What the...? ...is a Quinquagenarian?

A few weeks ago, I was wondering... well, if you call someone who is Eighty years old an Octogenarian; what would you call me?

Someone in his or her "Fifty's" as it were.

So, I looked it up. Then I tried to pronounce it.... ("!") Then I had the Computer pronounce it instead. Then I walked around the house muttering it to myself for a few hours and I still could not pronounce it!

This was when I realized that the reason I had never heard of the word before; was because if you can't say it; you forgot it!

A few years ago when I tried to stop swearing I inserted "ARRRGH!" for the expletive.

For my "Fiftieth" this year my Daughter knitted me the Jolly Roger Sweater you will soon see in this video.

Because sometimes, I still lapse into the "Pirate Voice" around the house...

( ...am I really admitting this in public?!)

GUESS WHAT! ...muttering to myself in the "Pirate Voice"

I managed to say it!

And here I am at the "Poetry-Pot-Luck-Luncheon-for-Voorhees -villian-Old-Fart-Poets" trying to popularize this silly word:

"Quinquagenarian":

Dennis says I have found My Calling and my Future Vocation!

(...well, maybe with a lotta practice and a good Agent.... )

:)

...I also posted it on youtube.com.

(...somehow I don't think the word "Quinquagenarian" is going to go "Viral" as they say....)


;)

obeedúid~
12/Apr/08

Alright, I tired, but I could't resist....

(I'm Sorry...)

I was lying there... thinking about this...
I couldn't sleep... so I did this:

(I know, I know...)

I apologize already!


~

There Liza Coffin in my Tree

her name was Lizzie as you see

She married Silas on a whim

and raised a family with him

There Liza Coffin in my Tree

It's kinda creepy you'll agree

and if I go out on a limb

you must forgive me if I trim

a branch or two to make you see

at some point I was bourgeoisie

Her mother's maiden name was Glynn

that makes a Coffin next of kin

~

There Liza Coffin in my Tree

her name was Lizzie as you see

When she was looking for a thrill

it seems that Silas fit the bill

There Liza Coffin in my Tree

She came from far across the Sea

Her name was Gilmour way back then

her older brother's name was Jim

They say she's lying up there still

somewhere in Maine upon a hill

I'm not related to a Coughing

I am 3rd cousin to a Coffin!

~

...just for kicks I looked them up:

Yes, there are actually "live Coffins!"

(...I'll bet they hear that joke quite often….)

obeedúid~
02/Apr/08

It's a gift!

I admit it. Sometimes I can make an "April Fool" of myself. Just for a laugh! But sometimes I don't have too; God does that for me, and I'm O.K. with that.

~

Sometimes the sky opens up and God; or whatever superior being you believe in, drops one in your lap and says: "Here you go, this is from me, I thought you might need it. I hope it makes you happy... See you next time; have a nice day!"

Thats the way I felt when I was transcribing a letter from Robert Gilmour to his wife Mary written in 1865, when he mentioned a friend of his back in Ireland named John Selfjudge. He was a Shanachie. (Pronounced: sha na key.)

I thought to myself, "Self, this is a gift, you just couldn't make this one up!"

It seems that I did however, because the other day when I was searching for Robert Gilmour's Naturalization Papers on "Footnote.com". I found someone named John Selfridge, so I returned to the original letter to check my transcription: It seems that unbeknown to conscious me, I made that one up! (Or as I prefer to believe: God helped me make it up....)

I'm going with this one though. I have come to think of him that way. After a year of knowing him as John Selfjudge in my mind and in my manuscript, I don't think I could change his name at this point. I think he would be happy with it; having been a tale swapper. He would appreciate the literation, savor the irony, enjoy the contradiction, tasting the gift of it in his mouth as if it were a dram of "whisky" and "...feelt the waff o it!"

I've never been good at creating believable character names for my stories. They always look made up to me.

~

For some time now, I have been searching for a married last name for Robert Gilmour's older sister: Eliza or Elizabeth Gilmour. Trouble is, once a woman came to this country and married then took her husbands name; she pretty much dropped out of the census data. She is a character in my novel, and at this point I was ready to attempt in my own inadequate way to make one up.


The only thing I knew about her was that she once told my Grandmother that she disliked being called "Lizzie" so naturally I shied away from that.

Then I got this E-mail from my 3rd cousin Barb. She sent me a table which I will attempt to use when I go to Killaloo to trace our ancestor's birth data. (I'll try Barb, honest I will!) In the table was some data from the 1880 census, that she found about Elizabeth's name, when looking for Robert's Mother Jane (Glynn) Gilmour. (spelled Gilmore in the census data) Barb found them both in Freeport, Cumberland, Maine:

I looked at it and said to myself: "This is a gift!"

It seems her married name was "Lizzie Coffin" and her husbands name was "Silas Coffin". O.K., so I was a little creeped-out at first. I mean, I have an ancestor named "Coffin"....

My daughter saraH reacted in a similar way. First she said"Eww". Then she added: "Thats creepy, but in a cool sorta way!"

So I'm thinking: "Yeah, thats right... It's a gift! I never could have made this up!" It's like a character from an old Vincent Price Movie, or a Steven King Novel, or better yet, A Spaghetti Western!

I'm rolling it around in my mouth right now... I'm appreciating the literation, enjoying the contradiction....

I only hope that ol' "Silas Coffin" doesn't turn out to be an Undertaker... I don't think I wanna taste irony of that! It might be creepy, in a Rod Sterling sorta way....

~

..."Here you go, this is from me, I thought you might need it. I hope it makes you happy... See you next time; have a nice day!"

obeedúid~
01/Apr/08

Can I be the Provenance?

God bless my Grandmother Sarah Pollock (Gilmour) O'Brien and her sister; my Great Aunt Ann Gilmour. They were Pack rats, they saved things, things like electric bills, furniture receipts, and even Embalmer's bills!

I intend to spend the next couple of blogs exploring my Grandmother's/Grandaunt's collection of ephemera. But for now I'll start with something I found within an envelope among other unrelated things; and a question for "The Antiques Roadshow Crew...."

First the question, a little story and then: the something.

The Question: "Can I be the Provenance?"

The little Story: During "The Sixties" when I was "o wain" ("bak-ina-day") my younger brother was hit by a car in front of my parent's house, and for that summer I was sent off to Long Island to my Grandmother's house at 7 Drew Street in Hempstead, Valley Stream.

7 Drew St. ( Fall, 2007)

In the back yard behind the house
can be seen the Sycamore Tree Me Da planted;
that we all climbed and referred to as "The Family Tree".

While I was there, I used to walk around the corner to the "Five and Dime" so I could buy penny candies and look at but not buy Comic Books. One day on the way home, I walked along the RR tracks kicking stones. Then I saw it! A $5 dollar bill! It was more than I ever had in my pocket of my own EVER! It could buy a lotta Comic books! I was so energized I jumped right over the tracks! Narrowly missing the 3rd Rail!

Well, after I proudly showed off my newly bulging bankroll to Grandma; and she told me just what that 3rd Rail was all about: I was grounded. I was only allowed to stay on the property and not to go to the Five and Dime unaccompanied.

So I spent the first few hour's of the first day, in the backyard, in the Sycamore we called "The Family Tree"; carving my initials as far up the tree as I could get next to my older brother's initials.

Then I went down into the basement and rummaged around for awhile. I found some old Signet Novels and I read for the length of a bored pre-teens concentration span. I worked my way through all the "Junk" (Boy do I wish I had one tenth of that stuff now!) from the back of the house to the front.

Along the front wall there was a stack of some old picture frames and a mirror. I pulled the old picture frames towards me and held them up so I could look at the mirror. THEY FELL FORWARD at me and I just barely stopped them from knocking me down underneath them.

When the mirror came away from the wall, A TRAP DOOR WAS REVEALED!

So I carefully moved the picture frames and the mirror over to the side and jiggled at the door. As it pulled away cobwebs stretched like bubblegum in the sun until they gently snapped and fell to the floor in a swirl of 30 year old sift.

I crawled into my mysterious Pirate Cave on my hands and knees to find: empty wooden Barrels, Silt covered bottles and earthenware demijohns encased in a wickerwork covering.

"A Demijohn in Wicker."

(The Barrels were of no surprise to me; as I knew my Grandmother's Father, and his Father, and Father before that: were Cooper's. But what were these things doing in there?)
Later that night I asked Gram: "What's all that stuff down in the cellar under the front porch?"

"Oh," She said in her high pitched "Tee-hee" -Grandma -shaped -voice: "...that's where your Grandfather used to make Wine during the 20s...."

This is My Grandfather: James C. O'Brien,
My Father: James G. O'Brien,
and My Uncle Robert E. O'Brien.
On the front Steps in front of
the aforementioned Porch slash Wine Cellar.
(Circa: 1930 Something.)

And that my friends was filed away under amusing stories about my summer with Grandma to tell my children.

UNTIL LAST WEEK. When I came across this in an envelope with my Great Aunt's Will among other things:
The Something:

Grandpa O'Brien's Bootleg Wine Recipe.
Typed on Grandma's old typewriter?

So this is where I ask again: Can I be the Provenance?

The Fondement as they say?

Yeah, so this recipe makes 20 GALLONS OF WINE!
Do you think my Grandfather was operating a "Shebeen in Valley Stream"?
His Father (or Grandfather) owned a Saloon in NYC (I'm not sure yet; perhaps both even.)

This is O'Brien's Sample Room on Hudson Street in N.Y.C. circa 1865.
(And may or may not be the right place)
This scan was taken from "The Time Life Civil War Series"
devoted to the "War on the Homefront."
I found it while looking for other things
pertaining to the Gilmour brother's....

So, there is precedence. See the Demijohns? See the Barrel? For all I know the recipe was handed down. I guess I'll never really know.

My son and I plan to cut down the portions to a manageable amount and give it a try sometime this year.

Perhaps it "Will make quite a nice drink, but not as good as real wine."
And we' ll open up our own Shebeen and call it "Provenance".

obeedúid~
26/Mar/08

Slainte! and "Guid forder!"

Luck O' The Irish 3/17/ 2008

For me, the "Luck O' the Irish" has always been linked to the Tithes that Bind.

My friend Dan gave me some scratch-off lottery tickets for my 50th B-day. I won a whopping total O' $9.oo ...which I promptly turned back in for 5 more tickets that were worth $0.oo. I had fun but I won nothin'.

I never had any trouble stopping myself from buying lottery tickets. Me Da always said: "Unlucky at cards, lucky in love."

About 12 years ago; shortly after Me Da passed on, I met Tom Roe. He took me under his wing, (as he had done for many men over the years) through Boy Scouts and the United Methodist Men. One night when I missed a Committee Meeting and I was elected to the office of Advancement Chairman. I later found out that Tom nominated me. It seems he saw something in me I had not yet recognized. Lucky thing that?

I went on from the Scouts to Youth Ministry. Tom became my Mentor and my son Devin's surrogate Grandfather. He helped me through a divorce, helped me feed my kid's by letting me do odd jobs for him when I needed extra money, listened when I needed spiritual guidance and encouraged me to get back out there and "Find a good woman." Lucky thing that?

"The Luck O' The Irish" that is what I call it. The Ties that bind.

Over the years I have taken 5 troubled youth into my home. So far 4 of the 5 have been the better for it. (...you can't win every time....) People ask me why I do it. (take a troubled kid in, take on his troubles...)

I try to see in them what Tom saw in me....

Today, on 3/17 I went to visit Tom's widow Joyce in a transition Health-care Facility. Turns out she was in room 3/17. (oh yeah, when Tom had me cutting wood or something else; Joyce was making me Homemade Applesauce to take home to the kids.)

When I left room 3/17 I felt "Lucky", Lucky to know Joyce Roe, Lucky to have known Tom. Lucky to have raised my son and daughter with the love they return to me ten fold. Lucky to have friends and family who love me as I love them. Who cares about cards. I'm Lucky to love!

Count your blessings instead of your crosses;
Count your gains instead of your losses.

Count your joys instead of your woes;
Count your friends instead of your foes.

Count your smiles instead of your tears;
Count your courage instead of your fears.

Count your full years instead of your lean;
Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.

Count your health instead of your wealth;
Love your neighbor as much as yourself.

Happy Saint Patty's Day!

May you too, know the Luck O' The Irish!

It's Official!

This came in the mail today:

I'm Old. Card carrying old.

"Old-Card-Carrying-Obeedúid~-Guy!"

Thats me.

It's O.K. though.

WHOOOOMP!

I'll never give up playing the Air-guitar!

...and my Led Zeppelin-turrets still scars the crap-outa my kids!

Peace-Ouch!
obeedúid~
08/mar/08

Yes obeedúid~, God has a sense of humor... Or, "The Strange Mystery of The Conspicuously Absent Alan "The Bird" Casline..."

O.K., so I turned the "BIG FIVE OH!" last week(March 2nd). And Saturday night March 1st Dawn threw a party for me with close friends and family. I enjoyed myself immensely. Nothing like people you know and love to make these hurdles easier.

We had Pizza and Beer, (Soda for the little ones) And after I opened all the cards and presents...

(THANK-YOU EVERYONE!
FOR YOUR THOUGHTFUL GIFTS
AND SILLY CARDS TOO!)

In anticipation of my 50th birthday I contemplated for a week or so just what I should do to "...Not Go Gentle into that good night..."

...Well, BOZO had been of some discussion of late in my E-mails and I actually admited that when I was in Collage I was a member of an unauthorized fraternity named "The Royal Order of the BOZO's". ...and, that my Brother BOZO's referred to me as: "Phi-O'bus-BOZO." (...I was the Spiritual Leader of course; as I was paying my own way through school and I didn't want to party myself right out the door!)

...So,I asked everyone to put on "BOZO the Clown" noses so I could take a group picture to remember it all. Here are some of the pictures courtesy of Barbara Vink's Camera:

The left side of the room featuring my lovely daughter
front (and a little off center...) ;)
Alan "The Bird" Casline conspicuously absent.

The right side of the room featuring Dawn! Front right.
Also, Alan "The Bird" Casline conspicuously absent.

Dan and Tony.
Featuring Burkie's Shirt coming out of Dan's head!
at Alan "The Bird" Casline's table no less....

The Bates Family minus Kevin.
They don't know Alan "The Bird" Casline
so I won't ask them what happened to him...

Nope, thats not Alan "The Bird" Casline either.
It's DevoBOZO just back from
the mystical land of Middle Smurf....

This would be the owner of the camera,
eminent poetess, scholar and mathematician.
But not the conspicuously absent Alan "The Bird" Casline...

~~~

Oh yeah, I took the pictures so
I'm conspicuously absent as well!
I can fix that though:

Here he is folks, "Phi Obus Bozo!" alias "Card Carrying Old Guy!"
Not, of course, the conspicuously absent
Alan "The Bird" Casline...

(Hey do I look scary or what?!!!)

And just to prove that God does have a sense of humor my Church Buddies saved their noses and brought them to church the next day. (Good thing I still had mine in my coat pocket...)

When the Lay Reader (Steve: pictured above against the wall with his daughter Sam in the photo of the right side of the room) asked the congregation to pass "the Peace of Christ" they all stood up and put their noses on!

Best one liner of the day goes to Pastor Brian: "...and now I have to Preach to you BOZO's?"

As a special Birthday present Pastor Brian allowed me to help serve communion with him and Steve.

BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER!

Pastor Brian later admitted to me that he was afraid Steve and I were going to help serve with our noses on too! Even when I was doing "Clown Ministry" I wouldn't have done that though. I love to laugh but I do have a serious side as well. :)

~~~

Later that day I went over to Mom's house and she let me take home some family artifacts to scan. Yeah, so you think God has a sense of humor? Guess what my Great Great Great Grandfathers lawyer's name was....

Yup! Thats right! Bullwinkle!

Think about it. Bozo & Bullwinkle!

Now look at the both of them side by side:

Is it me or do these guy's look related?
Come-on look at the ears!
Look at the nose! (O.K., so I Photoshoped the nose...)
But hey! LOOK AT THE EARS! er, horns?

Bullwinkle is supposed to be a cartoon character !
...not my GGGGrandfather's lawyer!

:0

obeedúid~
11/Mar/08
(I started this thing on 03/mar but life has been busy....)

P.S.: If anyone finds Alan "The Bird" Casline tell him I am plowing my way through the 1885 edition of "The Complete Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson." (a particular favorite: "SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS of a second rate mind." )

;)

PS,PS: This is what Burkie and Sullivan look like from the floor apparently:

I don't know who was down there taking this picture
but I'll bet they were having fun!

Perhaps it was:
the conspicuously absent Alan "The Bird" Casline...
I know he was present at the party;

...but for some reason
there are no pictures to prove it!
He must have been in stealth Mode....

Wherever he was
it's one of the great
unsolved mystery's
of the day!

~~~

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!"
~Dylan Thomas~

~~~

O' slightly more Aisterly speculation....

Some weeks ago I had an E-mail conversation with Alan McKinney that led me to find something in the Griffith's Valuation data. For those of you who don't know: between 1848 and 1864, all land was surveyed for the purpose of establishing the level of rates (local tax) to be paid by each landholder or leaseholder. It was later used as a means to help support and feed the poor in Ireland during the famine. If you earned more than 3lbs per year, which was later raised to 5lbs per year you were assessed a tax based upon this data.

Most of the Census data was lost when The Public Record Office in Dublin's Four Courts building complex was destroyed on June 29, 1922 during the Irish Civil War. Among the irreplaceable documents were the census schedules of 1821 through 1851, wills and administrations as well as almost a thousand Church of Ireland parish registers. Although some few fragments of these records did survive the fire, for genealogists their destruction is a great loss of data needed to construct relationships with their ancestors it was a genealogical tragedy and wall we run up against that stops the average researcher in their tracks. The rest of us have learned the hard way to rely on other sources. Tithe Books, Freeholder Polling Lists, The Griffith's Valuation Data, Etc.

What I found in the Griffith Valuation data intrigued me. I have been able to determine from the Griffith's Data that Alexander Gilmour/Gilmore did in fact live at the Killaloo Glebe. BUT I also found that an Alexander Gilmore lived at Mettican Glebe near Coleraine. There is also listed a Jane Gilmore too. There is however, no concrete proof to indicate that this is my Alexander, or even perhaps as I suspect his Father. The Glynn/Glenn family can also be found in this area in the data.

Now, My Great Great Great Grandfather Robert Gilmour's wife Mary Pollock emigrated from the Portrush/Coleraine area in 1846 at age 11. As a somewhat seasoned genealogical researcher I have come to realize that further research at a later date may very well prove what I am about to speculate to be proved as untrue. Yeah, but, the writer and novelist in me can't help but let my unbridled imagination run wild.

So here I go: It is possible, although unprovable at this point, that Robert, either visiting a Grandparent, or living there as a child if this Alexander was in fact his father, might have known his future wife Mary as a "childhood sweetheart" or playmate. AWW MUSH!

Yep! here it comes... Back story to the novel O' Wasterly Gale© possible inclusion more than likely, and in Ullans dialect:

Summer, 1846,

On the beach at Portrush, Northern Ireland.

Mary watched the sand squish between her toes.

"Doo ye think tha trip wil bae lang?"

"It's a weill-kent fact the say."

She lifted her foot, and pressed down again in a new spot.

"Ye'll gae ta Killaloo thon?"

"Aye, Mae Fathar weil moove frea this Glebe tae thon."

"Yae'll bae neer yer kin as weel."

"Aye."

Robert squished his foot into the place in the sand where Mary's foot had been.

"Ay'll miss yea ye kno…"

"Aye."

"Doo yea think yea'll 'member mea yince Ay'm gaen?"

"Shure an Ay weill, yer me ain dear pet yea kno…"

Mary pressed her foot gently down over Robert's and into the sand. A wave washed into the shore and swirled around their ankles.

~ ~ ~

Sorry, I just couldn't resist.


obeedúid~
18/Feb/08

Canticle of the sick and convalescing.

This beautiful photograph by Alan McKinney of his Beehives at Killaloo Glebe which has been on my desktop since he sent me the link to it, inspired at least some of the creation of this poem. Being home while sick on a snowy day and reading "Bog Myrtle and Peat" by S.R.Crockett in bed added to it as well. One of my favorite early morning hymns did the rest while roaming around my stuffed up head. Of it's meaning I am not yet sure. Perhaps when my head clears, the snow and ice melt and the birds of spring eventually arrive, the meaning will avail itself. Until then I'm taking the phone off the hook. I need some rest. Having written this out of my head, and taken some cold medicine, I should be able to get some sleep.

When from the heart we say:

Sometimes

when the waking bird does sing

immortal hymns fiercely tender

yearning yet unsatisfying

sweet in the mouth

but bitter in the belly

the dramas of life

express themselves

in endless words

Sometimes

I hear the hot thrill

of hopes mysterious

wild thoughts

that quicken within me

like rosy fingers of Dawn

melting into broad day

Sometimes

even as I rise

and move to the window

I grasp a hint of plot

know the thread of my story

every word of it in open air

outside for all to see.

• 
  

Somewhere

I wake before the bird

in the gloaming

wait expectantly

with careless wonder

gladly then, might I remember

immortal hymns of deathless fame

that make the waking bird sing

in the silent, stirless, windless night

Somewhere

the vision softly fades

as I return to slumber

listening to the scraping drone

of a snowplow

sick abed I dream of a bird

waking to sing with words

Somewhere

as the waking bird does sing

I hear soft murmurs

of daily conversation

when the cock crows

in the imagination of my heart

and the universe falls silent.

• 
  

Someplace

my blood is young

and red again

running through

misty fields

of romance languages

unspoken and unlearned

yet sung in light of day

by bird from forest edge

Someplace

I would know the hot thrill

of hopes mysterious

and feel rosy fingers

of rapturous Dawn

its dulcet refrain

of sunlight behind them

Someplace

I will know a joke

the little boy never understood

but I will only be sleeping

to dreams of a waking bird singing

immortal hymns fiercely tender

yet pure and entertaining.

• 
  

Sometime

perhaps the waking bird will sing

my yearning satisfied

the taste in my mouth

easy on the ear

my belly satiated

by sanguine farewell glimpse of eternity

as I slumber in a windowseat of dreams

Sometime

when all is quiet

I hear my father's voice

and squeal with delight

as he throws me up ashoulder

holding on tightly we climb uphill

out of the cool dark wood.

Sometime

I will carry my grandchild

as my father before

and pass on after a kind

good things gathered

from shores of memory

far across the sea of life

• 
  

Someday

like beehives covered in snow

I will sit motionless and pray

consciously waiting for spring

to the sound of a waking bird

singing of Ireland long ago

I shall see the land clearly

so well it comes alive

in the minds eye of my future

Someday

endless words must be abandoned

when they fall like rain over snow

turning to ice encrusted, gleaming

while the bird flies back

to sing of waking

in the present

Someday

my prayers answered

I will raise my voice to God

"when morning gilds the sky"

then I like waking bird will sing

the canticle divine

when night becomes today.

obeedúid~

13/Feb/08

My understanding of a Canticle being a chant of biblical or religious origin; that is how I came to label this poem as such. The 9-7-7 format is strictly of my own design. At one point each verse began with the word "Sometimes". I changed it to show progression of from.

The original was much longer and melodic in nature. The act of editing, cropping and tightening up unfortunately removed some of its flavor. This happens sometimes. I am not yet satisfied with it as a finished piece. I see it being paired down at a later date using only the most successful verses. A sequel may even be a possibility when I actually go to Killaloo.

Mark.
13/feb/08

You Just can't make this stuff up!

So there I was, on my day off last week, researching and reading newspaper articles on The Brooklyn Eagle On-line, trying to find anything about James Gilmour and his actions at First Bull Run. James fought for the Union, whether intentionally or not, to free the slaves and emancipate the Blacks.

While I did find a brief mention of his reported death at the Battle of Fair Oaks, I didn't find anything relating to his heroic actions at Bull Run.

I did however come across a series of interesting articles about a black man named "Robert Gilmore". My ancestor spelled his last name "Gilmour", same first name of Robert.

It seems that this Robert Gilmore was arrested for "Skylarking". My 1917 Funky Wagon-wheel dictionary defines "Skylarking" as: "being engaged in a bit of fun and frolicking." For this reason an Officer by the name of Redmond Joyce shot him in the back, while he was leaving the Tenth Precinct Station House without permission.

It seems Robert Gilmore was a communicant of the Fleet Street Colored Methodist Episcopal Church. The following is an excerpt from the article:

Officer Joyce was later convicted of shooting Robert Gilmore and there are a number of news articles culminating in the eventual suicide of officer Joyce a year of so later.

• 
  

It was at this moment that my phone rang: Mom was calling to say that in a stack of old papers she had found my Great Grandfather James Alexander Gilmour's Certificate of Marriage. He was the son of Robert Gilmour. I got in the car and went right over!

This is a copy of what she found:

My Great Grandparents were married at the Cumberland Street Presbyterian Church on Christmas Day 1888. 120 years ago this year! This must be where I get my sense of the Romantic I guess. I asked Dawn if she would marry me this Christmas. She's not going for it though. (...Yet...)

Notice please the name "Cumberland".... Interesting in that the Glebe House in Killaloo was located in the perish of "Lower Cumber"....

• 
  

Right underneath this document was my father's Baptismal Certificate:

Now the interesting thing to me about this certificate is that he was Baptized in the Methodist Episcopal Church. And, in the neighborhood that my Mom grew up in, the Methodists hated the Catholics, and the Catholics hated the Methodists. So much so that when I decided to convert from Roman Catholic to Methodist, and then follow the path to becoming a Methodist Pastor some years ago (I must clarify here, that as most of you are aware, I eventfully chose Certified Lay Youth Ministry rather than becoming an Ordained Pastor.) Mom was not at all happy about it. Over the ensuing years we have come to an understanding. Christ and his teaching, the following of his teachings, and living a Christ centered life is what we are about. We are one in the body of Christ and his teachings. I have raised my children in the church and when we look back on our heritage our ancestors were Lutheran, Presbyterian, Methodist, Methodist Episcopal, Roman Catholic. Christians; by what ever name you choose.

(I couldn't help noticing the irony that Dad was in fact Baptized as a Methodist, before the split between the Methodists and the Episcopalians....)

BUT WAIT! THAT WASN'T ALL!!!

Along with these other documents and some tin types which I will get to later (Mom keeps pulling rabbits out of the hat like this and there are more to come I assure you....) there was this tightly rolled photo with my father's handwriting on it that says: "Pollock Family of South Africa, Brother of Mary Pollock Gilmour".

I'll let this video show you the rest:



"Mary Pollock's Brother In South Africa."

Remember how I said that James Gilmour was: whether intentionally or not, fighting for the Union to free the slaves and emancipate the Blacks? On one side of the Ocean, one side of the family was trying to emancipate them, on the other side well.... They may have been in the picture, (25 or 30 ft. away of course.) but they were there to show the world of their success and wealth, not just good composition in the photograph by the photographer....

This is all I know about The Pollocks of South Africa, and until the other day I didn't even know that they existed at all. I suppose I should have known. These issues would have divided many families at the time. Issues of religion and race have done so from the beginning of time.

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Yeah, but, I still believe that we are all "...one in the body of Christ." I think thats what this little excursion on my day off was telling me anyway. I believe in the reconciliation of differences as well as the celebration of differences. Skeletons are simply what remains of what has gone before. The trick is, to build anew on the foundations left behind to us. Hopefully we will eventually build it right. And build it with LOVE!


You just can't make this stuff up!


PeaceOnYou!

obeedúid~

Oh yeah, COMING SOON:
Remember those Sympathy books
that you sign at the funeral home
when someone dies?

Well, apparently we have a stack of them....

This is beginning to remind me of Mary Poppins's Carpet Bag!!!

...into the light again...

Much has transpired since Christmas Eve. I am diligently working on the correspondence between Alan McKinney and myself to transform it into a readable narrative. It has been an Adventure that both of us will not soon forget! Patience, please....


Meanwhile, I received an interesting phone call from Mom the other day... Skeletons are stepping out of the closet and into the light again...


I require some AAA batteries to post my next blog and I intend to do so by this Sunday 20/Jan/08.


Documents are deteriorating and "the Skeletons are restless."


Stay tuned!

obeedúid~

BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EV-VER!

I startled everyone at Mom's house Christmas Eve with a "Whoop!" when I was checking out my brother's new Dell. I intended to show my brother Richard a map of Killaloo and it's environs I had been building in Google Maps, using Kenneth Allen's photo's from Geograph that I have previously mentioned and featured here in a blog back in June of last year. The map is in anticipation of our trip next year to celebrate my 50th birthday.

Then I noticed this E-mail:

to: obeedude@gmail.com

date: Dec 24, 2007 5:55 PM

subject: Glebe House

mailed-by: mac.com


I was fascinated to find your website Glebe Homie. This is because I bought the house previously known as the Glebe House which your site is dedicated to in 1999 and live here in Killaloo with my family.

The Church of Ireland had amalgamated several smaller congregations at the retirement of one of their rectors, and no longer needed the property.

Your home page shows a picture of the house roof in the foreground, taken from the roadside above. I have pasted on a picture of what it looks like from a bit closer up. Happy to send you some more if they are of interest.

It'll take me some time to read all of your blogs etc, but am working on it over the Christmas holiday period.

Best wishes

Alan McKinney

You can only imagine the look of glee on my face (and the dumbfounded looks on my family's faces) as I danced around my mother's living room after opening this E-mail!

The E-mail came with this photo attached:

Glebe House, Killaloo. © Photo by Alan McKinney

If you look at my blog header you will see a gray smudge on the left-hand side under the "G" and "L" in Glebe just beyond the tree-line. Little did I know that right there, in front of my eye's, hidden in plain sight was: the Glebe House!

Thank-You Alan!

"Merry Christmas! Pleased to meet you!"

obeedúid~