All posts by Dona

Found Items: #4 Uncle Don in a Ziploc® Bag

Things, , ,

Continuing to update the Internet on some of the contents of my father’s bedroom, I now bring you a bag of items that, at first I thought belonged to my dad, but then realized they belonged to my Uncle Don. You may or may not remember me talking about my Uncle Don. I am named after him. My parents didn’t have a girl’s name picked out when I was born and he suggested Dona Lee. His middle name was Leroy. He, as I’m sure you’re sick of hearing, was very special to me.

Here he is the day my parents brought me home from the hospital — a few weeks after I was born. Of course it is set up. I think. And yes, the misplaced apostrophe bothers me too.

Uncle Don waiting for Dona

The largest item in the Ziploc®bag is a sash that I’m sure he wore as a Legion of the Moose member. I can almost imagine a roomful of men wearing these sashes. Especially when paired with the matching hat.

This next item I thought at first was another hat (and even tried it on), but I think it was a nameplate cover for when Uncle Don went to meetings at other Moose lodges. There were probably stands to put the felt covers over so others in the audience could see who you were and what lodge you came from. Kinda like at the United Nations (but back then only white men could join the Moose).

not a hat

While my Uncle Don was very active in the Moose Lodge, his day job was with the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul, and Pacific Railroad (or simply the Milwaukee Road). In the bag were a few items from his work life.

There were two sets of never opened playing cards in the bag whose backs commemorated the Olympian Passenger train and whose “Jokers” showed a map of the line.

back of cards
Joker map

The last item is my favorite. It is a correspondence between my Uncle Don and the United States War Department in August of 1943.

I had no idea he began working for the railroad in 1927, which was the year before my dad was born. I wonder how old he was when he began working. I didn’t think he was that much older than my dad, but I guess he was a contemporary of my mom’s parents.

The response from the War Department I wonder if this Frank Turner (Federal Highway Administrator in the 1969-1972) is the one who signed this letter.

And the envelope in which it arrived.

My Uncle Don must not have been inducted into the military — I’ve never heard stories about him being in World War II. I suspect he was not drafted; or if he was his lack of height may have prevented him from going to war.

It was fun going through the bag and figuring out what each of the objects was. I enjoyed reading words that he wrote nearly 70 years ago. Once again, I’m glad my parents kept the things they kept.

Best. Neighbors. Ever.

People, , , ,
Skippy John Jones G.

I look across the street tonight and see the blue Volvo and silver minivan parked where they’ve been for the past couple of years. I see Chris mowing his lawn. The other day I talked to Madeline, Anna, Molly and Carter about vacation Bible camp, Subway meals and trips to the Bay.

Nothing really, except the sad knowledge and “Under Contract” sign, indicates that tomorrow a moving truck will collect their furniture and move everything to Richmond. In two days a new family will move into the house across the street.

The current family couldn’t be any better. They are some of the sweetest people I have ever known. Chris took care of Andrew when he had his skin infection (knowing a dermatologist is handy). Madeline actively  participated in our neighborhood book group. Anna once stage whispered to a friend that Dean was really nice. Molly and Carter entertained us with their 3/4-year old antics.

And then there is Skippy John Jones G. who, although may have pooed on our lawn a few times, was the friendliest cat in the ‘hood. At least to neighbors and the mailman, who on more than one occasion sat on the stoop and gave Skippy a cuddle.

The new family has an incredible act to follow.

The G. family will be missed. Very much.

New Whiteboard Rules, OK?

Humor

Something to keep you occupied while I work my way through work-related piles of PDFs and out of my blogging slump.

I don’t remember when we bought our first whiteboard. I think I may have bought a large one to use when I was a teacher, then to my husbands dismay, brought it home and hung it somewhere in the house. He ended up hanging it in the basement office, where it still hangs today usually filled with Clare’s temporary artwork or Dean’s explanation of some math or financial formula. When the children were very young he’d have them sit on a mini-John Deere tractor and they’d have lessons in math, written on the whiteboard. He called these sessions “Math Tractor”.

I purchased two smaller whiteboards, possibly for school as well, that ended up in the kitchen. One on the refrigerator and one above the doorway to the hallway leading to the living room. The one on the refrigerator was used to write notes while on the telephone or to let others know where we’d gone and when we’d be back. The whiteboard above the doorway was mostly used by Dean when he had something really important to say because it would be found lying on the counter with the important message — something the rest of us would find hard to miss.

The other day Dean replaced one of the whiteboards on which I’d accidently used permanent marker to write down a phone number of a caller. As soon as he attached the new whiteboard to the side of our refrigerator he wrote: New Whiteboard Rules. I thought, “it sure does”, but knew he’d have more to say on the subject.

Sure enough, yesterday morning I saw this when I wandered into the kitchen for my morning coffee:

 

New Whiteboard Rules
New Whiteboard Rules

Andrew, who rarely, if ever, used any of the whiteboards must have been inspired, because, to let us know he was headed to the beach with a friend, he’d taken down the old whiteboard from above the doorway, placed it on the counter and written this:

– sleeping at Will’s again – going to leave from there tomorrow – won’t see you til Weds – I may call in the morning to pick up anything – Love you, Happy Father’s yesterday

Like father like son?

A fun tease?

Or simply coincidence?