Cord Cutting Time

I've taken on the task of helping my mother cut her Comcast bill way back. Seems she realized she hardly ever watched anything on cable. In fact, the only stuff she watches on cable are the local channels that she would be able to pick up out of Savannah if she had a big enough antenna. Kinda like she used to do back in the 50s, 60s, and 70s (my parents got cable in the very early 80s). Anyway, she wants to cut back on that $194/month she pays Comcast.

So, I'm studying and figuring out how best to make it all happen. I think we got it figured out. As long as it's cheaper (it will be, by far) and she can still watch People's Court, everything will be fine.


[The YouTube]

We've ordered a cable modem and an Ooma telephone device to allow the cutting back of Internet, TV, and telephone. She currently subscribes to Hulu (she loves that), and owns a TiVo (which she also loves, and is how she currently records People's Court). She already has Google WiFi, so the wireless network won't change.

It should be an easy enough change to make. And that extra $115/month in her pocketbook ought to keep her happy for a bit.

Silly Old Bear

The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh
at Walt Disney World

One of my grandsons -- the 4-year old -- really loves Winnie the Pooh. Well, the Walt Disney version of the character anyway.

I've taken him to Walt Disney World a couple of times and one of the rides he always wants to ride -- usually the first one he mentions -- is The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. And, when he's over at the house, he loves the Google Home device that is linked to a Chromecast. He doesn't know or understand all that, but he knows that if he says, "Hey Google, play The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh," that it will say "Okay" and that Walt Disney movie will start playing.

The boy loves Walt Disney's Winnie the Pooh.

What brought this up? Well, the first Winnie the Pooh book (titled Winnie-the-Pooh) was first published on October 14, 1926. My grandson has never read the book. I've read the book to him, anyway. But the fact the book was published this date 93 years ago was the first in a series of events that eventually led to my grandson and me having some fun times together.

Will you or I do something that impacts others some 90-something years from now? Maybe not. Probably not. But we might.

Is that too deep for a Monday?

Memory

The occasion came up recently where I recalled one of my earliest memories. It came about in a roundabout way, as things often do. Let me tell you what the memory was first, then I'll tell you about how it came about to be thought of recently.

I remember riding in the car, in the back seat, of course, with my mother driving and my father in the passenger seat, and her getting pulled over by a policeman.

Now, my mother didn't often drive if it was both my parents going somewhere. I don't recall thinking anything about it, because I had ridden with her driving many times, but, thinking about it later, she was the only parent in the car. Her driving this time, though, was because my father was ill. I don't recall what happened, but he took ill why we were off visiting family in Liberty County or Bryan County or somewhere. I got family all over southeast Georgia, but this particular visit was to either Liberty or Bryan County.

Anyway, I was in the back seat -- don't remember who else might have been there but nobody stands out -- with my father in the passenger seat, leaning over to his right, trying to rest on the door or window. Maybe he had a pillow, I don't know.

Somewhere along the way, maybe on US-17 or US-82, a policeman pulled us over. I don't remember much about the policeman at all. Maybe he wore brown, which would have made him a deputy sheriff, not a policeman. I'm really not clear, because this was years ago. I don't recall what BS reason he gave for pulling my mother over, but we figured it was because a woman driving with a man slumped over in the passenger seat probably meant an easy arrest for public drunkenness or something. He didn't seem to do anything other than check out the situation, realize there was no money in it, and let us go.

I've never spoken with anyone about that, although I've thought about it many times over the years. Recently, a conversation came up about that situation, and I had my first conversation with others about it.

My Big Sister, who's 5'4", mentioned remembering it, too. And she remembers it pretty much just like I do. We had never talked about it in the decades since it happened. Not avoiding it, just never came up.

Only, it turns out we don't really remember it at all.

You see, my mother was telling us about something that happened in 1955, before I was born. And before my older sister was born. We weren't there. Well, I certainly wasn't. She was still a month or two from making her debut into the world.

It's a really odd feeling to find out that something you remember is something you couldn't remember because not only were you not there, you didn't even exist. Odd indeed.

Invisible flying pinch bugs

I mentioned recently about stopping for gas and an unusual encounter at the pump. There were actually two unusual encounters.

When I got out of the car, there was a large bug on the ground. I don't know what it was. It was kinda like a North American Stag Beetle, but it was the color of the concrete, and the mandibles were very wide. Really wide. I could see it, but it didn't stand out. Kinda blended in. Hard to see. So, nothing like a North American Stag Beetle. Except for being a large bug. With huge mandibles.

Well, I stepped over the bug and closed the door, then proceeded to gas up. You already know how that went.

When I finished, got my receipt, pocketed it, and stepped back to the door, I didn't see the large bug. Good. Or, so I thought.

During the next 15 minutes or so, I mulled over if I had done the right thing regarding the praying panhandler. I decided I had. That's when something seemed to fall onto my shirt.

Now, I am sometimes guilty of putting stuff over the visor in the car, but I didn't think I had done that. Still, something seemed to have fallen from the visor. I wondered what it was. It was dark in the car, 4:00-4:30 time frame, and no other traffic on the road. A little bit of light from the dashboard, but that was it. I couldn't really see anything on my shirt, and I wasn't going to take my eyes off the road for any period of time.

I'm in the middle of nowhere, on a four-lane road, 65 MPH, no traffic, and the possibility of deer, as I was very much aware. So, without being able to see it, I grabbed whatever it was that had settled on my shirt.

It grabbed back.

That's not a feeling you want to experience when you're driving 65 MPH in the middle of nowhere on a road with curves and bridges.

I threw whatever it was down. I realized almost immediately, of course, it was that large bug I had encountered at the gas pump. Seems it had made its way into the car either during the time I stepped over it and before I shut the door, or surreptitiously while I re-entered the car. Either way, there was a large bug in the car, somewhere under my feet.

Okay, then. Maybe I'll stop for something to drink or a snack up the road. Breakfast at a McDonald's maybe. I'll locate and extract the large bug at that time. Then, it flew from the floor beneath my feet to the passenger seat where I had laid my jacket.

This simply would not do.

I pulled over into a turn lane. The four-lane was divided by a large grass median -- about three full lanes wide -- and had the occasional turn-round lane on the left where one could pull into it, then make a u-turn when traffic was clear.

I stopped the car, put it in park, put the flashers on in case a vehicle happened by, put my holster on -- I don't wear it when driving but have it at hand -- and exited the vehicle. I walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, picked up the jacket and shook it, looking for the bug.

No bug.

I pulled out my phone, turned the flashlight on, and began looking though the car.

Nothing.

So, I'm standing beside the road around 4:30 in the morning with an invisible flying pinch bug loose in the car. Now, I'm wondering what the trade-in value is on the car.

After a few more minutes, I finally found the large pinch bug on the floor behind the driver's seat. I grabbed a loose Wendy's napkin -- I don't remember ever hitting a Wendy's drive-thru since I got that car, but that's a mystery for another time -- and picked up the bug and tossed it away from the car.

He didn't like that, and came straight back for the car. My foot put an end to the whole sordid affair.

I left the body just laying there, as a warning for other invisible flying pinch bugs. I am not to be trifled with.

Praying at the gas pump

My schedule has me traveling at early morning hours on some days. That means, depending on how well I planned things, I may be getting gas at 4:00 AM some days. I don't like those days.

Last week, I had one of those days. It was a Wednesday morning, it was the 4:00 hour -- that 0400 not 1600 -- and I pulled in to a gas station to get gas. Made sure I had everything in order, got out, and started the process to gas up.

I'm dressed in my standard work attire: dress pants, dress shoes, dress shirt, tie, jacket. My wallet is in my jacket pocket on my left side. Right next to my .380 in its holster. When I pulled in, I checked the lot and the area around the station, which was situation on the corner. It's on the outskirts of town, and there is wooded area nearby, so caution is always advised at off hours. 4:00 AM is an off hour.

Put the credit card in the slot -- first checking for a skimmer, of course -- enter my ZIP code, select the fuel type, and begin the process of gassing up the ride. Now the waiting. And that's when I made my mistake.

I don't carry money in my wallet. I don't carry a lot of cash, but what little I do carry is separate from my wallet. As I waited for the fuel to fill the tank, I put my hand in my pocket. My cash was in disarray. Normally, it's neatly arranged by denomination -- ones on top, followed by fives, tens, and twenties, if I am carrying those bills. All neatly stacked, and all facing the same way. It's easier for me that way. Only, when my hand went into my pocket, the cash wasn't neatly stacked. Nor sure what happened, but that was unacceptable. What I did was more unacceptable.

I pulled the cash out and sorted the few bills I was carrying. Lined them all up -- that was the major issue; some were sideways -- and put the cash back in my pocket. That mistake allowed two things to happen:

1. I took my eyes off my surroundings
2. I allowed other eyes to see I was carrying cash

There were other eyes, as I became aware just after putting the rearranged cash back in my pocket.

"Good morning," came the voice.

I turn my head slowly, saw the young man approaching from the road. I nodded my head, "Good morning, sir."

As I turned back to finish pumping the gas, he spoke again. "Do you mind if I pray with you?"

Just in case you're not aware, if someone approaches you at a gas station and asks to pray, he's probably not a traveling evangelist, but rather someone looking for money. Even if he is a traveling evangelist, he's still someone looking for money. I wasn't in the mood for whatever he had going on.

I looked back at him, "You don't need me for you to pray." I turned back to my task, checking to ensure my jacket was open for easy access to my .380, if needed. You never know how someone reacts to something unexpected. I don't think he expected my response.

His path turned from directly approaching me to one of heading to his right, down the road away from the gas station.

"Jesus love you. He loves you." the young man said as he walked away, keeping an eye on me.

I nodded.

Jesus does love me. But I don't think he's too keen on people using His name for panhandling.

Disney World

Until recently, I hadn't been to Walt Disney World in two decades. The last trip was one with my daughter and son in the mid-1990s.

When I was younger, a teenager or thereabouts, I had been to Disney World a few times. It was always a big deal and I always enjoyed it.

Of course, back then, they had the tickets (I think they actually called them "coupons") designating different attractions. A ticket, B ticket, up to E ticket. I always spent my E ticket on The Haunted Mansion. Love that attraction.

Note: Here's another link showing different attractions on some of the tickets.

When I took the children in the mid-1990s, that was, I believe, my first experience without the ticket books. That was great in that I didn't have to choose among certain attractions. The downside? Neither did anyone else. That meant the most popular attractions had long lines. That did put a little damper on things, but I focused on making the trip as enjoyable as I could for the children. I'm not sure how successful I was, but they did seem to enjoy it.

When I became a grandparent, I wanted to take the grandchildren to Walt Disney World. There were some catches, though. When the first grandchildren were born, I wasn't living in southeast Georgia where I grew up. The Columbus, Georgia area is a good six hour drive from Walt Disney World. That meant over 12 hours driving on the trip. Two adults, three children, in a single car, for that time and distance? Not comfortable.

Then, the long lines. Yes, Disney had introduced FastPass, but I didn't know much about that. I can be a quick study on some things, but honestly, I didn't do proper research into it. That's changed, as you'll soon see.

Oh, and the cost of driving and eating and hotels, not even counting the price of admission of adults and three grandchildren. All in all, an expensive proposition. And, it was something we never did. But, it was something I wanted to do.

Now, years later, I have more than three grandchildren. And I still wanted to get them to Disney World. Well, the two year old might be a little young to appreciate it. He'd get almost as much fun out of a sprinkler in the yard, but the day is coming soon. However, he has been to Disney World. More on that in a bit.

While I did want to take the grandchildren to Disney World, there were attractions much closer to Columbus than the one in Orlando. Atlanta has Six Flags over Georgia and Stone Mountain Park. We managed to take the grandchildren to each of those a few times. Even bought year passes for each at different times, but ended up not going that often. Work schedules, school schedules, and self-imposed restrictions that I thought were kinda silly (no, I won't elaborate), all contributed to making it not as often as would have been nice.

Still, the occasional trip to Six Flags or Stone Mountain did happen. Six Flags over Georgia and Stone Mountain Park are great places to visit. What they don't have is the "Disney mystique." I mean, you don't hear Super Bowl winners saying "I'm going to Stone Mountain!"

This year, though, I've been to Walt Disney World twice, and am gearing up for a third trip.

I mentioned that my youngest grandson had been to Disney World. His grandmother, my ex-wife, took him. She had also taken my second-youngest grandson, also her grandson, to Disney World. She's taken him more than once. Note: those are the only two grandchildren we share. My other grandchildren are not also her grandchildren.

This year, at the last minute, my daughter asked about our going to Disney World along with her, her son (my grandson), and her mother (my ex-wife). This was like two days before they were scheduled to go. I was open to the idea. Ex-wife and I get along fine. There's not a bunch of tension in the room when we're in the same place. We've had troubles in the past, but I'm not going to dwell on them, and neither is she, it seems. So, I said if I could work it out (that always means funding) we'd be delighted to go.

Actually, it turned out to not be "we." Wife didn't go. That nearly put a damper on things. Ex-wife expressed concern about that, but after talking with my daughter, it came down to my decision, and I went. And I enjoyed it during the time I was there. I didn't stay for the entire time they were there, but did have a blast riding the rides with my grandson. He rode the rides with me most of the time.

Seeing how much fun he was having made me decide to get the other grandchildren to Walt Disney World. Before I left Orlando, I was already setting things in place for a trip with the other five-year-old.

Wife still didn't want to go, so I ended up taking his brother and sister, both 17, a week later. They were great at keeping up with their brother, and had a fun time. Granddaughter in particular really enjoyed it. From my daughter, I had learned how to work the FastPass+ feature using the app for my iPhone, along with another app. That made the visit a lot more enjoyable, as we never waited in line more than 10 minutes for anything. Okay, there was one 20-minute wait for one ride, but only one. Everything else was either FastPass+ or short lines by noting the wait times on the app.

Right now, there's one more grandchild that's still in school (she's also 17) that hasn't been to Disney World. That's being remedied Labor Day weekend. And, this time, I won't be the only adult in the car. Wife is finally going. She went decades ago, before we met, but I don't think she particularly had a good time. Maybe that'll be different this time around. After all, I'm such a delight to be around.

Oh, remember that I mentioned that one granddaughter really enjoyed her trip? Well, she wants to go again. Only, I had to tell her "no." I explained that I wasn't going to take her twice and the others once. And my focus was on getting her cousin there, and that I wasn't going to buy her another ticket just yet. Undaunted, she said she was working and asked what if she bought her own ticket. I told her that, of course, we'd take her along. Which changed my "no" to a "yes." So, she bought her own ticket. This trip will be two adults (Wife and me) and two teenagers (cousins), which will mean the car is as full as it can be, what with luggage and a six hour trip. I am so looking forward to this trip with three of my favorite people.

There are still a grandchild that's in college. I have an idea how to manage getting her to Disney World. And, there's another that's not in college. We've discussed how to deal with that, too. We will work something out.

Anyway, I've been to Disney World twice since last month, and have another trip coming up next month. I'm not sure when I'll get Disney Fever out of my system. Maybe never.

Kudos to Comcast

Up front, let me tell you that I absolutely hate those sorry grawlixes at NBC news. NBC can just cease to exist as far as I'm concerned.

Having said that, I do want to say some nice things about their parent company, Comcast.

Several days back, my mother's home phone went out. She has Comcast's XFINITY Triple Play, with cable TV, Internet service, and home phone provided by them. It's what she wants, it's what she's got.

Only, her home phone went out, and the local office -- people that have always been good to her and seem to want to take care of their customers -- told her that it would be a week and a half before someone could go by and service her account.

I jumped on social media (The Twitter and The Facebook) and let my displeasure be known about their making an 81-year-old widow woman do without a home phone for 10 days. Well, turns out that Comcast reads The Twitter and The Facebook. They reached out and asked for more information. After some communication back and forth, they left word that someone would be by on Sunday. That was last Sunday. And, someone did come by.

Comcast service tech Patrick made the visit on a Sunday afternoon, and, before he left, her home phone was working. He inspected all the lines under the house, in the attic, and outside. He found an issue -- actually, something that was still working but would become an issue in the future -- and got that fixed. She and I were happy with his service.

But that's not all. Let me relate about a family friend from the church, an 81-year-old woman who lives alone. She had DirecTV service that hasn't worked since summer, plus AT&T home phone, Internet (6 Mbps DSL), and cell phone (flip phone) service. They weren't giving her any discounts, despite having four services from AT&T (remember, they own DirecTV). She was paying out a lot of money.

No more.

Today, Comcast made their scheduled service installation visit, and hooked up her cable TV, Internet (75 Mbps), and home phone (ported her number). Service tech Eddie came by within the service window, and set to work to make her a happy customer.

He didn't work fast, but he didn't piddle around, either. He went through the steps, verified everything was working at each step, worked to clear up some hiccups along the way -- yes, I was there and watching -- and, when he left, she had everything she was wanting. And, she'll pay less for more. She's happy.

As much as people dump on Comcast -- and I'm sure much of it is deserved -- I think it's proper to say when something goes right. Maybe those people that trash Comcast have legitimate complaints. I'm certain they do. But, what they don't have is Patrick and Eddie serving them. People like Patrick and Eddie make Comcast look good.

Ellis Island

My mother visited my daughter in New York the past few days. She's been to New York before, but the weather was horrible, so this was her first opportunity to actually get out and see stuff there.

The Little Princess had a blast showing her grandmother around. Broadway shows. Some famous restaurants. One World Trade Center. Many of the typical tourist things.

Once place they went this past weekend was Ellis Island. While they were there, my daughter sent me a text:

Do you know the name of any ancestor who came to Ellis Island? We are here and can look up names

I knew the answer off the top of my head, but thought it best to actually verify. I called up some ancestry records I had easy access to, and gave her the first part of the answer:

Ellis Island opened in 1892. All 8 of my great grandparents were born in the US prior to that date. ...

I'll check your mother's side.

And, a few minutes later, I confirmed it:

All of your ancestors were in the US prior to the opening of Ellis Island facility.

The Little Princess wasn't fully aware of how long her people have been here. Yes, her ancestors came to the U.S. from other countries. Only, many of them didn't come to the U.S. It didn't become the United States until well after they were settled. Many of them, anyway. There may be some that arrived in the 1790s. Records are skimpy, but I have run across one that appears to have arrived then. And that's the most recent.

That's not to take away from any families that came here during the time Ellis Island was open. But that has been played up so much that she assumed some of her ancestors came to the U.S. then.

They didn't. They were already here, welcoming those immigrants.

Or, knowing my family, giving them a rough time. Probably that.

Check your doors when you leave

Got an unusual text from my sister -- the Mean One -- the other night.

Mean Sister (8:54 PM):
Are you in town?

Me (8:54 PM):

Yes

Mean Sister (8:55 PM):
Can you come to my house with your gun. I just got back in town, and my front door is open.

Me (8:55 PM):

On the way

Mean Sister (8:55 PM):
Thank you.

That's not a very common request from her ... or from anybody, actually. At least, it's not a request I get very often.

I threw some clothes on, grabbed the gun, got my sister on the phone, and rushed that way.

A room to room search determined no one was there ... or had been there. The front door was locked, but wide open. The conclusion was that she had pulled the locked door to but didn't properly close it, and that it has blown open.

She admitted that she never checks the door when she leaves because she "always keeps the door locked." I tried not to be too much of a jackass, but I did suggest that she change her habits. And, just in case you have ... well, sloppy, to be honest ... habits regarding securing your residence, rethink things.

Always check your doors when you leave. Go to every door, and make sure they're locked. Check your windows regularly. If you ever open them, check them before you leave or before you call it a night.

When you leave out a door and you pull it to, turn the knob to ensure it's locked. Push on the door to ensure it's latched. And, if you have a deadbolt, use it. Sure, it's a pain to do every time you leave. And it takes anywhere from 2 - 6 seconds. Take that extra time. Please.

The problem isn't that my sister didn't do these things and get me out. It's that she wasn't being safe. I'm hoping she changes her habits. I want her to be safe.

You be safe too, okay?

Vlad the Impala

After 178,000 miles, I've retired Vlad, the Impala. And, yes, we actually called it that, because, well, it's funny.

I bought the car new in late 2007, and took care of it as best I could. Serviced it on schedule, tried to be a responsible owner, and I feel pretty good about the miles I put on it. Lately, though, it's begun to have issues.

A year ago, it developed an oil leak, and the dealership did some $2400 worth of work on it. Well, whether or not it was actually worth that much for the work, I can't say. That's what they charged though. But, to keep the car running, I had the repairs done. Well, recently, the oil leak returned. Took it back to the dealer, and they wanted $1800 to fix it, with the work being rework of most of what was done a year ago. Which, to my ignorant mind, wasn't a good thing. I figured if the car took 150,000 miles to get the leak in the first place, it should have been a while before the same leaks reoccurred. Silly me.

There was also some damage to the vehicle over the years. About five years ago, some clown backed into me at a gas station in Peachtree City, GA. He had picked up a waitress from a nearby restaurant, stopped at the store next to the restaurant -- where I was gassing up Vlad -- then backed straight into the car. His insurance wanted to give me some crap, but they never were able to refute that my car was turned off and I was out of the car, fueling it when he backed into me.

Around a year ago, I had an incident on a stretch of highway near Baxley, GA around 4:30 one morning. Slightly foggy. 65 MPH stretch of road. Four lane divided highway. Two deer, one in each northbound lane. Hit the brakes, swerved to the left (I was already in the left lane) and did a 180 in the median. Lots of superficial damage to the bumper from all the growth in the median.

Then, a few weeks later, near Brunswick on that same US highway one night, a large dog, one of two running beside the road, decided he wanted to cross the road instead. I was in the right lane this time, and he met the bumper on the driver side.

I kinda feel I was lucky in both incidents. The deer thing could have gone horribly bad. So could the dog thing, if he had gone under the car, since he was a large dog and the Impala sits pretty low to the ground. I've been in a vehicle where that actually happened, and don't recommend that experience.

Apart from those incidents, I always enjoyed my time in the Impala. It was a comfortable car, and the best car I ever owned. But the fact it was needing major work every year meant it was about that time. That or the dealership does crappy work. Still, 178,000 miles.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a new car. Well, not a new new car, but a newer car. Didn't trade the Impala. They wouldn't have given me anything for a 2008 Impala with 178,000 miles on it and an oil leak. So, I kept Vlad and added Abe to the stable.

I turned Vlad over to my son to oversee selling it. I have all the receipts for services, repair work, tires, and turned all that over to him so he can show the history of the car, along with the details of the current issues. Maybe it'll sell. Maybe it won't.

I'm missing Vlad, but Abe is a nice ride. I hope I can get many miles and many years from Abe. Vlad set a standard that'll be hard to beat.

Aunt Martha

We buried Aunt Martha yesterday. She was my father's little sister. Not his youngest sister, but younger than he was. And, she wasn't a very tall person. She was on the short side, much like her mother, my grandmother, was.

Aunt Martha was always a hard worker who loved her family and loved her garden. But, Aunt Martha hasn't been the same for the last, oh, nearly nine years. That's when Uncle Dave passed. Some time after that, she moved into her son David's house.

Her later years were impacted by Alzheimer's. She knew it, of course, and it frustrated her. But one of the saddest things is that two of her grandchildren, David's children, may not be able to remember her as she was. They're not small children, but their last several years of knowing their grandmother were years of her being affected by the disease.

She was okay on some days, but was really dependent on David -- and David's wife, in particular -- for, well, just about everything. Even if it was nothing more than being right there. My last extended conversation with Aunt Martha was actually a pretty lucid affair. But, she was always checking to make sure her daughter-in-law was right there, or at least close by. She knew what the disease had done and was doing to her.

It is s shame that some of her grandchildren, and all of her great grand children -- her daughter's grandchildren -- won't be able to remember Aunt Martha at her best. Because she was one of the best.

We miss her.

How To Talk To Your Liberal Family Members At Thanksgiving

[The YouTube]

Dream Land Part 3: Papa's House

[Previous: Dream Land Part 1: Grandma and Papa's House, Dream Land Part 2: Grandma's House]

Part 3 of 3.

Grandma's House, the Dream Land from our childhood, had sat unoccupied while Grandma lived at the guest house at my mother's. This went on for four years, until after she celebrated her 100th birthday. Before the year was up, my uncle made the hard call that something needed to be done with Grandma's House.

My mother, never one who wanted to be told what to do, even if what she was told was right, was unhappy with the suggestion. It wasn't that my uncle was wrong, it was something that she had dreaded doing, and now had to do. And no one was happy about it. Not Grandma. Not my mother. Not my uncle. Not my sisters. No one.

My sister had mentioned about buying the house, but wasn't sure she wanted to take on that expense. She already had a house that was too big for her, and that she couldn't sell.

My mother finally decided to buy my uncle out. She gave him half of what he said he wanted to sell it for. Since the idea was they'd split it -- they actually had title to the house, not Grandma -- my mother simply gave him his half, and assumed full ownership of the house. She knew she'd need to dispose of it in some way, but wanted to do it on her own schedule, or at least when she was ready.

Grandma celebrated her 101st birthday worried that some stranger would end up with her little house. She understood that the current situation couldn't continue, but she still was saddened by that prospect.

My sister decided to buy the house after all, and began doing the work to get it fully livable again. After four years sitting unoccupied, it needed a little work. Heck, it needed a lot. And, truth be told, a lot more than they realized.

During the whole remodeling process, my sister changed her mind and decided that she needed to not buy the house. My mother wasn't happy about that, but that's not the first time one of us made her unhappy about something. Anyway, I made a couple of phone calls, and, when I was happy with what I heard, approached my mother about buying the house. She was surprised, but welcomed my offer.

This is a good time to let you know that when my first grandchild was born in 1999, there were several suggestions made about what she, and the other soon arriving grandchildren, would call me. I wasn't thrilled with any of the suggestions. I knew, though, that whatever the grandchildren called me would be how I was to be known for the rest of my life. If I didn't like it, I'd change my mind and embrace it. It's what grandfather's do.

When one of them was able to call me a name, it came out "Papa." I hadn't thought about that. No one had thought about that. But I loved it. And, to this day, I'm Papa to all the grandchildren.

Now, back to the house. The whole process of buying a house was what you would expect: the unexpected popping up and such. It was much frustrating, as you can imagine, but finally, it was done. I bought the Grandma's House, formerly Grandma and Papa's House.

It's a little different inside than before. Some of the same furniture is there, some arranged as always, but some arranged a little different. Just enough like it always was to make it very familiar. Just enough different to make it someone else's house.

Grandma was thrilled last year when she found out that I bought the house. She told me she was so worried someone she didn't know would get the little house. She celebrated her 102nd birthday last September knowing that her little house was still in the family.

Grandma died this week, and we're burying her today. She's gone. Her house is still around. It's Papa's House, now. But, in many ways, it's still the same Dream Land we all loved as children.

Dream Land Part 2: Grandma's House

[Previous: Dream Land Part 1: Grandma and Papa's House]

Part 2 of 3.

After Papa died in 1979, Grandma lived alone in the little house she had shared with her husband for over two decades. She knew that, without Papa, she wasn't long for this world. So, she figured she'd be passing on soon after.

Grandma continued to feel that way throughout the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s, all the way through this year. She continued her life in the little house, the house that had been her Dream Land since her first grandchild, my older sister, was born.

Grandma had retired a few years earlier, and had spent most of her time taking care of Papa. With him gone, she grew restless, and went back to work. She and several of her friends, some from the church, some from the Eastern Star, some she used to work with at the shirt factory, went to work part-time for the local newspaper.

The local paper, in addition to printing the local news, also printed the small town weeklies for several other places. That meant stuffing the local Sears or K-Mart sale paper and such into the newspapers. And, apparently, old retired women have a knack for that, because they did a lot of that.

Grandma continued to stuff papers, attend church services, shop at the Winn-Dixie, and attend Eastern Star meetings for years, and, at the end of the day, return to her Dream Land.

The grandchildren, me included, didn't visit as much. We were growing up, or grown, and had started our own families. Some of us lived in the area, and others moved away. But, Grandma's House was always a special place to us. We all managed to find time to visit on occasion, but not like we should, or, like we wanted to. We could have made a better effort, but we were busy. At least, that's what we told ourselves.

However, when we did visit, it was almost like being back in that Dream Land we visited as a child. We missed seeing Papa, but Grandma was there. She was always there. Until one day.

Grandma fell while working in the yard in 2010. It was pretty severe. She looked bad, and hurt really bad. After 31 years living alone, it was time for some other arrangements to be made.

My mother finally got a large dining area set up at her house. It was a building separate from the main house, that had a large room where tables and chairs could be set up, with a kitchen just off that room. There was a bathroom, an office, and a bedroom.

Yes, it was actually laid out like a guest house, but her intent was to have big family gatherings there. We called it the Fellowship Hall. (Baptists can truly appreciate that.) In 2010, though, she lost that functionality. It became quarters for Grandma. By living there, my mother could watch out for her. Actually, she paid a lady to sit and watch soap operas and Grandma, while she went to work at her job at the Baptist church.

Four years went by with Grandma staying at the guest house. The little house, Grandma's House, sat unoccupied. Utilities were still on. Mail was still delivered. The grass was cut. The yards were raked. The only thing making it unoccupied was the fact that no one was staying there.

My uncle (my mothers brother) was tasked with upkeep of the house. Well, the hard stuff, anyway. If it needed any work done, he did it. Air conditioning, wiring, pipes, whatever, it fell to him. And, living an hour and a half away, it was difficult on him. He put up with it for four years, until everyone finally accepted that Grandma wasn't going back to her house. She was approaching 101 years old, and really wasn't in any condition to look after herself by herself.

He finally had the difficult conversation that no one wanted to have: it was time to do something about Grandma's House. He thought the best thing to do was to sell it. And, after much anguish from some, that's what was finally agreed upon. None of the grandchildren were happy about losing their Dream Land from their childhood.

[Next: Dream Land Part 3: Papa's House]

Dream Land Part 1: Grandma and Papa's House

Part 1 of 3.

The little house was built in the 1950s as part of a planned neighborhood. I don't really know if my grandparents were the first ones to live there, but the house was less than four years old when they moved in. Grandma and Papa. That's what we always called them. And that little house was Grandma and Papa's house. It was truly a Dream Land for us grandchildren.

It was alway a treat to go there. Grandma and Papa always made us welcome. I don't remember spending the night there a lot. The small house had two bedrooms, so there wasn't a lot of room for the grandchildren to stay over. Still, just being there was a dream.

Christmas Eve was always spent at Grandma and Papa's house. We got to open a present that night, and we went home all excited about what we got and what we dreamed we'd get the next morning.

Birthdays were always special at Grandma and Papa's house. We always got a card and a dollar for every year of our age. In the 1960s, getting seven dollars for being seven years old was a treat.

Grandma and Papa had a little black and white TV when I was young. When we were there, we got to see the stuff they watched. Papa always watched the six o'clock news from channel 3 in Savannah: Dateline Savannah had the news, Cap'n Sandy gave the weather, and then there was sports. And, on weekends, there was Lawrence Welk (hated that), Porter Wagoner (hated it, except for Spec Rhodes), and the other stuff that old people watched.

In late 1967, my great-grandmother (Grandma's mother, who we all called "Ma") moved in part time. My great-grandfather (he was called "Pa") died that Autumn, and Ma had to move out of the log cabin they had leased since the 1930s. She spent a couple of weeks at a time at each of her three daughters' places. When she was a Grandma and Papa's, she'd sit in a rocking chair with a can of snuff in her hand and watch Georgia Championship Wrestling.

Grandma and Papa were the first people I knew to get cable. Of course, when cable TV first came available there, it was the three stations in Savannah and three main ones from Jacksonville (yeah, duplicate network programming). Other than the six network channels (two of each major network) and a couple of PBS channels, there was a channel that showed the weather -- actually, a camera rotating between a thermometer, a barometer, and a clock -- and not much else. It was different. But, since it was at Grandma and Papa's, it was special.

They got a new color TV, we grew up, but always went to Grandma and Papa's when we could. Ma died in 1976, and it went back to Grandma and Papa's house, though we had always called it that.

Papa's health problems and heart condition caught up with him in 1979. After watching the Independence Day fireworks, he went to bed happy, and never woke up. He went to Dream Land, and stayed. And the little house became Grandma's House.

[Next: Dream Land Part 2: Grandma's House]

U. S. Air Force Blue

Uncle Doug

Thinking of Uncle Doug

They took the blue from the skies and a pretty girl's eyes
and a touch of Old Glory's hue,
And gave it to the men who proudly wear the U.S. Air Force blue.

The U.S. Air Force Blue

Oh, they are men with a dream on America's team,
They're a rugged and ready crew.
And you can bet your boots the world looks up to U.S. Air Force Blue.

To U.S. Air Force Blue!

They know where they're goin', they've set their course,
the sky's no limit in the Air Force.

They took the blue from the skies and a pretty girl's eyes
And gave it to the men who proudly wear the U.S. Air Force Blue.

Uncle Doug
2 February 1938 - 28 November 2014

Why you don't let the 17-month old play with your iPhone

I've used the Guided Access feature on my iPhone for when the grandchildren want to play with it. I have some games that one grandson really likes, but although he's only 17 months old, he knows perfectly well how to use the Home button to get out of the game and get to the rest of the phone.

That is why I use the Guided Access (triple-click Home) feature to lock the app and protect areas of the screen. If you have an iPhone and aren't familiar with this, it's Settings > General > Accessibility > [Learning] Guided Access. Once you set it up, you triple-click Home to activate it, and triple-click Home and enter the passcode to turn it off.

My daughter taught me that one. And, I use it when I let my youngest play on the iPhone. I also stay with it and watch, so he doesn't hide it behind the couch or flush it down the toilet. I mean, he's 17 months old. That what boys that age do.

So, I am thankful that my daughter taught me that trick. I'm thinking that she should have taught her husband the same trick. Because the boy got hold of his father's iPhone. Here's how it looks now:



Yes, that's in November 2057, nearly 44 years from now. Do the math if you don't believe me. (And just why don't you believe me?)

The child got his intelligence from his parents. And his sense of humor from his grandfather. I am so proud.

1 Corinthians 13

Son, you're now married. Whether you realize it or not, your world has changed.

Yes, this is the dreaded "Dad's giving me advice and I didn't ask for any" situation that arises ... well, all the time. It's kinda what I do.

I'm gonna suggest you go read 1 Corinthians 13. Almost any translation will do. If you use the King James Version, it'll say "charity," but that word from 1611 would today be rendered as "love." Anyway, go read 1 Corinthians 13.

Now, why would someone with my marriage track record be someone you'd listen to? Maybe I'm not someone you need to listen to. Then, again, maybe I am. Hear me out and decide.

Go read 1 Corinthians 13. Yes, that's the third time I've said that. Maybe I think it's important. And maybe you need to go see why I think it's important. So go read it.

Now, about the wedding. It was beautiful. Yes, the rain kinda made things wet and sloppy and just plain rotten at times, but that was nothing but stuff around the wedding. The wedding itself was beautiful. Your vows to each other brought tears to my eyes. Everybody was looking at the two of you, so I got away with it.

Remember when it was all stressing you out, and in the elevator, when it was just you and me, I said to let those that are wanting to do their stuff do their stuff? I wasn't telling you anything you didn't already know; you were already doing that. But, I said it anyway, to reinforce what you were doing. You were doing the right thing for the circumstances, and I wanted you to know that.

See? You already know what to do. You're a grown man. Now, you're a grown married man. I'll be offering advice, but, like the "let 'em do their stuff" advice, it'll often be things you already know. When I do that, I'm trying to reinforce what you know. I can't teach you much anything new, except by example, and then, it's often examples of what not to do.

Kinda like, "Huh. Look what Dad did. Look where it got him. I need to not do that." So, yeah, I can be of some use, even if it's an example of what not to do.

But, I also have some good advice on things to do. Like what I mentioned earlier: go read 1 Corinthians 13.

Oh, and this next bit isn't easy, but it's necessary: After you've read it, go live it.

The break-up

I'm not sure I expected this day would come, but it has. And break-ups, despite their necessity, are never easy.

I fell in love at first sight. We were so compatible, it seemed. We went many places together, and I found the whole relationship to be very satisfying.

Oh, sure, there were the occasional problems. Many times, it was because when the situation required my input, I would totally screw it up. But, on those situations, I'd realize my mistake and make it right.

However, the misleading things from the other in the relationship began to gnaw at me. And, one day, I had simply had enough. I knew a break-up was inevitable.

And, being a guy, I did what any guy would do: I began looking for ... well, let's just say I wasn't entirely faithful.

Now, I'm moving on. The relationship is over and I've severed ties.

Despite everything, I'm not bitter, and I truly believe I would be welcome back. But, I really don't think it'll happen.

So, Waze, you were a pretty good GPS for my iPhone, but I'm now with Google Maps. Still, I truly do wish you the best.

When the kids call

The phone rang Monday night. I looked at the Caller ID. It was my son.

I answered, "Hello."

Slight pause on the other end. "Hey."

"Hey, there. How is everything?"

He paused. "Pretty good." Another pause.

"Something's on his mind," I thought. So, I ask, "What's up?"

"Um," he said, then paused again. "I got a question."

"Sure," I responded, not sure at all.

"Um. Say I have two clocks. One keeps perfect time. The other loses 4 minutes an hour."

"Uh, okay."

He continued, "At 12 o'clock, they have the same time..."

"Okay," I said as I tried to follow along.

"Now, when the clock that is off 4 minutes each hour gets to 2:20, what time does the other clock say? I think it's 2:30, but I'm not sure."

My turn to pause. "Uh. Well, you say the wrong clock is 4 minutes off. Each hour? After one hour, it's at 56?"

"That's right. And I think 2:30 is right, but I'm not quite sure how to explain why."

"Well, if it's off 4 minutes each hour," I said, thinking out loud more than anything else, "it's off 1 minute each 15 minutes, right?"

"That makes sense."

"And we're looking at what time? 12:20, uh, 2:20?"

"Right."

"That's ... uh ... 140 minutes, right?"

"Yeah, 120 and 20 ... 140."

"So, that's 10 times 14. So the other clock, the one that's right, would have moved 10 times 15, right?"

"That's right."

"And 10 times 15 is 150, or 2½ hours. That's 2:30."

"Okay, I got the right answer. Good," he said.

"Yep," I confirmed.

"Well, I appreciate it," he said.

"Sure thing."

"Alright, then. We'll talk at ya later."

"Okay, son," I said, "We'll see you."

And the call ended.

It's always great when the kids call.