A blogging tradition in genealogy is Footnote Maven's Blog Caroling. I am going to enter a Christmas carol I learned in high school when our choir decided to present an international program of carols at our Christmas Eve service. We sang "Adeste Fideles" in Latin, "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" in German, sang "Jeannette Isabella" but not in French (we didn't have the words in French), and we sang this Spanish carol, "Pastores a Belén" (Shepherds to Bethlehem).
Pastores a Belén
Entrad con alegría,
A ver a nuestro bien,
Al hijo de María.
Allí, allí, allí nos espera Jesús.
Allí, allí, allí nos espera Jesús.
Entrad, entrad, pastores entrad,
Entrad, entrad, zagalas también.
Vamos a ver al recien nacido,
Vamos a ver al niño Manuel.
Vamos, vamos, vamos a ver,
Vamos a ver al recien nacido,
Vamos a ver al niño Manuel.
[Shepherds to Bethlehem,
Enter with gladness,
To see our Good News,
The Son of Mary.
There, there, there, Jesus awaits us.
There, there, there, Jesus awaits us.
Enter, enter, shepherds enter,
Enter, enter, ladies also.
We're going to see the newborn baby,
We're going to see the child Emanuel.
We're going, we're going, we're going to see,
We're going to see the newborn baby,
We're going to see the child Emanuel.]
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Thursday, December 13, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Remembering 9/11
On that morning, I was home, and I did not have the television on, as I do not care much for daytime television. Our younger daughter was at that time working for the Bank of America in Jacksonville; our older daughter was a student at the University of North Florida.
Our younger daughter called me and told me to turn on the television. I saw the information about the first plane having hit the tower, and I thought they were discussing some horrible accident. But then the camera picked up the second plane heading for and then hitting the second tower, and I said to my daughter, "This is an act of war."
I tried to call my husband, who was in federal civil service working as a computer programmer for the U.S. Navy at Jacksonville Naval Air Station. I could not get through. That did not actually surprise me. I was fairly certain the base had been locked down and that we were at DefCon 3 if not DefCon 4.
I watched the rest of the day, wondering if my husband and I, both having served in the U.S. Coast Guard, were going to be called to active duty. I wondered also who had done this terrible thing. Then the towers collapsed in spectacular live coverage, and I saw people running from the advancing cloud of dust and debris. It was the most incredible thing I'd seen, and I was one of the television audience who on November 24, 1963, watched as Jack Ruby murdered Lee Harvey Oswald on national television.
I felt myself morbidly glued to the tube, trying to determine what was going to happen. As other news came in -- the third plane hitting the Pentagon and the fourth crashing in a field in Pennsylvania as the heroic cadre of passengers decided that their bunch of terrorists were not going to succeed -- it seemed as if I were participating in some weird technothriller movie. No. This was real, the sort of real where, after that day, nothing is the same as it was.
Prompted by Thomas MacEntee at Geneabloggers.
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Our younger daughter called me and told me to turn on the television. I saw the information about the first plane having hit the tower, and I thought they were discussing some horrible accident. But then the camera picked up the second plane heading for and then hitting the second tower, and I said to my daughter, "This is an act of war."
I tried to call my husband, who was in federal civil service working as a computer programmer for the U.S. Navy at Jacksonville Naval Air Station. I could not get through. That did not actually surprise me. I was fairly certain the base had been locked down and that we were at DefCon 3 if not DefCon 4.
I watched the rest of the day, wondering if my husband and I, both having served in the U.S. Coast Guard, were going to be called to active duty. I wondered also who had done this terrible thing. Then the towers collapsed in spectacular live coverage, and I saw people running from the advancing cloud of dust and debris. It was the most incredible thing I'd seen, and I was one of the television audience who on November 24, 1963, watched as Jack Ruby murdered Lee Harvey Oswald on national television.
I felt myself morbidly glued to the tube, trying to determine what was going to happen. As other news came in -- the third plane hitting the Pentagon and the fourth crashing in a field in Pennsylvania as the heroic cadre of passengers decided that their bunch of terrorists were not going to succeed -- it seemed as if I were participating in some weird technothriller movie. No. This was real, the sort of real where, after that day, nothing is the same as it was.
Prompted by Thomas MacEntee at Geneabloggers.
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Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Vanilla Milk
I'm getting ready to go to live for two years in Pinellas Park while I work on my master's degree at the University of South Florida St. Petersburg. I've been loading my car with boxes of books, so I'm taking a break and having a small dinner of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and vanilla milk.
Vanilla milk is a treat taught to me by my brother, Arden "Ned" Packard II (1942-1996) when I was something like 7 or 8 years old. The recipe is simple. In a glass, put one or two teaspoons of sugar and about 1/2 teaspoon vanilla (vary measurements to personal taste). Add milk to fill the glass. Stir. It's yummy, and one of my favorite treats. I do not indulge it very often, but when I do, I think of my brother.
My brother taught me lots of useful stuff. He was five years older than I am. When I was five years old, he taught me how to clean a fish, something our father had taught him. We lived on Perdido Bay in Pensacola in what seemed to me at the time to be a large house, but then, everything looks big when you're five years old.
Ned died in 1996, of acute myelocytic leukemia. The last thing he taught me was how to face death with dignity and courage. That is the most important lesson of all.
And by now, I'm sure he has taught the cherubim and seraphim how to make vanilla milk.
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Vanilla milk is a treat taught to me by my brother, Arden "Ned" Packard II (1942-1996) when I was something like 7 or 8 years old. The recipe is simple. In a glass, put one or two teaspoons of sugar and about 1/2 teaspoon vanilla (vary measurements to personal taste). Add milk to fill the glass. Stir. It's yummy, and one of my favorite treats. I do not indulge it very often, but when I do, I think of my brother.
My brother taught me lots of useful stuff. He was five years older than I am. When I was five years old, he taught me how to clean a fish, something our father had taught him. We lived on Perdido Bay in Pensacola in what seemed to me at the time to be a large house, but then, everything looks big when you're five years old.
Ned died in 1996, of acute myelocytic leukemia. The last thing he taught me was how to face death with dignity and courage. That is the most important lesson of all.
And by now, I'm sure he has taught the cherubim and seraphim how to make vanilla milk.
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Sunday, June 17, 2012
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
Today, at the age of 65, I have laid eyes for the very first time upon the face of my grandmother, and found that I have had a photo of my grandfather all along, and assumed it was of the brother of his who adopted my mother after my grandfather died.
This points up the importance of labeling your photos! We all have those unidentified photos which we wish had been labeled.
The photo of my grandmother is completely new to me. With her are her two older children, my uncle and aunt. But my mother is not in the picture. Judging from the apparent ages of the two siblings in the photo, this was taken after my mother was adopted by her uncle and aunt.
I have been waiting and working for this day for a long time. All I can say is, "Wow."
I may show these photos in this blog later. I need to get agreement from my cousins first.
I'm just glad this day finally came.
.
This points up the importance of labeling your photos! We all have those unidentified photos which we wish had been labeled.
The photo of my grandmother is completely new to me. With her are her two older children, my uncle and aunt. But my mother is not in the picture. Judging from the apparent ages of the two siblings in the photo, this was taken after my mother was adopted by her uncle and aunt.
I have been waiting and working for this day for a long time. All I can say is, "Wow."
I may show these photos in this blog later. I need to get agreement from my cousins first.
I'm just glad this day finally came.
.
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