A friend recently e-mailed me to see if I was doing ok. We hadn’t talked in awhile and she wasn’t seeing any signs of life from my blog. I wrote her back and assured her that things were fine but there was nothing going on with me worth blogging about. I thought my next blog post would be a picture of the x#$@&!! sweater I’ve been knitting but I keep encountering problems with that and have to redo parts of it.
I wrote her that I had taken advantage of the warmish day and replaced the wiper blades on the van and that I had knit for awhile by a fire in my backyard of brotherly love. She seemed impressed by that and seemed to think that was bloggable so here I am trying to think of some other regular old things about me that might be a little bit interesting. Here you go, an assortment of little info nuggets about my dandelion life:
Info nugget #1 I pretty much dance party at some point every day. By myself. Lately I’ve been thrashing about to the Minutemen and it got me thinking about the eighties music I listened to. A lot of the popular eighties music sucked but I think I listened to the good stuff and I’ve been pulling out some of the things I still have around. The good stuff includes Bad Brains (I against I, which I used to have on vinyl but it warped), REM, Pylon, the Replacements, Black Flag, XTC, Camper Van Beethoven, Elvis Costello and the Style Council. That would be great if anyone has any of these on CD that I can copy. I just have Minutemen “Double Nickels on the Dime” on CD.
Info nugget #2 Eldest boy’s voice is changing and he’s getting himself a little cilium mustache. Hormones, they are a-surging. The most incredible thing about all this is that he seems to be more conscientious about helping around the house. Seriously. I busted him wiping the counter the other day – without being told to do it. People, it brings tears to my eyes. I remember when I first got Junie as a puppy and I trained her to do things in one or two sessions and it was then I felt validated as a parent. I realized that the training frustrations I was experiencing as a parent wasn’t about me, it was more of a reflection of the shortcomings of my students. So anyone out there with boys that seem a little dim, I just say to hang in there and you will see the results of your work when they’re about 13. Yes, it sounds like a long time but if you already gave birth to said child than you have no choice other than to wait.
Info nugget #3 I’m still a little bored. I’m exploring volunteer opportunities, and I have lots to do at home but I realize that my day is kind of like the mall. I need a big anchor store, i.e. something big and important in my schedule, to force me to walk by and deal with all the piddlyass stores. Or else I’ll just stay in the food court. So I am pondering if I should just get a job in the public health field and forget about the nurse thing or what. I don’t know what to do. I just do not know. I like to have a problem-solving aspect to my life, it's what keeps me going and it's kind of missing right now.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Still, There is Blue
Perry Junior Youngblood was born at home on November 9, 1926 in Farmington, Kentucky on a farm, the second oldest of 5. As a boy he walked to a one-room schoolhouse, and then had to walk to a different one-room schoolhouse a few miles away when his mom got mad that he and his sister got paddled too much and he kept being dangled down the well by an older boy.
His family moved to Detroit in the 1930s, because they were poor and were lured, like so many, to the booming automotive industry. In school, he went as far as the first day of 9th grade when he went to class, sat down, decided he wanted nothing more to do with it and he got up and left.
He was stubborn and did things his own way. He was driving at thirteen, and my grandmother didn’t realize that he was younger than her until they were married. She had just turned 18, and she didn’t realize he was 16 then because as she said, he worked at the DeSoto plant and you had to be 18 to work at the DeSoto plant. They were married for more than 60 years.
They had three daughters in three years, and he was a veteran of World War II. When he returned from the service, he and my Grandmere opened a Dipsey Doodle restaurant on Telegraph in Southfield, one of those old car hop greasy diner places. My Mamaw and Papaw had one on 8 mile across from the state fairgrounds and my great aunt Treva had one in Ferndale.
He also worked as a carpenter.
Later, after the restaurants were sold, the family ran a parking lot next to the Detroit Zoo. He was the flagger next to the giant elephant on 10 mile, while my Grandmere and great aunts worked at the Village Flea Market on Woodward. Those properties are now covered by I-696.
I spent many childhood summers with them, and we ate out after weekends working at the parking lot and the flea market, usually at some place like the Rialto on Woodward or someplace on Telegraph and he would say the food was “just like downtown!” They liked to take trips down south, and they took my cousin and me to places like Gatlinburg, TN and back to Kentucky.
He used to smoke, but I never heard him swear and I never heard him yell or saw him angry. Once, as a kid, I saw him drinking a Blatz but when he saw me walking up he quickly hid it. He never talked badly about anyone, the most he’d ever do was a shake of the head and a tsk tsk. He was a nice guy that managed to stay in good favor with the wackies in the family that would have nothing to do with anyone else. He would always start conversations by saying, “So, ya workin’?”.
He had blue eyes like myself, the only one of my parents and all my grandparents. In fact, he was way into the color blue. He only wore blue clothing, and he bought blue vans, had blue houses, and did everything blue.
In the past decade, he battled cancer and many other health problems. He was never the same after being treated for a brain tumor 2 ½ years ago, right after my mother died. He was still stubborn though, and he would still drive around even though he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t complain, he always insisted on doing things himself. Too much, though, because he was frail and unsteady and he would fall. He didn’t like to ask for or receive help.
He was simple and humble, very salt of the earth. That was my Granddaddy. He died last night, the last of the five brothers and sisters, and just two weeks after his sister Treva died.
There’s one less democrat, one less good man, one less person to tell me that drinking pickle juice will dry up my blood.
Still, there is blue.
His family moved to Detroit in the 1930s, because they were poor and were lured, like so many, to the booming automotive industry. In school, he went as far as the first day of 9th grade when he went to class, sat down, decided he wanted nothing more to do with it and he got up and left.
He was stubborn and did things his own way. He was driving at thirteen, and my grandmother didn’t realize that he was younger than her until they were married. She had just turned 18, and she didn’t realize he was 16 then because as she said, he worked at the DeSoto plant and you had to be 18 to work at the DeSoto plant. They were married for more than 60 years.
They had three daughters in three years, and he was a veteran of World War II. When he returned from the service, he and my Grandmere opened a Dipsey Doodle restaurant on Telegraph in Southfield, one of those old car hop greasy diner places. My Mamaw and Papaw had one on 8 mile across from the state fairgrounds and my great aunt Treva had one in Ferndale.
He also worked as a carpenter.
Later, after the restaurants were sold, the family ran a parking lot next to the Detroit Zoo. He was the flagger next to the giant elephant on 10 mile, while my Grandmere and great aunts worked at the Village Flea Market on Woodward. Those properties are now covered by I-696.
I spent many childhood summers with them, and we ate out after weekends working at the parking lot and the flea market, usually at some place like the Rialto on Woodward or someplace on Telegraph and he would say the food was “just like downtown!” They liked to take trips down south, and they took my cousin and me to places like Gatlinburg, TN and back to Kentucky.
He used to smoke, but I never heard him swear and I never heard him yell or saw him angry. Once, as a kid, I saw him drinking a Blatz but when he saw me walking up he quickly hid it. He never talked badly about anyone, the most he’d ever do was a shake of the head and a tsk tsk. He was a nice guy that managed to stay in good favor with the wackies in the family that would have nothing to do with anyone else. He would always start conversations by saying, “So, ya workin’?”.
He had blue eyes like myself, the only one of my parents and all my grandparents. In fact, he was way into the color blue. He only wore blue clothing, and he bought blue vans, had blue houses, and did everything blue.
In the past decade, he battled cancer and many other health problems. He was never the same after being treated for a brain tumor 2 ½ years ago, right after my mother died. He was still stubborn though, and he would still drive around even though he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t complain, he always insisted on doing things himself. Too much, though, because he was frail and unsteady and he would fall. He didn’t like to ask for or receive help.
He was simple and humble, very salt of the earth. That was my Granddaddy. He died last night, the last of the five brothers and sisters, and just two weeks after his sister Treva died.
There’s one less democrat, one less good man, one less person to tell me that drinking pickle juice will dry up my blood.
Still, there is blue.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Something Better
It is absurd to live in a cage.
I love this Marianne Faithfull performance. This and Taj Mahal are my favorites from Rolling Stones Rock 'n' Roll Circus, 1968.
I love this Marianne Faithfull performance. This and Taj Mahal are my favorites from Rolling Stones Rock 'n' Roll Circus, 1968.
Monday, February 4, 2008
So Inclined
I went sledding this morning. I had a sled in the van already, so I thought why not? I dropped the 2nd grader off and went to Rolling Hills. It was just me and the hill. The hill is barely covered with snow, and it's not quite icy but there's kind of a sugar crunch going on to make it slippery. Kind of like a streusel topping. It turned out to be excellent conditions for sledding, I went really far and hit the snow fence a few times.
Here, take a ride with me.
Here, take a ride with me.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Snowshoe
The boys and I went for little hike in Highland Cemetery yesterday. Luka and I wore our snowshoes, more for the fun of it because the snow wasn't really deep enough for them. On the edge of the cemetery, there's a path that leads into the woods and is guarded by deteriorating lions. I never walked back there before, because in warmer weather the real deterrent to pass those lions is the lush growth of poison ivy in which they are surrounded. Yesterday, we passed the guards and marched single file until we found ourselves down in some sogginess and then turned around. Good times.
The lion on the right gets to smell Evan's new deodorant. Axe!!
The lion on the right gets to smell Evan's new deodorant. Axe!!
Sunday Comic
Click on the comic and it will miraculously enlarge so that you fallible humans can read it.
More god-man here
More god-man here
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