Tuesday, September 02, 2014

This Date in History, Sherman Captured Atlanta






On This date in history, September 2, 1864:  Union General William T. Sherman captured Atlanta.  I don't know what he wired and told President Lincoln about the capture.  I do remember reading about when he captured Savannah he wired the President and said something like "I present you  Savannah as a Christmas gift".

Maybe when he captured Atlanta he wrote the president and said something like, "I got you a Labor Day present, sorry about being late, but you wouldn't believe the mad crowds around here, but anyway, three guesses what I got you! - do you want some hints?"



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Monday, September 01, 2014

Article About Tuba Skinny

As  I'm sure you notice if you have this blog over a week or two, I plug Tuba Skinny whenever I can.  Here is an article about them.



http://www.offbeat.comhttp://www.offbeat.com/2014/09/01/tuba-skinny-stays-street//2014/09/01/tuba-skinny-stays-street/

HAPPY LABOR DAY!







A postal supervisor one time jokingly wondered out loud why they don't have a  National Management Day or a National Executive Day holiday.

I  jokingly told him every day is National Mr. Big Shot Day.

We both laughed with fake smiles.

Maybe they should also have a National Sweatshop Day and a National Child Labor Day.







Sunday, August 31, 2014

Ivanell Roper's Mother Died





Ivanell Roper's mother, Imogene Adams McGaha died today.  Ivanell's father died just five days ago.  I suppose they have lived t their lives  so long together, in a way,  they have  died together too.   

We wish for the best for  Ivanell, Paul, and their family and other  surviving family members we don't know about.

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SUNDAY FUNNIES: WONDER WART HOG AND SUPER PATRIOT

During this period of time TV is bombarded with political commercials, and  the roadside signs are the same.  The signs and the commercials should their candidate is the best.  They shout patriotism.   It seems we can't get enough patriotism - which brings up this Sunday's story, of Wonder Warthog Meets  Super Patriot.


The story and art is by Gilbert Shelton.  
click on image to make it bigger and readable, but not necessarily prettier. 











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Saturday, August 30, 2014

Reliving the Civil War





We went to the Marietta Museum of Historylast night  to hear David W.  Vaughn show and talk about his collection of Confederate Soldiers portraits made on tintypes /daguerreotypes .  In the museum he has an exhibition that will be on display through August the 30th.... hey!  That's today!

Davie gave a very well versed educational lecture.  He will buy a picture from usually a dealer and research the person in the picture.  He looks for clues in the picture, which tells more of the story.   I think it would be a very interesting and awarding hobby,  and looking for clues is exactly what I do in my genealogy research.  He had a slide show of 40 of his daguerreotypes and the behind the scenes research that went into them and what various things in the picture might tell you.  David Vaughn has surely become an expert of Civil War battles and troop movements with all the research he has done.

Not only that but they had refreshments!


And I saw my high school science teacher Clara Howell.  We run into each other at all things like this. 

William D. Petty (my g-grandfather's brother)

Here is another one in my collection.  Evidently, it is of a young couple.  The handsome young man  was a dashing officer.  You can tell he was a good officer because of his alertness and wry look -  he was a handsome brute, in any time period.  They had this picture taken at a portrait studio in Helen, Georgia.  Afterwards, the dashing handsome officer  reported to the unit he was to be over.  But, as Sherman said, "War is Hell" and when he reported he heard  about the statistic that more young good looking dashing officers are shot in the back by their own men than in front from enemy fire.  He dashed right back to the arms of his wife.  

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Friday, August 29, 2014

Willow 's Got Her Ass Whipped




Today at the dog park a dog attacked Willow.  At the gate of the dog park there is a little fence area you first walk in that has two other gates.  One for the  small dogs area and one for large dogs.  In that little space is where I take Willow's lease off and open the large dog gate.  Usually, if there are a bunch of dogs there, the bulk of them will run up to meet the new arrival, to check it out, smell its  butt and look at his balls,  and so on.    I suppose the dogs , in the own way, are hollering "Fresh meat!" the same as inmates in prison might when somebody new arrives. 
This time  as soon as I opened the gate about  three or four bounded out at Willow and they were led by a Pitt Bull looking dog that was growling, breathing insanely, and snapping.  She went for Willow's throat with her teeth.  I thought, "Jugular vein!!" and tried to separate it from Willow but wasn't succeeding.  Then I with my fists started beating the dog on its side with my fists.  About that time the dog's owner made it to our fighting area and pulled it off by the collar.
Luckily, Willow's skin was not broken or ripped.

After that Willow was timid going inside, but I talked her into it.  During the next 15 minutes or so I kept an eye on the snapping pit bull looking creature.  Several times it ran up to Willow in a friendly way like it wanted to play.  Each time it got near I stood up and had my eye on a heavy stick, if I needed it.   The dog's owner never spoke a word.  

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Keeping Memories o Our Neighbors Alive





I went to my neighbor's funeral yesterday.  She was 89 years old.  Near the end of the service the officiating pastor said he knew that the deceased effected us, as you effected her.  Whatever she did that we were exposed to changed our lives some and whatever we did in her presence change her or altered her life some.  

Maybe he is right, everybody effects everybody that he or she comes in contact with.

He went on to say in the next couple of days think about the deceased some and think of what memories you have of her.

It is like as long as you remember things about her you are keeping her spirit alive.  When you and everybody else quits is when her spirit disappears.  Poof!   I am just speculating that is what he was saying, maybe not.

However,  while sitting there it got me thinking of her and her late husband.  She was sort of a recluse - she stayed in all the time.  And her husband was always out working in the yard.

Which was my problem.  I dreaded to work in the yard because I knew that he would come over and see what I was doing and try to help me when I prefer to work alone, it is my therapy. 

One time he came over with his equipment and wanted to change  headlights on my truck because he said he saw me ride by and a headlight was out.  I  had seen the truck with the light out too,  it wasn't my truck but one that was the same color in the neighborhood.   I showed him the headlights worked and he said that just meant it had a short in them.  I still would not let him look under the hood, he always made things worse.

One time he saw my garbage cans on the side of the street and rolled them down where he thought they belonged.  We were not home so I did not know they were not at the street, so the garbage pickup company  rode on by, I suppose.  I had to carry our garbage to the county dump.  Later he told me he some kids must have rolled my garbage can up by the street but he rolled them back down.  I told him it was garbage pickup day the reason I put them on the street.  I couldn't get mad at him because he thought he was doing me a favor.

I remembered he and my riding lawnmower.  One time I loaded my lawnmower into my pickup truck and was about to take it to a mechanic.  Jim came over and asked me why do that when he can fix it.  I said the battery and the starter were not making a connection.  For about a day he banged on it and told me he fixed it, but now I would have to put a screw driver down to serve as electric conductor from my battery to the starter.... I got shocked several times trying to get the blame thing started after that.

I decided the only way to slip the lawnmower out of the neighborhood without him seeing it was to have my son come over to help me load the lawnmower in the truck on the opposite side of the house  in the evening when I knew my neighbor would be settling down for the evening.   We got the lawnmower on the back of the truck and I backed the truck up in the carport. 

The next morning I drove off with the lawnmower before daylight and left it in a shop to be repaired.  I used the push mower while it was gone.  I don't think my neighbor ever caught on.

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Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Sure Things In Life: Death and Taxes





My friend Ivanell Roper's father died today.  He has been sick a long time, so it was not a surprise.   We hate to see people we care about die, but sometimes I think it is a relief for all concerned.  Death is the natural order of all living things.    

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DNA Results





A few weeks ago I sent in my DNA sample to Ancestry.com.  The DNA sample was  just plain saliva; spit.   I spit in a little tube and sent it off.   Today I got the results.  Here is what they  said was in my saliva:

47% Coffee
33% Kit Kats
10% Chicken-fat
05% Gummy Bears
03% Pulled Pork
02% Unknown


Just joking!

What it really reported:

Ireland 40%
Great Britain 34%
Iberian Peninsula 11%
Scandinavia  10%
Europe West 5%

Ancestry.com also provided me with a list of names with very first similar DNAs that they estimated what relationship they are to me.   The first two were just as they predicted:  which are my first cousins, which I knew anyway.   

But the rest of the names, about  25 or so might provide me with a lot of information. 

HOWEVER!  The DNA report threw a monkey wrench into my findings:  It said my heritage is 100% European. 
From research my ancestor was full blooded Cherokee Indian.  She drowned between 1850 and 1860 in the Little Tennessee River while tending to her fish traps.  My line from her:
Polly's daughter Rebecca Trammell would be one half Cherokee.
Rebecca's son William A. Hunter would be one quarter Cherokee.
William's son Frank Paris Hunter would be one eight  Cherokee.
Frank's son, and my father Ed Hunter would be one sixteenth  Cherokee

And I would be one thirty-second Cherokee.


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