Who The Hell Is This Etiquette Guy?

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Looks like Mom forgot to pack the plastic forks.”

“So. How are we gonna eat the potato salad?”

“Well. She didn’t forget the plastic knives.  We can use those.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Yawning, I couldn’t have cared less how my brother and dad were going to eat that potato salad. I hated potato salad. I didn’t give 2 hoots about anything that had mayonnaise, eggs, onion, and celery. The only things it really had going for it, in my 10-year-old opinion, were the mustard, potatoes, and bacon. In fact, the only thing it was missing from my “There’s-no-way-I’m-gonna-eat-that-crap” list was tomatoes. Yuck.

“Caroline, do you want some potato salad?”

“Nope. Just baked beans and my chicken leg. Please.” 

God, how I loved my mom’s fried chicken. Especially when we’d been fishing all morning from dawn until just after noon. Those donuts we had back at 4 o’clock this morning before putting the boat in the bay hadn’t been intended to last that long and my tummy was growling.

“Caroline? I don’t think you’re gonna be able to eat those baked beans with a knife.” How about 2 chicken legs and some potato salad?”

With an “Are you crazy?” look on my face, I told my dad in no uncertain terms that there was no way on God’s green earth that I was gonna eat that potato salad.

He just shook his head, scooped up what I’d asked for, added a plastic knife, and handed it over. I tore into that cold fried chicken like I hadn’t eaten like, well, since, 4 o’clock this morning. 


Then I attempted the bake beans with a knife. Have you ever attempted to eat baked beans with a plastic knife? Yeah. Well. I don’t suggest it. Even if you are starving. It’s not easy. I quickly ate as much as I could. Then ate the rest of my chicken.

But I was still hungry. I tried to look everywhere else but at my brother’s and dad’s plates piled high with Mom’s potato salad. I watched a bird swoop down towards the water. I saw a fish come to the surface causing a small ripple in the water. I focused on one of the islands that made up the area of the bay where we’d been fishing all morning. Then I looked back at their plates. The potato salad. The piles weren’t as high anymore.

Then I focused on the island once more. My eyes began to droop as the boat gently rocked back and forth. I closed my eyes briefly and filled my lungs with the salty air. I heard more birds off in the distance.

I opened my eyes again. Just staring at that potato salad. My stomach growled. I licked my lips

.

“Caroline? Are you sure you don’t want some potato salad? Here. Try some”

My dad handed me some on a paper plate. I hesitantly picked up my plastic knife. Barely dipped it into the potato salad. Brought it to my nose. Sniffed. My stomach growled. It smelled so good. I stuck out my tongue. Licked some of it off the knife. And?

My mouth watered.

I quickly swallowed it and dug in for more. Each knife-full was better than the last. It was tangy. The juxtaposition of the crispy fried bacon and the soft potatoes was to die for. The crunch of the onion and the celery? Divine.

Each ingredient complimented the other.  It was perfect.

Before I knew it, I was done. I licked the knife. I licked the paper plate. I hadn’t even left any on my plate for Etiquette’s sake, like my Gran always used to tell me to do.

I figured Etiquette could get his own mom’s dang potato salad.

My potato salad, which was my mom's potato salad. Before that is was my Gran's, & one day, it will be my daughter's.

Sentimental Sunday: A Beggar Wishes

My Dad & Aunt Carole ca.1942

"O.K., who's up for an "All the Houses I Grew Up In" tour?

While visiting family in San Antonio when I was younger, I think my dad asked that question just to hear our groans.  We really didn't have a choice in the matter.  We were going and we were gonna start with the house he was born in.  Just like every other single time.  And the tour wasn't just of the houses my dad grew up in either.  [Of course not.]  It included his high school; his junior high; his hang-outs; where he used to drag race [In the dark. With no headlights.]; where he and mom used to go on dates; where he ran the Air Force guy off the road to tell him that *he* [my dad] was her boyfriend & that she wasn't available for dates anymore [I'm sure he was very polite about that. *snort*]; etc.


A quick glance at the calendar reminds me that March 12th is the 7th anniversary of his death, and it's approaching quickly.  Perhaps that's why he's crept into my thoughts.

Did you know he was the reason I got into genealogy in the first place?  He was.

I remember my senior year in high school and working on my genealogy school project.  And I remember him asking me to "do" our genealogy.  That he only knew a few things about his dad, Big Paw Paw.  And that he wanted to know more.

At the time, I found it strange that he wanted to know more about a man who had been mean to him.  A man who had never shown him love or kindness.

I didn't realize how important it was to him, and at the time, I didn't pursue our family's history other than what my Gran and my Paw Paw shared with me.  Our stories.  I was too busy living in the "now" to look up some guy from the past no one liked.

Then "life" happened, as it tends to do.  Dad's health problems rotated between battling heart attacks and kidney cancer [renal cell carcinoma], and the battles would continue for the rest of his life.  In between all that, my younger brother was diagnosed with a rare mitochondrial genetic disorder, and then passed away a year and a half later.  I married, and began having my children.  Additionally throughout the years, my mom's mom, my Gran, died; my mom's brother-in-law, my Uncle Lloyd, died [He's a character with some stories.]; my dad's mom, my Paw Paw, died; my mother-in-law died from breast cancer; and then my dad died.

Like I said, "life happened."

And then one day, "life" got me to thinking about my dad's original request.  I remembered those few details that my dad had told me about Big Paw Paw.  And, well, I started looking.  I chronicled that rough & rocky rookie family history journey here.  [It's not pretty, and, um, it's in 6 parts.  So grab some coffee and donuts and get comfy before reading.]

I wish I'd started researching our family's history when he was alive.  I wish he was here doing it with me.  My dad loved researching on the internet, loved history, and loved technology.  He would've loved genealogy.

But like mom always used to say when I was younger, "If wishes were horses, Caroline, beggars could ride."

*Sigh.* She's right, as usual.

So, I plug along.

Researching.

Writing.

Chronicling my ancestors' lives.

But I must be a "beggar" at heart.  'Cause I still keep wishing for my dad to come riding in on a horse to give me one of his dang "All the Houses I Grew Up In" tours.

Wordless Wednesday: San Antonio, Tx 1952

My Dad [on right] & Friend Walking Downtown San Antonio, Texas, 1952

Cowboy Dreams

78th Edition of the Carnival of Genealogy: Pony Pictures!
This post is a submission for the 78th edition of the Carnival of Genealogy being hosted by Jasia at Creative Gene.  The request was for pony, cowboy, and cowgirl photos from our family albums and the stories behind them.



[This beautiful COG poster was designed and provided by the creative footnoteMaven.]

Cowboy Dreams

I think every little boy, no matter the generation, at one time or another, dreams about being a cowboy.  To have his own horse, his own gun, his own cowboy hat, with the wide open spaces of the wild west ready to take on the worst of the worst, the meanest of the meanest bad guys the wild west could come up with, and to save the damsel in distress is what every little boy dreams of at one time or another.  Certainly, though, the popularity of being a  cowboy increased in the 1930's, 1940's, and 1950's with the influx of Western movies made at the time.  How do I know this?  Just look below at the photos of my father dressed as a cowboy throughout his life.  Then, take a look at the last one of my brother and sister on their donkey Oscar.  I think that my Big Paw Paw [my dad's dad]  had great dreams of dad becoming a cowboy, wouldn't you agree?  Also, when I was young when VCR's hit the scene [you know, the big clunky ones?], my dad would rent tons of John Wayne movies.  He said that they were really good, and that I just had to see them.  He was right.  They were good.

And below, no, your eyes are not deceiving you, the first photo is of my dad sitting on a real live bull [because, hey, that's how we roll in Texas], but of course my favorite is of him on the pony when he was three.

With Both My Hearts

Chinese Food and Yellow Roses
In the middle of my sophomore year in high school my dad bought my mom a house for her birthday.  [Yes, a real house.]  He surprised her with the key to the house, and we celebrated with take-out Chinese food at the built-in kitchen table in our new house.  My dad had also given my mom what he always gave her on special occasions: 2 dozen yellow roses.  As we were eating, I was looking at the beautiful roses, and I also read the card.  It read: "To Carolyn, I love you with both my hearts.  Love, Joe."  For the life of me I couldn't figure out what that meant so I asked them.  My dad explained that when they met and were first married, they used to play a game.  Mom would say she loved him, and he'd say I love you more.  They'd go back and forth with each one proclaiming the depth of their love for each other.  Dad would always end it with, "I have 2 hearts so I love you the most."  [Definite Aaahh moment for us women...]



Mom's Rose Bushes
My mom loves roses.  In fact, my dad would always give her rose bushes [he gave me one, too] as gifts [sometimes for "just because"].  We had quite a rose bush garden, but when we moved we had to leave them behind.  About year ago [for some odd reason] I got to thinking about those rose bushes and my mom's rose garden, and, at the time, I wished that I had had a picture of it [again, for some odd reason].  When looking for the picture of Oscar the Donkey just the other day, I found a Polaroid picture of mom's rose garden [that from the looks of it, needs a little cleaning]!  After my "family picture happy dance", I'd thought it'd be perfect to share this story of my parents with you today.



Happy 54th Anniversary!
Today is the 54th Anniversary of my parents' wedding, though dad is no longer with us.  So, I thought I'd share some pictures of their life together.  Also, I have a message that I can't give my mom in person [because I think it would be too upsetting for her].  Mom, I wish you and dad a happy anniversary, and I know that dad loves you with both his hearts!









Caroline

What's In A Name?: Dad and His Little Girl

For this week's "What's In A Name?"  I thought I'd introduce you to my dad, Joseph Kent Marshall, Jr.  As I've mentioned before, I came a little later in my parent's lives, and one might say I was a little spoiled [I wouldn't, but...].  Anyway, I remember when I was young [probably abt. 6 yrs old], my mom bought me this t-shirt.  It was pinkish with red trim, and on the front in glittery cursive rainbow letters it read, "Daddy's Little Girl" [and I was].  I absolutely had to wear that shirt every day,  and my mom indulged me through that phase.  I'm really glad she did, because even to this day, it's a vivid memory of mine of my dad.  He used to call me his "little buddy," and I used to follow my dad around everywhere always asking, "Watch ya' doin'?"  Now that I'm a parent, I can say that I'm pretty sure he became tired of that question, but he never acted like it.  I was right there when he built the deck in our backyard [remember Runaway Bunny?].  I was there when he built a parakeet aviary in our backyard [a story for another time].  I was there when he built his remote controlled airplanes and flew them.  I was there when he worked in the yard [although I quickly learned to not follow him around the yard because then I had to pick up all the debris...].  I literally followed him around everywhere, and he took me everywhere with him.



My dad passed away five years ago from kidney cancer, and I really do miss him.  For my dad's funeral, my siblings and I  were asked by my parent's priest [and family friend] to write down what we learned from our dad so that he could include our words in his eulogy.  Each of us wrote essentially the same thing [except that it took me more words to get my point across...go figure].  Here is a portion of what I wrote about my dad:


"I learned so much from my father.  I remember when I was very young, my dad asked me to do something, and I replied, 'I can't.'  He promptly told me that I should never use the word 'can't' because it's a bad word, and if I ever used it again that I'd been in 'trouble.'  He told me that I can do anything that I set my mind to, and he certainly lived his life by that philosophy.  Dad also taught me how to fish, how to hunt, how to clean birds, how to ride a bike, and how to roll my "r's" to speak Spanish.  He even helped me to memorize the 23rd Psalm..."

I've included here some pictures of my dad's life.  In the last set in the top right hand corner is a picture of my dad holding me with my mom.  We were in West Texas on our Big Bend trip.  It's kind of hard to find pictures of me and my dad because I came later in their lives and because dad was always the one taking the pictures. Also, in this last set of pictures, I included one of him and his camera in Italy in the top left hand corner, and below that is one of him in Acapulco, Mexico.  The one in the bottom right hand corner is from when my parents went on a cruise to the VIrgin Islands, and the one in the middle was taken right before he became real sick.











So, what's in a name?  Well, family stories, of course.  For me, behind the name father or dad is a loving, caring, adventurous man who taught me I can do anything.


Happy Father's Day, Dad!
I love and miss you. 


Caroline