Blogger back, briefly

Returned from the hills 'n' hollers of the Ozarks last Monday. Grand-dad's birthday party was quite impressive as such things go, with perhaps 40 or 50 cousins and nephews and nieces and relatives of various types in attendance. Unfortunately, I could not for the life of me identify more than a handful of them by name, although I was generally able to distinguish those on my grandmother's side of the family from those on my grandfather's side. It helps when one branch is generally short and slight, with sharp facial features, and the other is generally big & burly.

Heard a few interesting stories about grand-dad. Apparently at one time, a fellow who had boxed professionally in a nearby city came back to D. County and challenged him to a sparring match. According to Uncle B.'s recollections, the onetime pro had the advantage in the first round, and went somewhat beyond the level of "friendly" sparring. By the second round, grand-dad came back at him and drove him out of the impromptu ring. "At first I was only defending myself, but it turned out the only way to defend myself was to hit him first...." (That's not an exact quote, but it's close.)

Looking at the pictures from the 1930's, when he worked in the Civilian Conservation Corps' construction projects around the Ozarks, I find the story believable. In the pictures, he's a tall, burly, dark-haired guy with a rather bellicose, glowering look on his face, invariably wearing a fedora cocked at a rakish angle as if he's daring someone to knock if off his head. Today he spends most of his time in a wheelchair, but he still looks pretty good, I'd say, for someone who's ninety years old. I won't have any cause to complain if I last that long.

The toughness wasn't just physical, either. Several people alluded to the fact that he basically had to assume the duties of a farmer and head-of-household at the age of 12, when his father died of pneumonia and, literally with his last breath, told him to take care of his mother and numerous younger siblings. Something to remember when I'm tempted to bemoan my sad fate because of some comparatively trivial difficulty encountered much later in life.

Mother, as usual, had exerted great effort in organizing and decorating for the party. The cake was a work of art, complete with a photographic representation of a Model T in green-and-black icing, and the booklets that she and Uncle B. put together were well worth reading. (Yam and S., you should get one if you can.)

I'm headed back to Missouri tomorrow evening by bus to pick up a car and drive it back to the northlands. Carlos, as a seasoned aficionado of Trailways and Greyhound, do you have any helpful hints as to proper etiquette and comfort on such trips?