The Visit

The anxiety that had gripped him – all but consumed him – since he had received his instructions held him motionless before the small village. “This can’t be right,” he thought. “This backwater village in this backwater region can’t be the place.” He almost thought “There must be a mistake,” before he caught himself. No, there was no mistake, but that didn’t ease the sense of despair, the dread that had overwhelmed him since he had been sent on this mission.

He thought back to his summons before the Throne. There, before the Most High and a small group of angels, the Word had told him that He was going to leave heaven and go to Earth as a human, to become the King of the wayward and rebellious people and turn them back to the Father. He thought at that moment the heavens would fracture and they would all fall into the abyss, but that was just the beginning. The Word went on to explain how He was going to become human, and who His earthly mother would be and that he, Gabriel, in his role as messenger was to go and prepare her. He had already carried out a similar mission six months ago by appearing to Zechariah, the priest and foretelling the birth of a son. He chuckled a bit at having left Zechariah speechless. But that was different; Elizabeth was just old and childless. This… this was something altogether different.

Now Gabriel stood in the dark on the road before the little village of Nazareth, a collection of mud houses nestled on a hillside in Galilee, one of many such villages, none notable. Some of the houses seemed piled on top of others against the hill, mud roof of one becoming the courtyard of another. Some were white-washed; most were not. At the end of the street a few awnings stretched across poles marked where the vendors made a market each day. The market was empty now, as were the streets. All of Nazareth was indoors.

Gabriel strode quickly to the house. Pausing before the door, he tried to muster as much angelic aura as he could, but aura – and almost everything else – had been sucked out of him. He pushed the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the room. She was alone, as he knew she would be. She was startled at his abrupt entrance, but not as much as Gabriel was. “A child!” he thought. “She’s just a child.” He knew the way of the humans – the betrothals at a very early age, the arranged weddings – but to actually see her just confirmed all the dread he felt. “What was He thinking? This skinny girl cannot be the mother of the King of Israel!”

Pushing aside his misgivings, Gabriel set to his task and exclaimed in his most angelic voice, “Greetings, you who are highly favored. The Lord is with you.” He was chagrined at the weak and trembling way the proclamation actually came out. He cleared his throat.

Mary stared at Gabriel in shock. She was startled, but there was nothing to be afraid of in Nazareth. Certainly there was nothing threatening about this man, stranger though he was. What troubled her was his greeting. Mary was a non-person in Nazareth; hardly anyone ever spoke to her at all, least of all strangers, and this was certainly not what a stranger said to you – not even a stranger who burst into your house unannounced. This wasn’t even a greeting that the Rabbi would make – not that the Rabbi ever spoke to her – but this… this greeting made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Gabriel, aware that he had startled Mary, quickly said, “Don’t be afraid, Mary. You have found favor with God.”

Now Mary was afraid. First, this stranger knew her name. The neighbors didn’t even know her name. Then he said he knew something about her that she didn’t know – and what he knew came from God. Deep down, the first tiny spark of knowledge of who this stranger was and what was happening snapped into being. Yes, now Mary was very afraid.

“You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end.”

Mary heard the words but they didn’t make sense. Then she began to process them, first the part about having a son, then the part about her son being given the throne of David. The little spark was burning white-hot now. Then she went back to the beginning – the part about being with child. Yes, she was engaged to Joseph, and they would marry soon, but something told her this was not what was meant. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them to Gabriel and said, “How can this be? I... I’ve never been with a man.”

“The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. That’s why the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.”

Gabriel saw the flash of terror pass through Mary like a lightning bolt. She turned her head away, but Gabriel had seen her eyes wide with alarm. “It’s too much for this child,” he thought. “She can’t handle this.” He sought some way to comfort her. He said gently, “Your cousin Elizabeth is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. Nothing is impossible with God.”

Mary looked at the angel, for she knew full well now that this stranger was from God. Her heart pounded as if it would leave her body. Her mind raced from one thought to another. God has chosen me… What will Joseph say…? It’s not possible… Nothing is impossible with God… What will mother say…? The Messiah – at last…! This can’t be happening to me… Me! God has chosen me…! Why me…? What will father say…? There’s an angel standing in my house… What will the neighbors say…? What of the shame…! Mother of the Messiah…! What will Joseph’s family say…? What…?

Gabriel was stunned. He felt the emotional turmoil, sensed the burning questions as they caromed through her consciousness. He was certain she was going to bolt into the street and he positioned himself squarely before the door to stop her flight when it came. The whole future of creation hung on the answer from this child and he was powerless as to its outcome.

Slowly, the Spirit calmed her mind, softened the trip hammer of her heart, and brought stillness to her thoughts. She looked at Gabriel a long time, then bowed her head and said. “May it be to me as you have said.”

Gabriel blinked once or twice, trying to decide what to do next, but there was no next. His work was done. There was nothing more to say, so he just turned and stepped back into the street. He paused in the dark passage, thinking about what had just happened. He had delivered a preposterous message to a totally improbable girl and she had received it in stride – and was prepared to act on it. Smiling to himself, he set off to find Joseph.

Monday Meanderings - 12.18.2017

The Blizzard of '17 had us all singing "snow" songs - you know, like, "Winter Wonderland" and "Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow." And that old favorite, "Good King Sauerkraut."

Not familiar with that one? Must not be a Pogo fan. Every year, Walt Kelly fractured a few carols with versions of his own. For instance, the paean about the 10th-century Bohemian King Wenceslas, which normally goes:

"Good King Wenceslas looked out
 On the feast of Stephen
 When the snow lay round about
 Deep and crisp and even.."

But Kelly's version usually, but not always, ran:

"Good King Sauerkraut looked out,
On his feets uneven,
While the snoo lay round about,
All kerchoo acheiven."

There was never any more after that, at which point the following exchange would occur with whatever two characters were present:

"'Kerchoo'?"
"Gesundheit. Uh, what's 'snoo'?"
"I dunno. What's new with you?"

But the classic Pogo Christmas carol is "Deck us all with Boston Charlie." I memorized this song as a college student, and can sing it even now, whether asked to, or not. The first verse goes:

"Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
Walla Walla, Wash., an' Kalamazoo!
Nora's freezin' on the trolley,
Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo!
Don't we know archaic barrel
Lullaby Lilla Boy, Louisville Lou?
Trolley Molly don't love Harold,
Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!"

There are actually more verses, but as best as I can determine, they appeared only in the anthologies of Pogo cartoons published after Kelly's death and they don't have the verve and élan of the classic first verse.

And what holiday would be complete without a rousing chorus from the Chad Mitchell Trio's "Song of the Temperance Union?"

We're coming, we're coming, our brave little band
On the right side of temperance we do take our stand
We don't use tobacco because we do think
That the people who use it are likely to drink

Away, away with rum, by gum, rum, by gum, rum, by gum
Away, away with rum, by gum, the song of the Temperance Union

We never eat cookies because they have yeast
And one little bite turns a man to a beast
Can you imagine a sadder disgrace
Then of a man in the gutter with crumbs on his face

Away, away with rum, by gum, rum, by gum, rum, by gum
Away, away with rum, by gum, the song of the Temperance Union

We never eat fruitcake because it has rum
And one little bite turns a man to a bum
Can you imagine a sorrier sight
Than a man eating fruitcake until he gets tight

Away, away with rum, by gum, rum, by gum, rum, by gum
Away, away with rum, by gum, the song of the Temperance Union

And I conclude by singing to one and all, "We wish you a merry fruitcake, we wish you a merry fruitcake, we wish you a merry fruitcake, and to all a good night!"

Monday Meanderings - 12.11.2017

Well, the big news around these parts is the Blizzard of  '17! Yes, it actually snowed here in Austin (and southward as far as the coast)! What made this snowfall so remarkable is that the weatherman was completely wrong - "No snow in this front! Maybe a flurry, but no accumulation! Nope! Not going to happen!" Then it started snowing,and remarkably, the farther south you went the greater the accumulation. Naturally, all the school, city and government agencies did the predictable thing - panicked and shut everything down. That's the ATX way.

But the really big news is that my audio book passed QC and is "live" - listed on Amazon and Audible.com. There was a little hiccup during the checking process; ACX, the Amazon company that handles all the audio book preparation kicked out the opening credits file because I also had a forward and dedication recorded there. It seems they only want prescribed, scripted opening credits - if there is a dedication or some front matter it goes in another file. Whatever.

I corrected that and re-submitted the file and then I heard nothing from ACX for a long, long time. I was getting a little antsy but all is good and the book is now out there, poised to earn me fame and fortune. Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. Because, frankly it's not a very good book (even if the narration is stunning). Okay, in fairness, it is not the sort of book I would buy. Or any one I know would buy, though as of this post some soul did actually buy a copy, and since the author and I each get free promotional copies the purchaser is probably not even family. Who knew?

I learned a great deal about producing audio books during all this. Primarily, I learned that it is a lot of tedious work and that every 3rd breathing person is now in the business of producing audio books. Including, it would seem, me.

Monday Meanderings - 12.4.2017

Wow. How did it get to be December already? Seems like we used up this year pretty fast. I guess it's time to get out the Santa hat and see what kind of trouble I can cause this season.

Speaking of Santa, I was chatting with the person next to me before class yesterday and someone mentioned his son's Christmas list. I asked about the list and the guy said, "Take a look at this," whereupon he pulled up a Google Document on his phone and showed me what his 8-year old had created.

The kid's list was about 8 pages long, grouped by price range and in order of preference. Not only that, each item had a link to an online seller! So much for the old mark-the-page in the Sear's catalog.


I have mentioned the Austin Chronicle before; a free newspaper that takes a non-traditional stand on just about everything. Of special note are the ads on the back page. For things like:

• TAP DANCERS WANTED - Performance group age 50+
• KID ENTERTAINERS - Will Train
• TAROT READINGS - Clear Answers
• MOTORBLADE.COM - Poster dude puts fliers in 200 legal spots
• Come Race With Us - Soap Box Classic
• Harmonica Lessons

Monday Meanderings - 11.27.2017

I'm well into a tryptophan-induced haze as I write this; that's what turkey and dressing, cranberry sauce, green beans, sweet potatoes, Waldorf salad and a slice of pie will do to you. $11.49 at Luby's for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Pecan pie 75 cents extra.

Yep, we joined several hundred of our closest friends for our Thanksgiving meal again this year. No cooking, good food, no clean-up and thankfully no leftovers. Or more importantly, no siren calls from those delicious pies left on the counter, just begging for one more slice to be eaten, with a double scoop of ice cream, of course. One simply does not throw out un-eaten pie.

And we again thought of that very first Thanksgiving, just Barb and I in Abilene. We had invited some college students over - kids who lived too far away to go home for the holiday. From somewhere, we had received a cooking tip about putting the turkey in a brown paper bag before cooking. Sounded good, so we got up at the crack of dawn to start that process, tucked the bagged bird in the oven, and went back to bed.

It wasn't too long before we woke to a house full of smoke and a turkey bag burned down to the juice line! We don't know what we did wrong - let the bag touch the oven, or something, In the mean time we have a scalding-hot, ash-covered, partially-cooked turkey to deal with, and guests on the way. We salvaged dinner, as I recall. Thankfully college students aren't picky, and it ended well. At least that's our recollection, and I'm going to stay with that version.

If you read blogs, I  recommend Sean of the South to you. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, and novelist, known for his commentary on life in the American South. Here's a bit of his biography:

"As a child, I liked to write. I filled up notebooks with tales of the high-seas, shameless vixens, and steamy scenarios combining both of the aforementioned. My fifth grade teacher found one of my notebooks and scanned through it. She told me I wrote with too many commas, and encouraged me to pursue a career in construction work.

That, old, woman, never, liked, me.

Years later, I learned my teacher had left the school. She took a job at the Piggly Wiggly as a cashier. I went to visit the old girl, to show her the man I’d grown into. She seemed genuinely glad to see me. And I was just as glad to find her wearing that red apron for a living.

After visiting for a few minutes, I realized something I’d never noticed before. Beneath her hardshell exterior was a regular lady, working from nine to five for pennies. She was doing the best she could with her life. Just like me.

Before I left, she asked me what kind of work I did.

At the time, I worked in construction."

Monday Meanderings - 11.20.2017

Okay, I got the heading correctly spelled and properly dated. For the record, I will not be writing this blog in 2701.

Don't you just love those days spent in overcoming technical challenges? For several years I have used a password manager that sat quietly embedded in my favorite browser. I had my log-ons and Barbara had hers and everybody was happy. Until Firefox followed Chrome's lead and kicked most browser extensions out, including my password manager. So everything had to be updated - and merged - no more separate files - and it's a pretty cludgy interface! And there was great wailing and gnashing of teeth in all the land.

Speaking of technology advances, the other night my phone began barking! Not the little yap, yap that you find in the ringtones - this was the attack Doberman in full throat! It seems my fancy doorbell purveyor has added a neighborhood watch to its app. When a neighbor posts an alert of suspicious behavior, the Doberman lets us all know!

And one more. Being a lawful driver, I often use Siri to accommodate my hands-free requests, such as add an appointment, or make a call. After one such request the other day, Siri said, "What would you do without me?"

Well, the author has approved my narration and the audio book is in the hands of Audible's quality control department. It's nervous time for me. I've jumped through all the technical requirement hoops that I know of; if they say it doesn't measure up, I'm not sure what else I can do.

It has been quite a learning experience for me. I far exceeded the 5-to-1 ratio of production to narration, but if I do this again (and that's a big if) I'll know how to go about it.

Monday Meanderingd - 11.13.2107

At the Learning Ally studios, the readers take a break at the mid-point of their session, and gather in the break room for a time of camaraderie and discussion. The sessions usually start off with "What are you reading today?" Wednesday, one of the readers was lamenting that his current book was chock full of Russian words and names - all of which have to be researched for proper pronunciation.

Another reader, an elderly, white-haired little old lady - soft-spoken, dignified and the epitome of Southern gentility - spoke up and said, "When I was with the CIA, they sent me to language school to learn Russian." Wait! What? We all looked at each other and almost in unison said, "You were with the CIA?" I don't think we could have been more surprised if she had said, "When I was President..."

Monday Meanderings - 11.6.2017

Yes! You all know I have been opposed to Daylight Savings Time for many, many years, and now there's proof that it's a bad idea. And I quote:

"The Monday after Daylight Saving Time ends in the fall is more dangerous than other Monday, according to a recent study published in Journal of Experimental Criminology. Aggregated police records from across the country show a slight uptick in assaults the Monday after we gain an hour in the fall, followed by a mirror decrease when we lose an hour in the spring."

Change the time - do the crime.

I introduced you to the term Boyborygmus a post or two back - a fancy term for stomach noise and growling. Here's another highfalutin word for a common problem: Xerostoma. You don't have to have much Latin to figure out this refers to dry mouth, and more.

Both these terms are important to me in the context of the audio book I am recording. The recommended mic really picks up the rumblings and gurglings of your stomach - and the pops, clicks, snaps and other associated noises caused by dry mouth. I thought it was just me, but a bit of research in the voice over community shows that it is a Really. Big. Problem!

There are countless posts on the voice forums asking for advice on what to do with mouth noises and an abundance of suggestions on how to ameliorate the problem. Suggestions on hydrating while recording (no coffee or tea, room temperature water only, no-sugar-added apple juice, sips only, swish and spit, at least 64 ounces 2 hours prior to recording [allow time for bathroom breaks], etc.). Eat Granny Smith Apple slices/don't eat anything before recording.

Brush/don't brush your teeth. Use XYZ mouthwash, exercise your lips and tongue, practice while holding a pencil in your mouth, lubricate with olive oil, talk off-mic/move away from the mic/move close to the mic. Did I mention Granny Smith apples? That advice is given so often you think it must absolutely be the answer. It's not.

Use/don't use software plug-ins for your recording program to de-click, or de-ess, or de-pop, or reduce noise, or... or...

Guess what? None of/all of the above works on a case-by-case basis. "Find what works for you" is the most often-given advice. And then do what everyone else eventually does: laboriously hand-edit the track and clip out the unwanted noise.

And thanks to my loyal readers, I was reminded what the mystery note "fajita bandit" meant. It concerned a news item about a man arrested for stealing $1.2 million dollars worth of fajitas. Of course, one has to ask just how someone can possibly steal $1.2M worth of fajitas? Walk out without paying? The restaurants will catch on pretty quickly. For that matter, who can possibly eat $1.2M in fajitas in a lifetime - even if you ate daily at the High Dollar Hyatt.

Turns out he was in charge of ordering food items for a school district, and for many, many years, he added fajita meat to the school's order and then diverted the goods to other restaurants, who thought they were buying from a legitimate purveyor. And that's the story behind both mysteries. Thanks.

Monday Meanderings - 10.30.2017

Pretty close to using up October - and next week is change-the-clocks time already. Have I mentioned how much I dislike the time change?

We had our 2 days of Fall here in ATX. Now it's back to warmer, muggy weather till a cold front comes wafting through. Beats triple digits, though.

Ran the sound for a National Honor Society induction ceremony for our friends from the high school across the street. It was a somewhat fancier ceremony than when my kids were inducted, with a guest speaker, and a valiant effort at some pomp and circumstances.

It fell a little short at the point that the NHS key was bestowed on each honored student. The expectation was that as each name is called, the student would cross the stage, an NHS officer would hang the key around the neck of the student, handshakes would occur, and that part of the program would occur with speed and dispatch.

The reality was that the keys, dangling from some type of chain or lanyard and piled in neat stacks on the central table, snagged and tangled together, and before long all of the people on the stage were trying to separate them, and the line was so backed up that whenever a key was untangled, it was thrust in the hand of the recipient and they were hastily sent on their way. You would think that this group would have been smart enough to work that out ahead of time.

According to the National Retail Federation, Americans will spend $9.1 billion dollars on Halloween this year. Elaborate costumes, decorations and festive occasions will add up to a record amount. Clearly, our household is not doing its part. We probably should go buy some candy...and sit at home in the dark and eat it in honor of the occasion.

And finally, here's a test for all of you. If I have "fajita bandit" jotted down in my Blog notes, what exciting story was I going to tell you?

Mondy Meanderings - 10.23.2017

The week has been spent in learning about the audio book business. I have been recording books for years, but this is the first book that I have produced, to use the Audiobook.com term.

To this point, my part in the book process has been to go to the studio, sit in the recording booth, and as I scroll the text of the book on the computer screen, record the words. I go home, and someone else listens to what I have read, comparing it to the text, and makes notes appropriately in the recording software, pointing out those few, extremely rare, almost non-existent occasions when I might have made a teeny little error.

In my next session, I correct those errors (the custom software they use makes that extremely easy) and a few weeks later, I see that book title in the list of published books.

In the audio book production world, it becomes a whole lot more complicated. No commercially-made sound-proof recording booths (at least not on my budget) so you spend a lot of time treating the space you have. You have no idea how complicated it is to get eight 2x3 panels of acoustic foam positioned as a sound barrier that you can hang in front of the room windows, so as to keep the neighbor's A/C noise out. Forget about stopping the sound of the airplanes passing overhead, or the lawn guys mowing any yard on the block, or the garbage trucks, or the,,,

My microphone may be a little too good; I mentioned having to deal with the stomach noises. My current nemesis is a tiny little "pop" that I somehow make with my tongue, or lips, or maybe it's just my eyelids blinking real hard - I don't know, but it really shows up on the recording and it's driving me crazy.

My recording software doesn't scroll the scanned pages, so you have to figure out how to juggle the text while recording. Fortunately, YouTube University had the easy answer. Put the text in a file that you can read from your iPad. No page turning. Didn't know about YouTube University? Just google "YouTube" and any subject you need information on for a plethora of how-to videos. Never mind that they often take opposite positions on a subject: "NEVER do blah, blah blah..." vs. "Blah, blah, blah is the ONLY way to go..."

Then there's quality control - finding and correcting errors. It takes about 30 minutes to record 15 minutes of material (you stop and re-read - a lot). It takes another hour and a half to edit out the re-starts and carefully compare text and audio. Can a person QC his own work? Yes, but it's very time consuming.

Another half-hour is spent in "mastering" the audio. Audible.com has a very rigid set of technical specifications that you have to meet. Each file must measure between -23dB and -18dB RMS, must have peak values no higher than -3db, must have a noise floor no higher than -60dB RMS and must be 192kbs or higher 44.1kHz CBR.  No. I have no idea what any of that means. Fortunately, there's software that one can use to meet that criteria, so I'm good.

Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea.

My Mormon ancestors - Part 2 - Tales from the Tree

In Part 1, I wrote about the early years of my near, dear 9th cousin  (4 times removed) William Shanks Berry and the family's tragic encounter with Indians. Alas, this was just the beginning of William's troubles.

When the Indian troubles subsided, William and the remaining brother, John, moved to Iron County, Utah where they prospered in the livestock business.They built fine homes in Kanarra, married multiple wives and became became outstanding businessmen in Iron County as well as leaders in the Mormon community. It was because of his status in the Mormon Church that he was sent back to Tennessee in 1884 on a mission.  More about that from William's unknown biographer:

"He traveled considerable over the state renewing acquaintances and making friends for the church among the state and city officials and prominent businessmen. He did this as part of his missionary assignment to break down the prejudices that existed against the Mormon Church. In this he had a large measure of success. He had not been gone long when he had a dream that bothered him. He felt that something bad would happen back home, so he wrote [his wife] Lovinia and told her to tell the girls to keep off the horses. The letter seemed sad."

William had been gone just over 4 months when he was killed, along with 5 other men, by a mob in Cain Creek, Tennessee  in an act that came to be known as the "Tennessee's Mormon Massacre."

The  Tennessee’s Mormon Massacre, also known as the "Cane Creek Massacre," happened on August 10, 1884 in Lewis County, Tennessee, at the home of Jim and Malinda Conder.  Five people were killed and at least one wounded in this culmination of a conflict between Mormons and the non LDS community. The attack was precipitated by rumors of "salacious behavior" on the part of unspecified missionaries. The rumors were accepted as credible because of the highly publicized practice of polygamy and the recent emigration of two teenage girls from Lewis County Tennessee to Utah.

According to an LDS website account, "On Sunday morning of August 10, 1884, a group of 14 to 18 men wearing disguises attacked the home where LDS church services were being held. Several shots were fired by the attackers. Two missionaries, John H. Gibbs and William S. Berry, and twenty year old Church member, W. Martin Conder, were killed. As the attackers left, the dead young man’s half-brother, J. Riley Hutson, shot and killed the apparent leader of the gunmen, David Hinson. The attackers returned fire and killed their assailant and severely wounded the two young men’s mother."

"The attackers then left, taking the mortally wounded David Hinson with them. David died within the hour. Riley also lingered for about an hour. He refused treatment, insisting that his friends do what they could for his mother. A doctor was sent for, who turned out to have been among the attackers. The doctor came anyway and treated Malinda, although he set the bone incorrectly consigning her to walk with a cane for the rest of her life."

"The two surviving missionaries eventually made it to the nearest branch of the Church at Shady Grove (aka Duck River, Tenn.) where they...sent a telegram to B. H. Roberts, the acting president of the Southern States Mission.  Roberts, who was well known in Lewis County, disguised himself, and secured the bodies of the two missionaries to be shipped home to Utah."

Monday Meanderings - 10.16.2017

If it is not decidedly cooler this morning, I am going to be seriously miffed at the weatherman. The temperatures have crept back into the 90s, as has the humidity, but the weatherman has for several days promised a "cold" front that was to arrive on Sunday. I'm writing this late Sunday and the A/C is still churning and the humidity is still too high. I'll give him until in the morning, and if it's not cool, I'll.... I'll... well, I'll be miffed, that's what.

Editor's Note: It's 55 degrees at 7:30 am, so I am officially un-miffed.That is all.

The home recording studio is progressing nicely. Barb refers to as my "cave" because of all the soundproofing I have on the walls and over the windows. A friend gave me two huge boxes of foam pieces that are about 2 feet by 3 feet and 2 inches thick and I have deployed them strategically to block sound coming in through the window from the outside, and to soak up anything in the room itself.

I've done such a good job, that when I listen to my recordings I mostly hear only myself. A lot of myself. Of course, I want to hear the narration I record, but I also hear, pops and clicks and a wide variety of mouth noises. Noises you normally never hear in an ordinary environment. I've discovered it's a common problem - there are lots of postings in voice-over forums about proper hydration and vocal exercises to deal with mouth noises.

There's also the problem of borborygmus. Okay, I'm going to give you a couple of minutes to google that. Got it?

bor·bo·ryg·musˌ
bôrbəˈriɡməs/ 
borborygmus; plural noun: borborygmi

A rumbling or gurgling noise made by the movement of fluid and gas in the intestines. 

Yep. The old stomach going after it. Problem is, it happens all the time and you seldom are aware of it. Sure, occasionally there is the serious bout of gas, but it's the little gurgles that get you. Only when you are listening critically, at a high volume level, do you hear them - right in the middle of your narration. And even then, you are not sure if it's real or if it's Memorex, so you have to stop and replay that section to see if it repeats. And if it's on the recording you have to re-do that section.

Who knew the voice-over business was so... well, personal.

My Mormon ancestors - Part 1 - Tales from the Tree

It surprises me somewhat to find that there is quite a large group of Mormons, or LDS adherents  hanging out in the family tree. The large part is not surprising; when you have a half dozen wives (or in the case of one over-achieving relative, an even dozen), large families are the norm. I guess it's the choice of religion that surprises me. Most of the family tends to be in the conservative evangelical tribes, or maybe that just reflects my own bias.

At any rate, there's a bunch of Mormons in the mix, and some of them have interesting stories. Like the Berry family, whose roots stretch back to the American Revolution. They took up residence in Tennessee when it was necessary to build the cattle and pig pens adjacent to the house because of marauding bears. Jesse Woods Berry and his wife Armelia Shanks appear to be the first Mormons in the family, and left Tennessee to join a multitude of Joseph Smith followers in building Nauvoo, Illinois - a Mormon stronghold.

Jesse died in Navoo, and Armelia, with four sons and six daughters, joined the Brigham Young-led exodus to Utah. It's there that we pick up the story. In the fall of 1865, Armelia and sons Joseph, who was single, and Robert and his wife, went to spend the winter with relatives in Spanish Fork and also to purchase seed grain. Late in March, 1866, Joseph, Robert and Robert's wife started home leaving mother Berry still visiting with her married daughters.

Because of the illness and death of Robert's child, they were delayed in departing with the company with whom they had intended to travel; consequently, they made the trip alone. On April 2, they reached Short Creek and were attacked by Indians. The battle was brief and deadly, and all were tortured and killed.

Another of Armelia's sons, William Berry, was at home in Berryville, and knowing that the brothers were on the road, grew anxious about them. An unknown biographer of William described his actions thusly:

 "He saddled his horse and rode out to meet them. Stopping at a grassy spot to let the horse feed, he knelt in prayer for their safety. As he did so, a vision was opened to him of their mutilated bodies laying in their ransacked wagon. Horrified, he quickly mounted and rode his horse for help. He soon met a friendly Indian who was coming to tell him about the tragedy. He sent the Indian on to Berryville to tell his brother, John, while he hurried on to Grafton for help."

"A posse was quickly organized to recover the bodies to bring them to Grafton where they were buried. Word was dispatched to settlers who were scattered throughout Southern Utah to gather into larger centers for protection. The Black Hawk War had reached the south and the Indians were on a rampage."

"William tried to find the Indians who killed his family and he thought he knew who they were. The story is told that William found 2 Indians in a log cabin and was sure that they were among those who had killed his family. With one Indian backed against the wall and the point of a butcher knife pricking his bare abdomen, William tried to make him tell what he knew."

"When the Indian said that he was one of the guilty party, William could hardly restrain himself, and he felt that if he killed the Indian it would settle the score. Then the Indian did a brave thing that brought William to his senses, he calmly folded his arms, looked William straight in the eye and stood solid. He spoke no word and for a moment the two stood staring at each other. At this time it was made known to William that vengeance was the Lord's and that he wouldn't want the blood of any man on his hands. So he told the Indian to get out. The incident taught William a lesson in self-control which he would never forget."

But we are not done with William Shanks Berry, my 9th cousin 4 times removed (try and diagram that relationship chart).  In Part 2, we pick up the story of the Tennessee Mormon Massacre.

Monday Meandering - 10.09.2017

Happy Indigenous Peoples Day! You may know it as Columbus Day, but here in wacky, weird Austin it is officially, per the City Council, Indigenous Peoples Day. I get the day off, regardless. Oh, wait...

I will get the day off from the Studio, so I can work at home on my audio book. What? You don't know about my audio book? Maybe that's because it has happened rather suddenly.

I mentioned that Learning Ally is moving to a totally "virtual volunteer" environment; all readers and checkers will work from home studios, so in preparation, I have been setting up my recording studio here at the house. However, the Austin Studio will remain open until some time in March, so I'll continue going to the studio on a regular basis.

Meanwhile, I have this nifty studio set-up here, and I'm anxious to try it out, so I started looking around for someone who needs something recorded. Turns out Audible.com (the Amazon Company) needs a lot of recording and they have a pretty elaborate setup to bring together "Rights Holders" (people who write books) and "Producers" (people who record books).

There's a lot of hoops to jump through, but basically after you get your Producer profile set up, you upload some samples of your reading so Rights Holders can listen to them and beg you to read their book.  Or more likely, you look through the catalog of books (almost all are already on Amazon as print books or Kindle books) and send an "audition" to the Holder, begging to read his/her book.

In my case, I uploaded my samples on Thursday. On Friday morning, I had a message that a "Bestselling Historical Fiction Author Seeking Narrator for my Historical Novel with Magical Realism was impressed with my reading samples, and would I send her an audition (read a few pages of the actual book)? I figured this was probably a mass message to everyone who matched the profile of parameters I checked off (great voice, wonderful intonation, works cheap), but hey?

So Friday afternoon, I recorded and edited about 15 minutes of audition material from the book. I uploaded it Friday night and Saturday afternoon I had a message that I had an offer to produce the book! I'm in the process of reading it now to find out what "Magical Realism" is.

Reality check. This is not a John Grissom or Sue Grafton book. And based on the estimated length of the finished product and how long it took me to produce the 15 minute audition, I'll earn about $2 an hour for my work, but at least I know what ya'll are getting for Christmas this year!

Monday Meanderings - 10.2.2017

The subject of this week's post is senility - or at least advanced forgetfulness. Last Monday Barb remarked, "No Monday Meanderings?" And truth be told, it had completely slipped my mind. I had gone the entire week without giving a single thought to putting anything down.

I have to say it was a hard, and busy week. A lot of activity, and you know how activity wears us Senior Citizens down. Monday and Wednesday are Learning Ally days; Thursday night was a Eucharist service with our next-door neighbors at Saint Matthews; then a sound rehearsal on Friday night with the Central Texas Medical Orchestra; a tough, tough standing-room only funeral Saturday afternoon; and the then the Orchestra performance Saturday night.

I have blogged about the Central Texas Medical Orchestra before. All the musicians are local and are directly or indirectly part of the medical profession, and their 4 concerts a year benefit various health-care organizations, such as the Epilepsy Society, or March of Dimes. Each concert, in addition to an interesting selection of classical and pop music by the orchestra, features a guest instrumentalist and a guest vocalist.

This performance featured Kiki Ebsen, daughter of Buddy Ebsen (of Beverly Hillbilly TV fame). Her program was a brief retrospective of her father's career, with photos, video clips and songs from the films, such as Moon River (Breakfast at Tiffany's) and Over the Rainbow (Wizard of Oz). Since I mostly remember Buddy only from the Hillbillys episodes, so it was interesting to hear about his earlier career, including his three roles in the Wizard of Oz that never came to fruition.

Ebsen was originally cast as the Scarecrow until Ray Bolger's rubber-legged dancing caught the attention of MGM's brass, so they switched Buddy to the Tin Man role. However, he was highly allergic to the aluminum powder they sprayed on his face daily - so much so, he was hospitalized, and while he was undergoing a lengthy recuperation, they replaced him with Jack Haley.

His voice remained on the soundtrack, however, when the quartet of Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion sings We’re Off To See the Wizard - though he never received screen credit for that until the 50th Anniversary version of Wizard was released.

So this has been a quieter, calmer week, and my antique brain did muster up a notion that I needed to write down some Meanderings. That, and a couple of nudges from Barb.

Monday Meanderings - 9.18.2017

Significant changes under way for our volunteer activities. After logging about 9,000 miles  delivering for Meals on Wheels, Barb has turned in her insulated bags and retired from her route. She passed the 10-year mark earlier this year and decided that she had fulfilled her commitment. When asked what she was going to do now, she said, "Sign up to receive meals." Since she's still tutoring her Burmese families on English and Citizenship requirements, I'm not sure she's going to notice any slow-down in her schedule.

And on my side of the house, no more twice-weekly trips to the studio for recording sessions. Learning Ally is closing all of their studios.  No, they are not going out of business - they are transforming into a completely virtual organization. Everybody is going to work from home.

Learning Ally has been preparing this transition for a couple of years. There are 7 physical studio locations around the country, in addition to the headquarters in New Jersey. These studios, in the past, have been fairly autonomous; each responsible for all aspects of the assigned recorded book production.

Recently, a lot of the common infrastructure, like the log-in and log-out and time keeping has been consolidated into the "cloud" and some specialties have moved into "virtual communities." For example, those highly-skilled folks known as "math readers" have already been transformed into a collaborative network of readers, checkers and support personnel that exists globally, rather than scattered among the physical locations.

Now, all of the volunteers and almost all of the staff is becoming part of this virtual community, and almost everything we do can be done from home; selecting and signing up for reading and checking assignments, recording the audio, quality control (checking) and finalization.

I have, for some time, been checking audio files for accuracy here at home. Now I'll record them, as well. All I need is a microphone. And a wind screen, or pop filter. And a boom stand to position it properly. And some quality over-the-ears headphones. And a powered USB port because my computer is old and under-powered.

Oh, and a quiet room. A very quite room. No, quieter than that - I can still hear the neighbors air conditioner. So foam squares. And blankets. And maybe more foam. Wait! This chair squeaks! Is there a hum? I hear a hum.

However, probably the biggest impact these changes will have is about 8 more hours weekly of "together" time for Barb and me. Just remember, Barb used to call my boss and say, "Isn't there some place you can send Bob? He's really getting on my nerves."

So, to keep the peace, if you need me, I'll probably be shut up in my "recording studio." Looking for the source of that hum.

Monday Meanderings - 9.11.2017

When Barb and I fly, our preferred seating arrangement is aisle seats - across from each other. This sometimes confuses helpful attendants, who want to find us seats together, but we assure them that we like our arrangement, thank you.

But a few weeks ago, on a flight from Fresno to Denver, there were some open rows (unusual these days) and the visibility was good, so I slid over to a window seat for a change and watched the landscape pass below me.

On Google Earth you can see what I saw out the plane window, and that's a whole lot of nothing. About 875 miles of nothing, as the crow - or airliner - flies. Fresno is located in the Central Valley of California, on the eastern side of the state, only about 150 miles from the Nevada border. Only problem is, the Sierra Nevada mountain range and a string of Eco-sensitive national forests effectively limits travel in that direction. Not to mention Death Valley.

But that area fairly teems with civilization compared to the desolation that begins almost exactly with Nevada's western border and (following our route) continues on for another 200 miles to the Utah border. The 350 miles needed to cross Utah is not much better, at least not in the southern part of the state that we crossed. Not until you get to Colorado - and again, the change is almost exactly measured from the border - does the landscape show any real signs of civilization.

There are only two major highways in Nevada; IH75 from Los Angeles that crosses the Mojave Desert and passes through Las Vegas, exiting the state to the east at St George, Utah, and IH80, which makes a big northern arc from Sacramento through Reno to Salt Lake City.

Three quarters of the state's 3 million citizens live in Clark County, home to Las Vegas. Another half-million live on the northwestern border in the Reno area. That leaves a big swath in the middle of the state that is virtually empty. Of the 18 counties in Nevada, half have a population density percentage of less than 2 people per square mile.

Utah is more of the same. Although they have a whopping 110,000 more people than Nevada does, almost everybody lives in the Salt Lake area. Here's a map.

Outside of St George, way down in the bottom left corner, there's nobody home in the part of the state we crossed. Actually, there's no home for anybody to be in.

About the only conclusion I can draw from all this is that I'll stick with my aisle seat. Nothing to see out there.

Monday Meanderings - 9.4.2017

Summer is making an exit; temperatures have moderated (thanks in part to the massive weather event named Harvey) and Fall is peeking in the windows. Come on in. We are ready for you.

I have a few left-over items I've been holding on to. Like summer, it's time to push them out the door. Like this:

The 29th annual Hatch Chili Fest. This year's outstanding menu item was the Ricas sauce.

And here's a puzzle for you.  Any idea what this gizmo is?

 Here's a clue:

Of course, just as I did, you immediately recognized this as an electronic jump rope. Complete with a digital counter to keep up with the skips. But, you might say, the rope does not connect the two handles. That's the beauty. You can't trip over the jump rope. You just swing the little weights around and hop up and down. Or, like in my case, pretend to hop up and down.

Barb acquired this item for participating in a medical study at her endocrinologist's office, along with quite a bit of additional swag, such as a scale that measures in kilos and shows the body mass index, if you can get close enough to the tiny little read-out window to see the value. Oh, and a digital kitchen scale (with the same read-out window problem), and a Yoga mat with a DVD, and multiple gym bags, etc. There may be a theme here.

And this picture poses a question. In the fine print on the back of this gasoline filler nozzle, it says: "Licensed drivers only." Why?

And my final bit of trivia points out one more thing that the City of Austin will provide a rebate for.

Chicken coops! What will the neighbors think?

Monday Meanderings - 8.28.2017

The weather pattern in Texas for July through September is very predictable. "It will be very hot and very dry - unless there is some kind of disturbance in the Gulf."

There has been a disturbance in the Gulf.

ATX is on the outer fringe of the impacted area, but since this storm was seriously underestimated, even being on the outer fringe has been somewhat eventful. As of late Sunday night my gauge has measured nearly 9 inches of rain, and since the wind sort of knocked the gauge out of alignment, I suspect the actual measurement is somewhat higher. They tell us that it will rain steadily until Thursday.

The wind has been a constant companion to the rain, and there are a lot of smallish limbs, debris and such scattered up and down the street. Some big trees are down in the area and there have been numerous power outages across the area. Our recycling cart was last seen in a neighbor's yard. I hope it's still there when I can get out to retrieve it. Stepped on a squishy patch of carpet in front of the patio door this morning. The wind is blowing rain under the door, so we will have to keep soaking that up for a while.

All that that is nothing, of course, compared to what is happening to the east and in the Houston area.

Pray for those folks.

It has been very interesting to look at the pictures on Facebook of the damage in Port Aransas. That has been our get-away spot for years now, and we recognize most of the houses and buildings that are featured in those damage reports.

There's a large chunk of Trout Street Grill missing; Virginia's On the Bay seems to be quite a bit more open to the gulf than when we last ate there. The high-dollar boats that are normally moored on the bayou side are scattered all over town - the mooring itself is empty, except for a boat that seems to have tried to take cover inside Virginia's.

We have not seen a picture of the Sand Castle, the high-rise condo where we stay, but it's pretty obvious that we won't be going to Port A any week-end soon. Or, for that matter, to North Beach in Corpus, or to Rockport, or to Port Lavaca. However, based on the rainfall expected down-river from us, the beach may soon be a lot closer to us than in the past.

And all this from a little tropical depression that popped up in the Gulf and in just a few days time became the storm described as "unprecedented - all impacts are unknown and beyond anything experienced."

Monday Meanderings - 8.21.2017

We took the Meandering part seriously over the last couple of weeks and got into the trains, planes, and automobile mode. Okay, maybe that should be ferrys, buses, planes and automobiles; no trains this trip.

Permit me to share some observations:

The first rule of travel is that the airport is under construction. It doesn't matter which airport. They all are under construction.

The second rule of travel is that you don't have to go to the bathroom until your flight is called. The corollary to that, suggested by my son, is that once you are buckled in your seat, the actual take off and ascent to "Seat Belt Sign is off" will take a very. very. long. time.

The third rule of travel is that the obnoxious child/person in the waiting area will be seated next to you.

The fourth rule of travel is that the less time you have to make a connecting flight, the farther you have to go to your connecting gate.

Which brings us to some observations about cool, foggy, San Francisco:

 -- It's cool. Nay, chilly. To quote Mark Twain (or someone), “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”
-- It's foggy. To quote our bus driver, "The fog rolls in, and the fog rolls out. And leaves thousands of gallons of water." Our bus driver was very fond of that statement. Very, very fond of it.
-- You can get sun burned when it is foggy.
-- Most people in San Francisco are not from San Francisco.
-- Daily in the summer, there are tens of thousands of visitors down on Fisherman's Wharf, and we never saw a single policeman. We didn't even see a meter maid. I asked our waiter about the absence of police, and he said, "You would have to shoot someone to get a cop down here." 
-- The fog rolls in, and the fog rolls out. And leaves thousands of gallons of water.

-- San Francisco has the highest level of bicyclists I have ever seen - and no - zero - bike lanes. City of Austin might take note here.

-- Open top buses are great for sight-seeing, but one can freeze to death while crossing Golden Gate Bridge at highway speeds.
-- Did I mention the fog?

It was a nice visit. We did all the touristy things down on the Wharf; toured the town on the big buses; saw where O. J. Simpson went to high school; picked up on the Hippy vibe in Haight Ashbury; crossed the bridge multiple times; saw the fog roll in, and the fog roll out; ate the clam chowder in the sourdough bread bowl; had some Ghirardelli chocolate; visited Muir Woods; looked for B. J. Hunnicutt and Peg in Mill Valley; rode the ferry back from Sausalito, and walked a few thousand miles. Uphill.

We did not ride the street cars, however. The cost is now $7 a trip - $14 bucks for the 2 of us to ride up the hill; $14 bucks to ride back down again - and long, long lines at both ends. Interestingly, after getting back home, I learned that the motormen who operate the cable cars have begun a protest at having to collect the fares, make change, etc., and at present are refusing to perform those collection duties. Which may explain the long, long lines to ride them. For free.

Next time, we are visiting in October. When it's warmer. Go figure.

Monday Meanderings - 8.07.2017

Parks closed folks. Moose out front should have told you.

See you in a couple.

Monday Meanderings - 7.31.2017

The clock is back. I posted previously about the Seth Thomas clock that has been in the family for more than 80 years. You know, the one that chimes every quarter-hour and strikes the hours. Loudly. You may recall that it had issues and while it could keep good time, it would just come to an abrupt halt every couple of days, even though it was supposed to be an "8-day clock".

I finally took it to a reputable repair service here in town and described the symptoms, and got three repair scenarios:
1. A thorough cleaning for a modest cost (their definition, not mine)
2. Some disassembly and refurbishing of the clock mechanism for a not-so-modest cost
3. A total disassembly with replacement bushings, springs, etc. for an outrageous cost

The deal was that they would do scenario 1 and then evaluate whether 2 was needed; if that didn't work, on to outrageous 3. When I checked with them after a couple of months, they said that after performing option 1, the clock was still stopping, but they wanted to "work with it" some more before moving on to 2. In a few weeks they called that the clock was ready, needing only 1 "minor" spring replaced.

Previously, I had the clock located back in my office. Surprisingly, when I brought it home, Barb suggested that we put it on a shelf in the living room - that she had sort of grown used to the chiming. So. the clock is now very much a part of our day, and reminds us every 15 minutes how quickly time flies.

There is one issue that remains: the clock faithfully strikes the the correct number of hours, every hour - except for 1 o'clock. Eleven distinct chimes at 11 o'clock; 12 strikes at 12 o'clock - but you never know how many you'll get at 1 o'clock. Sometimes 2, sometimes 4, but never the correct single chime. But hey! That just seems to fit right in with our family. You just never know how many chimes you are going to get, sometimes.

And you know how, when you are dangling your feet in the lake, or wading in shallow water at the beach, and something nibbles on your feet?

Stay cool, my friends. It's hawt out there.

Monday Meanderings - 7.24.2017

All 2 of my blog followers noticed that there was no Monday Meanderings last week. Just slipped my mind, which is not hard at my age. I read recently that memory loss has some contributing factors — such as inadequate education, obesity, hearing loss and smoking. I should point out that I don't smoke, so it's not all bad news.

From time to time Barb gets emails that are addressed to her, but are obviously meant for someone else. For example, she'll get a notice that her order has shipped - but it's on its way to someone else, and obviously something she didn't order.

At first we were concerned that it was somehow wrapped up in identity theft, but that proved to not be the case. After the 2nd or 3rd incident It became fairly obvious that some other person - whose first name is also Barbara - simply enters an incorrect email address from time-to-time.

Google swears that it is impossible for two people to have the same Gmail account, and that if one is getting mail intended for someone else it is because someone has written an account down wrong. At least that's their story.

And we were okay with that until we got an email notice from the County Clerk in Fort Walton Beach Florida that Barbara was scheduled to show up at the Courthouse for jury duty - and she better show up and not be late!

I'm told that Fort Walton Beach is a pretty place, and Barb does like the beach. I wonder if she'll have a view of the ocean from her jail cell?

Almost every parent, and teacher of small children, has encountered "rocks in the ear." If not rocks, some other small object, such as a bean, inevitably gets lodged in the ears of small children and necessitates a trip to the ER to get it extracted. It's a rite of passage for the very young. And their parents.

So, I was a bit taken aback when another member of this household - who shall remain nameless - came in late the other evening and said, "Would you look in my ear and see if the little rubber dome from my hearing aid is lodged there?" The fact that it was a part from a hearing aid should tell you that we were dealing with someone, uh, well, mature. No adolescent behavior involved.

Did you know that the reason a trip to the ER is necessary is because it is extremely difficult to see very far into another's ear canal without that special little light gizmo with the pointy cap that the doctor sticks in you ear when you have a checkup? And even if you can shine a light in said ear, it's really, really difficult to do that and probe with some non-sharp (and therefore pretty useless) instrument?

Since the unnamed other member of this household was not in distress and great discomfort (it is a very soft and very small little object, after all) we decided we could postpone a visit to an urgent care facility until the morning, and said unnamed household member went off to prepare for bed.

I was shaking my head in disbelief at the circumstance, wondering how that little part came off in the first place, since it is normally a real chore to get them off for cleaning, when the unnamed household member gave a great shout of joy and returned with the missing dome in hand! It had come off, but did not lodge in the ear; rather it rolled into the farthest out-of-reach, out-of-sight corner imaginable.

And great was the rejoicing when the lost dome was found.

Monday Meanderings - 7.10.2017

You may recall that I have - for more than 50 years - provided sound and audio services for weddings. My daughter keeps telling me that I should write a book about my experiences. And I might. If I do, my most recent wedding will have a chapter all its own. My first (and perhaps my last) Rwandan wedding.

Some background. The congregation that Barb and I attend ministers to a large contingent of African refugees. Some are from the Congo, some from Ghana, some from Zaire, and a good-sized group from Rwanda. When you walk through the church foyer you will hear groups speaking French, Swahili and a variety of other dialects.

So a couple of our Rwandan members decided to get married and the ceremony was to be a mixture of traditional USA and traditional Rwandan. However, I soon found out that the USA traditions were minimal and this wedding was going to mostly reflect an entirely different culture.

Two dominant aspects of traditional Rwandan culture seem to be a lack of urgency, coupled with a concept called "African Time." The lack of urgency can best be exemplified by my two-week struggle to get my hands on the music to be played in the wedding.

The second tradition was explained as "The wedding is at 3:30. We told most people it was at 3:00. Some people we told it was 2:00. African time, don't you know?" By the way, the wedding actually started at 4:15 (and people kept coming throughout the entire ceremony).

There was to be no rehearsal, so I met with RJ, the groom-to-be, on Friday afternoon to discuss the 4 songs that he (finally) sent me, and the order in which they would be played.

RJ: "The first two songs are for when we come in."

Me: "Uh, there's 12 minutes of music here. It won't take you that long for everybody to get down there"

RJ: "You can start them over."

Me: "Both of them?"

RJ:"Yeah. And that last song there, that's for when we come back."

Me: "Ahh, the recessional. Got it. What about the third one?"

RJ:"Play that when nothing is happening in the wedding. You choose."

Me: "Uhhhhh."

RJ:"Did I tell you my brother is going to play the guitar?"

Me: "No. When?"

RJ:  "I don't know. When he gets up you will know it's time for him."

Me: "Right. Okay, I think we're done here."

Silly me. It did take most of 12 minutes to get everybody down the aisle.  Especially the guys. I'm not sure but what they were taking mini-naps after each step. It was a long, slow process. The ladies sailed right on down. Maybe it represented the male culture of fear of commitment and the female anxiety to get married. I don't know.

The next cultural difference was a series of questions the minister asked the families (in Swahili, no less - I was proud of our minister; the audience was rolling in the aisles). Basically, the questions asked if the groom and bride had fulfilled their obligations to each family. Evidently they had. Everybody sat down.

Another notable difference was that at a certain point during the wedding, those attending were expected to bring a gift to the bride and groom. We reached that point, and I played the song for "when nothing is happening in the wedding." But nothing happened. Not one person brought a gift. Awkward.

Then a guy in the audience hustled back to one of our ministers and said, "Do you have a basket?" We did, and the guy carried it down to the groom, and immediately people began bringing gifts. Evidently one does not just hand the gift over directly.

And one last cultural difference. Here's a clip of some of the attendants during the recessional.

Monday Meanderings - 7.3.2017

Happy 4th of July eve. Fireworks started early in our neighborhood. Lock up your dogs and small furry animals.

The venerable institution known as the Texas Boy's State held their annual gathering here recently. I have posted before about my own experiences while attending Boy's State, but if you missed those, Boy's State is a week-long gathering of junior-year high school students  who live in "cities" and nominate, campaign and elect officials and delegates to a legislative body that passes meaningless laws and resolutions. You know, sort of like real life.

It should not surprise you - given the current political climate - that this years delegates passed "legislation" for Texas to secede from the Union. The sponsoring body - the American Legion - was not pleased.

The growing season is in full swing at our house. Time to make some salsa.

And speaking of hot sauce... A local woman has been charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon after attacking another woman with a hot sauce bottle following a karaoke performance, according to a report by CBS Austin.

Austin police responded to a call concerning an altercation between two women who sing karaoke at a local bar every week. According to the report, 52-year-old Elsa Martin Garcia began to yell at a second woman, who had just finished singing, about the woman’s performance.

Then the situation, which the station reports was caught on a cell phone video, escalated to the point that Garcia hit the woman in the head a “glass bottle of hot sauce.” According to the station, police found a broken hot sauce bottle on a table and said the victim had lacerations on her face.

Talk about your music critic!

 And in a somewhat related story, an Austin man is accused of stealing beers and throwing them at the store clerk who tried to stop him.

A man who police identified as 47-year-old Douglas Wright Jr. was heading out the door of the Wells Grocery bodega with a stolen 12-pack of Dos Equis when the store clerk jumped over the counter and tried to stop him from leaving, an arrest affidavit said.

A shoving match broke out between the two before Wright punched the clerk in the face several times, the affidavit said. The clerk retreated toward the back of the store, he told police, but Wright then hurled several cans of the stolen beer at him.

Wright told police officers he stole the beer because he was “out of money,” had repeatedly stolen beer from the store in the past and admitted to punching and throwing beers at the store owner.

Take your pick. Can of beer or bottle of salsa. It's a tough town.

The Larkin Bramblett who IS related - Stories from the Tree

The last two "Stories from the Tree" told the sad tale of Larkin Bramlet, who, in an alcohol-induced snit, shot and killed his friend and fellow mill operator. Justice prevailed, however, and Larkin was publicly hanged for his crime in Cherokee County, Alabama in 1854. I pointed out that this particular Larkin Bramlet was not directly related to the immediate family, and was rather merely kin to someone who was kin to someone who was kin to a distant relative.

However, there is another Larkin Bramblett in the family, and he is directly related. Thomas Larkin Bramblett, my second great grandfather, was born in Laurens District, South Carolina about 1803, and departed this life in the same county precisely at sundown on 7 June 1838. We know the exact date and time, because he was allegedly murdered by his neighbor, Hiram Holcombe, and there is a record of the Coroner's Inquisition concerning the circumstances of his death.

The actual document is lengthy and shot through (um, poor choice of words) with legal mumbo jumbo, so here's a somewhat abridged and spell-checked version:

"Laurens District - An inquisition taken at the House of Newton Bramblett [Larkin's father] the 8th day of June in the year 1838 upon view of the body of Larkin Bramblett, late of the said District then and there lying dead.

"Good and lawful men of the said District, who being charged and sworn to inquire for the state when, where, how and after what manner the said Larkin Bramblett came to his death, do say upon their oaths that Hiram Holcombe of the state and District aforesaid on yesterday evening the 7th Inst. between sundown & dark did feloniously, voluntarily and of his own malice aforethought with a certain shot gun shoot and wound the said Larkin Bramblett in the breast, neck and head of which said mortal wounds the aforesaid Larkin Bramblett then and there instantly died and so the said Hiram Holcombe then and there feloniously killed and murdered the said Larkin Bramblett against the peace of this state.

"Spilsby C. Brown was sworn and on his oath says that yesterday evening, the 7th June 1838, Larkin Bramblett, the deceased, came to this deponent and requested him to go and help him get some hogs out of his field; that he went and found a number of hogs in the field and that they run or drove out some ten or twelve head. They caught one, the last they saw, near Hiram Holcombe's fence, which is a dividing fence between the said Holcombe and Bramblett, and that they dragged the hog to the fence near the corner of the field in the low grounds of the creek where the bushes and briars are very thick outside of the field.

"They laid down a few rails for the purpose of putting the hog into Hiram Holcombe's corn field; just as they raised up with the hog, Larkin Bramblett having hold of the head and this deponent of the hinder part of the hog, a gun was fired near to them and in front of where Bramblett stood, who fell back with a groan and never spoke. This deponent spoke and said, "In the name of God who had done this?" and cast his eyes in the direction of where the report of the gun came from and saw the smoke rising but saw no person, the bushes being quite thick in that direction.

He stepped a few steps around the corner of the field and saw Hiram Holcombe standing near a tree in the act of loading his gun in great haste. He says it was between sundown and dusk but entirely light enough for him to see distinctly that it was Hiram Holcombe, whom he has lived near all of his life and is well acquainted with, and that he could not be mistaken in the man.

This deponent, believing that Holcombe was loading his gun to shoot him also, ran off as fast as he could and never spoke to Holcombe nor Holcombe to him. He says it was about fifteen steps from where he and the deceased were standing to where he saw the smoke rise but that Holcombe, when he saw him, was some ten or twelve steps further off. He also says that it was Hiram Holcombe's hogs that were in Larkin Bramblett's field and which they were putting out. The deponent has no hesitation in saying that it was Hiram Holcombe of Laurens District in the State of South Carolina who shot the gun which killed Larkin Bramblett."

Unlike non-relative Larkin Bramlet's story, there was no big city newspaper to record what happened next, or at least I have been unable to find any further proceedings. The best I can come up with is a FindAGrave memorial that states a Hiram Holcombe was born in Laurens District about 1794,  died on April 24, 1842 and was buried in the Holcombe Family Cemetery in Laurens. That's 5 years after Larkin's death and I doubt that the wheels of justice turned that slowly.

So for now, at least, there is no rest of the story. I can only conclude that perhaps it is bad luck to be named Larkin if you are a Bramblett, and that if your neighbor's hogs get in your corn, you might check first to see if he wants them back.

Monday Meanderings - 6.26.2017

Okay, the Bigfoot thing is just getting weirder and weirder. This may be Fake News, or an Alternative Fact, but there was a report this week that the FBI contacted the Williamson County Sheriff's Office (the jurisdiction Round Rock is in) and said they had added Bigfoot to the 10 most-wanted list, and there was a $500,000 reward for his capture!

Now I would normally say that neither the FBI nor the WCSO were prone to put out untrue, spurious statements, but this is a new era, truth-wise, so I just don't know. What I do know is that I'm staying out of the Round Rock Parks for the time being. Personally, I don't think I'm that hairy, but someone keen on collecting a half-million dollar reward is likely to be overly enthusiastic, and Texas is a right-to-carry state. I'll keep you posted.

The only other news around here is that it's been hawt! Too hot to be out and about, so you'll just have to amuse yourself with kitten videos on the Internet. That's what I've been doing.

Bramlett & 0' Bannon: One bullet two dead men, Part II - Stories from the Tree

Last week I introduced you to a member of the Bramblett clan, Larkin Bramlett, who, in an alcohol-induced rage, killed his neighbor and fellow mill operator Benjamin F. O'Bannon in Cherokee County, Alabama back in 1854. Larkin was arrested,  broke out of jail, was re-arrested, was tried by a jury in Jacksonville, Alabama and was convicted and sentenced to death by hanging. His appeal was rejected by the U.S. Supreme Court, and all that is left to tell of his story is the administration of justice. and the moral, if there is one.

I am indebted to Jacksonville journalist Eric Wayne Key, who pieced together Larkin's story from the archives of the Jacksonville Republican newspaper and from court records, and published the story in the November 5, 2013 edition of the Jacksonville News. Key writes:

Thursday before the hanging, the wagons and carriages started rolling into town. Carroll County, Ga., was represented by at least 15 wagons each loaded with 8 or 10 people. People came from all corners of the map. Barefooted boys and girls, old men and women, large slaves with little ones following behind them, small boys on mules – sometimes as many as three on one mule. Grown men on switch tail ponies with the women walking behind them. Oxcarts, horse-drawn wagons, buggies, carryalls and carriages - every imaginable type of person and form of transportation were exhibited this week.

The day of the hanging, confusion filled the streets. The tavern on the Square ran dry. People were drunk and fighting. Every split-rail fence around the Square was broken down. The National Guard was summoned to control the chaos. Nothing like this had ever happened in Jacksonville before. At 10:30 a.m., March 5th 1858, some 50 National guardsmen with muskets and bayonets, commanded by Captain D. P. Forney. worked their way through the crowd. Upon their arrival, the noise rose to a deafening roar as the people exclaimed, 'There he is! He's coming out!" Constable Fleming drove a four-horse drawn hearse with a coffin in the bed up to the front door of the jail. Every face of every man, woman and child up across the hill was now turned to the jail and every eye on the jail door.

After some delay, Sheriff Farmer emerged with 33-year-old Larkin Bramlett in chains. He was pale and thin but seemed unusually calm. His hair was long, his face, sharp with features with thin lips and a narrow nose. He seemed quite surprised at the vast throng of spectators there to witness his execution. Walking and conversing quietly next to Bramlett was the Rev. A. E. Vandervere, who, on the journey to the gallows, would try to get a confession out of Bramlett, but would fail. Also walking with them was attending physician. Dr. M. W. Francis who was in charge of tending to Bramlett up to his final moments alive. At times, Bramlett could be seen laughing and then abruptly losing his smile. The men helped Bramlett board the hearse.

When Fleming cracked the whip and the horse set forth, Bramlett was positioned, seated and chained on top of the very coffin which would forever hold his body. The hearse departed from the jail and drove up the hill, rounded the Square and headed south on what is now Church Street for about a mile and a half near Rabbit Town Road where the gallows had been constructed in a gorge of the mountain. Some 10,000 spectators followed the hearse to the gallows. There assembled, the throng measured almost a mile deep.

When Bramlett reached his final destination he was assisted in putting on a shroud and a pair of white gloves. His shoes were removed and replaced by a pair of socks. He then walked up the scaffold stairs to the gallows, assisted by Sheriff Farmer and a deputy. After a brief sermon by Rev. Vandervere the sheriff set about placing the noose around the prisoner's neck, and at 25 minutes after 1 p.m., Larkin Bramlett. enveloped in his white shroud, wearing his white gloves, left this world and a story that would be lost for 150 years.

A shudder and a murmur ran through the crowd. The excitement was long gone. There was a deep sorrowfulness in the air. The crowd turned and slowly made their way back to town. The liquor was gone but no one cared, for it was the drink which had started this mess in the first place. Mothers would use this parable to scare their husbands and sons for years to come. Rev. Vandervere later revealed that Larkin Bramlett confessed that his trouble started in 1845 when he "took up the habit of intoxication."

Rev. Vandervere never got his confession of guilt from Bramlett. He commented six days after the hanging on the matter: "...Were it not for so many hard sayings in his confession, censuring men of high respectability, I could, from what he said and seemed to feel, have indulged at least a hope that he was saved; but such gross inconsistency leaves me in wonder and astonishment. I visited the poor fellow often before his unhappy end; and from what I could learn, he appeared anxious to be saved, and in fact seemed to believe that God would save him; but Mr. Editor, those condemned justly, should not plead justification before God. as a ground of acceptation, but plead guilty and his mercy for Christ's sake, if they expect to be saved. I wish and pray that all may take warning by the awful end of Larkin Bramlett."

Monday Meanderings - 6.19.2017

As if this part of Texas wasn't weird enough, we are now having Bigfoot sightings. Sort of. Round Rock Parks and Rec folks are finding large footprints and clumps of hair in several of the parks in their jurisdiction.

Half-again larger than a normal footprint, three images were captured at Freeman Park, Old Settlers Park and Brushy Creek Trail between June 8 and June 10. Mike Parker, editor of the Pflugerville Pflag and Round Rock Leader community newspapers, thinks the creature may be the “Hairy Man,” a local legend which dates back to Round Rock’s pioneer days and which has inspired a local 5K and Hairy Man contest.

They are not saying it’s definitely Bigfoot, because as one Facebook commenter said, if there are cameras at the parks to capture these images, then why aren’t their photos of the Sasquatch himself? But they do suggest that if you’re hiking in any Round Rock parks this summer, you should probably keep an eye out for something large and hairy. In fact, to reinforce that message Parks and Rec employees were putting up warning signs this past week.

But the "Hairy Man" is not the only critter making news. Or getting some signage. There's also the Killer Grackles. The UT campus is home to one of the largest gatherings of grackles anywhere, and during nesting season they apparently act like mama bears if you come near their babies. So much so, UT has begun posting warning signs about "Aggressive Grackles." And I thought you only needed to avoid standing directly under them.

Oh, great! Now we have to break in a new wait-person at Chuy's. Kathy, our server for the last 4 or 5 years, texted in her goodbyes last week, just when we were thinking about adopting her. I mean, who wouldn't want to have a close relative working at Chuy's? Think of the perks. Kathy worked with us through our 18 or so months of the Diet, so she knew automatically to bring the taco salad in a regular bowl, or to hold the cheese and avocado on the grilled chicken salad. Now we have to remember all that stuff. Either that or just always go with the ChuyChanga with queso sauce.

Apparently her leaving was a big surprise to everybody.  Marty, one of the managers, came to our table to find out if we were somehow responsible for her sudden departure! We assured him we had nothing to do with it. But when you have a relationship with a restaurant that has gone on for almost 30 years, we often say - sometimes out loud - "We were here long before you came. We'll be here long after you're gone."

Bramlett & 0' Bannon: One bullet two dead men - Stories from the Tree

It was another little scrap of information about a distant relative that caught my eye: "According to the Jacksonville Republican newspaper, 11-Mar-1858, Larkin Bramblett, before his hanging, told a reporter that he was married  at 15 to a girl  who was 13."

Wait! What? Not the part about being married at age 15, though that is unusual. The part that really jumped out, of course, was "before his hanging!"  Of course this sent me digging, and I came up with another remarkable story from the Tree.

A journalist named Eric Wayne Key pieced together the following story from the archives of the Jacksonville Republican newspaper and from court records. Mr Key published the story in the November 5, 2013 issue of the Jacksonville News under the title "Bramlett & 0' Bannon:  One bullet two dead men." I have borrowed both the title and the story. With some minor editing, here's Key's account.

It seems that in 1854, on the banks of an undisclosed pond in Cedar Bluff, Cherokee County, Alabama, there were two mills owned by a Colonel Hendrix. The gristmill, run by Larkin Bramlett, and a saw mill operated by Benjamin F. 0'Bannon. Bramlett and O'Bannon were friends and frequently drank and conversed after the mills had closed down for the day. On one particularly drunken night they got into a heated argument. Before things got bad, O'Bannon left and Bramlett went home to his wife and kids.

He seethed throughout the night, and upon waking the next morning, he visited his neighbor and asked to borrow a gun. The neighbor asked him if he was going squirrel hunting and Larkin replied, "Yeah, and I'll kill a damn big one before I get back." He made his way to the mill and yelled for O'Bannon to show his face. He screamed out, "Say your prayers. O'Bannon!" Seeing the gun, O'Bannon seized the opportunity to lunge towards his aggressor. The gun went off, hitting O'Bannon's leg, severing the femoral artery which resulted in death in a very short time.

Bramlett was apprehended and jailed in short order, but before the next turn of the court he managed to escape from the Cherokee County jail. He traveled to Murray County Georgia, then up to South Carolina, back to Chattooga County, and eventually went on to Louisville, Kentucky. From there he fled to Canada.

After two years and eight months he returned to Chattooga County Georgia, where he was recognized and subsequently arrested and extradited back to Cherokee County Alabama. But due to the notoriety of the case in Cherokee County, Bramlett's counsel requested a change of venue, and before the Fall term of 1857 he was transferred to the jailhouse on West Ladiga Street in Jacksonville, then the County Seat of Benton County, Alabama.

Not surprisingly, the jury disbelieved Bramlett's claim of innocence and returned a guilty verdict. "We the jury find the defendant guilty of the murder of Benjamin F. O'Bannon in the first degree and that he must suffer death. " The Honorable W. M. Brooks sentenced Bramlett to hang for the murder of O'Bannon.

Bramlett's counsel, the Honorable Alexander White, appealed to the U. S. Supreme Court in hopes of over-turning the verdict by Judge Brooks. The Supreme Court rejected his appeal stating, "The judgment of the circuit court is affirmed, and the sentence of the law must be executed."

Sheriff J. B. Farmer proceeded to make the necessary arrangements for the execution by building a gallows and summoning the different officers and physicians as required by law together with a sufficient guard. In the two weeks preceding the hanging, Jacksonville was abuzz with activity. Men and boys traveled to the southern edge of town to see the gallows. Soldier-like young men paraded the streets with muskets and bayonets. Here and there men would debate the likelihood of Bramlett's eminent escape and what he would do next.

There were rumors of what Bramlett was saying to the ministers and to the sheriff and deputies. Had he made a confession? What would he do once the rope was around his neck? How many men had he murdered? Bramlett's brothers were rumored to be here in town [there were 5 of them] and would surely attempt a rescue. With each rumor the security doubled and tripled. Rumors of Jacksonville being burned to the ground by the Bramlett brothers ran rampant.

At this point, I would like to point out that Larkin Bramlett is not actually a blood relative of mine. Unlike Pretty Boy Floyd, he's not even a 5th cousin once removed. He was just a member of the Bramblett clan that spread over the South, starting with the Immigrant John Bramblett in 1630. Larkin even spelled his name differently. But that's one of the reasons it's so hard to track Bramblett ancestors. They may be Bramletts, or Bramlets, or Bramblets or Brambletts, or in the case of one census, Branlets. And often these differences show up in the same family!

But he is out there on one of the spindly branches - apprehended, tried, and convicted. Next week - The Hanging.