June 14th, 2001

A day of reckoning...

Hi there.
Well... I was going to write about my day today... the things I did and places I went. And I will... but I'm not focusing on that with this entry. Today was nice, I slept in... got yesterday's pictures done, Tina came over with the kids and a friend of hers, we had lunch, I went over to her house later, and from there we went to a baseball game. And that's all well and good, but that's not what's on my mind.

Someone was giving me grief about not having updated my page today (sheesh... cut me some slack, I'm on vacation. :P ). I also found out I was almost out of space on my geocities account... I guess all the pictures eat up a lot of space... thankfully a friend of mine(Hiya Chris! :) set up a huge block of storage for me on another server. But aside from that, something happened that I needed to think about and whatnot, and that's what I'm writing about today.
Today, I realized I had family.
"DUH!" you say. Yeah well, it's a pretty idiotic statement when you first read it. But the thing is, I really didn't know I had family... not really.
I mean, there's mom and dad and sister and my mom's parents, the occasional visit from my aunt up north and my cousins, my uncle in Pensacola... but... it's largely immediate family. There's never been a sense of history, or any kind of idea from where I came.

This all started when I saw pictures of Grandpa, the one who passed away not long ago, and I found that me and him looked a lot alike when he was my age. Same build, smile, facial structure, goofy grin, etc. That was beyond spooky... it was almost profound discovering that. It's like... I came from somewhere, there are other people like me. That my foibles and parts of behavior patterns I exhibit aren't some weird random occurence that manifested itself in me... It's okay that I do some of the strange things that I do. ;)

Grandpa was somewhat high strung. He entered the military in his early 20s and married before he went off to war. He belonged to what's being called The Greatest Generation, or something like that... the generation that fought World War II. He was a fighter pilot in the Pacific during the war against Japan. He was shot down, had a hole the size of a shotgun barrel in his face, along with loads of shrapnel that he had to have the occasional surgery for for the rest of his life to have removed as it surfaced. He had plastic surgery to repair his face that changed the way he looked after the pictures you see were taken of him. He was a hero.

He came back after the war and decided to try farming. Didn't like it. From there, he went on to become a police officer, a fire fighter, and a CPA. He ran one of those diners in the 50s with rollerskaters for waitresses. My dad worked there. He was a jack of all trades... and he had the luxury of being able to do the different things he wanted. He had a wonderful and beautiful wife who supported him in the things he did. He was a packrat too. He'd keep nearly dead batteries because, well, you never know when you might need them.

There's more, so much more. I could write a book. Maybe I will someday.

Looking through the photo album with Sandy, I saw relatives I never knew existed. My dad's side of the family comes from Sweden, Johnson being a translation of Johansen, I believe. As me and Sandy browsed the pictures, the truly saddening part of the whole exercise is that she could only identify about a quarter of the people in the book. Grandpa probably could've filled in the gaps... but he's gone. I have relatives in Connecticut, I come to find out, on my dad's side. I hope that one of them might be able to identify more of them...

Talking with Sandy, I'm going to try to scan in all the pictures from the album to preserve them... some are beginning to show the wear from the ravages of time.

Something that struck me, as I looked through all the pictures, was how simple things seemed back then... really. I look at my life today, as it is... at how needlessly and ridiculously difficult things have been. At work and in my personal life. Being fed through the ringer on a regular basis in each... I've always thought that the simplest solutions are usually the best... and in both cases it seems like I've had to deal with people who complicate things unnecessarily. It's just not worth it.

Grandpa and Grandma knew each other clear back in the third grade. They were highschool sweethearts. I like to think once they decided they should be together that, well, that was it. There wasn't any dicking around or second guessing it. That was that. He went off to war soon after they got married. I guess that's why I find that one picture of them so... utterly and completely touching.
He's standing there, dressed in his military garb... and they're hugging each other for all they're worth. I can't imagine how difficult it must've been to have to let go and have him go off and fight in the War. It's things like that that make all the piddly bullshit that goes on day to day seem meaningless.

It's like, as a society... with no clear goal or threat or anything we've started making things hard, just to make things hard. Even in the attempts to make things easier we make them more difficult. Look at computers... look at cars. Both have become so complex that end users or motorists often times can't perform the maintenance or repair work needed to fix them if they broke. I could get more into it, but this is starting down the road to an all out rant, and that's not really what I'm going for. I'll just assume you get what I mean. ;) If not, ask me.

You know, looking at these photos, I just want things to be a little simpler in my life. Actually, I want them to be a lot simpler, but baby steps here. I want to get done with school, find someone who doesn't drive me nuts, get back into writing and work a job in the meantime that doesn't make me feel like I'm a hamster in a wheel running itself to death. I need to get a life too, that would be nice.

It's interesting... being out here. There's an elegant sort of order to things here... like something that's just done and not fretted over. There are routines and patterns, but they aren't rigid and seem to be maleable and incorporative. I haven't once felt like I'm imposing or causing any problems with my presence. It's nice. Again, if someone wants you around they won't make you feel like you're a burden, I guess.

All of you out in California reading this... thanks.

Tommorrow I drive to Los Angeles. Early Saturday morning, Alie arrives.

I've decided that I need to visit Grandpa's grave. I don't think I'd feel right leaving California if I didn't. Ed is going to give me directions tommorrow for that.

I'm glad Alie is going to be here. This might be tougher than I thought originally.

The next 48 hours are going to be very interesting...

Blah blah blah... yeah I know. I'll shut up now. g'night...

Young Grandpa
Not sure of the year on this, but he's probably in his early to mid 20s.

Same picture, a little closer up. I really need to sic a scanner on these things.

Grandma
Supposedly either a highschool or a sorority photo.

One of many pages from the photo album. Again, I really need a scanner.
From the top left, going left to right on each row: Some dog. Grandpa in an old rowboat, Grandpa and I'm guessing his father, no clue who the old lady is, Grandpa and Grandma
2nd row: Grandpa and maybe my dad, Great aunt Doris(?) Grandpa and Grandma, Grandma and Aunt Sandy(?), Grandma and Doris(?), some cats
3rd row: Granda mugging, not sure, not sure, Grandpa and Grandma, not sure.

Left to right again: Grandpa and Grandma at their official wedding, Grandma and Sandy(?)
2nd row: Grandma and Grandpa, dunno who the lady and her cat is, Grandpa, Grandma and Great Grandpa(?)