Before the days of manpurses, men carried hunks of leather which encased identification cards, family photos and whatnot, giving men backaches when they sat too long with the leather hump pushing up one side of their rumps.
Here are some of the miscellaneous items in two wallets found in my father’s computer desk — my father’s wallet and my grandfather’s (Dad’s father’s) wallet — a snapshot of history (you can decide which set(s) of images belonged to which wallet):
From computer archives, 9th June 2010
Grandma remembers:
When you were seven, and in second grade (best I recall), I had picked you up at school and brought you to our house. I had picked up Maggie earlier from Kindergarten. You and Maggie were watching TV. You said you wanted to talk with me, so we went out in the yard and sat under a tree.
You said everyone you knew (you mentioned names) had a Game Boy, and you did not. You said if I’d loan you the money to buy one, you’d pay me back out of your allowance. After we discussed it, I said I’d think about it.
Your plea really got to me. Softy that I was, I talked with Grandpa, and we decided to buy one for you. The next day I bought it and presented it to you.
You always did enjoy it.
Another remembrance: This time from you Kindergarten year:
You and Maggie were at our house after school. I was digging in a flower bed. You saw an earthworm with which you were fascinated. I got you a small shovel and you then relentlessly dug up flower beds and other places in the yard looking for earthworms.
Grandma and Grandpa remember:
Once, you, Maggie and your Mom accompanied us to Holden Beach, NC. We stayed in a duplex 3 story home with a roof-top sun deck, just a short walk from the beach. The second day there, you broke out in Chicken Pox. The doctor recommended that you not play near other children. That didn’t work out. You and others all played together in the sand.
Later that week we learned of an expected turtle hatching on the beach that evening. We walked there. Turtle hatching volunteers showed you how to lead a hatchling to the ocean using a small red lens flashlight…. And you DID; you led one to the sea !
What a memorable experience for all of us !
Grandma remembers :
When I was six years old, my parents took my brothers Ralph and Gordon and I to the beach in Charleston, S.C. We stayed in an ocean front cottage. On the morning we were to depart, we convinced our parents to let us go in the ocean one more time. They did not know that the sea salt would remain on our bodies after the ocean water evaporated. Therefore, we did not shower before dressing for the trip. We rode the whole 400 miles home itching all the way (and no A/C in cars then ! ).
Grandpa reminisces:
In the summer of 1942, my Mother, her parents and I rode the train from Knoxville, TN to Jacksonville, FL to visit with her sailor brother Ralph who was in training at the US Naval Air Station there. As we walked together down the street, Uncle Ralph asked : “Do you want to see me salute the officer who is coming our way?” Someone said, “No”, so we crossed to the other side of the street before the officer got close to us. While this may seem a trivial incident to many, it obviously remains in my memory. My interest in matters military began with the beginning of WWII, and remains to this day.
Later in our FL stay, we traveled to Jacksonville Beach. That day there were fragments of oil/tar on the sand. Some stuck to my swim trunks and remained there through many washings. The oil was said to have come from US ships torpedoed just off-shore by Nazi German submarines. Subsequent research has not confirmed such incidents occurred at the time of our beach visit. Nonetheless, it is a poignant memory for me.
A related note: All of my male relatives of that era served in WWII. My second cousin, Earl Waters of the US Navy, was KIA. Two others were wounded in action: my second cousin, US Army Infantry 1st Lt. Elmore Godfrey, in battle in Germany, and my great uncle, U S Navy Seabees MM1/C Harry Hicks, as he waded ashore on Guadalcanal ahead of the US Marines.
My dad served in the US Navy 1929-1958. He served in all three major theatres of war in WWII, including three battles: Leyte and Lingayen Gulf, Philippines, and Okinawa, Japan. In the Korean Era, he served in the battles of Inchon and Wonsan in Korea. This was followed by the Suez crisis, 1956 and the Lebanon Crisis, 1958, and his retirement. The latter was a classified mission.
I never expected this moment, life after my father died, to appear within what seems like minutes past the last one, life after my wife’s mother died.
I have faced numerous roles I never imagined taking when I was a child.
I…well, that’s the problem right now — this concept of a self dominant in one’s thoughts.
I, me, my, mine.
Life is here in words because of this set of states of energy but it is not solely about the set (a/k/a me).
True, the genetic code set that contributed to the zygote which split into specialised cells that, 50 years later, became the creature which creates these sentences strung together, died recently.
That…which. Which…that.
Social networks and memes stepped into the picture, too.
Influenced 17-year cicada cycles, helped spread their broods, changed their egg-laying territories.
Contributed to the concept of lawnmowing services.
Set the stage for multistage rockets to blast into space.
Turned children into industrial engineers.
Widened a path for the book Quality-Inspired Management to appear in the Amazon (website, not jungle).
Ended in happiness, not tragedy, inspiring us to populate the solar system plentifully.
Sooner, rather than later.
Making political movements, business deals and sports scores feel faint before one day, let alone 1000 years, passed.
Time for the storyline to continue, people and organisations to thank.
A life stopped but its influence lives.
The second crop waiting to be harvested…
TO: William Alden Lee
Commander, USN (Ret)
22 May 2012
Dear Mr. Lee,
I know my mother will want to continue correspondence with you but today she is concentrating on a few basic items that Dad will no longer be able to handle for her.
You see, yesterday we buried my father, Richard Lee Hill, with full military and Masonic rites.
As you know, Dad’s health was deteriorating rapidly from a motor neuron degenerative condition which doctors surmise was probably ALS (or Lou Gehrig’s disease), and seemed to start in Dad’s throat area, thus called “bulbar option.”
Dad had been unable to talk for the past couple of months. His last clear words were “Herr Hügel” in response to whether he knew his name.
As Dad’s condition worsened, there seemed to be a dementia component to his struggles.
However, throughout Dad’s decline, he remained stoic, never complaining about pain unless the doctors or nurses persisted in their questioning.
Dad died on the 18th of May at the Mountain Home VA Medical Center, with his grandson by his side. Dad had spent the last two weeks of his life in the ICU at the VA. We can give you more details if you’re interested — however, as you know, Dad was never one to dwell on his health.
We are thankful for his friendship with you, which he enjoyed, and personally I have enjoyed the German memorabilia you have forwarded on to him recently, which he shared with me, including a photo of you performing in the 4th Division Infantry band.
We keep you in our prayers and thoughts as you face your own medical challenges. You’ll be happy to know that the doctors and nurses at the VA consider you, Dad, and your colleagues to be the last generation of military personnel that faces medical issues without whining or complaining, taking the challenges and meeting them head on rather than blaming others for less-than-perfect health.
Please let Barbara and the kids know about Richard’s death.
Regards,
Rick Hill
…and we’re not talking about Preparation H, this time, little brigadiers:
All in a military planner’s dream, about Brigadoon, perhaps?
[and it’s not getting me any closer to solar system population spread, is it?]
Another image from the paternal archives…
And for those special blog readers (you know who you are), a bonus, including images from my mother’s fashionable hair days…
Miscellaneous images from my father’s desk drawer:
Note: Dad served in the U.S. Army in West Germany during the mid-1950s.
While an Arby’s Junior dissolves with curly fries in my stomach, topped with a Reese’s bunny-shaped peanut butter flavoured bar, NASCAR drivers prepare for their usual weekend gig and Brazil nuts grow in the jungle.
A friend asked me why we no longer debate the [de]merits of having a chief executive in the White House with no military experience.
Good question.
We spend many a minute examining the minutiae of business experiences of major political candidates, including the incumbent, but we fail to notice their lack of actual, on-the-ground, basic-training, in-the-bunker or sweating-in-the-field-tent combat training.
Because I live in a town that generates a lot of local tax revenue from government-based military operations, my perspective might be different from that of a city dweller where large chunks of the economy come from the financial sector, tourism, creative arts or academia.
Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in the dual-use aspect of government spinoffs, including rocket technology and outer space life support systems, that I forget other industries prop up our modern standards of living, too.
What about the global economy in general? It would be easy for me to get lost in reports about our hyperconnected world but I’m interested in more than that, as you know.
The global military budget is about 2% of world economic production. Now, ask yourself, do you spend more or less than two percent of your household budget (post-tax take home pay, that is) to protect yourself, your loved ones and your possessions from the desire by others to possess what you have?
Think about these examples: the locks on your doors and windows; home security system; computer antivirus software; gates, fences and other property barriers; insecticides and herbicides; curtains/drapes; wall/ceiling/floor insulation; enclosed heating/cooling system; paper shredder; file cabinet/safe; personal weaponry (guns, knives, etc.); apartment/flat doorman.
What about the knowledge that your neighbours having some of the things above, that you don’t, acts as an implied deterrent for you?
Today, my family received the great news that my father, who served in the U.S. Army, and was recently diagnosed with ALS bulbar option, will be able to spend time in a temporary skilled nursing facility at the nearby VA medical center to aid in his rehab and preparation for longterm care.
History says we are involved in fewer and smaller wars as the years progress in this current cycle of globally-connected subcultures (a/k/a the one-world civilisation/order).
Despite our growing civility toward one another, old thought patterns prevail, meaning there is still a need for protective services of one sort or another and, in the longterm, medical care for those who served and sacrificed their time, effort and lives for the rest of us, whether or not we served and/or paid for protective services ourselves.
Our family thanks many who helped my father regain his physical strength and helped us work through the paperwork to secure a place for my father’s continued medical journey — IPC (Heather, Carmen, Anna), HealthSouth Rehab Hospital (Jennifer, Ethan, Amy, Amanda and many others), and VAMC (Heidi, PJ, and more).
I have friends who’ve achieved and accomplished their whole lives.
Here, on the 11th of April, while I look out the window at the jungle of a yard that keeps my house cool in the summer, my friends’ stories stand out in my thoughts.
Meanwhile, my sister and I (with help from my wife and mother) assemble a set of notes and medical reports to give to medical experts to help understand where we can go to get a firm (or as close to firm) diagnosis for my father’s medical predicament(s).
The tree leaves and limbs do what they do best when breezes pass over the undergrowth, grabbing my attention as joggers and walkers avoid speeding cars on the road ahead.
Disco light dances across the window screen and onto the end table holding up a power strip, grow lamp, computer monitor, scented oil lamp, 3Com modem cable, incense bowl, light timer and a book a friend gave me titled “It’s a Young World After All.”
I am open to hearing and reading about alternative views concerning the history of our species.
I am willing to accept my friends’ opinions about their achievements and accomplishments.
I do not fret about belief systems in the majority or the minority and how they may or may not sway the thought sets of people both young and old like the wind shapes the forest around me.
There aren’t as many seedpods on the redbud outside the window as there were last year.
There are thousands of people who buy handguns and rifles every year and will never use them, storing them for a collection or trading them for something that looks more useful than the ones they first bought.
It is part of our global cultural interaction that drives some to buy weapons for self-protection on an active, daily basis.
There are those who travel great distances to provide basic medical care and deliver simple foodstuff in order to raise the standard of living in regions of the world not well-connected to local/regional caring social networks.
And then there are the few who seek membership in the Galactic Exploration Society.
In this moment, when the actions of others — friends, family, acquaintances, and instantly formed/lost friendships — find spaces in my thoughts, I look around the room of my study/meditation zone and wonder how/if happiness is contagious.
Some days I pursue the wrong activities.
My father is a man of action more than contemplation.
I have always been more of a man of contemplation rather than action.
From my father’s U.S. Army days in Germany during the Cold War to his most recent days of teaching students at ETSU as an adjunct professor, he found happiness in social engagement.
I find happiness in analysing interesting data more than in stressing pre-arthritic joints while swinging a scythe.
Both of us are products of the influences of ancestors, peers, descendants, and commercial interests.
My father grew up to put country first.
I grew up to put planetary exploration first.
The influences upon him influenced me.
The same goes for the achievements and accomplishments of my friends.
The Sun heats the planet and air pressure changes create wind which passes through the forest, influencing my thoughts and the thoughts of people passing in front of my yard.
Staring at an iPad, my head bent down while my finger slides news articles across the screen, like the scenes around me flashing past when I’d hold on to the rails of a merry-go-round during recess in elementary school, causes motion sickness.
While telling the tale of our species from a long perspective, how do I incorporate the images above into one where we’re looking at our achievements and accomplishments that’ve put people on the Moon and cybernetic explorers on millennial-long journeys?
It’s not the brain of Stephen Hawking that I want to preserve — it’s his thought patterns that are interwoven with the society around him I want to perpetuate, ensuring that they continue to evolve unabated by the physical presence of a brain or a body bound to a wheelchair.
My father, however, is a different story. His physical AND mental presence are both key parts of what he means to me and my desire to push our species beyond primal tendencies to create dystopian nightmares where survivalist weapon hoarding is considered normal behaviour.
It’s also more than that but I’ve allowed myself to become a mortal human, subject to daily interruptions of bigger dreams, distracted from the plan set in motion by a group of people I’ve spun into a literary device called the Committee to capture the attention of those prone to primal thought patterns so that we can achieve a goal 13,904 days from now with all 7+ billion of us fully involved as sets of states of energy in the visible part of the universe with which we’re most familiar.
Are hopes and dreams intimately tied to happiness?
Perhaps.
How much does the passing of a single redbud leaf in front of the window have to do with dust devils on Mars?
Do you understand the immense distance between our planet and any celestial body with potential compatible communicable sets of states of energy that would interest us more than as laboratory experiments?
A lesson I learned one summer during sales training week for Southwestern Book Company decades ago still applies today:
The story concerns twin boys of five or six. Worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities — one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist — their parents took them to a psychiatrist.
First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. “What’s the matter?” the psychiatrist asked, baffled. “Don’t you want to play with any of the toys?” “Yes,” the little boy bawled, “but if I did I’d only break them.”
Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands. “What do you think you’re doing?” the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. “With all this manure,” the little boy replied, beaming, “there must be a pony in here somewhere!”
That, my friends, is why we get up in the morning, making miracles every day. No matter how much we may be distracted by the mundane, or even happy being perfectly anonymous, there’s always a chance that pony will appear out of nowhere and change our perspective.
In fact, I guarantee it will.
Look at me. I never thought a tablet PC could cause motion sickness until today, which has completely changed my desire to write the Next Great App.
Ahh…the parody, of the day, if not a lifetime: “Daddy didn’t hug me” photo series.
And a look back at military humour, just to show the progress of time is an illusion:
Like Jackie Gleason said, “Ten million comedians out of work and I’ve got to compete against the absurdity of politicians to get quality air time! Who’s gonna think I’m funny after listening to them?”
A nod to humour everywhere, including Cairo.
Maybe a little ancient air-conditioning will cool off international tensions.
Back to raising the next crop of hackers to keep our species honest, whatever that means.
treetrunkdings 