. I didn’t want to drive back in the dark. I don’t do well driving in the dark. Everything is headlights and taillights. I find the older I get the more difficult I have navigating the multi lane highways. Thus, the goal yesterday was to leave by 2:30 PM. That didn’t happen.

Listed below are the six things I wanted to do:

1. Return my elderly cousin’s pictures to her that I had borrowed to scan in my genealogy reports
2. Take pictures of some family graves at the Hopewell Methodist Church Cemetery and the Northwood Cemetery.
3. Visit Mom and give her Christmas presents to her.
4. Have lunch at the Brickside Grille (they make the best Chicken Quesadillas.)
5. Stop at a fabric store to pick out ribbon to finish the curtains that Bill made for the sunroom.
6. Shop at Wegmans.

My cousin’s home is located just off of Rt. 896 (Jennersville Road) on my way to my Mom’s. Originally I told her I would see her at 2 in the afternoon (her suggestion) but I thought I would see if she was available in the morning. I was by her place at 9:30 AM. I called. No, she said she wasn’t even dressed and said 2 in the afternoon would be better. Already I knew that I would have a hard time keeping that schedule.

Barreling on down the road to Rt. 10, then the Rt. 30 bypass, we soon arrived in East Brandywine Township. As we always do when we visit my Mom, Bill and I take a ride past the “old props” (as we call where we used to live.) We can’t see the house from the road (that’s the way we designed it but now it is to our disadvantage because we can’t see the house.) Our house is located one road over from my Mom’s house. Bill and I drive down the beautiful Crawford Road, which has now been repaved. First thing we see are two large trash cans. The new owner keeps two trash cans near the entrance to the property so he doesn’t have to haul them down every week like we did. I am immediately disappointed because I see the bank that I lovingly cared for over the years by planting ivy, pachysandra and vinca minor, is now covered in dead leaves and branches. What a shame. I had a multi-year goal of eventually covering the front bank of the seven acres of woodland that comprised our former property in neat ground cover instead of the former mixture of poison ivy and weeds. It is what it is. Bill and I would love to see our old house and the landscaping surrounding it but we dare not venture up the driveway. I don’t think the new owner would appreciate it. Judging from the way he has treated the front bank of the property, maybe it’s just as well we don’t see the house. It’s probably best that we remember it as it was. I’ve often thought of what happened to my wintering over goldfish in my three ponds. Some of those gold fish were 5 years old. So sad.

Stopping over at my Mom’s, I found she had almost fallen a few minutes before I got in the door. She doesn’t get around well. Christmas Eve she will be 85 years old, bless her heart. She lives with my divorced brother. I have a place for her in my house as does my other brother, who lives in South Carolina. We’ve been trying to talk her into moving to a safer environment but she doesn’t want to leave her home of 50 years. She also doesn’t want to leave her two cats, Molly and Rusty. I understand why she feels this way. She is comfortable in her own home. My brothers and I have to respect her wishes. We’re hoping she will come to realize soon that she will be safer living at my brother’s house in South Carolina, which has a handicapped accessible mother-in-law suite. We’re working on this.

During our visit, my Mom and my brother had just returned from Wegmans. They said it was a “madhouse.” Wegmans; that is the one thing I really miss about moving from Pennsylvania. If any of you readers have experienced a Wegmans, you know what I’m talking about. There are super markets and then there are Super Markets. That’s Wegmans. I know in year’s past, during the holiday the crowds were jammed in Wegmans. Bill and I decided not to go today to save time.

Instead I talked Bill into having lunch with me at the Brickside Grille. Bill would rather eat at the Chinese buffet at Wegmans (which is excellent but on a crowded day, the screaming kids are even too much for me.) Bill doesn’t like sit down restaurants. He says they’re too hoity toity. The restaurant I wanted to eat at is located in Eagleview, a planned community. No traffic highways outside the restaurant. It is located in the heart of the residential area of Eagleview. And, they serve the BEST chicken quesadillas ever. One touch they put in the filling which I love is the toasted pumpkin seed. Also, the fresh salsa served on top of the quesadilla pie slices are fresh and have just enough hotness to satisfy my palate. All this means nothing to Bill. He sits there with his baseball cap on, tolerating the whole situation just to please me. There weren’t many people in the restaurant on this Saturday afternoon. Maybe this was a reflection of the down economy. Even so, we were soon served and I wasn’t disappointed in my Chicken Quesadillas.

On the way back we stopped at the Northwood Cemetery. That’s were our plots are located. Bill had never seen his. I knew the general area but I couldn’t find the “T” granite marker in the ground. Finally, after about 20 minutes of searching I found it covered over with grass. I ditched the grass away with my foot and showed Bill the nice view he would have of the Downingtown valley. The “view” is a family joke. My Mother picked out her grave at the Hopewell Methodist Church Cemetery because of the “view.” Well, the view is now blocked by a row of white pine. The white pine was planted on the border of the Asbury Village development so those nice folks wouldn’t have to look at a cemetery from their back decks. I won’t have that problem with my view. Our plots are located on the side of a very steep hill overlooking Downingtown. Northwood is a very large cemetery and there are many graves between my lot and the road that runs by Northwood Cemetery, which is Rt. 113.

I took pictures of several headstones, recognizing many of the names from my childhood. I think it is so sad that all these people have gathered at this location. Nobody has to ask this gathering to be quiet. They are.

On the way back I stopped at the Hopewell Methodist Church Cemetery and took more pictures. I got just about all the pictures I need for my next posting to Find a Grave.com. That is another one of my new passions, taking pictures of headstones for this web site. For years I’ve been taking pictures of headstones, now I can share my largess with the masses.

Now it was time to head home. Already it was 2:00 and I had yet to visit my cousin and return her pictures. I was also to pick up a picture of her father taken when he graduated from college. We arrived at her place at 2:30 PM. Her niece was there. This was an unexpected treasure because I could gather information from her niece about her mother who died in 1929 (when she was 8 months old.) With Bill waiting in the car, I spent over an hour with the two ladies. During our visit I mentioned that I wondered what happened to that grand old picture of her Mother that was taken around the turn of the century, standing out in front of her house, with five of her small children, in the mountains of North Carolina. The niece told me that another aunt of hers had that picture. This was an unexpected jackpot! She said her aunt was only three miles away. So, out the door we go, with my tote back containing the picture of her father, a copy of his obituary and the guest book from his funeral. I was going to take these home with me and scan them into my computer. I follow her car to her 89 year old aunt’s home down the road. Her aunt was a delight. This was really a banner day for my genealogical research. Bill was out in the car growing impatient (he has no interest in my genealogical research) and it was getting cold. With the knowledge that darkness would arrive in about an hour, I cut my visit short.

The niece got in her car and back out to lead me back to the main road. However, when she backed out, she knocked over her aunt’s birdhouse which was on a pole. This was the first casualty of the day. I try to be so unobtrusive during the genealogical forays, but sometimes it’s hard not to leave damage in my wake. She got out and looked at the now downed birdhouse to confirm that indeed, she did knock it down. What was that bird house doing there anyway? I suspect it was placed at that location so the aunt could see it from her dining room window.

After some confusion (I took the wrong turn out of the driveway – to me left is right, and right is left), I followed the niece’s car out to the main road and thus on my way home. The overcast skies were growing darker by the moment as I entered Newark Delaware. Winding my way through Newark on 896, I exited on the other side, past the now closed Chrysler automotive plant (another casualty of global trade), light snow began to fall. By the time I got on Rt. 1 (which is a straight shot down to my home in Delaware, just off of Rt. 1), visibility was poor. The light snow was having the same effect as fog. My worst nightmare is driving at night in a fog. Many years ago, I brought my first car (1954 Mercury) home from Ft. Meade, Maryland. My brother, who was stationed at Ft. Myers, Virginia, drove the car (his MOS in the Army was as a driver, this was my first car and I didn’t have driving experience). The fog was so bad that Friday night I had to get out and put one hand on the hood (actually, on the unknown chrome plated wing goddess hood ornament) and lead the way through the heavy fog that enveloped Wilmington Delaware. That night is forever branded in my brain. Some experiences you never forget; the first time you learned how to tie your shoe laces and the first time you lead a 2 ton vehicle through fog so thick you could slice it. I felt like I was leading the Titantic through glacier clogged waterways. Now, whenever I drive at night in the fog, I am reminded of that experience. Last night was one of those experiences. An experience that is indelibly etched in my brain for life.

The ride home was Nightmare Alley. Bill is getting more and more nervous about my driving. I’m tired. I can’t see. I can’t judge distances. I’m wondering to myself, “How did I get myself into this predicament?” Finally, after two nerve wracking hours, I drive in my driveway. I get out of the car, stiff of limb. Going around to the back I unload what items I had brought back. Then I notice, I’m missing my tote bag! The tote bag that contained that grand old classic picture of my cousin’s father was missing! That picture was one of the main reasons I made the trip. All the rest were extras except the visit to my Mother. I go into the house and place a call to my cousin. Yes, she tells me that I did indeed leave my tote bag on her kitchen chair.

Ever have that feeling that you just went through the wringer for nothing? Well, that’s the way I felt. But do not dismay. I will turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse. I’m going up again the week after next. I’ll stay overnight at my Mom’s. This way I’ll have more than an hour with her. The next day I’ll take her to visit her sister who resides in the dementia unit at a care facility in Downingtown. She hasn’t seen her sister since I last took her there about two years ago. Her sister is 90 years old now. Her other sister lived to be just two months short of her 90th birthday when she died in 2006. I don’t have a lot of slack time when I’m dealing with my older relatives. Already I’ve missed out on several relatives who couldn’t wait for me. They departed before I departed to visit them.

Maybe during my next visit I’ll call one of my old school friends with whom I am still in touch and we’ll do lunch at the Brickside Grille. I have to stop all this rushing around and make my next visit a nice leisurely visit, enjoyable for all. Of course I’ll have another Chicken Quesadilla.

On my way back I’ll stop at my cousin’s place again and pick up that picture of her father, which seems to have a hex on it. It's almost as if I was fated not to have this picture. This time I travel alone, no external pressures. But I will travel home in the sunlight. No more night driving for this traveler. I’ll leave that to Batman and Robin.