I may have miss-spoken about Fall not showing up. Sometime between the time I wrote last week's blog and the time I got up on Monday morning, someone turned on the cold. You may have seen the memes that pointed out that the temperature range in Texas was low 30's in the Panhandle and mid-90's in the Valley. On the same day. Austin, in the middle, was 44 degrees most of last Monday.
And then it started raining.
Yesterday was a beautiful day, a much-needed respite from the rain, but floodgates are open all up and down the Highland Lakes, dumping millions of gallons of water hourly - which must eventually pass through Austin. And the rains will resume this week.
Interestingly, an over-abundance of water often creates problems for city municipal water delivery. A number of cities along the flooded areas have been having issues getting safe water to users. Boil notices and shortages are common, and even though Lake Travis - where Austin gets its drinking water - is at 147% of capacity, Austin Water has issued urgent pleas to curtail usage. All the silt and debris in the lake is severely taxing the filtration process, it seems
On the bright side, the current joke is that Cruise Lines are now offering departures from Port Austin. Excursions include Bald Eagle viewing along the Llano River.
But still no fallen pecans to speak of, though that doesn't deter the little Vietnamese Lady. She comes by daily to check. It has motivated us to be properly dressed of a morning before opening the blinds. She really likes to prowl along the drip-line in the front flower bed, where the pecans that roll off the roof land. Surprise!
Vui lòng đi chỗ khác.
Monday, October 22, 2018
Monday, October 15, 2018
Monday Meanderings - 10.15.2018
motivation
noun
mo·ti·va·tion
| \ˌmō-tə-ˈvā-shən\
Definition of motivation
1
: the act or process of motivating.
Some bloggers need motivation to help them write a post.
Okay, I made up that part about bloggers. Merriam-Webster had a more general definition, but mine fits the situation better. I need some motivation - and good material - to get back in the blogging groove. To be fair, there have been 1,242 posts in this blog so far. This is number 1,243, and in the 11 years of this blog's existence, I have written down almost everything I know, and most things that I have done (there are some notable exceptions and that's all I have to say about that).
And I have been busy. I have been trying to wrap up the marathon audio recording project known as "the (expletive deleted) Alaska book." It came in at 14 hours and 40 minutes of narration. I don't keep records of how much time I spend producing a book; industry guidelines suggest a 6-to-1 ratio (6 hours work for every finished hour - or in this case, about 88 hours) is a good goal. Hah! I spent more than 88 hours trying to find the pronunciation of words like "promyshleniki" and "Revillagigedo" and "Kwakwaka’wakw." For the record, it's pronounced
"kwalk-walk-yah-walk."
Interesting story about the pronunciations. Early on I had raised a flag for help with the publisher. My contact finally got me in touch with the author, and I sent him a long list of words I could not find. After some prodding, he did respond, and said, "I don't have a clue. I never heard them pronounced. I just copied them out of the source material."
But this past week I clicked on the "I Am Done" button and put the finished product in the publisher's hands. Barring major problems, it should be available for sale in a few weeks.
It's trying to be Fall here - but not very hard. True, there are no more really, really hot days, but it hasn't exactly cooled down, either. There's a "cold" front coming this week that may make a difference. Maybe that will also shake some pecans loose. The trees are loaded, but very few nuts are actually making it to the ground, and those that do are much smaller in size than normal.
That hasn't stopped the little old Vietnamese lady; she checks regularly, and thanks to our motion-sensing doorbell, we know every time she comes around. She's hard to run off, so if I want some pecans, I'm going to have to be diligent. Assuming they ever fall out of the trees. At least no limbs have broken off (yet) this year.
It's trying to be Fall here - but not very hard. True, there are no more really, really hot days, but it hasn't exactly cooled down, either. There's a "cold" front coming this week that may make a difference. Maybe that will also shake some pecans loose. The trees are loaded, but very few nuts are actually making it to the ground, and those that do are much smaller in size than normal.
That hasn't stopped the little old Vietnamese lady; she checks regularly, and thanks to our motion-sensing doorbell, we know every time she comes around. She's hard to run off, so if I want some pecans, I'm going to have to be diligent. Assuming they ever fall out of the trees. At least no limbs have broken off (yet) this year.
Monday, September 24, 2018
Monday Meanderings - 9.24.2018
The tome labeled "Johnson County History" is exactly that. An amalgamation of facts, photos, historical events, newspaper clippings, biographies and sketches of Johnson County, it's communities and citizens from inception to publication date, about 1958, The book is still listed on Amazon, available from other sellers for about $130.
Johnson County, measuring 734 square miles in size, is just south of Fort Worth (Tarrant County) and is included in the Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington, TX Metropolitan Statistical Area. It is named for Middleton Johnson, a Texas Ranger, soldier, and early politician. And it is "home" for my family.
My parents were born in Johnson County, and they are buried there. Their parents, and some of their grandparents lived there and are buried there. Countless uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws (and outlaws) that make up the Anderson/Bramblett family lines lived there. Numerous family members still do, along with folks named Boyd, Doss, Elliott, Hagler and Basham, to name a few.
Cleburne is the county seat, and in the early years was the dominant community in the county, in terms of population and commerce. But there were dozens of small communities scattered about that pop up regularly in the genealogical record; places like Bono, Cresson, Godley, Grandview, Rio Vista, Sand Flat, Watts Chapel and Stubblefield. In some cases, the community - or remnants of it - is still there, In other cases, there may only be an old cemetery, now on private property.
One such community was Stubblefield, located in eastern Johnson County. The Handbook of Texas History provides the brief history of the community:
"Stubblefield was initially settled by the John B. Westbrook family in 1857. Westbrook built the first steam mills in the county, which he eventually sold to John Stubblefield, for whom the community was named. In 1868 Stubblefield contracted with Christian Hudzietz, a German immigrant, to operate a sawmill and gristmill at the Westbrook site. A distillery was added later by Reavis and Files, Distillers, but was sold at public auction in 1876 to satisfy overdue taxes. The United States government leased the distilling operation in 1877. A post office was established in 1877, discontinued in 1889, reestablished in 1892, and discontinued permanently in 1900. At one time the community included-in addition to the mills and distillery-several stores, three churches, a physician, and a telephone exchange."
My mother and her 7 brothers and sisters were all born in Stubblefield, The telephone exchange mentioned above was located in the front parlor of the family home.
Most rural communities decline gradually as founding families age and children leave for the big cities, such as Fort Worth. Stubblefield went out with a bang, however. Literally. The distillery exploded in the early 1890s, killing two men and burning several nearby buildings, Including the general store. Stubblefield never recovered and by the time my mother started school about 1912, the community no longer existed.
Monday, September 17, 2018
Monday Meanderings - 9.17.2018
The School Book Mysteries
My sister recently bequeathed (a big word that means 'from her closet to mine') to me two school text books that have family history.
They are small books - one just over 4 by 5 inches; the other a mere inch longer. I don't know the type point size, but I certainly can't read either book without some assistance. The smaller book, with the almost-illegible title "Selected Poems" and "McMillan's Pocket Classics" embossed on its tattered cover was published in 1922 (a puzzling date, given the inscriptions), with a listed price of .48 cents.
The other book, in somewhat better condition, is labeled "The Return Of The Native" - Thomas Hardy's sixth and most controversial novel and was published in 1917. There is a penciled "1.00" on the flyleaf. No family names are written in this book. Possession alone makes it a family heirloom.
However, family history is clearly evident on the fly-leaf of the "Selected Poems" book.
It might require the skill of an archivist to enhance all the names and scribbles on these pages, but you can clearly see our mother's name in the upper corner:
Mid-page is an aunt:
And below that Uncle
In the fall of 1920, mother was 13 years old. I'm not sure how the elementary/middle/high school divisions were made back then, but in today's terms, that would be the 7th grade. Middle School. Or maybe it was called Junior High then, as it was in my school career. So the "CHS" - Cleburne High School - is a bit puzzling. However, the "Barton H" indicates that she was in Barton House. Here's an explanation I found that clarifies that term"
Personally, I think it was because they made you read books with teeny, tiny type.
My sister recently bequeathed (a big word that means 'from her closet to mine') to me two school text books that have family history.
They are small books - one just over 4 by 5 inches; the other a mere inch longer. I don't know the type point size, but I certainly can't read either book without some assistance. The smaller book, with the almost-illegible title "Selected Poems" and "McMillan's Pocket Classics" embossed on its tattered cover was published in 1922 (a puzzling date, given the inscriptions), with a listed price of .48 cents.
The other book, in somewhat better condition, is labeled "The Return Of The Native" - Thomas Hardy's sixth and most controversial novel and was published in 1917. There is a penciled "1.00" on the flyleaf. No family names are written in this book. Possession alone makes it a family heirloom.
However, family history is clearly evident on the fly-leaf of the "Selected Poems" book.
Cora Bramblett
Barton H
CHS "20"
Mid-page is an aunt:
Ina Bramblett
214 W. Brown Street
Cleburne Texas
C.H.S,
"22"
And below that Uncle
Erwin Bramblett
502 South Douglas
Cleburne Texas
J.H.S.
1930
In the fall of 1920, mother was 13 years old. I'm not sure how the elementary/middle/high school divisions were made back then, but in today's terms, that would be the 7th grade. Middle School. Or maybe it was called Junior High then, as it was in my school career. So the "CHS" - Cleburne High School - is a bit puzzling. However, the "Barton H" indicates that she was in Barton House. Here's an explanation I found that clarifies that term"
"At that time Cleburne High School was set up on a “House” system. Instead of having a “home room” you had your house to meet in each morning for roll call and each evening for dismissal. The houses were large and probably held 200 students each or more.
There were three houses each for the boys and girls. The boy’s houses were Edison, Riley, and Wilson. The girl’s houses were Barton, Willard, and Addams."
Or, just think of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
In the fall of 1922, Aunt Ina would have been 13 as well. However, in 1930, Uncle Erwin was 15 years old and nominally should have been in the 9th grade - a freshman in High School by our present reckoning, yet he inscribes "J.H.S.," which one initially assumes to indicate "Junior High School."
A couple of other possibilities come to mind. Erwin might have been held back. Several times. Doubtful, because as an adult he was a capable and prosperous businessman, with multiple patents issued in his name. Or, perhaps "J.H.S." stands for Joshua High School, just over 8 miles north of 502 South Douglas and easily accessible by the "Interurban" trolley car which was in operation between Cleburne and Fort Worth at that time.
Our mother's high school tenure was short-lived. She did not complete her schooling, and it is possible the school year of "20" was her 1st and only year. She never discussed her abbreviated school career, only mentioning at one point that "her nerves" were not up to the task.Personally, I think it was because they made you read books with teeny, tiny type.
Monday, September 10, 2018
Monday Meanderings - 9.10.2018
My new friend Jack
I mentioned last post that I was narrating an audio book about early tourism along the Inside Passage on the Southwest coast of Alaska - a subject and place that resonates with me.
But the book is proving somewhat of a challenge in that it is full of words that I don't know how to pronounce. - many of them Alaskan Native names and phrases - primarily Tlingit, one of the many First Nation tribes that inhabited Alaska thousands of years before the white man showed up to "discover" Alaska.
My usual methodology for finding pronunciations is to check out some (or all) of the 30 pronouncing dictionaries I have bookmarked, then use a couple of specialized search engines, then finally just Google the term, hoping to find a discussion or better yet a YouTube video with the proper pronunciation.
Failing these methods, I start calling Libraries and Chambers of Commerce, or commercial establishments, or in this case Native Alaskan Association offices and talking to people. That's how I acquired my new best friend Jack. Jack turned out to be a 30-year resident of Alaska and wrote "local interest" items for a newspaper in Juneau, Alaska. He wrote about many of the same people and incidents that are in my book, and I kept running across these articles in my searches, so I set out to find Jack to see if he might be a good resource for the proper pronunciation of " Kwakwaka’wakw" or " Tatshenshin," among other things.
After a few tries, I found Jack. Or rather he found me. I got his first call while Barb and I were out shopping, and I did manage to keep that conversation under 30 minutes. The next call, I was not so lucky. Jack is a lonely man. Jack wanted to talk. And talk he did - for almost an hour. He sprinkled just enough responses to the list of words that I had sent him to keep me from trying the old "zzzzttt!!! sssppppttt!! You're kkkkrree breaking up, Jac...sssspppttt!! call crrrrrsh back...." trick, but even so, Barb finally came and pantomimed, "Do I need to rescue you?" about 45 minutes into this conversation.
Next Jack began an email campaign of articles that he thought I might be interested in. And they are somewhat interesting, but do nothing to further my quest for correct pronunciations, and they just heightened my concern for what I had gotten myself into.
But last week I got a short (!) email from Jack that said he had run out of resources and couldn't find any more pronunciations.
I thanked him for his help, and I might have mentioned that I would be in Antarctica for a year or so, so he might not be able to reach me by phone for a long, long while.
Be careful what you ask for. Or, who you ask!
I mentioned last post that I was narrating an audio book about early tourism along the Inside Passage on the Southwest coast of Alaska - a subject and place that resonates with me.
But the book is proving somewhat of a challenge in that it is full of words that I don't know how to pronounce. - many of them Alaskan Native names and phrases - primarily Tlingit, one of the many First Nation tribes that inhabited Alaska thousands of years before the white man showed up to "discover" Alaska.
My usual methodology for finding pronunciations is to check out some (or all) of the 30 pronouncing dictionaries I have bookmarked, then use a couple of specialized search engines, then finally just Google the term, hoping to find a discussion or better yet a YouTube video with the proper pronunciation.
Failing these methods, I start calling Libraries and Chambers of Commerce, or commercial establishments, or in this case Native Alaskan Association offices and talking to people. That's how I acquired my new best friend Jack. Jack turned out to be a 30-year resident of Alaska and wrote "local interest" items for a newspaper in Juneau, Alaska. He wrote about many of the same people and incidents that are in my book, and I kept running across these articles in my searches, so I set out to find Jack to see if he might be a good resource for the proper pronunciation of " Kwakwaka’wakw" or " Tatshenshin," among other things.
After a few tries, I found Jack. Or rather he found me. I got his first call while Barb and I were out shopping, and I did manage to keep that conversation under 30 minutes. The next call, I was not so lucky. Jack is a lonely man. Jack wanted to talk. And talk he did - for almost an hour. He sprinkled just enough responses to the list of words that I had sent him to keep me from trying the old "zzzzttt!!! sssppppttt!! You're kkkkrree breaking up, Jac...sssspppttt!! call crrrrrsh back...." trick, but even so, Barb finally came and pantomimed, "Do I need to rescue you?" about 45 minutes into this conversation.
Next Jack began an email campaign of articles that he thought I might be interested in. And they are somewhat interesting, but do nothing to further my quest for correct pronunciations, and they just heightened my concern for what I had gotten myself into.
But last week I got a short (!) email from Jack that said he had run out of resources and couldn't find any more pronunciations.
I thanked him for his help, and I might have mentioned that I would be in Antarctica for a year or so, so he might not be able to reach me by phone for a long, long while.
Be careful what you ask for. Or, who you ask!
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