’24 A To Z Challenge – A

Dam it, I’m Dutch

First I found out that my Dad’s ¼ “English,” that gives us the Smith surname, actually came from a Hessian soldier named Schmidt, who came to America to fight in the War of Independence, around 1776.  Then, recently, the daughter sent me this email about A for

ANCESTRY

Hey Dad….

I gave Mimsy the info for your mom and dad and asked her what she could do with it.  She loves hunting down genealogy and has full accounts to do so.  So far, she’s been tracking the trail of your dad’s family, and via his grandmother, she found this line that stretches back to the first Dutch settlers in what is now Albany, New York.

Your 8th or 9th great grandfather
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Hansen_Bergen

His wife:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Rapelje

~She eventually married another man named Bogaert and from that line came Humphrey Bogart – your very distant cousin!

Along this line of family, also comes a distant connection to 4 of her own kids via their dad’s line… It took her a bit to realize why my line seemed familiar to her, she finally figured it out last night apparently!

Just thought it might give you a bit of stuff to look over and maybe even do a blog post about.  Perhaps A for Ancestry  *wink wink*

I’ll forward anything else she comes up with in the future.

I have an online friend who once bragged that she was descended from Charlemagne.  He claimed droit de seigneur (and a few other things), and dipped his wick so often, that half of western civilization is descended from him.  I apparently am distantly related to Humphrey Bogart, So, here’s lookin’ at you, Kid.

Just when I had digested that little bit of history, I had another chunk thrust at me.

“So…another factoid…

One of your ancestors is known for how he died.
Hendrick Vrooman. Born 1618.
One of the verified fatalities of the Schenectady Massacre of 1690″

Have fun researching…

Duct tape is like The Force… There is a light side & a dark side and it holds the universe together.

’23 A To Z Challenge – I

Guess the American President

George, that washing looks like it weighs a ton.

The answer is Abe Lincoln.  The log cabin picture was the clue.

Names from names from names??!

A good number of English, family/surnames came from the towns/villages where ancestors lived, but where did those urban names come from?  The suffix “wick,” as in Warwick or Fenwick, comes from the Latin ‘vicus,’ a term for the civilian area next to a Roman fort.

The suffix “by,” as in Danby or Shelby, comes from the Norse word ‘byr,’  meaning town or village.  The ancestors of Floyd Thursby, the man who wasn’t there, in The Maltese Falcon novel or movie, came from ‘Thor’s byr’ – Thor’s town.

The first name for Ottawa was Bytown.  If ‘-by’ means town, that name seems redundant – Towntown.  It was named for Colonel John By, whose ancestors wanted everyone to know that they were not rustic farmers, but urban merchants who lived and worked in a municipality.  They were like the ancestors of Australian singer, Keith Urban, and New Zealand actor, Karl Urban.

I thought that ‘ton’ which ended many municipalities’ names, was a shortened version of ‘town.’  TILWROT!  In most cases, that is true, but I found some odd exceptions.  Washington is straightforward.  It was a settlement founded by an ancient Celt named Wassa – Wassa’s town.

On the other hand…. Hamilton is a Norman name that came to Scotland from England. It is thought to derive from the village of Hamilton or Hameldune near Barkby in the county of Leicestershire. The village name comes from the Old English elements “hamel,” which means “blunt,” “flat-topped,” or “crooked,” and “dun,” which means hill.

Which brings us to the excuse for this post – the place-name

ISLINGTON

The origin of this term is, Gisla’s dun.  Gisla – not Gisela – was a minor female Norman noble, who apparently owned a small mountain.  The small city of Islington was on the East side of Metropolitan London, until it was finally engulfed.  Similarly, there was an Islington on the West side of Toronto until it too, was swallowed up.

It was the site of L.L.Bean’s aborted invasion of Canada, some ten years ago. The Americans are Coming  They’re back for a second attempt, this time with fewer lies and less pretention.  They dispatched an advance expeditionary force of Snowflakes and Woke Brigade Special Forces.  Canadians still seem unimpressed.

England exported the word ‘dun’ north, to Scotland.  The Scots waste nothing.  Scotland is a country full of hills and mountains that towns and villages could be named for, only with the ‘Dun’ as a prefix, rather than a suffix.  In the nearby, largely-Scottish area of Southern Ontario, municipalities twin-named for those in the old country sprang up.  Among others, we have
DUNKELD
DUNEDIN
DUNVEGAN
DUNDALK
DUNBLANE
DUNTROON
DUNROBIN
DUNBAR
DUNDAS
DUNGANNON

I’m dun with this post.  Stop around again in a couple of days.  Try not to arrive too early.  I might still be polishing my caber.  😉

Sharing My World

Standing in for Melanie, pensitivity101 has sponsored a post, urging us to “Share Your World.”  Since I’m a selfish old bugger, I refused, and changed the title.  Always on the lookout for a good blog-theme, and being garrulous, loquacious, vociferous, talkative, voluble, gabby, thesaurus, and repetitive, I’ve decided to bare all.

Here are this week’s questions:
1.  Do you have family photographs on display in your main living room?

Yes, we do, finally. For years the living room walls have been adorned only with prints of artists’ originals, including one by a friend/artist, who turned it into a Remarque by painting an extension of a flowering Magnolia branch, out onto the matte.

The family pictures, including a water-color of the daughter, spinning yarn, begin at the half-landing, and extend up the stairway wall toward the bedrooms.  It looks like the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted Gallery, caught in a stiff breeze.

Having run out of upwardly-mobile vertical space, the recent birth of the Great-grandson required finding space in the living room to hang a photo of Mr. Blue Eyes on one wall, and a montage of him and his parents, printed on fabric at Staples, on another.

2. What was the best vehicle you owned?
This could be a pushbike as a kid, your first car, a motorcycle, or something else.

I would be hard-pressed to pick any of the vehicles we’ve owned, as a Favorite. Each has been what we needed at the time. We started with a couple of sedans.  As the children grew, we graduated to a station wagon.  As we became more rotund, numerous and arthritic, we’ve moved up to an easier entry, 7-passenger sport-ute.

Automobiles are sedate and functional.  For cheaper, easier, more fun and freedom transportation, I owned 5 Jap-crap, rice-burner motorcycles, over 20+ years.  If I were forced to pick, I would probably choose the last – a Corvette blue-on-blue, Honda CB750K

3. Did you pass your driving test first time?

I did! I had to choose between two cities with examination centers, each 25 miles away from my home town. One possessed steep hills, and examiners known to reach over and turn off the ignition half-way up, to see how you coped.  I picked the flatland one.

I took the test in a left-hand drive Vauxhall, exported to Canada.  I lost four points, not once, but twice, for failing to gear down the manual transmission for turns, and lugging the engine.  I needed 90% to pass and ended with 92%.

4. Does loud music from a neighbor or passing cars annoy you?

Thank an un-named (and possibly imaginary) deity for allergies and air-conditioning. We remain inside mostly, with the windows closed. Our nearest neighbors are quiet, and those who play music while they’re on their decks, do so at reasonable volumes.  The son works all night, and tries to sleep all day.

Idiots in cars, with their radios jacked up to 11, puzzle me, but usually don’t anger me.  At a light, some fool rolls up beside me.  My windows are up.  His windows are up, and I can still hear his stereo blasting and the bass just a-thumpin’.  I think it’s like buying a hot-damn car as a penis substitute.  They’re compensating.  And it’s often some young white dude, blaring Black rap.

Gratitude:
What has made you smile over the last seven days?

Grumpy Archon is getting soft and mushy in his old age.

“Happy/Smile” is not the same as gratitude.  Despite claiming to be grumpy, I am easily pleased.  Mining humor sites for future blog-post jokes, and interacting with fellow bloggers keeps me happy and smiling.  I am grateful that, even as I have reached the age of 78, I still remain reasonably strong and healthy.  I much prefer seeing the green side of the sod.  If that changes, I’ll let you know.

WOW #74

Yeehaw, buckaroos, this here’s a rootin’, tootin’ yarn about three funny, over-the-hill characters.

Not that three!!  That there is a picture of me and my brother and sister!  😯  How did that get in here?

No, I’m talking about the even older and less significant, Middle English comedy trio of

ROOTLE

TOOTLE

AND

FOOTLE

Do not confuse Rootle with The Rutles, a fake British band that became a real one, much like the fake American band, The Monkees, did.

Rootle is the sometimes-used British alternative verb form of root – to root about like a hog.
to turn up the soil with the snout, as swine.
to poke, pry, or search, as if to find something

Melodious little Tootle means to toot gently or repeatedly on a flute or the like.
to move or proceed in a leisurely way.
Hong Kong English driving instructions include, If pedestrian do not move advantageous, tootle him gently.

You can get footloose with Footle, if you act or talk in a foolish or silly way, loiter aimlessly; potter, or talk nonsense.

Trust the English language to confuse those who are trying to learn it – three words – one basic spelling – two different pronunciations.  😳

Showing the difference between Canadian English and British English, I was taught to putter, rather than potter.  To ‘potter’ would require a throwing wheel, and a kiln.  For me to ‘putter’ only takes a long, strangely-shaped stick to get the ball rolling.  Golf is a lovely walk in the sun and fresh air – spoiled by having to chase a little white ball.  It’ll be par for me to be rootin’ and tootin’ again in a couple of days.

This Ain’t No Dang Instagram

This is not Instagram, but an incredible simulation!

This past Sunday, with COVID’s permission, we had the entire family over to film another episode of Smitty’s Loose Change.  It was a delayed Easter, and an advance celebration of the great-grandson’s birthday, which is today.  (Oops!  Got my publishing dates mixed up.  It was yesterday.)

The culinary centerpiece was our version of a Black Forest cake.  Everybody eats – everybody helps.  Since the grand-daughter-in-law has come to love the base cake, and since it evades the grandson’s food allergies, she has learned to bake the spelt-flour/dark chocolate/mayonnaise cake.

The wife mixed up the whole-cherry sauce for it.  The grandson whipped the cream, fine-shredded a block of dark chocolate to sprinkle on it, and plated and served to everyone in the living room after dinner, while I wowed the crowd with my fantastic fork-work.

The daughter sent along some food for thought.

The grandson brought two 25 cent coins for my collection, from the East Caribbean States.  Canadian vending machines will reject American quarters because they are the wrong size and weight.  They cannot tell the difference between these and Canadian quarters though, which is how he got two of them in change.

The Grandson’s path from the bus stop to his housing complex, is along a community trail.  He spotted a piece of fluttering paper, and also brought a Nigerian 100 Naira note.  I did my usual money laundering, using warm water and liquid hand soap, getting rid of skin oils, dust, and COVID viruses.  Then I ironed it smooth and flat.  I have African bills from Zambia, Zimbabwe, Uganda, and South Africa.  This was a welcome addition.

When I told the grandson that I had somehow lost the pictures of the stone cat for my The Year In Photos post, he riffled through his Smart phone, found them from 9 months ago, and emailed them to me again.  No excuses this time.  I claimed that I almost stepped on it, but the owner actually had it up on a porch railing, in the sun, much like a real cat.

At last, the star of the show, the closing act, the birthday boy himself, great-grandson, Rowan.  We thought that he might be getting Italian or Scottish red hair.  In a certain light, it seems that there is a slight, reddish cast to it, but in strong light, it shines a golden brown.  The women took another in, what apparently is going to become a tradition, a photo of four generations of males – me, the son, the grandson, and Rowan – showing how he develops, and the rest of us deteriorate, over the years.  😉

April, and this BEDA act, are rapidly drawing to a close.  Thanx for joining in the fun.  I’m going to slow down to my usual schedule again next week.  I have to!  One of the wheels on my walker has jammed.  😳

I Say Old Bean

Old Bean!  New Bean!  Young Bean!  Eventually String-bean.  We have welcomed our precious, hopefully precocious Wee Bean great-grand-son into our lives.  He popped into our reality at 6:48 PM, on April 27th, weighing 5 Lb. – 6 Oz, 19 inches long.  Grand-daughter-in-law says that popped was hardly the word for it.  She worked hard for almost 24 hours to deliver this perfect bundle of joy.

He may always be Wee Bean to Grandma Ladybug, but his Dad and Mom seem to be leaning towards naming him Garion Archon-Scottish IV (Although Rowan hasn’t been ruled out yet) – forever to be known as Gary – second name to follow.  They have 30 days to complete necessary paperwork.

With a new baby on the horizon, the wife, the daughter, her BFF, and his mother all went into nesting mode, and transitioned from merely dedicated knitters, to OCD knitters.  There are piles of knit booties and blankets and moccasins and sweaters and socks and hats and play sets.  The wife knit the hospital hat in the above photo.   He may not realize that clothing comes in fabric until he leaves home.

Even before COVID, it was decided that, like his Father, he would be born at home, in a sterilized bathtub, under the watchful eye and careful care of two registered Midwives and a birth Doula.

HOLD ON A SECOND!

STOP THE PRESSES!

The best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee.

Being their first child, he was in a hurry to be cuter than any kitten video you’ve ever seen.  Instead of waiting till his scheduled due-date of May 18^th to be born, he insisted on arriving almost three weeks ahead of schedule, necessitating a quick taxi trip to the hospital, with the midwives in hot pursuit.  Just in time too.  At that the wee bairn was almost a third the body weight of his tiny mother.  Soon enough, he’ll be tossing telephone poles…. uh, cabers, around.

I’m sure that you join us in happily embracing the arrival of the next link in the chain of my immortality.  You’d better, if you know what’s good for me.

I hope that he grows up to be tall and strong.  He may need to be…. to push me around in my wheelchair.  I’m sure that he’ll get the occasional mention in my posts.  He’s already capturing women’s hearts and wearing plaid diapers.  I’ll publish a notice and provide a link, when he starts a blog of his own.  😎

Just Say No To – Jail!

Poor Chastity Eugina Hopson was so worried about her possibly-tainted meth that she actually contacted the police about it. Officers at the Granite Shoals Police Department in Texas were trying to catch the county’s dumbest drug users when they posted a fake Facebook story about Ebola-tainted meth. The post said, “If you have recently purchased meth or heroin in Central Texas, please take it to the local police or sheriff department so it can be screened with a special device. DO NOT use it until it has been properly checked for possible Ebola contamination!””

Hopson, 29, saw the post and was understandably afraid that her meth could be… wait for it… dangerous. She responded to the department’s post on Facebook, and they gladly took her sample in for “testing.” Hobson was charged with possession of less than one gram of a controlled substance.

***

18 year old Ruben Zarate wanted to rob a muffler shop in Chicago and demanded money. Unfortunately it was mostly in the safe. Zarate decided that he would try again later. To save himself some time, he left his cell phone number with the store employees. That way, they could call him when the manager returned.

***

Police had an easy time tracking down Floridian Mack Yearwood, wanted in connection with an assault that took place over Labor Day weekend 2016, after he used his own wanted poster as his Facebook profile picture. One of Yearwood’s friends commented “Nice mug shot,” to which Yearwood responded “Thanks buddy!” Another friend expressed more concern: “Holy sh*t ding-dong, are you planning on getting this sh*t squared away? I’d like to see you again at least before they find you.”

Cops in Stuart, FL, north of Miami, used Yearwood’s FB to track him to his brother’s house, where he was arrested. According to the arresting officers, a bag of weed tumbled out of Yearwood’s pocket as he was cuffed, and he politely asked the cops not to charge him for possession.

Writing on the Stuart Police Department Facebook page, Cpl. Brian Bossio noted “Facebook is a great way to communicate and connect with old friends and family… If you are wanted by the police, it’s probably not a good idea to use the ‘Wanted of the Week’ poster of yourself as your profile pic.”

***

Demetrius Robinson, 28, wanted to rob a Golden Pantry store late one night, but he needed to pass the time as naturally as possible until he and the clerk were alone, so he decided to fill out a job application. Not a bad idea, except he left his real name on the application, along with his uncle’s phone number. After he robbed the store, it didn’t take long for police to track him down. He didn’t get the job.

***

Eoise Reaves stretched the limits of “to serve and protect” when she approached a policeman and asked him to help her get her money back for the poor-quality crack cocaine she’d just purchased. She showed him the crack, which she had tucked away in her mouth, and he placed her under arrest. How does one know when crack has gone bad?

***

Amateur criminal and professional dumb-dumb Christopher Kron made every mistake possible in robbery history when he tried to rob a restaurant after it closed one night. Not only did he trip the silent alarm, but when ADT called the restaurant after being notified, Kron answered the phone and gave them his REAL NAME. He returned to the restaurant the next day and was recognized by an employee who had seen the surveillance video. Kron was arrested on the spot.

***

A man in Stockholm, Sweden was a bit upset when the 13-year-old girl he’d been courting didn’t show up for an arranged sex meeting. When the teen stood him up, the man found her home phone number and called her father to demand a refund. Obviously things didn’t end well.

***

Two men arrested in Houston were accused of stealing an iPad and using it to take selfies that they unknowingly uploaded to the owner’s iCloud account. The men appeared in the photos displaying money they were also accused of taking from the victim.

A Scrabble For One-Liners

I accidentally swallowed a bunch of Scrabble tiles….
….My next trip to the bathroom could spell disaster.

This is the first time I don’t go to Fiji due to the pandemic….
….I normally don’t go because I’m broke as fuck.

My friend drowned himself in a vat of varnish….
….He had a horrible end…. but a nice finish.

If we were on a sinking ship, and there was only one life-vest….
….I would miss you a lot.

You should not call someone a cannibal….
….Refer to them as Humanitarians.

I can’t believe I forgot to go to the gym today….
….That makes seven years in a row.

I told my wife that I have the body of a Greek god….
….She explained that Buddha is not Greek.

I donated my body to Science….
….Science donated my body to Goodwill

Is it irony when you pray to God to remove “your family’s problem”….
….And the next day, you’re in Heaven?

We wanted to be adults, so badly….
….Just f**king look at us now.

Constipated people are not trustworthy….
….They are full of shit.

I was invited to a party, and told to dress to kill….
….Apparently a turban, a beard and a backpack weren’t what they meant.

To err is human….
….To forgive is against company policy.

Why doesn’t room 404 exist?….
….There’s no room for error.

What is a fear of chainsaws called?….
….Common sense

I saw an ad in the paper, “Yacht for sale.”….
….As if people don’t know what a yacht is for.

It doesn’t matter if you’re tall, short, fat, thin, young, old, at the end of the day….
….It’s night.

One useless man is a shame….
….Two is a law firm.

I moved into an igloo, and my friends threw me a house-warming party….
….Now I’m homeless.

My mother told me I could be anyone I wanted….
….Turns out identity theft is illegal.

I needed to set a new password….
….I tried putting in ‘penis,’ but it told me it was too short.

I asked my wife what she was ‘burning for dinner.’….
….Turns out it was all my personal belongings.

My wife claims that I’m cheap….
….But I’m not buying it

 

Flash Fiction #233

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

LESS IS MORE

In some ways, under-population is the bane of the developed world.  When I was a child, I thought that inheriting this house would be marvelous.  Now that it’s happened, I own a white elephant.

When it was built, 150 years ago, the normal 8-10-12 children were needed to maintain it.  Older sons mended the shingles. Middle teens cut the grass and pruned the trees.  Daughters tended flowers and vegetables.  Young Tom Sawyer-types whitewashed the fence.

Medicine improved, and families shrunk.  Now, I don’t have the time, energy or income to keep it presentable.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

’20 A To Z Challenge – J

I once had a great-aunt named Jessie – until I got old enough that my Father told me I didn’t.

Just before I turned 12, my Father informed the family that his favorite aunt had rented a tiny cottage in our tourist town, and would be vacationing for a week.  Never married – she may have been lesbian – she still gathered four small children, cared for and mostly raised them, when Dad’s mother died, giving birth to his younger sister, and his father abandoned them to go off and become a hermit.

She always treated him particularly well.  The few times I met her, she treated me particularly well.  I had (almost) reached the Age Of Reason.  With no obvious prompt, my Dad said, “Her real name isn’t Jessie, you know.”  (No, I didn’t know that.)  “What is it then?”

JEZEBEL

Dad’s paternal grandparents weren’t exceedingly Christian.  Their two boys received common, normal names.  Dad’s dad was Howard.  His aunt may have been assigned her questionable moniker, because her mother was reminded.  She was an unfortunate, female, every-third-child, who was born with a head of brilliant red hair.

She soon tired of the name Jezebel.  She was picked on, mocked, and bullied, at school and in church.  She was still young – elementary school – when she decided to do something about the despicable actions and attitudes of ‘Good Christians.’  Jezebel disappeared, never to be heard of again, and Jessie (or was it Jesse?) came into being, to take her place.

I am so glad that my mother gave me two Plain-Jane (Well…. You know what I mean) names.  I can disappear in a crowd of two.  Archon, and the Grumpy Old Dude, haven’t disappeared though.  Stop back again soon, and I’ll tell you about the fellow who appeared before a judge, requesting to legally change his name.  The judge asked, “What is your name?”  He replied, “Joe Schitts.”  “Well, I can understand why you would want to change your name.  What do you want to change it to?”  “Bob!”  😯