A Celebration of Tootsie Roll

A Celebration of Tootsie Roll

Tootsie Roll was born in mid-2006. Her first home was on a farm outside of Forest Grove, OR. Being a standard dachshund, she probably had a lot of things to do and small animals to chase. At a lean 17 pounds, she was clearly active and happy on the farm, but her owner could no longer keep her. 

So we took our one dog at that time, Oscar Mayer, and drove out to meet… Dixie. That was her name at the time. Dixie didn't seem to think too much for Oscar (or us), but we decided to adopt her. Dixie settled right in with Oscar and us at our home in Beaverton. She immediately started putting on the weight, a problem she had the rest of her life.

But the name had to go. She was not a "Dixie". So as not to confuse her too much, we renamed her "Doxie". After some time to get used to the new name, we came to our senses and realized that Doxie was a dumb name, too, and that she did not care what we called her. We wanted to give her a name that really fit. You know the saying, “you are what you eat”. In our dog house “you are what you look like.” So, in keeping with the name Oscar Mayer came with when we adopted him, we re-named Tootsie for something she looked like... a great big Tootsie Roll.

Tootsie was very social and loved to meet new people and other dogs. If she didn't know you, she would come and stand at your feet with "hello, pet me" in her eyes. If you were one of her extended family peeps, then she loved to lick toes if they were not hidden inside shoes. If you were a child, whether family or stranger, she loved to get up on her hind legs and stretch out and up, trying to face lick. This usually resulted in the child falling backward and landing on their bum.

The funniest thing Tootsie ever did was when we entered both Oscar and Tootsie in a wiener dog race competition at Oaks Park in Portland. There were about 10-12 dogs in each heat and each dog had their own enclosed starting gate. Owners stood just beyond the finish line opposite their dog so that each dog had a "target". Oscar actually won his first heat (but did not advance through his 2nd heat) and won a blue ribbon. Tootsie? Tootsie jogged halfway down the line and then noticed that there were spectators standing along the side. She wanted to meet new friends! Not only did Tootsie come in last, she did not even finish the race. No ribbon for Tootsie, just some new friends.

Except for one thing that really annoyed her, Tootsie never "yelled" at any person or other dog. After we added Jimmy Dean to the family in 2009, Tootsie had to contend with two male dogs that sometimes took turns humping her. She put up with a lot, but once in awhile she would turn around toward the annoying offender and unleash a bark that said, "if you don't stop that right now, you're going to die!"

Unlike Oscar and Jimmy, Tootsie was not the best rodent hunter, unusual for a dachshund. While Oscar and Jimmy celebrated their hunting prowess with an occasional field mouse trophy that had strayed too far up from Fanno Creek, or the family of pet rats that a neighbor must have released in the area, Tootsie just wasn't into that. But there was this one time… Tootsie squirted her way though the front door one summer day. I chased down the street after her, but didn't have to go far. I saw that Tootsie had stopped at the curb a few houses down and was sitting waiting for me to catch up. Next to her was a squirrel that had lost a game of tag with a car. Tootsie's eyes said it all, "look what I caught, let's bring this home for dinner!"

It wasn't that Tootsie lacked a powerful sense of smell. She just preferred a different prey – her peeps. One time, when Zenny spent weeks out of town helping out after the birth of a granddaughter, I set things up so that the dogs would not see her come home. I put them outside and Zenny quietly brought her suitcase inside and then hid in the downstairs coat closet. When I let the dogs in, Tootsie saw the suitcase, ran right up to sniff it, then took off at full dachshund speed looking all over the downstairs for Zenny. As always with the hide-and-seek games we played with them, they found her. But in this case they did not know that we were playing this game. With the sight and scent of the suitcase, Tootsie knew that her Zenny was home.

Tootsie had the most unusual tail wag. While other dogs do a rapid back and forth, left to right, Tootsie excitedly greeted favorite peeps she had not seen in a while with something special. Tootsie’s tail wagged left to right and up and down all at the same time, in a random order. Her tail could hit every hour on an imaginary analog clock.

Each dog had their own favorite toys and ways of interacting with them. Tootsie preferred rubbery, chewy balls with a squeak. Unlike Oscar, who would rip the squeaky toy apart until the squeak was dead and gone, Tootsie would run and retrieve her squeaky toy, bring it back, chew gently on it a couple times, then invite you to throw it again.

Ever the alpha-female, who would barge toward the door to be first in or out, knocking Oscar and Jimmy to the side, there wasn’t much left of the original Tootsie Roll by November 2020. Beginning early 2020, we had Tootsie on medication for heart and kidney function, possibly dog diabetes. Beginning summer and continuing into fall, we began to notice other changes for Tootsie in her trajectory of decline. By the end, she had lost most of her vision, bumping into walls and other objects. She probably could not hear because our touch often startled her. She had lost her bark but, until the last several weeks, kept the “cuddle voice” she used to respond to affectionate touch. By the end she did not respond to Oscar, Jimmy, or us. We had to help her eat, drink water, and go outside or inside to pee and poo. She could still walk, with difficulty, but mostly wanted to walk in circles and find corners to stand in, searching, searching for the path to the rainbow bridge.

On November 15 Tootsie Roll crossed over the rainbow bridge. She was surrounded by almost all of her favorite peeps, plus Oscar and Jimmy. We all loved her. She enriched our lives.

Number 49 and 50!

I feel fortunate to have spent my growing years in 4 completely different and spread out places in the USA: Oregon, Virginia, Guam, and Colorado. As a family we enjoyed traveling to states neighboring our home state at the time, or, in the case of Guam, neighboring islands and countries.

Our 1966 move from Oregon to Virginia was actually accomplished with our family of four and our possessions in a U-Haul truck. Mom documented this exciting journey, which roughly followed much of the Oregon Trail in reverse.

I almost forgot about this one, and had to edit it in! While living on Guam in 1971, our family of now 6 spent most of the summer in Oregon and Colorado, while Dad was working on his PhD. at University of Northern Colorado. Our parents bought my brother and me $99 See America 3-week passes on Greyhound. I was 16 and Richard was 14. Starting in Portland, OR, we headed north toward Canada, where we rode from Vancouver, BC, to Winnipeg, Manitoba, then down to Greeley, CO.

Grown, married, and with two daughters, we continued to enjoy family vacation travels from our home base of Oregon. Both daughters roller skated competitively, and won state, regional, and national competitions. With family vacations and skating event trips combined, we traveled to Tulsa, OK, Philadelphia, PA, Lincoln, NE, and Pensacola, FL, as well as other non-skating vacation destinations with kids and without.

As D.I.N.K.'s in 2004 (kids grown), Zenny and I took a trek to the mid-Atlantic states and New England. Besides being a vacation, it was also a history and ancestry pilgrimage to visit old personal places in Virginia and old family history places in MA and VT. By the end of this trip, while mapping this and previous travels, I realized that I had been to 44 states. That's when it went on the Bucket List - I had only 6 states left, AK, GA, SC, AR, WI, and MI.

It took another 15 years, but I made it this June 2019. Wisconsin became number 49. Michigan became number 50.

(I wonder if Michiganders display that sign in Flint?)

In my travels I have thoroughly enjoyed visiting beautiful, historic Catholic churches and cathedrals around the world. We're talking Boston, New York City, St. Augustine FL, San Diego, San Francisco, San Juan PR, Mexico City, Manila, Brisbane, Montreal, New Orleans, and more. In my future travels I will actively seek them out in Europe and Central and South America. 

But I have noticed that the naming of Catholic churches, parishes, and cathedrals seems to be a challenge. There are so many repeats! How do we keep them all straight? For one thing, there are so many Catholic churches that include the names of saints:  St. John, St. Mark, St. Catherine, St. This, St. That. Clearly, there are too many churches and not enough saints. Not all names include the names of saints, though. But there's still a lot of repetition. 

I have a solution. I propose the following name suggestions in order to enrich and add variety to the naming of Catholic churches. 

Disclaimer:  I truly mean no disrespect. Just for fun.

Our Lady of The Glutinous Communion

The Indecisive Blessings Catholic Parish

Cathedral of The Indentured Messiah

Church of The Presumptive Baptism

Basilica of The Obstinate Virgin

Our Lady of Holy Repudiations

The Divine Subterfuge Catholic Parish

Cathedral of The Endemic Sacrament

Church of The Conspicuous Redeemer

Basilica of The Eternal Contradictions

Our Lady of Glorified Conflagration

The Cantankerous Prayers Catholic Parish

Cathedral of The Immaculate Assumptions

Church of The Conflated Salvation

Basilica of The Eternal Obfuscation

Our Lady of Capricious Servitude

The Dubious Redemption Catholic Parish

Cathedral of The Deceptive Conception

Church of Extravagant Incantations 

Basilica of The Immaculate Contraception

Your submissions welcome!

Memory's Ship by Harry Leslie St. Clair

Harry Leslie St. Clair, my great grandfather (Mom's Mom's dad), published a short book of poetry in 1922. I stumbled on it by accident while looking online for information about him. 

Memory's Ship

I'm master of a wondrous ship

    That sails a silent sea;

I've steered her course on many a trip --

     A phantom ship is she.

Where'er I choose in thought to rest,

     And view the scenes of yore,

I'm borne in safety on my quest

     To the desired shore.

In memory's ship I touch again

     The shores of childhood's joy.

The world as one big playhouse then

     Seemed made to charm a boy;

When curiosity was keen

     And every sense alert,

E'er sorrow's night had come between

     Or sin had left its hurt.

In memory's ship I sail away

     To lands I've known before,

Where friendship's joys made glad the day

     And love-light kissed the shore.

Where starlit skies and summer's breeze

     Were like an angel's court,

And kindred souls oft met at ease --

     I linger at this port.

When heart is weary and needs rest,

     I seek a distant shrine,

Where last a mother's lips impressed

     A kiss of love on mine;

Where first I breathed a humble prayer

     And answering peace was given,

My good ship memory takes me there --

     To me the gate of heaven.

Dad - John Braden Waite - was a master of Dad-isms. I'm sure there are more, but here are a few:

* It's nothing to write home about.
* How about them apples.
* Put that in your pipe and smoke it.
* Let's not and say we did.
* When it's all said and done…
* "I see," said the blind man as he picked up his hammer and saw.
* I couldn't get a word in edgewise.
* Actually from Dad's mom, Julia Braden Waite: Open the window and influenza, open the door and income tax.
* Move it or milk it! (directed at slow drivers)
* What a conspicuous waste! (directed at drivers of 1950's cars with a lot of chrome)

Eulogy - John & Janet Waite

John Braden Waite and fellow identical triplets Robert and Ray were born on April 6, 1928, in Toledo, Oregon.  They joined 4 older siblings, in order of their births, Stephen, twins Erwin and Arabell, and Edith.  The parents of John and his 5 surviving siblings (Ray had died at birth) were Stephen Oren Waite (1884-1934) and Julia Braden Waite (1892-1980). 

Janet Eleanor Waite was born Janet Rogers on May 30, 1931, in Portland, Oregon.  She was the older of 2 daughters of Raymond Boyd Rogers (1896-1966) and Winifred St. Clair Rogers (1900-1985).  Little sister Gayle joined the family in 1935.  

Both of John and Janet’s extended family ancestors came mostly from New England and New York.  Both extended families (grandparents and great-grandparents migrated west in the 1800’s with some “stopping off” places like Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa.  All 8 grandparents of John and Janet eventually arrived in Oregon and are buried or interred in either Multnomah or Jefferson counties. 

John came from a family that farmed and labored from Central Oregon, to the Willamette Valley, to the Coast Range in Toledo, Oregon.  Times for the family became especially tough when, in the depths of the Great Depression, the father Stephen Oren Waite died in work accident on February 14, 1934.  The family did the best they could, splitting time between Toledo and Corvallis, but lost their Yaquina Bay oyster farm to back taxes.  Regardless, new safety net programs of the 1930's helped them to survive.  Thanks to older siblings and their spouses, plus the G.I. Bill, John was able to go to college, graduating from Oregon State University in 1953. 

Janet Rogers Waite grew up in Portland's Eastmoreland neighborhood.  Her father, Raymond, was a commercial artist, inventor, photographer, and carpenter.  Her mother, Winifred, was a schoolteacher.  Both had graduated from college – Ray from University of Oregon and Win from Willamette University.  While this family was much smaller than John's family, Ray and Win had come from larger families where family and work were treasured.  Janet graduated from Willamette University in 1953.  

John and Janet met as new teachers at Grant Union High School in John Day, Oregon, during the 1953-1954 school year.  They were married in Portland on June 25, 1954. 

That summer they moved to Florence, Oregon, where John would begin teaching science and math at Siuslaw High School.  Janet gave birth to David in 1955 and then to Richard in 1957.  As the boys grew a bit older, Janet began teaching Home-Ec at Siuslaw.  While Florence was somewhat isolated from the larger world, John enjoyed the hobby of ham radio operator.  All family members enjoyed the experience of communicating with people from all over the world. 

By about 1965, John had earned his Master's Degree from Oregon State University and had begun searching for a college teaching job.  As would be the case in each future family decision of such a large scale, John and Janet involved their children in the decision making process.  By 1966, they knew they would be moving from cozy, quiet Florence to a big city in the south, Norfolk, Virginia.  Although the family treasured these years growing in Florence, they were very excited for a major adventure. The big move in July 1966 was an adventure in itself.  It involved a U-Haul truck loaded with only the most important possessions.  John drove while Janet navigated and kept a journal.  David and Richard "helped" by staying fairly quiet sitting side by side on the bench seat between John and Janet.  

John busied himself as a professor of sciences at Old Dominion University while Janet stayed home and planned the next big thing for the Waite family.  John and Janet had always wanted to grow the family with a daughter or two, but were told that their blood types would lead to an increased risk of birth defects.  So they began the process to adopt their daughters – sisters to David and Richard.  

John and Janet were already progressive pioneers in many ways.  During these years both volunteered at a community center in poverty stricken Portsmouth, Virginia.  As for the adoption, they found out that they could adopt fairly quickly if they chose children that were non-white, older, or with disabilities.  Or… they could wait years for the completion of an Ozzie & Harriet or Cleaver family.  They chose to just make it happen, again involving their children in these decisions while discussing potential consequences.  Nancy Gayle was born in 1967 and joined the family in about September of that year.  Karen Susan followed in 1969.  

While all this was happening, John and Janet were on the lookout for a new teaching and living adventure.  They wanted a place in which the culture and diversity of that place would match or exceed that of the family.  Once again, David and Richard were allowed to help with the family decision.  Their choices in 1969 were Sierra Leone in tropical west Africa, or the tropical island U.S. Territory of Guam. 

This move in the summer of 1969 involved nearly 8,000 miles on jet airplanes, rather than a U-Haul truck.  It was equally the adventure.  The family chose Guam, thinking it might be like Hawaii.  Guam is not Hawaii.  This disappoints many a "statesider".  However, the Waite family would embrace this place and it's people, culture, food, lifestyle, and language.  

John busied himself as a professor of sciences at University of Guam.  Janet stayed home with Nanci and Karen, while David and Richard attended junior high and high school.  During 1972-1973, the family spent the year in Greeley, Colorado, while John earned his PhD degree and Janet her Master's degree, both in education, at University of Northern Colorado.  Then it was back to Guam, where Janet did some teaching, as well.  

In 1976 John and Janet and Family moved to Longview, Washington, where John would teach sciences at Lower Columbia College.  Besides continuing to be mom at home, Janet did some high school and college teaching.  

In 1979 John, Janet, Nanci, and Karen left Longview for a 36-acre farm across the Columbia River in Rainier, Oregon.  Besides continuing regular teaching and parent duties, John and Janet's hobby farm had 1 or 2 hay crops a year, cows, pigs, chickens, and (briefly) garden-munching goats.  

John and Janet spent their last 20 or so years living at Willamette View Manor in Milwaukie, Oregon.  They enjoyed friends, travel, and most of all, family and each other.  Both spent years volunteering at the Manor Carousel and Manor Mart, and John as a Manor audio/visual technician.  They left behind 4 children, 6 grandchildren, and 4 great-grandchildren.  Ironically, for John and Janet who wanted to ensure that they had daughters, 9 out of the 10 grand and great-grand kids are girls.  

John and Janet are greatly missed and leave behind a better world for having been here.

Flying With Dad

I "flew with Mom" in my dreams just days before she died on December 4, 2014.  Besides really doing that, I had jotted down on paper all those places, all those memories, to later post on this blog.

At bedtime on Tuesday, January 6, 2015, I decided to "fly with Dad".  Unlike with Mom in December, I was not trying to guide my dreams.  I just wanted to document for later.  So I jotted those memories down on paper, the same paper I had used for memories with Mom.  It was of course very emotional, and I felt the same deep sorrow mixed with happiness as I had when I flew with Mom.

* Dad, there we are.  You're holding me, singing all those songs you always sang, "Home On The Range", "Mares'y Dotes & Does'y Dotes" to name just two.
* Your knee is the best place to ride. "This is the way the lady rides, trot, trot, trot. This the way the gentleman rides, gallop, gallop, gallop. This is the way the farmer rides, hobledee hoy, hobledee hoy."
* If it's not a ride, then it's a trap. I always get out of your traps, Dad. But your brothers made "cry uncle".
* We're having a family picnic way up into the Coast Range. Could it be the north fork of the Siuslaw River? Or the middle fork? (See me chuckle… fork… spoon, knife; words are fun). You walk into a deep pool created by a small waterfall. You sink, sink until you are up to your neck. You are a head floating on the water. You ask me if I want to ride on your shoulders. I love you and trust you Dad, but I am scared something could happen. So I say "no", emphatically. Richard, ever the adventurer, takes the ride and returns to tell about it.
* Remember that bike I got Christmas in (I think) first grade? The training wheels are off and you are helping me ride by holding the back of the seat from the side and behind. "Don't let go, OK Dad?" I implore you. We did this a few times and you held on. We try again. I ride about 20-30 feet then stop and look back. Yup, you had let go and I ride by myself.
* The Belt. It wasn't just for holding up your pants. The Belt is so wide it has its own time zone. Mom has The Wooden Spoon, you have The Belt. Together, you and Mom play a pretty good game of "good cop, bad cop". I wonder if she knew. Sometimes you were the strict disciplinarian. "This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you," you say gravely to Richard and me. The Belt glides swiftly through the loops and does its duty. Of course we say…"huh Dad? how could that hurts you more?" But other times you soften things for us when Mom is being the extreme disciplinarian. There we are, you with the same grave voice, yet tinged with a smile and a smirk. "This is going to hurt me…", as you close the bedroom door. The Belt whips through the loops and then makes a deafening "crack" sound as you fold it in half, hold the ends, and snap the two parts together in the middle. As instructed, after every "CRACK" we yell "OOOWWWW!" I wonder if Mom knew.
* Dad, I think I'm like you. When we go hunting or fishing, It's not the actual hunting or fishing I love. Rather it's being out in nature, walking and exploring. There we are in the Coast Range hills near Florence, you toting a rifle. It must be about October and I'm maybe 7 or 8 years old. Richard's too young and not there. You think you see a deer and take a shot. Nothing. You let me hold the gun, and with your help, we shoot a tree.
* 1960's Florence is a bit cut off from the larger outside world. But there you are, Dad, talking to the world via your HAM radio. You talk about "stuff" - seems pretty boring to us - but then you trade HAM radio "cards" with those other HAM's around the world. The cards are kind of like post cards. Your card, of course, was special. There we are on the dune behind our house. You have placed a 20+ foot radio antenna into the sand. You are climbing up with a wire in your hand to make that final connection. Suddenly, you and the tower begin the lean and then fall to the sand. You land with a thud. Richard and I don't know what to do. But Mom runs to your aid. You are stunned but OK. This particular event led to Grandpa Rogers (artist, photographer, inventor, everything) designing your HAM card. Your card depicts you on the tower with Mom holding the wire connected to the tower, pulling you and tower down. I wish I could find one of your HAM cards.
* There we are at the dinner table in Florence and you are saying grace. Richard and I snicker during one part of your standard blessing. "Stoweduponus! Ha, ha! What's that?" we say when you're done. This was a magical word, a word that seemed a glimpse into grown-up world, a word that sounded funny to us. Of course we figure it out later. You always included the phrase, "May your blessings be stowed upon us." Yes, words are fun.
* Dad, this is my absolute favorite story, partly because I revealed the truth to you 45 years after it happened. In your eyes, your eyes in front of your brain that was descending into dementia, I could see that you understood and that that understanding hurt you. I hope you forgave us. It's a quiet summer day in Florence and Richard and I have nothing to do (except get into trouble). There we are on the dune behind our house, the one overlooking Rhododendron Drive as it winds its way - sort of - along the Siuslaw River on the way to north jetty and the ocean. Besides the sandy dunes all around Florence, there's a lot of sandstone from ancient beaches and dunes. We called these broken pieces of sandstone "dirt clods". So there we are… on top of that dune throwing dirt clods at cars passing on the highway below. We score a few near misses. But then we get a direct hit through the open passenger window of a car heading toward the beach. The car screeches to a stop and begins to turn around. We skedaddle (yes, we used that word in the '60's) back over the dune and down to home. Inside, just as we catch our breath, a knock comes at the door. "Your boys are throwing rocks at cars and they hit us!" Dad, you turned and looked at us. "No, we're not doing that!" we said. Dad, you said, "if my boys say they're not doing that, then they're not doing that." You shut the door. Your eyes, your dementia eyes could still show disappointment. I'm sorry Dad.
* It's a Saturday morning and you have work to at the high school. While you work, I'm in the gym with a basketball. As I dribble, spin, stop, jump, shoot, I imagine that I am Elgin Baylor, Oscar Robinson, Jerry West, and any number of 60's NBA stars. I dream big. During some of those sessions I visit the staff lounge. As a teacher now, Dad, I know staff lounges. The 60's high school staff lounge REAKED of cigarette smoke. And I'm talking on a Saturday when there were no teachers to be seen (except you, Dad). You and your colleagues left ash trays behind on Friday afternoons, heaping with butts! Teachers today only leave scum in the microwave and old food in the fridge. By the way, as of 2015, the old Siuslaw high school building has been torn down and the football field is for sale.
* Richard and I must be old enough to be asking you and Mom about where babies come from. Maybe we're talking family talk about new sisters, or something. You are telling us that the dad gives the mom a seed and that makes a baby. So we implore you to give Mom a seed! I know, what a coincidence:  we just happen to enjoying blackberry pie for dessert. So, with a smirk on your face, from your plate to Mom's, you give her a seed. Clever, Dad.
* Family trips. It doesn't matter if it was just to Grandpa and Grandma's house in the ritzy neighborhood of Eastmoreland in Portland, or Grandma's house in the working-class mill town of Toledo, or anywhere else, you are the driver while Mom is the navigator and peace keeper. Richard and I are the annoying twits in the backseat. "Do I have to come back there?" you shout. "Do I have to turn this car around?" you add next.
* In that regard, what an accomplishment. You drive us about 3000 miles across the country in a U-Haul truck from Oregon to Virginia. You couldn't "come back there" because we all sat together on the same bench seat. You wouldn't "turn this [U-Haul] around"… just because we would not do that.
* Dad, in Virginia you're not the high school teacher that must maintain… appearances. (Remember, Mom had to maintain "appearances", too, which is why we had to move from John Day, Oregon, to Florence, Oregon). Therefore… the pipe. And the beard. You are (were) the quintessential 60's-70's college professor. You keep the beard well beyond its stylish'y statement and purpose. In your later years and months the beard appears and disappears, like your memories.
* In Virginia, Richard has decided to run away. Rather than dictate that, "NO, you CAN'T do that", you accommodate him by asking where and when he would like to go. It's dark and the three of us pile into the car. Mom stays behind to take care of baby Nanci. We drive around Norfolk and eventually find a somewhat rural location with a field and a barn. You ask Richard is this place OK? He says yes. So Richard gets out with his few belongings and heads across the dark field. You and I wait in the car. We drive around a bit. After awhile, we stop and wait. Richard comes back and you ask, "are you ready to go home?" So we go home. Dad, this shows your special character and fatherly patience. You allowed the lesson to play out - safely, without possibility of danger or disaster.
* There we are - you, me, Richard - at a TV repair shop in Agana, Guam. The proprietor is a middle-aged Filipino gentleman. We come in behind another customer, a middle-aged Caucasian man, possibly military. The customer is absolutely "ripping a new one" on the proprietor. He is cussing and shouting. He is calling racist names, like "gook". The proprietor, embarrassed, can't say a word. We just watch. Dad, you always knew when it was time to speak up and take a stand vs. when it was best to just let it go. You chose to let it go and not add to the scene. The customer left. I'm sure I wanted to apologize to the proprietor, but I don't remember what happened next.
* Dad, I loved and still love our vacations. Whether it was a quick trip to diverse points in Oregon. Or others around the west and northwest - 1962 Seattle World's Fair, California Redwoods - we had fun and the memories are forever-lasting. Then there were the vacations with Guam as the home base - Saipan, The States, Japan. There was that one vacation to Hong Kong which Richard and I were not included. (Staying behind to keep the house in Dean's Circle, etc.). But Japan during Christmas 1970 was the best! The cultural and esthetic adventures were beyond the pale. When it was all said and done,   I announce that I will marry a Japanese girl. I would not. But the natural beauty and culture would have a profound impact on me. Kyoto was and is an amazing place. It remains a shame that the 1960's Bullet Train in Japan has not been replicated here.

At about 6:00 AM the next morning, January 7, 2015, the phone rang with a call from a nurse at the Manor.  Dad had passed away early that morning. You can draw your own conclusions, but I think that when Dad and I flew, he knew it was time to go to Mom.