I’m in the midst of packing for the trip back to the Midwest. My half of the room is in shambles, but I’m making very good progress. Unfortunately for me, the progress might not be fast enough - I need to have everything I plan on bringing with me out of the way for the movers by the time they show up tomorrow. What remains is to organize what is going with me and what is staying into piles the movers can easily identify. I’d also like to test-pack my car to see how much room I’m dealing with. Looks like I’ll be up early this morning.

I went down to Lakeside (northeast of San Diego) this afternoon to visit a relative from my paternal grandmother’s side of the family. Jean has lived in the San Diego area since 1954, including exactly 40 years in Lemon Grove.

When my grandpa was in the Navy my grandmother took some vacation time from her job and came out to visit him for two weeks. She had been working for the telephone company back in Wisconsin, and instead of returning to her job at the end of the two weeks, she quit and married my grandpa.

Jean and her husband Red helped them get settled, and Jean organized a parcel post wedding shower for my grandmother. They got along well, and when Jean would come back to the Midwest for family reunions they would often spend time together talking about those early days in San Diego. Needless to say, I’m quite thankful to Jean for everything she did fifty years ago, because without her help, I might not be here today.

Jean also organized and published a genealogy of that side of the family. Entitled simply Duellman (the name of the family), her book traces the family line from Heinrig Duellman, who naturalized here in 1856, and his wife, Wilhelmina.

At the time she published the book (1980) there were 1430 direct blood descendants of that couple. When I arrived at Jean’s the number stood at 1551, and by the time I left I’d upped it to 1552 with information about a cousin Jean was not aware of. I’m the only one of my grandmother’s grandchildren she has met, and after we did the math we realized it had been over twenty two years since we had last seen one another. Of course, I don’t remember meeting her (I must have been about two at the time), but the bonds of family are pretty strong on the Duellman side, and we fell into good conversation right away.

Jean told me that the Wisconsin Historical Society had requested a copy of Duellman when it was published, and I intend to see if it is still in the archives when I move up to Madison.

She also told me that she had originally wanted to include causes of death in the book, but many family members either did not send the information or (especially in cases of cancer) did not want to have it published. I found that to be an interesting piece of information - I think society has changed enough that such information would probably be readily given today, especially when one considers the value that would have in determining family susceptibility to illness and disease. It’s a shame people thought differently back then, but diseases like cancer carried an entirely different stigma at the time.

As I was leaving Jean gave me a standing invitation to stay with her should I ever return to San Diego. I don’t know that I’ll be back this way any time soon, but it is nice to know that I’ll have a place to stay should I ever need it.

And now, to sleep. I’m going to have to be up around six if I’m going to be ready when the movers show up.

This won’t be a thematic post but will instead function as more of an assessment of the progress I’ve been making, not only with this site (which is minimal in the visible sense), but with other facets of my life.  I don’t generally talk much about what is going on with me personally, but with how busy I have been recently I find it somewhat necessary to condense some of those thoughts into written form.

First off, I have finally completed the college application process.  I mailed my last application (to the University of Minnesota) yesterday.  I’m quite relieved to have moved beyond the application stage, especially as my initial application timeline coincided with preparations for the field operation in 29 Palms at the end of September.

The University of Minnesota asked a question I didn’t encounter elsewhere - they asked me to briefly state my academic interests and career goals.  I stated simply “It is my intent to pursue a dual major in English Literature and Russian as a precursor to a graduate degree in Slavic Languages and Literature. Ultimately, I wish to teach at a post-secondary level.”  I can’t think of a more simple way of putting it, though the Russian part is fluid at the moment.  I applied to the University of Wisconsin-Madison as an English Literature and Polish dual major, though I would like to speak both by the time I’m finished with my undergraduate degree.  I should also add that in no way does teaching at the post-secondary level mean I’m giving up on the idea of being a writer.  I’m just realistic about the need to put food on the table.

My friend (and host) Chris will go on Terminal Leave from the Marines today at noon.  Chris was my first roommate out here on Pendleton and has become a fast friend.  Though I am sad to see him leave I am happy that he’s progressing beyond the Corps into the private sector.  Chris recently gained his PHP certification, which merits congratulations as well.  Take care of yourself, man, and I’ll see you when Jo and I pass through Denver in twenty days.

At the left you will notice I’m currently reading Zamyatin’s We, a Russian dystopian novel dating from 1921.  We is generally considered the original dystopian novel, predating and influencing such works as 1984 and Brave New World.

The novel is significant for other reasons as well.  Zamyatin, an engineer, makes extensive use of mathematics for metaphor, and often his sentences look like they could be equations.  He also employs a unique writing style, one he termed the “language of thought,” a more evolved sort of stream of consciousness technique.  Zamyatin explains it best in this excerpt from his essay “On Language” (1919-20):

“[I]f you try to follow the language of thought in your own mind, you will not find even he simplest sentences — only shreds, fragments of simple sentences.  Only the most essential elements of a sentence are used: sometimes only a verb or only an epithet, an object … At first glance this assertion may seem paradoxical: why should fragments of sentences, scattered as after an explosion, have greater effect on the reader than the same thoughts and images arranged in regular, steady, marching ranks? … [because] you meet the reader’s natural instinctive need. You do not compel him to skim…”

One might suspect such a syntactical style would be difficult to adjust to, but I’ve found Zamyatin’s writing fresh and interesting.  I’ve enjoyed the book so far (I’m about 7 chapters in) and would heartily recommend it to anyone with an inclination for reading something atypical and thought-compelling.

On the website front, I’m looking into making some changes to the site, some subtle, some more sweeping.  Nothing is set in stone at all, and of course the readership is quite small (due to my erratic posting), but I’m trying to give it more visual appeal while upping the frequency and quality of the posting back to my previously mentioned levels.  Now that the albatross of application season is no longer around my neck I hope to be able to divert more brainpower to getting things back to the way they should be around here.

This brings me to my next to last point - the post I’ve been meaning to make for over a week now.  I’ve found that a good deal of research is required, and in the interest of accuracy I’d like to have all my facts straight before I make it.  I will throw out one hint - it will concern the Midwest, applied technology, current infrastructure, and transportation theory.

Lastly, with the Detroit Tigers playing in the American League Championship Series for the right to advance to the World Series, I’m more than a little disappointed they aren’t doing so in a revitalized Tiger Stadium instead of their shiny corporate-shill digs (Comerica Park).  Sadly, Tiger Stadium’s luck has run out.  This past June the Mayor of Detroit, Kwame Kilpatrick, announced the venerable old building, built in 1911, would be demolished starting this autumn.  Oh, what could have been.

Farewell.

Chris, my friend, colleague, and host of this site, recently welcomed his firstborn, Kaira Azure, into the world. Kaira was born at 2:19 am on the 26th, weighed 5 pounds, 11 ounces, and was 32.5 cm tall.

Chris and I have known each other and worked together for three years, and I’ve never seen a guy more prepared to be a father than him. He and Katrina, his wife, will be moving to Colorado after he’s finished with his enlistment (18 days before I finish mine), and he’s already checked all the boxes to get him there. He’s a completely thorough individual, and I know he’ll be an excellent father to Kaira, making sure she develops into a well rounded lady.

I’m very happy for both Chris and Katrina and glad they’ll be able to go home from the hospital with their new addition today. I saw her at the hospital briefly tonight and she’s such a sweet looking little girl, with dark hair like her dad. She kept her eyes closed for the most part while I was there, and I got to witness her distinct aversion to the cold (unlike anywhere else around here, the hospital is air conditioned) when Chris pulled back her little cap to show me her hair.

Congrats to the new mom and dad, and a hearty welcome to little Kaira.

A Note

I stood a 24-hour duty post yesterday, and as such, I’m struggling to stay awake. I’m going to take a mulligan on my 1000 word per post goal tonight and rest up. Look for the Weekend Edition here around noon Pacific time on Sunday.

cross-posted from elsewhere

I had a WDN column due yesterday, and before I sent it in I called home to have my dad give me his opinion on it. Judy, my step-mom, answered the phone. We chatted for a while, and she told me her sister, my Aunt Connie, was up from Kentucky with her husband Bill and youngest son, Steven. Dad wasn’t home, so I told her that I’d try calling later in the evening.

Dad and I talked later in the night, and he told me there were a few things he wanted to sleep on, and that he’d call me again in the morning.

Well, I had just gotten back from running this morning when I got a phone call from my dad.

He and my Uncle Bruce are both firemen, both department captains. Yesterday morning at about 2:15 Central, just as I was going to bed out here, their department got a call to report to the scene of an accident about four miles outside of town.

When they got out there, the car was in a field, obviously having missed the road’s sharp curve to the left. It was a familiar car. It was my cousin Teddy’s car.

Teddy hasn’t had an easy life. His biological dad ran out on his mom when he was just a kid, and he’s always been vulnerable because of it, though he tries to compensate with an air of bravado. Anyone who would spend any time with him would see right through it, because Teddy was obviously such a sweet kid. He was a favorite with his younger cousins (of which there are many on that side of the family) because they could count on him to play with them, to give that playful adult attention that little kids seem to thrive off. Bruce, his step-dad, was his true father, and though it often wasn’t easy between the two of them, I think they both loved each other in ways they just couldn’t say.

Teddy and I were close because we lived in similar circumstances. We were both vulnerable because our parents had split up. Teddy was, for a very long time, my best friend in the town my dad lives in. Teddy was my little brother for years before my younger brothers were born, and when Dad, Judy, and I would go on vacations, we’d take Teddy with us. We called these vacations, and all our other exploits, “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures,” partially because everyone called me Billy at the time. Over the years we had many excellent adventures, hiking bluffs with our Uncle Tom, playing baseball in the field between my folks’ place and our grandparents’ house next door, going to Wisconsin Dells, and roofing my Uncle Tim’s house.

The last few years were particularly rough on Teddy. He had gotten into a rut and into some minor trouble. But things started to turn around when one of our other cousins, who Teddy had once admired, was sent to prison for trafficking drugs. Teddy saw that he was headed down a similar path and turned things around. He quit partying hard with the wrong crowd, turning that energy to work. He would walk from the lumber plant he had been working at to our grandma’s house for lunch every day, something they both looked forward to. Teddy had always been protected by our grandma and grandpa because of his dad running out on him, and after Grandpa J died Teddy became even dearer to Grandma J’s heart.

None of us could protect Teddy enough.

Teddy and Steven went out yesterday night. They were on their way home when Teddy’s car, for whatever reason, left that country road. Steven was standing next to the car when Dad, Bruce, and the rest of the fire department arrived. Teddy couldn’t stand, because Teddy didn’t make it. He was thrown from the car and most likely died upon impact. Bruce was there when the other firemen put the tarp over his body. So were Stephen’s parents, who had showed up when Stephen called them.

Dad drove Bruce home to tell Debbie, Teddy’s mom. Then they went and told Judy, and then they went and told Grandma J. Dad thought about calling me afterward, but waited until they figured I’d be waking up to go to work.

I called Bruce later yesterday morning. Bruce is sometimes a gruff man. He works in a lumber yard in addition to the fire department, and he can struggle with expressing his feelings. He’s got a great heart, the kind of guy who exemplifies giving the shirt off his back to help out his family and friends. He’s also just one of those guys who can’t talk about what is going on inside him. When I told Bruce how sorry I was and that I’d do anything to help out, his voice waiverd precariously. We only talked for two or three minutes because neither of us wanted to be the first one to break down. That’s when it hit me.

The last time I saw Teddy was at a party at his folks’ place just before New Year’s. I introduced Jo to him that night, and I promised him the next time I was in town we’d go and have a few beers and catch up.

I’ll never get that chance. There will be no more excellent adventures for Teddy and me.

I’m gonna miss him.