Dirty Rotten Liberals!

I lament the loss of perfectly good words, but the truth is that language evolves. The word liberal has ancient Latin and Greek roots and has changed meanings more than once. In the 12th century it referred to noble, gracious, munificent, and generous but by the 15th century there was also a connotation of free, unrestrained, unimpeded, libertine or licentious. Through the 16th and 17th centuries it was used to describe someone free from restraint in speech or action and was a word of reproach. By around 1776 the word was revived in a positive sense during the Enlightenment taking on the meaning of one free of prejudice and tolerant.

Today the word can be a noun or an adjective and has retained the more positive aspects it came to represent during the Enlightenment. Tolerant, broad-minded, generous, favoring reform and progress, not bound by tradition. It can also mean big or large as in a liberal helping of dessert, or someone who was liberal (generous) in their donation to charity. If you're from southwestern Kansas Liberal could be the name of the town where you live. If you are a Tea Party Congressman it's a handy expletive for everything that's gone wrong with the country.

A while back Galanty Miller posted a humor column at the Huffington Post describing a long list of differences between conservatives and liberals. Some of them were pretty funny. Funny enough that I'll risk using a few of them without his express written permission.

Liberals are concerned about economic inequality. Conservatives are confident that one day they will be rich.
Conservatives don't want to hear liberal Hollywood celebrities talk about politics. Liberals also don't want to hear liberal Hollywood celebrities talk about politics.

Liberals support good teachers. Conservatives support eliminating bad teachers.

Conservatives support free speech. Liberals support free speech unless it's politically incorrect.

Liberals love having sex. Conservatives hate when other people have sex.

Conservatives support issues that help their families. Liberals support issues that help families.

Liberals are full of crap because they don't really believe what they say. Conservatives are full of crap because they truly believe what they say.

I suppose this is a good time to bring up the purpose of this edition. I have finally been able to admit it, it took a while, but I'm coming out, Yes, I'm a liberal. I'm not sure how long I've been a liberal, maybe longer than I know. I started out voting for Republicans. I guess it was sort of expected of me.  For more than 30 years I was pretty faithful to the GOP. I was raised in a middle class family, my parents were Republicans, my grandparents were Republicans. I was a police officer, a profession where most of my colleagues were Republicans...even those few who always supported the local Democrats were conservative. I first thought of myself as "moderate". I really didn't want to be called a liberal. Geez, after all a liberal is practically a communist.

But a funny thing happened...the Republican Party moved to the right. I shuffled along with them for a while but by the time George W. Bush came along I felt pretty out of place and by the end of his first term I knew. I was a liberal. Holy Crap! A dirty, rotten liberal. Me? What would my family think? It took me a while to become comfortable wearing that label. So why am I now happy to say I'm a Liberal?
I think I have both specific policy reasons and general philosophic reasons for my political views and I think it's a good idea to be able to state what those are...if you can't then you shouldn't be voting.

1. I believe in science.
2. I believe corporations are businesses, not people.
3. I believe our sexual orientation is something we are born with, not something we choose.
4. I believe in global warming and that humans have had a hand in it (see number one above)
5. I believe women deserve equal rights and equal pay.
6. I don't believe 47% of Americans are looking for a government handout.
7. I don't believe God uses weather to punish sin. (see number one again)
8. I don't believe we are "entitled" to social security and Medicare, we paid for these programs.
9. I believe demand creates jobs, not tax cuts.
10. I believe our constitution doesn't only protect the rights I agree with...sometimes it also protects the rights       I don't agree with.
11. I believe we should protect the weakest among us, not the richest.
12. I believe we should put people before profits.
13. I'm a liberal because I believe in a Constitution that is meant to evolve, grow, and progress.
14. I believe in a free market, with rules.

Speaking of Social security here are what a lot of Republicans in Congress were saying while FDR was trying to get it passed.

“Never in the history of the world has any measure been so insidiously designed as to prevent business recovery, to enslave workers, and to prevent any possibility of the employers providing work for the people.”
“…Invites the entrance into the political field of a power so vast, so powerful as…to pull the pillars of the temple down upon the head of our descendants.”
“…Sooner or later will bring the abandonment of private capitalism.”

Of course none of those things happened but it's always the same story from those who most loudly belittle liberal ideas and fight any and all progressive change...."it will ruin the country", "the sky is falling", "death panels", "squawk, squawk, squawk!"

Even with all the name calling between the right and the left in America today,  it remains clear that all of us really want the same things for our family, for ourselves, and for our country.  What we can't agree on is the best way to get there, nor can we agree even on how we got here.   While my own political beliefs would seem to have sprung from some very conservative ground I can point to at least one ancestor who would, by all known standards, have been thought of as radically liberal in his day.  So radical that he and his brother might have gone to jail had the full nature of their activities been known.

Mom's Purse

Did you ever notice how you can sometimes get a whiff of something in the air and right away it reminds you of something or someone, or someplace?  A lot of my childhood memories seem to be tied to my olfactory senses.    Usually when I have one of those olfactory moments it's quick and intense with a vision flashing through my head and then quickly fading again.  Memories of visiting my grandmother's home, how her kitchen smelled in the winter as she was cooking grandpa's breakfast or making herself a cup of tea.  Visions of my dad shaving in front of the bathroom mirror which he always finished with a splash of Old Spice, or memories of my mother taking a tissue from her purse, spitting on it and wiping dirt off my face.

Mom's purse had a unique odor which I can't describe.  I suppose it was a mix of make up, lipstick, those used tissues, a pack of wintergreen chewing gum and lord knows what else.  Even though I can't put the scent into words, I'd know it if I ever smelled it again...and I have a few times.   I think the inside of her purse was a lot like my grandma's, but my grandma's always had a sort of overriding aroma of peppermint from the roll of Tums she usually had in it.    Mostly, the contents of a woman's purse remain a mystery to me...even after 66 years of life and 45 years of marriage.

Having your face wiped with a spitty Kleenex sounds pretty gross, and I suppose it is (and was), but at the time it was just something my sisters and I endured.  Most often that impromptu clean up  happened in the car.  Hmmm?  I wonder if that is where the phrase "spit bath" originated?

The vision of mom reaching over the top of the front seat in the car and making last minute corrections to our hair  or making sure our faces were clear of any "spots" was just something that happened...it wasn't a surprise, it was expected and had we objected there wasn't any way to get away from her anyhow.  For such a short woman she seemed to have an infinitely long arms when it came to reaching into the back seat, whether she were reaching back to tidy us up before we got out, or needed to swat one of us.

When I learned to talk my grandmother Robinson was Meme to me and she retained that title through all of the following 23 grandkids.   Meme's house was special and always full of smells and those odors still bring back memories of being there.  There was a winter smell, and a summer smell...they were similar, but not quite the same.  Meme didn't need scented candles that smell like baked cookies, or fruit...she got the effect naturally.  Baking cookies and making jam.   Besides all the good food aromas that went through the house there was something else, not sure what....maybe just a "lived in" smell.

Winter was something different.  There were still all those food smells but the old oil furnace in the basement added a sort of earthy undertone.  When I was still a small child there was one big heat register in the floor that sent warm air up into the living room, where it spread out from there.   It was nice to lay on the floor next to that big register in the floor and soak up some heat on a cold day.   Sometime later they had a blower attached to the furnace and some ducts put in and closed off that giant register...maybe they put in a new furnace, I'm not really sure.  For humidity in the winter Meme set an ice cube tray full of water in front of a couple of the registers and refilled regularly.   They had really hard water so the trays were always covered with heavy lime deposits after a few weeks of use.

You were often engulfed in the aroma of frying bacon waking up in the morning at Meme's.  Toast was always a breakfast staple at their house...toast with butter and some of her jam...and those jams were always a sort of mystery...she used fruit that was available and often combined them. Things like Strawberry-rhubarb,  or Mulberry and rhubarb.  It was at Meme's house that I first tasted sassafras tea and it was made from roots she dug herself under a small sassafras tree that grew in a fence row south of the house. A small spade and an old butcher knife was all she needed.  I suppose I could still walk to the spot where that little tree grew, but sadly, that fence row is long gone.  In fact most fence rows in the Midwest are gone, victims of industrialized farming. Fence rows use space that is more valuable for crops, and removing them makes use of giant equipment easier.

My grand kids won't even understand the concept of a fence row or realize what has been lost.  Fence rows contained such a variety of wild plants... wild grapes, the occasional tree, grass of course, milkweed and other wild flowers of every variety, poison ivy and they sheltered lots of wildlife of the smaller variety.  Rabbits, quail, pheasants, song birds, field mice.  In the winter they caught the blowing snow which piled into great drifts along the fence rows.    There were a lot of fence rows then,  an 80 acre plot might have been broken down in as many as 3, 4, or even 5 separate fields, some connected by small grass covered lanes...today that same 80 acre plot is often combined with another 80 acre plot to make one large field with no fence rows to be seen anywhere around.

 



 

I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy!

Today is July 3rd and the 59th birthday of my cousin, Jeff Robinson.  I've got more than 30 first cousins and his is the only one I usually remember.   That's because his mom, my Aunt Jo, started having parties for him when he was about 3 and always invited all the cousins.  He was 6 years younger than me but his brother was closer to my age and as cousins go he and I were probably closer during childhood than any of the other cousins.  Being the oldest cousin on that side of the family had a certain amount of "cousin prestige", but on the other hand there were a lot of younger kids and thus fewer that I wanted to play with.     The parties were memorable.  Weather permitting we always had a cookout and it was always hot dogs and then she usually took us to the pool at Columbian Park in Lafayette.  What a great pool that was.  His birthday was sort of the opening act of our Independence Day celebrations, at least for us kids.  Happy Birthday Jeff.  

Since my dad and his brothers farmed together they didn't necessarily get a "day off".  There are not really any "holidays" on the farm. The work gets done when it needs to be done, regardless of the day.    However I do remember the first time and place I ever saw fireworks on the 4th of July and that was in the front pasture in front of my grandparent's home.   Uncle Kean had been somewhere out of state and brought a carload of big rockets back home.  In those days fireworks were not legal to be sold in Indiana but you could get them in Tennessee and Missouri and possibly some other nearby states.

A bunch of us cousins were set down on blankets in the front yard and waited anxiously for the show to begin and of course we were forbidden to leave the yard, or even get too close to the fence that divided the yard and front pasture.  I've seen lots of fireworks shows since then, and most of them were much more elaborate and consisted of many more shells, but I don't suppose any matched the anticipation and excitement of those 4th's in my grandparent's front yard. It was dark enough to set off the fireworks when the lightning bugs could be seen.   I don't remember how many years we had those shows...I don't think it was very many.   We lived about 12 miles north of Lafayette, the nearest town that always had big fireworks displays.  Monticello and Wolcott also have a long history of fireworks shows but we couldn't see them from our house...but the ones in Lafayette we could see from our house.  Not well, and we often climbed up on the barn roof for a better view, but we could see the larger bursts.  Sometimes dad loaded us all in the car and drove somewhere where we could get a better view...not close, but better than from 12 miles away.

The most memorable fireworks show I've seen as an adult was the one we took our three kids to on the Mall in Washington DC.  We sat on the grass not far from the Washington Monument which put us pretty close to the action, although we were too far from any of the music venues to enjoy that part of the program. It's hard to forget the experience, especially the experience of exiting the Mall with about a million other people after the show.

Here in Lafayette we have a good fireworks show at least a couple of times a year.  On the 4th, and usually at least one of the downtown festivals ends with fireworks.  My most enjoyable local shows have always been the Lafayette Symphony program when they held the 4th of July concert on Slater Hill at Purdue.  Their final number was always the 1812 Overture featuring real canon fire and ended with the Fireworks.  That one always made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

 

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back!

Well, I confirmed and relearned the lesson that posting anything on Facebook other than some bland comment about the weather, or the cute thing your grandchild or your cat did or where you ate dinner, is likely to cause a shit-storm. So....the mistake I made was a comment about my favorite line from a news event over the past week and my thoughts on it.

Probably a good thing I didn't bring up what I thought of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia's dissents in two different cases this past week in which the liberal wing of the court won out over the conservative wing.

Had Justice Scalia simply stated his legal reasoning for his dissent it wouldn't have caught my attention but Justice  Scalia went far beyond a simple dissent opinion, slamming the majority with zingers that bordered on personal attacks.   There are few Supreme court cases that end with unanimous decisions...there is almost always a majority opinion and and minority opinion...but what we usually get, or what we have historically gotten and what we should always hope to get from both sides is some semblance of respect and decorum.  Scalia's unhinged attacks on his colleagues smack of partisan politics, not judicious reasoning.

I take special exception to these words from his dissent and I'm calling him out as a common hypocrite.   "A system of government that makes the People subordinate to a committee of nine unelected lawyers does not deserve to be called a democracy."      Scalia seems to have no such opinion when his views fall within the majority opinion on a case.  Just to make this clear, I am not being critical of the fact that Justice Scalia had a different opinion than the majority of the justices but for the tone of his dissent and the blatant hypocrisy slamming our system because it didn't go his way.

I suppose I should cut the man a break...he lost two big ones this past week and he will never leave us in doubt about what his views might be. There is that much.

What got me into Facebook trouble specifically was quoting the following from Jim Wright's blog concerning the broughaha over the Confederate Battle flag.   "The Confederate Battle Flag, that stinking banner of treasonous bigotry".  I followed the quote with a statement that I thought that at the very least that those who fought under it were prime examples of the definition of treason as described in the U. S. Constitution.   There isn't really a lot of argument about the definition of the word treason....although it does get thrown around a lot these days at politicians and others for actions that really don't fit the definition of the crime.

Most definitions of "treason" include the following, "the betrayal of one's own country by waging war against it."     I'm just not really sure how you could argue that the officials and armies of the Confederate States of America were not guilty of treason.

I might as well have hit a hornets nest with a stick...   and yet not a single respondent to my post actually addressed the treason part of the post....first I was informed that both sides thought they were right, which is true....but is it any less Treason because they thought they were "right"?    Then I was reminded that our Founding fathers were also guilty of Treason....which again is true, but again doesn't address the issue of the flag being a symbol of treason,  then I was told the use of the word treason in talking about the Civil War is just semantics....and of course then they bring "states rights" into the discussion and finally I was instructed that the flag everyone is yelling about was not the flag of the CSA but was a military battle flag  ( I thought I had made that clear when I called it the Confederate Battle Flag)  and that just because one idiot waves it around doesn't mean everyone should go crazy over it....and now I'm feeling just sort of swamped....and then it was pointed out that if you wanted to talk about evil people in history "what about Columbus",  The news media won't let it go, etc, etc, etc.  I did agree that the media has way too much air time on their hands and as a result they do tend of obsess on some topics just to fill air time.  In fact I even used the term broughaha in my opening statement to indicate I thought the story was getting more attention than it probably deserves....but that was overlooked.    I decided it was best to just let the whole thread die of natural causes because it was clear I wasn't going to get any clear headed discussion on my initial, narrow comment linking that flag and the word "treason".      

Obviously the Confederate Battle flag is a symbol that represents a lot of different things to a lot of different people... some see it as a symbol of oppression and racial bigotry, some see it as a symbol of Southern pride and tradition and don't associate it with the negative qualities seen by others.  I think a lot of those views were influenced by where you were raised, where you went to school, and who your ancestors were.  I was born and raised in the Midwest, far above the Mason-Dixon line, my ancestors were almost all Yankees...My view of the Civil War were directly influenced by my ancestors who enlisted in the Union Army and went south to keep the Union together and to end slavery, but mainly they joined up because their government called them to do so.   The Blue were the good guys, the Gray were the bad guys.  That's just how I learned history.  Of course the truth is much more complex than that and not nearly so clear cut and of course history is always written by the winners.   Certainly none of us should be held responsible for the sins of our forefathers, but I think we do need to be honest with ourselves and admit that our ancestors were sometimes guilty of some pretty terrible examples of human behavior, i.e., Christopher Columbus and the entire sad history of how Native Americans have been treated since Europeans set foot in North and South America.

Certainly the men pictured below would have had no difficulty in associating the Confederate Battle Flag and the word treason.  I rest my case.

Robert Shearer

Benjamin Rush Moffitt

John Klepinger

John D. Robinson

Jesse W. Robinson

George Carter

Rev. John Robinson

I've got dibs on Flag Day

June 14th is Flag Day and has now come and gone.     One of our lesser known "holidays".  Probably lesser known because no one gets a long weekend, but it's one that has always been special for me.  Originally it was a "holiday" in our family because it was my Grandpa Robinson's birthday.  Clarence G. Robinson was born June 14, 1895 and as I was growing up it was often the day of a big family gathering and cook-out.   My father had 5 siblings so those were usually pretty big affairs by the time you added all the spouses and the twenty-five grandchildren....then we started getting spouses of grandchildren attending....and before Clarence died in 1981 there were several great grandchildren in the mix.   Sometimes some of grandpa's sisters attended too.  Big shaded lawns out in the country, lots of food, home made ice cream, and of course, fresh picked strawberries would be just coming into season. Remember when our fruits and vegetables were always "seasonal"?   Dad's birthday was June 6th and he always wanted fresh strawberries on his birthday too.  That was before the hard tasteless things that pass for strawberries we get today in the produce section. That brings up another question I've had for a long time...how have they managed to get strawberries to turn so bright red on the outside, while remaining white and hard on the inside?

These birthday parties were always carry-in affairs and each of my aunts usually brought what was their "specialty".  Mother's usual was a fruit salad, I think it was called Heavenly Hash.  It had several kinds of fruit, mini marshmallows, whipped cream, and she always put it in the same covered dish...an insulated aluminum dish with penguins embossed all around the side.  I think one of my daughters has that dish now.

My oldest granddaughter reminded me today that June 14th is also the birthday of the US Army and that brings me to yet another family connection I have with Flag Day and something that I think gives our family some minor "bragging rights".

On Saturday night, September 10, 1814 the British fleet sailed about 30 ships up the Patapsco river toward Baltimore.  Consisting of ships of the line, heavy frigates, and bomb vessels.  Fort McHenry stood between the fleet and the city.  Lt. Col George Armistead was the commander of the fort and a small handful of defenders.   Several units of local militia joined Armistead's men at the fort including 100 men belonging to the first Regiment of Maryland Artillery commanded by Captain John Berry.   My third great grandfather, then a resident of Baltimore, John K. Sumwalt, was a member of of that unit.

Armistead placed Berry's artillery unit along with others along the lower works facing the water and in front of them infantry units were placed to meet the enemy upon their landing.  However, the British ships remained several miles off shore.   All in all around 1000 men defended the fort. On Monday the British attempted to land troops about 10 miles south of the fort and during that day and into the following night the British commander had moved about 16 ships, including 5 bomb boats to within about 2 miles of the fort.  About sunrise on Tuesday the British commenced their bombardment of the fort. Finding the distance where their shells reached the fort they anchored and kept the Americans under an incessant and well directed bombardment.  The Americans opened their batteries and fired back but their shells all fell far short of the enemy.  The British continued to throw shells at the fort with only slight intermissions till one o'clock Wednesday morning.  At that time the British attempted a landing to the right of Fort McHenry but that was repulsed....the British discontinued the bombardment at about 7 o'clock Wednesday morning, turned their fleet around and left.  Baltimore was saved from a fate similar to the burning of Washington DC.

The British bombardment had lasted 25 hours and from 1500 to 1800 shells were thrown at the fort.  About 400 of those shells fell within the fort and a large number had exploded above the fort, raining shell fragments down on the defenders.  Four defenders were killed and 24 were wounded.

If this story sounds familiar (and it should) it is due to a Washington lawyer to had met with the British commander aboard the British ship in order to negotiate the release of a prisoner of war.  The young lawyer watched the entire event unfold and wrote a song to commemorate what he had witnessed. The young witness was, of course, Francis Scott Key and his little "poem" or song became our national anthem. Against what appeared to be overpowering odds the defenders of Baltimore refused to yield and I think in a very real way that sums up the American Spirit.

John K Sumwalt, along with his parents and all but one of his siblings left Maryland for the promise of cheap new land on the Indiana frontier about 5 years after he had helped to defend Baltimore.

I don't fly my flag all the time, but on special occasions such as Memorial Day, Flag Day, Independence Day and Veterans day I always try to get it raised.   I actually prefer not to keep it raised every day because it seems more special by reserving it for those few days.  On Flag Day when I raise my flag I think of John K Sumwalt and others in my family who have defended that flag through our history and of course I remember by own Grandpa.    

   

Family

FAMILY

I just finished a book this week which reminded me why, I think, learning about our family history is important or at least what drives those of us who do it.  Written by Ian Frazier it is called FAMILY and I recommend it if you are interested in family history, or even about history in general.  It is what I'd describe as an unconventional Family History Book.  It certainly wasn't what I expected.  Unlike those more conventional works that consist of tree charts and family charts and dry facts about ancestors laid out in some sort of strange numerical order.   This book was really just a series of stories covering several individuals and generations of Frazier's family.   The thing about this style of writing a family history is that I found the stories interesting, even though none of the people were related to me and even the locations were different from those where my own ancestors had lived.   Frazier brought the "history" right up to the current time. He talked about his own parents and siblings, the death of his brother at a young age, and his own life.  He's just about 2 years younger than I am so I found much of his  story vaguely familiar.  

Near the end of the book he talked about the deaths of his parents and made what I thought was a profound statement about life.  It put into words something I had felt but couldn't really describe well and I think it has a lot to do with the reasons recording my own family history has been important for me. 

Describing his feelings after his mother died and what he thought his future held he said; "And unknown things would happen, and sooner or later I would die, too - I understood that now, clearly, the way you suddenly become aware of the sky and the diving board after the person in front of you has jumped - and my kids perhaps would see me off as I had seen my parents off, or perhaps not.  And soon all the people who had accompanied me through life would be gone, too, and then even the people who had known us, and no one would remain on earth who had ever seen us, and those who descended from us perhaps would know stories about us, perhaps once in a while they would pass by a building where we had lived and they would mention that we had lived there.  And then the stories would fade, and our graves would go untended, and the graves of those who had tended ours would go untended, and no one would guess what it had been like to wake before dawn in our breath warmed bedrooms as the radiators clanked and our wives, husbands and children slept.  And we would move from the nearer regions of the dead who are remembered into the farther regions of the forgotten, and on past those, into a space as white and big as the sky.... and all that would remain would be the love bravely expressed and the moment when you danced and your heart danced with you."  

 His description of the moment when the brevity of life finally comes into sharp focus struck me as quite profound.   Of course we know, from an early age, that we will all die.  I think what we do is that in much of our early life that thought is something we keep very far back in the dark corners of our minds, it's much easier to rationalize "well it will be a long tme from now",  but eventually it dawns on all of us just what that means.   The big picture eventually comes into focus for all of us with the realization that we are  a small part of a much bigger picture.  

We tell ourselves that our efforts to document our family history and to tell those stories is something we do for our children and grandchildren and their grandchildren, but maybe it's also for a more selfish reason...we want to be remembered.  Most of us who live an average life span will, during that life span, probably have intimate contact with at least 5 different generations.... our grandparents, parents, siblings, children and grandchildren. Some of us might even stretch that out a a generation or two more than that.  I had two great grandmothers that I remember and last fall I got to meet my first great grandchild.  

The Revolutionary War seems distant today...but when thought of in terms of family it can seem much closer.  My great grandfather Robinson sat on the knee of his grandmother Robinson and her cradle was rocked by her father, Isaac Davisson, a veteran of that war.  Within the scope of family generations an event that seems so very long ago is just ever so slightly beyond the people I've personally  known and that's an amazing thought. There were still a few Civil War Veterans living when my own father went off to fight in World War II.     Odds are that some of my grandchildren will live to see the next new century and certainly their children will.  I want to give them some perspective on life and history and I want them to understand from whence they came and something about those that came before them, and of course that includes me.

What I think I've learned.

On Being Retired: 

 I have not studied the subject of retirement and don't have a real clue to how psychologists and sociologist would describe this phase of life. Nevertheless I think I'm beginning to understand that as persons enter this phase of life and as we progress through it there are several distinct "phases" that we pass through.   I've experienced at least four of them since I retired in January 2008.    

First there is great fear.  How will I survive without a steady income that arrives in precise amounts and in regular intervals?  Have I saved enough?  Have I planned well enough?  Will I miss working, will my wife be able to stand having me around all the time?  Who will take over my job, will they do better at it than I did?  Will I be missed?  What will I do with all that extra time? Those questions and fears will sound familiar to those of you who have already retired.  For those of you who have not yet reached this milestone I can guarantee you too will have doubts and fears about leaving the workforce.  

After the first few months have passed without our having suffered the eminent  financial ruin we had feared a new phase will set in.  That is a feeling of almost complete freedom, it grows on us slowly.    No more deadlines, no more disagreeable co-workers, the clock slowly ceases to rule our lives.   Get up late, go to bed late....it really doesn't matter because the time is now ours to do with as we wish.   A strange thing begins to happen.   That worry about how we would spend all that extra time seems to have been a misplaced worry.  There is plenty to do, in fact there is perhaps not enough time to do everything we'd like to do.   Because time had always been at a premium before retirement we find ourselves making extravagant use of our new found time.  A vacation doesn't have to be a week or two...it can be a month.  It could even be all winter.  Feel sleepy after lunch....nap....because you can.  

The third phase takes some time before it comes to a head, but it will, it always does.   Even as we relish our freedom from the clock we fall into a sort of self made routine.  Before we know it we find ourselves just sort of drifting along.  The excitement we felt as we discovered our freedom from living by someone else's clock begins to fade.  It's easy to become rudderless, purposeless.  What I realized was that I was missing structure and purpose and that moved me into the next phase.   

Finding purpose is perhaps easier than finding structure, at least it was for me. Both  came with my career, they came with that hated alarm clock, a calendar, goals, expectations, duty, and providing service to others.   So how do I get those things back, especially how to I give myself some structure.  For a while I had been drifting along, not that drifting is always bad...it's mostly stress free, but as I've always read, even stress isn't all bad.  It motivates if nothing else.  So, what's next?   What I discovered was that a simple volunteer job could provide the structure I had been missing.  

It would have to be something I enjoyed, something that I liked well enough that I'd happily do it without any pay.    When I was a boy one of my favorite things to do was to listen to my grandma talk about "the old days".   From her I learned to appreciate my family history and to understand how it all fit together and how "history" is really nothing more than a bunch of little stories from a lot of people all mashed together.  I've been the family historian in my family for more than 40 years now.  Collecting dead people and their stories.   The biggest family heirloom I ever collected was the house built by my great great great grandparents.  It's where we raised our children through elementary school into high school.  My interest in history and family history has not wavered so any volunteer work that involved history would be right up my alley. 

I have been making fairly frequent (several times a year) trips to our local genealogical library housed at the Archives of the Tippecanoe County Historical Association.   They kept asking if I wouldn't come in and help them with some projects.    I finally took them up on their offer last December and have been volunteering three afternoons a week since then (vacations excluded).  It's been a great fit.  I'm involved with a project that might not be finished in my lifetime but it's one that is important, and it's one that has had the side benefit of uncovering some interesting "facts" involving my own family along the way.   

In the mid 1980's Tippecanoe County was running out of office space in the courthouse.  To make more office space they decided to turn the attic into offices.   That required them to dispose of many of the oldest county records that had been moved into the attic over the years.  Covered with coal dust and over a hundred years worth of grime many of the documents had been simply dumped into piles or boxed randomly.   Much of the material was given to the Tippecanoe County Historical Association for preservation.   Something over 200 file boxes had been filled and brought to TCHA along with dozens of ledger books and other items.  

Initially some of the boxes containing what appeared to be the oldest records were sorted out by topic but that process lagged as TCHA ran short of money to pay staff.   Things had been more or less rough sorted and shelved in the basement but none of it was of any real use to researchers.  First step is to clean the material  which had not already been cleaned in 1985.  The next step is for me counter intuitive, but the standards of Archival preservation call for the material to be first arranged in the order and manner in which it was created and originally filed .  Tippecanoe County officials had originally filed paperwork into numbered boxes.  If the county purchased ink and paper the bills were presented and then paid...and that paperwork was filed in a box.  The box numbers were written on every item that was filed.   Because all the material that was brought from the Courthouse attic had been badly shuffled our file boxes might contain items from several "original" boxes...things from 1830 were mixed with items from 1880.    

What I have been working on is sorting the diverse items from the file boxes in which they arrived into their original county box number order.  It sounds boring...but I've also found some really interesting items because I'm looking at each item which allows me to determine if it is something special or something very routine.   The project will eventually result in an index system that should allow family or historical researchers a way to access items by subject and or by name but at the very least by date.   There are around a half dozen volunteers working on this long term project.  We all hope that in the end we will have created a useful collection of material.  Ah...I've got some purpose and direction again and that feels good.