Saturday, December 15, 2018

PASSENGER LIST

Pennsylvania Genealogical Society Magazine - 1895


Sailing of the Ship " Submission " in 1682.

The log of the ship “Submission," of which the following is a copy, commences the fourth day of the week, sixth day of the seventh month (September) and ends on the seventh day of the week, the twenty-first day of the eighth month, 1682. 
 
The vessel at this day being near the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, which appears by the entry made on the nineteenth day of October, at which time the odor from the pines was noticed, "supposing ourselves not to be within 80 leagues." Phineas Pemberton in his record states that they arrived in the Choptank, Maryland, on the second day of ninth month, 1682, thus making the voyage in fifty-eight days from port to port, the last days of the passage not being recorded in the log.
 
As Captain Settle was bound for another port, and the weather being overcast, it is highly probable that upon the twenty-first day of the seventh month he did not know where he was, and therefore did not complete the log.
 
Many of the passengers remained in Maryland for a considerable time (some of them married there), and then walked to Appoquinimink, the lowest section of New Castle County, about forty miles from the place of landing, and twenty miles south of the established town of New Castle.

The most important colonists on the “Submission,' judging from their respective positions in after-life, were Phineas Pemberton and Randle (or Randolph) Blackshaw. Pemberton states in his record that the Blackshaws arrived in Appoquinimink on the fifteenth day of eleventh month, 1683. And as James Harrison, Phineas Pemberton, James Clayton, Randle Blackshaw and Ellis Jones with their families were residents of Bucks County in 1684, it is evident that they did not remain in the lower county long.
 



Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Visit to Ocean

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Oh, the Ocean

Fabulous, man!
We were rolling at 5:30, hit the beach a little after 7. We would have missed sunrise by about 10 minutes, if there had been any sunrise. This part of the FL coast almost always has a cloud bank on the eastern horizon at that time of day. So we watched an angry sea in a 40 mile wind, and in 20 minutes the sun emerged over the clouds.

This morning there were ripple-like clouds in the sky, and the hidden sun painted them with delicate pastel colors-- for only a few minutes; we were glad we were there.


Comfortably togged out in the big coat sister Joel had given me after Austin died; Ellie had less covering and had to find a protected nook. 15 minutes there in the wind made the whole trip well worth while, but there's more!

The ospreys! ! Oh my! They would hang in that gale like you may sit in your living room. They got back behind the water, luring the fish to the surface (the wind was driving the fish right to the osprey's table!). About 150 feet above the surface they would drift against the wind (really!) until suddenly--wham! Down like a dive bomber' I mean straight down, vertically! They lazily stop an inch above the surface, delicately dip their beat into the water (or is it their claw?) and rise into the air with a good sized fish. High into the air they would rise and go off somewhere to enjoy breakfast, or maybe to feed the babies.

The day progressed with complete satisfaction. We drove up the coast to St. Augustine. This is one of the few places on the East Coast (aside from South Florida) where you can drive along and enjoy the waves, the birds, God's good earth almost like it was in the beginning.

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Glory

Posted to Friendly Skripture Study

Isaiah 6:1-3
"[1] In the year that king Uzziah died I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple.
[2] Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.
[3] And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.
[4] And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.
[5] Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts.
[6] Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar:
[7] And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.
[8] Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me."

Isaiah saw the glory of God, and he thought he was done for. But praise God, the seraphim has touched our lips and made us fit to 'show forth his glory'.

"This is my Father's world:
he shines in all that's fair;
in rustling grass I hear him pass
he speaks to me everywhere.
This is my Father's world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King, let heaven ring!
God reigns; let earth be glad."
 
posted by Larry Clayton @ 4/24/2011

1985

March 26, 1985

Thanks for everything.

Another "No" from Oxford.

Hurrah. I just reserved 2 hours tomorrow morning on the IBM PC. I'm excited about getting my hands on it.

Computers - computers. Wonder how long it'll take me to get through this stage.
Preaching - 8 years
Alcoholics - 10 years
CofS - 10 years
Blake - 5 years
Computers - almost 6 months so far.

Thanks, Lord. It was all really good.    Tennis - 14 years.

Beginning Blake

Beginning of Blake

Most of this blog is found at Kwakesaur.
It was at a relatively uncreative moment in life that I got bit by the Blake disease. I spent 5 years studying it intensely and consolidated my thoughts and feelings about the poet in a book, now published at Larry's Blake.

For me his poetry had become one of the
primary "fountains of life". As a life long
student of the Bible I found an interpretive
principle in Blake, just today beginning to
be understood and used. His theology has now
become my own in a large degree. One of the
great keys is here:

"Throughout Eternity, I forgive you, you forgive me.
As the dear Redeemer said, this the wine and this the bread."

He was talking to God, but the idea applies to
all human relationships. Forgiveness is an
eternal activity and process. Jesus also
expressed that poetically with his 7 times
70 rejoinder to Peter's query about how many
times.

Forgiveness does not depend upon any
statement of the offending party such as
"I'm sorry". Those who have the faculty of
forgiveness never wait or feel dependent on
any "I'm sorry". God forgave us before we
commited the offending act.

All this forgiveness of others depends upon
our first forgiving ourselves and God. The
trinity found in the Great Commandment is
God, others, self. You can do it, but you
must first 'forgive God'. But what does
that mean? To me it means to accept the
universe as it is. Don't kick over the traces
like Paul did before the journey to Damascus.

All this, and a world of other good stuff, you
can find in Blake.

Saturday, November 10, 2018

LONG AGO

Friday, July 27, 2012

Baton Rouge

A small city on the Mississippi some 90 miles north of New Orleans and the place I lived briefly when I was ten:

My parents had only a high school education, and with two small children they decided to do something about it.  We were living in Athens, about 25 miles north of Louisiana Tech.  In due course they graduated, with mother as valedictorian, and Dad about 5th in a large class  (he was also working full time at another job).

With such honors Dad thought they might likely qualify for fellowships to LSU; they made applications, but shortly received form letters saying their applications had been placed on file.  Dad is slow to anger, but he responded by asking for some sponsorship from a federal judge.

Almost by return mail they received notice that the two fellowships had been awarded, in history for Dad and English for mother.

That's how it was that at the age of ten I found myself living in the state capital.  It was an exciting experience.  We had an apartment in the center facing a large primitive park.  There I was introduced to football, which became the love of my life for the next five years.

The capitol went up about 65 floors, and one day my sister, Margaret, and I climbed it all the way to the top: talk about adventure!

The climax to this story had happened in the lobby of the capitol, a year before our climb:

Huey Long, a flaming liberal in a very conservative state was assassinated.

Tuesday, November 6, 2018

NOVEMBER 2017


On Nov 13, 2017, at 5:37 PM, Eleanor Clayton <eachone@earthlink.net> wrote:

 Copy of letter to family:
 I arrived home yesterday (Oct 10) at about 6 PM. I drove from Signal
 Mountain in about 11 hours. The driving was not as tiring as I expected
 it to be. I was 3 days on the road and 4 days at Joel's. If she had put
 me to work in the house and the yard I would have stayed longer but she
 likes to do everything herself in her own way.

> Hugh and Alison are going to build a new, larger home on Signal
> Mountain. Joel plans to build on the lot next to them. She hasn't told
> many friends about her plans yet but I suppose it is OK to tell family.
> They will be moving into a new development in which the homes are
> constructed by the developer. The date construction will begin has not
> been determined but the streets are built, the lots are cleared and the
> underground utilities are laid. I think construction will start on their
> houses in the first half of 2018.


> I enjoyed seeing Clemson and Brevard. Some ashes were spread at the
> cemetery of the Old Stone Church near the house we owned in Clemson. A
> relative of Larry's was the first pastor in 1797. I also sprinkled ashes
> in the gardens on the campus. The next morning I drove to Brevard and
> had a biscuit at the Burger King Dad and I frequented. I them went into
> the Pisgah Forest of deliver ashes into the creeks whose waters
> eventually flow into the Missdissippi River and the Gulf of Mexico.


> I found my way to Joel's house by instinct because I had forgotten
> highway names and landmarks. That was a long day but everything came
> together as I hoped it would. During my visit Joel fed me well and we
> did recollecting. I got to visit with Hugh, Alison and Ethan more than I
> expected to. I'm glad I renewed those family ties which form the
> foundation of who I am and how I fit into where I come from.

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

ROB'S TRIBUTE


THE SPIRIT OF MY FATHER

Dear Dad,

As you turn ninety, I wanted to write for you about you, especially about the qualities that connect us. These are the qualities that I see in you, that I am proud to see also in myself - your gifts to me. This is my way of thanking you and celebrating those gifts.  

SPIRITUALITY

Spirituality is the foundation, the theme that runs through your life and binds together my story of you. I learned from you to to regard the spiritual life as the true life, the material life as merely the scenery. Your dedication to Christ, your study of Jung, your obsession with Blake - all of these model for me the commitment to and fascination with, the inward journey and your spiritual path.

I've always admired your courage in moving us all to Washington so that we could be part of the Church of the Savior. You saw that spirituality could be deeper and pervade life more thoroughly - you heard a spiritual call, dropped everything, and followed. You showed me that spiritual impulse takes us where we belong.

I have not followed the same path that you have, but I am not sure they are so different ... both are paths of love, paths of compassion, paths of responsibility. You set my feet on this path many years ago, and I thank you.

JUSTICE

I have always felt a profound passion for justice, and I have always traced that passion back to you. You always taught me that Jehovah was the God of the oppressed and that Jesus was the champion of the downtrodden. You taught me that all people are children of God have inherent dignity and worth.

I'll never forget the story of your telling your parishioner about the big black woman who would be singing in the heavenly choir right next to her. It's a funny story, but it was a courageous thing to say, and I bet those courageous stands cost you.

I learned from you to stand up for justice, to stand shoulder to shoulder with my peers for fairness, and most of all to identify with the interest of all who are oppressed. I will be thinking of you when I'm on the picket lines next month.

You taught me to take my spirituality into the world and let it animate a vision of the just society, and I thank you for this wonderful gift.

COMPASSIONATE ACTION

You taught me, too, that vision and abstract justice are not enough, but that we must personally help those who are struggling. When I was a child, I knew that you walked with men who were struggling to escape addiction, and I was proud. When I was older, you humbled yourself and dedicated your time to housing the poor, and I watched with pride. Even now I see you ministering to the sick.

I see my work as a therapist as a direct continuation of your ministry, beloved Dad. I have a client now whom I see three days each week for no fee, and I often imagine him as a new incarnation of one of your old probationers. He has endured forty years of alcoholism and is wracked by terror, and terrible feelings of aloneness. Yet he also shows profound compassion and beauty of spirit, and writes the most beautiful poems. I dedicate my work with him to you, my father, in loving gratefulness for your compassionate example.

PERSONAL CONNECTION

Always, I have see you relating to others, connecting spiritually, building community. I remember the meetings you used to have at our house on Jersey Avenue with Miriam, Bob & Olga, Carla & many others, and I learned that all of these passions are not mere private introspections of abstract musings and commitments, but experiences to be shared with others. I have seen this again and again in your life as you engaged with others through Gateway, Second Step, coffee hour at the C of S, and you own Quaker gatherings. I see the very personal relationships, too, like the one you have built with Paul and Judith.

I feel a deep kinship with you in this profound valuing of interpersonal connection. My work as a therapist manifests this valuing, as I strive to bring healing through the process of connection, and I have learned from you to strive to deepen connection with those I meet on the path.

THE HERO'S JOURNEY

As long as I have been alive, Dad, I have seen you following your own path. You never made the conventional choice, but always the courageous one, when it was important. Letting spirit be your guide, rather than the values of those surrounding you, has been one of your greatest gifts to me.

Here I return to your decision to follow your calling to move to Washington and become part of the Church of the Savior. I don't think I knew at the time what an unconventional decision that was, but as I grew I began to realize the courage, the commitment and the fierce autonomy from mainstream expectations that decision required.

Your very commitment to spiritual reflects to me this constant choosing of the "road less traveled by." While others might have taken refuge from life's suffering, and the gains of aging, in even more comfort or mild addictions, you have gone for refuge to your old friend William.

As you have faced fearlessly this hero's journey, you have helped build in me my own courage to face that journey. When I faced the dead-end of my career in law and politics, instead of resigning myself to a life of quiet desperation, I followed your example and turned inward to find my true path. When a strange to whom I reached out suggested I get the help of a Jungian, it was like the ringing of a bell deep in my soul - a bell that you planted there. Because of your example, I was able to see that I did not have to follow the conventional path, that I could discard my conventional achievements and position and walk into the wilderness.

Now, having silenced the voices urging me to conventional successes, I have been able to hear the inner voice summoning me to my truer calling. Thank you for showing your son that, in fact one's own path is the only path.

YOUR SPIRIT IN ME

All of these qualities: your profound spirituality; your passion for justice; your identification with the oppressed; your compassionate service to others; your commitment to interpersonal engagement; and your commitment to following your own path; all of these qualities have been passed on to me. I find myself proud to feel that, in many ways, I am carrying on your works.

As we celebrate your 90TH birthday, as you draw ever closer to becoming, in Henry James' term, "all spirit," I hope that you can feel that, in the deepest way possible, I am truly your son, and that it brings you satisfaction and pleasure. I know that it brings me profound comfort, pride and delight to feel that I am, in the deepest way possible, your son and that you are, in the deepest way possible truly my father.

Robert Edwin Clayton, Psy.D.
15 March 2016


Saturday, August 18, 2018

CHILDHOOD

I look to years ago to find an image for following the string and find one in my own childhood. My dad was an expert fisherman and fished at every opportunity. On occasion the line coming off the reel when someone (probably not my dad) was casting would become hopelessly snarled. When he brought it home, I might be enlisted to help with getting all the kinks out to make the yards of mono filament line usable again. Our old house was constructed in such a way that one could circle through all the rooms and return to where you began. So while daddy loosened the knots as the line came off the reel, I began walking around the house to stretch out the line. Round and around I went until all the tangles were unsnarled and Daddy could rewind his line on his reel to cast again on his next fishing trip.

Edwin Andrew Babylon
Hugh Roy Babylon
Friend
Biloxi Mississippi

Saturday, July 14, 2018

FRIEND ALFRED

Dr. Alfred Ames: 1916 - 2007

Dr. Alfred Ames, a former Chicago Tribune writer whose glowing review launched James Herriot's book "All Creatures Great and Small" onto the best-sellers list, was a lifelong book lover who spent his retirement years volunteering at a church library.
"We have books from floor to ceiling in our house," said his wife, Violet, a librarian Dr. Ames met at his Florida retirement community. "He has given away so many; you wouldn't believe it."
Dr. Ames, 91, who wrote for the Tribune for 30 years, died Monday, Aug. 27, in Ft. Myers, Fla., of complications from abdominal surgery, his wife said.
About six weeks earlier, Dr. Ames donated his collection of letters from veterinarian James Alfred Wight, who wrote under the pen name James Herriot, to the museum in England that bears Herriot's name.
Wight always credited Dr. Ames' 1972 rave for "All Creatures Great and Small" in the Tribune with making his writing career a success. Wight noted his appreciation in a letter he sent Dr. Ames on Sept. 23, 1974.
"Another thing I shall never lose is the deep knowledge of my indebtedness to you and your professional skill because I am convinced that without Alfred Ames I would never have got off the ground," Wight wrote.
Dr. Ames was the first major reviewer in the U.S. to give notice to Herriot's book, Violet Ames said. "The New York Times kind of ignored it until St. Martin's Press ran a full-page ad of Alfred's [Tribune] review in the New York Times," she said.
Dr. Ames, who joined the Tribune staff in 1951, was a book reviewer for five years. He enjoyed doing it so much that he continued the task after becoming an editorial writer, a position he held for 25 years.
"He was always amazed the way he fit in there because he was not a dyed-in-the-wool Republican like most others," Violet Ames said. "He is much more liberal-minded."
A Quaker and pacifist who was a conscientious objector during World War II, Dr. Ames was a stark contrast to Col. Robert R. McCormick, the Tribune's longtime editor and publisher.
Dr. Ames did not often write about politics, however, said Jack Fuller, a former Tribune editor and publisher who worked with Dr. Ames on the editorial board. He generally focused on education, the environment and civil liberties.
"He had a very solid sort of moral sense about him, which reflected itself, not only in his writing, but in the passion in which he debated points on the editorial board," Fuller said.
While working at the Tribune, Dr. Ames taught classes at Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism, where Fuller was one of his students.
"He was a very exacting, very good teacher," Fuller said. "He had a very clear sense of not only simple, elegant prose, but also the difference between gushing opinion and clarity of expression that might carry a point with it."
From 1936 to 1944, Dr. Ames was on the faculty of the University of Illinois, where he had received his master's degree and doctorate. He taught at the Illinois Institute of Technology from 1944 to 1951.
After retiring from the Tribune in the early 1980s, Dr. Ames moved to North Carolina and then Ft. Myers. He continued to send his former colleagues letters when he saw articles they wrote that interested him.
Steve Chapman, a Tribune editorial writer and columnist, received a letter in June that Dr. Ames had written on a typewriter.
"I am glad that you are having a long tenure there, which I know from experience can be rewarding and happy," Dr. Ames wrote.
Dr. Ames' first wife, Nell Ames, died in 1992.
Other than Violet, Dr. Ames leaves no immediate survivors.
A memorial service will be held at 10:15 a.m. Saturday at the chapel of the Village Church at Shell Point Retirement Community in Ft. Myers.
----------
kkridel@tribune.com

Friday, July 13, 2018

Oh! the Ocean

Tuesday, October 30, 2007
From Reflections of a Happy Old Man

Fabulous, man!
We were rolling at 5:30, hit the beach a little after 7. We would have missed sunrise by about 10 minutes, if there had been any sunrise. This part of the FL coast almost always has a cloud bank on the eastern horizon at that time of day. So we watched an angry sea in a 40 mile wind, and in 20 minutes the sun emerged over the clouds.

This morning there were ripple-like clouds in the sky, and the hidden sun painted them with delicate pastel colors-- for only a few minutes; we were glad we were there.
Comfortably togged out in the big coat sister Joel had given me after Austin died; Ellie had less covering and had to find a protected nook. 15 minutes there in the wind made the whole trip well worth while, but there's more!
__________________

Sunday, November 04, 2007

The First Osprey

Sunday we went to Meeting as usual. 30 minutes of silence; then Ellie began what proved to be a lengthy message about our visit to the beach, majoring on our experience with the ospreys.

As I listened, I began to wonder if a spiritual message might be forthcoming, and indeed Ellie spoke of the joy of such experiences, always coming from God. Then silence.

Ellie was so right. She inspired me to follow her lead as usual, and after a decent interval to make my contribution:

We are the fish of the sea; God is an Osprey. From the sky he watches us, waiting patiently for the propitious moment. Then like a rock he falls upon, takes us in his loving arms.

We wonder what may happen next. In the course of time we come to see that God means us to help in the ongoing work of Creation. Finally we realize that we are Co-creators with God. Is there any higher calling?
____________________

The ospreys! ! Oh my! They would hang in that gale like you may sit in your living room. They got back behind the water, luring the fish to the surface (the wind was driving the fish right to the osprey's table!). About 150 feet above the surface they would drift against the wind (really!) until suddenly--wham! Down like a dive bomber' I mean straight down, vertically! They lazily stop an inch above the surface, delicately dip their beat into the water (or is it their claw?) and rise into the air with a good sized fish. High into the air they would rise and go off somewhere to enjoy breakfast, or maybe to feed the babies.

The day progressed with complete satisfaction. We drove up the coast to St. Augustine. This is one of the few places on the East Coast (aside from South Florida) where you can drive along and enjoy the waves, the birds, God's good earth almost like it was in the beginning.

Monday, June 25, 2018

CUBA VICTORY

Service in War II
The first part of this is described in the second.day. I take it up with the South American period.....


I went home again for a visit. This time the union rep offered me a berth on a Mississippi Shipping Co. freighter. They had a premium route, down the coast of South America. I probably would have left the sea sooner if I had not got on the Cuba Victory. As it was, I made four trips to Buenos Aires and points between. I think those trips must have been as interesting as all the rest of the trips I made.


I realized that the job I had was a lazy man's paradise. There was so little to do, I answered to no one but the skipper and he couldn't care less about my activities. While we were in port I lived ashore, if I cared to. The only expenses I had were discretionary; in fact I could have saved every cent above the income tax, had I wanted to. As it was, I saved about $5000 during a 3 1/2 year period and used the money for three years of school.

The Cuba Victory was one of a large class of ships built for the war. The largest class, the Liberty ships were slow, jerry-built, awkward, and barely worthy of the name of ship. The Victory ships were some improvement; they generally ran about 14 knots. As always I had nice quarters more or less to myself and could spend as much or as little time with other people as I cared to.


I struck up an acquaintance with Bill Wolfe, the second mate. His stateroom was up the hall from mine. We spent some time together. He was about 18 months older than me, but he could easily have passed as my father. A great big belly and dissipated face; Bill said he had had "clap" 8 times. Nevertheless he was basically a fairly decent sort. On the third trip the first mate got sick or left the ship or something, and Bill had to work in that capacity. It was really too much for him; he came down with an advanced case of hives.


During those three trips we stopped at a lot of ports on the east coast of South America. First we stopped at St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands for refueling or at Trinidad. I don't remember ever getting ashore at Trinidad, but I did go ashore at St. Thomas once. Both of these places were free ports, a good place to get duty free liquor or whatever other consumer goods you might want.


The South American ports of call were Para (or Belem) near the mouth of the Amazon (of that more later), Recife, Bahia, Rio, Santos, Rio Grande do Sul, Montevideo and B.A. and one or two others that don't immediately come of mind. We didn't go to all these ports each trip, but to all of them at least once during the year or so that I sailed on the Cuba Victory.


My three favorite ports were Santos, B.A., and Montevideo in that order. The easiest way to recall my experience is in terms of each port rather than each trip. I guess the most exciting experiences of my twenties took place during the couple of weeks that I visited Santos. Santos is probably the primary coffee port in Brazil, and we customarily put in there going and coming from B.A. The fun part of Santos (for me) was the beach area, several miles from the port area. It was a sort of resort; I suppose many people came down from Sao Paulo, the industrial capital of Brazil, for vacations on the Santos beach. It was lined with hotels and pensaos, these last being more modest establishments in the business of entertaining vacationers.


My adventures on the beach at Santos began when I mysteriously got a phone call on the ship. It was actually for someone else, but anyway I was called to the phone. A girl named Maria Teresa was on the other end, very friendly. She had apparently met one of the other ship's officers, and she wanted to continue the acquaintance. She encouraged me to come down to the beach at 3 P.M. or some such, which I duly did and met her.


Maria Teresa provided for me a tremendously stimulating experience. Fairly attractive, very bright and outgoing, she had a large group of friends, many of whom I met. We would spend the evenings together on the beach. They were very well educated young people; they all spoke English fairly well, and most of them were fluent in Spanish and French as well as their native Portuguese. Their level of culture surpassed that of any group of people I had known; in addition they were the first group of young people I had been intimate and comfortable with. I suppose they met some of the Cuba Victory officers through me, and we had many enjoyable evenings.
We used to take part in the paseo every night, a very economical way to spend the evening. It was simply a two block area that people walked up and down, greeting friends, stopping to chat, moving on, etc., an informal social hour. When you got tired of walking you could sit down on the terrace of a large hotel in the midst, enjoy a drink and watch the festivities. I thought the Brazilians were wonderfully civilized people.


Most of these girls were going to a "normal" school. My mother would know what a normal is, although my children probably wouldn't. A normal school was for the preparation of teachers. These girls expected to teach school for a year of two before they married. Maria Teresa was one of twelve children; her father was said to own 18 coffee plantations. I never knew how true that was, but simply had no reason to doubt it. She was obviously upper crust, as were most of her friends. Maria had a cousin named Lais, really a more attractive girl than Maria, although Maria was my sweetheart. Lais' father had lost everything in the 1930's crash, as had so many other people in Brazil and in our country as well. Maria was spoiled, self indulgent, but Lais was much less self centered.


Maria also had a close friend named Leda. What I remember about Leda was that everything was hyperbolic to Leda. She exaggerated everything. Life was a series of peak experiences. Leda's little sister, Wanda, was really a favorite, and after I became disenchanted with Maria, I got a crush on Wanda, probably mainly because she obviously admired me. She was as smart as the others, talked about studying philosophy in school, but later went into medicine. It was because of Wanda that I took pre-med and went to medical school---not really a good enough reason to go to medical school!


All of these girls were charming and friendly, and made a young American feel like a prince. I asked them once why they liked American boys so much. Wanda said "because they're not malicioso." She confirmed the low opinion I have always had of the male latins with reference to their sexual values. By and large they saw women primarily as potential conquests. Their primary fulfilment seemed to be the bragging they did in their mens' clubs.


On one of the trips we spent over a week in Santos. I got a room in a pensao on the beach. The food was terrific and lots of it. Since my eating schedule varied somewhat from that of the average Brasileiro, I often found myself the only person in the dining hall. Twice a day it was a 7 course meal. The waiter stood behind my plate and as soon as I got it half way empty, he would feel it up again--with the existing course. Finally I would say in desperation no mas, no mas. Then he would bring the next course.


Those were golden days in Santos, the most normal and enjoyable days of my youth. Unfortunately they were all too brief. It was a really sad time for me when I left Santos. Later I thought seriously of going back, on my own, but I never could figure out any reasonable way to do it.


Buenos Aires was my next favorite port of call. I'll never forget my first visit. The ship was docked not too far from the main street--Avenida Corrientes. I overtook a well dressed Argentino (they were all well dressed and well fed, all in B.A. that is. I never saw the interior.) and with great effort managed to get out a halting message, "Puedo ...Ud....decirme....donde..esta. Avenida.....Corrientes?" He gave me a funny look and then replied. "Oh, Corrientes St., it's two blocks over that way."


The argentinos were proud, anxious for us to know how great they were. They were quite friendly. I was getting a haircut, and the barber was bragging about the people there. He said, "In B.A. everybody dresses like a millionario." I replied, "In my country the millionaires try their best to dress like ordinary people." So it went, the culture shock. It's tremendously stimulating to get acquainted with the people in another culture, and Brazil and Argentina are among the few places where I experienced that with some intensity. In general I was too young and naive to get much out of foreign visits.

Friday, June 8, 2018

OSPREY

Here are a couple of pictures of ospreys that nest in a big cypress tree at the marina in Edenton. Paul

Friday, June 1, 2018

PLANTS & FLOWERS

RIVER TRAIL

Swamp Dogwood


Thistle


Mushroons
_

Button Bush





Button Bush & Water Hemlock



_

SILVER SPRINGS SHORES TRAILHEAD

Aster


Goldenrod


Beauty Berry


Sassafras


Blackberry

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

WILDFLOWERS

Blackroot

____________________________________________

Vetch ? Cowpea
__________________________________
   
____________________________________

Water Hemlock
_____________________________________

Phlox
____________________________________

Morning Glory

 ____________________________

Lizard Tail
____________________________________



 ____________________________

Partridge-pea

___________________________________________

Goat's Rue ?

__________________________________

Tread Softly
____________________________________

New Jersey Tea or Redroot


 

________________________________

Paw Paw



___________________________________

Deer Berry or Sparkleberry
____________________________________________________________________________

Duckweed
__________________________________

Iris
____________________________________

Fringe Tree
____________________________________

Swamp Dogwood
__________________________________

Cyrilla  ?


_________________________________
Trumpet Vine


-


 ______________________________________

Butterfly Weed


___________________________________
Devil's Walking Stick
____________________________________

Rusty Lyonia


__________________________________________

Unidentified

____________________________________

Greenbrier Family
__________________________________

Unidentified Parsley? similar to Mock Bishop Weed

_


_____________________________

Wild Poinsettia
_____________________________________

Wild Hydrangea 
____________________________________

_________________________________________
Sensitive Brier
____________________________________

_______________________________________
Leucothoe
___________________________________________

Papyrus 
__________________________________

__________________________________

______________________________________

________________________________________

_____________________________________

Bromeliaceae family
_________________________________________

_______________________________________

Button Bush
_________________________________________

Sweetbay Magnolia
_____________________________________

Elderberry
____________________________________

Sundrops
___________________________________

Sarsaparilla Vine - Greenbrier family
____________________________________

Gallberry




American Holly


__________________________________


Gopher Apple (Licania)


____________________________________

Hawthorn
_