Wandering the Pages of History

Hang on there, I promise I will get to the topic of the day….

I recently learned that Eli, my middle grandson’s, girlfriend, (Cely) plays on her high school volleyball team.  I found out because I was telling Teddy (my youngest grandson) that I just learned what the position of ‘libero’ was on a volleyball team.  That position didn’t exist when I played in high school and I had no idea why there was a player on the Olympic teams that was always dressed in a different uniform than the rest of the players on each team.  Turns out that person is a defensive specialist for digs!!  Who knew??  When I brought up the topic Teddy got excited as he told me that was the position Cely played on the Bethel-Tate team.

One thing led to another…. Becca sent me Cely’s volleyball schedule and I picked out 3 of her games that are closest to me.  I went to the first game 2 weeks ago.  It happened to be at Blanchester High School. Cely was incredible…. you can see by her playing that she is passionate about the game and did her job well.  Unfortunately, they didn’t win that night, but it was still an awesome match.

Other things were going on for me that night, which leads to the reason for this post.  While I was sitting in the gym, watching the game, I started thinking about the history of this school and it’s link to the Hallsted family.  While the school and campus is relatively new, (the entire campus is gorgeous…buildings and outdoor facilities) it has a longstanding history in the community.

The school originally opened in 1854.  As the community grew, the school expanded and in 1900 a new building opened.  And here is where the Hallsted story begins.  You see, my paternal grandmother, Marie Tullis, graduated from Blanchester High School in 1911, I have her high school diploma hanging on my wall.  

The story goes, that after graduation she taught there until she married Harry Hallsted in 1913.  I haven’t been able to verify that story, but I’m working on it.  And then, of course, along came 6 children who all attended Blanchester High School.  Harry and Marie had 7 children, 5 of whom attended the school. (One died at the age of 5 and one was raised by her maternal grandparents out of state.)

Digging further in my files, I found my Dad’s high school diploma of 1938, his Transcript of High School Credits and his high school photo.  Dad rarely talked about his school years, except to say that one day in gym class they were taking target practice with bows and arrows.  One of his arrows managed to pierce the roof of a nearby house.  The arrow was still there years later, long after he graduated and moved from Blanchester.  

 

 

While he was an excellent athlete, I don’t think he ever played any school sports.  The most obvious would have been baseball, but that would have been during the height of farming season, and I doubt that his dad would have relinquished his hands from the work of the field. 

I probably have a whole host of other info regarding his brothers and sisters at Blanchester High School.  I’m pretty sure an aunt taught there and I’ve heard his youngest brother was a basketball star for the school.  I bet I could go on and on…but I’ll give you a break and end it here.

Sally's Secret

A couple of days ago I was visiting with a friend when she mentioned that she had visited with an acquaintance we both used to work with.  This woman, I’ll call her Sally (not her real name) was always kind of quirky.  She suffered from a lot of anxieties and was just odd, in a lot of different ways.  Sally mentioned, while visiting with my friend, that she was taking steps to make sure she does not get old!  She evidentially has come up with a plan of exercise and diet to ensure that she does not age. 

Hmmm….interesting, since as we have known each other for 20+ years, she, as well as all of us, have definitely gotten older.  I am now 76 and for sure do not have the same body or mind that I had at 6, or 31, or 54.  I chuckled a bit and then moved on. 

But it did get me thinking.  I can definitely understand the urge to not age.  In addition to the effects on the body and mind, it brings with it a whole host of other issues.  Like for instance how do I know when to stop driving?  Do I age in place or make arrangements to move into a retirement community?  Will I outlive my money? And so many more questions. 

I’ve seen some examples of aging that don’t seem to work well.  For instance, I’ve known a few folks who have really, really fought hard, to keep their driving privileges.  I know that’s a huge loss.  I worked with my brother before his passing to help make that decision.  In his case, he was able to safely keep driving, his driving skills were still good.  But, he didn’t make good decisions when it came to driving. 

As an example, he would drive to the next town over, about 20 miles, to play cards each week.  One day I got a call from him that his van had broken down and he needed a ride home.  He had already called AAA for the tow.  When I arrived at the site his car was parked in a median in the middle of the road with a cop in attendance.  When the van was finally picked up and we were headed home he told me that the van had started making funny noises that he knew weren’t good, but he kept driving hoping to make it to his destination.  When the noises started, he was closer to home, but he didn’t want to miss playing cards.  I looked at him and just shook my head.

There have been other folks who insist on living where they are, even though it is obvious that they need to downsize and find safer accommodations.  But the emotion associated with staying where they are overrides all the logical conclusions that would move them to more appropriate housing. 

The list, of course, goes on and on.  And it seems the older we get the longer the list. I don’t have answers for anyone but myself, and I think I’m looking at this pretty well.  But, kinda wish I knew Sally’s secret, if she really has one, not aging would be a nice answer!!

 

The Long Death

Every once in a while, I like to write about books I have read, today is one of those days.

The book today is the most difficult book I’ve ever attempted to read.  It also falls into the category of a book I purchased.  Several years ago, I made the difficult decision to stop purchasing books.  I had too many…. they cost too much for reading one time and then leaving on a shelf for years.  So currently I typically get my books from the library.  But this book caught my eye in a little unique store outside of Cincinnati.  The store carries only Native Indian items:  jewelry, ceremonial items, clothing, books, you name it, anything American Indian. 

The title of the book is The Long Death: The Last Days of the Plains Indians.  And with that title, I’m sure you can understand why it was difficult to read.  I purchased the book about 2 years ago, started to read it and quickly set it aside, it was breaking my heart. 

Yes, of course, I should have anticipated the difficulty of the topic, but, Mr. Ralph K. Andrist, the author, is an excellent writer, obviously an excellent researcher and had the ability to share a compelling story that I had not learned in 9^th grade history class. 

I began again in April this year, and while it took me a while, until August, I finally got through it.  I cried a couple of times as I read.  It has come to mind several times since I got through the final pages, even a question on Jeopardy caused me to wonder at the authors of Jeopardy questions.

Let me share the first paragraph of the book….

            “The last gunfire on the Great Plains between Indians and soldiers of the United States was exchanged on a bitterly cold day in 1890, the next to last day of the year.  On that day, on Wounded Knee Creek in South Dakota, a forlorn and hungry band of Sioux, including women and children, was goaded and frightened into making a gesture of resistance to Army authority.  When it was over, the Indian wars of the plains were ended, and with them the long struggle of all American Indians, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, to preserve some portion of their ancestral lands and tribal ways.”

Mr. Andrist had a unique perspective in that he tells the story of the American Indians facing eastward, toward the invading Europeans, rather than westward, a perspective that comes closer to the Indian viewpoint.  And he sees what happened as the holocaust that it was.

This particular story starts at the end of “The Trail of Tears” when the Indians that were moved westward, arrive, unwelcomed by their counterparts who had lived in the region for generations, and contains broken promise, after broken promise, after broken promise, by the Indian Agents, the US Army hierarchy, all the way up to the president of the United States.  There were a few good guys: a few good Indian Agents, a few good Army commanders, but they were the very rare exception.  The general rule was “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.”

The Trail of Tears went from 1831-1850.  In 1877, as that year ended, “in all the Great Plains, from Canada south, there was no longer a free tribe or a ‘wild’ Indian.  It had not taken long, in 1840 the boundary of the permanent Indian Country had been completed and the Great Plains were to belong forever to the Indians.  A mere 37 years later every solemn promise had been broken and no bit of ground large enough to be buried in remained to any Indian that could not – and probably would – be arbitrarily taken from him without warning."

The book is a narrative of all the wars that took place, of Native Americans defending their homes, their families.  From the European perspective, yes they were savage, cruel, cunning, but the thought that came to my mind was, what would I be if someone was trying to take my home from me in those days?

Loving The Olympics

 

Anyone else spent the last 16 days watching the Olympics?  Boy, I have, to the point where I have almost driven my poor husband bonkers.  He’s not into athletics as I am.  I’ve even watched it at 4:30 AM when I couldn’t sleep…luckily for Pete that was while he was in Buffalo. 

So, it began all the way back to 1960 when they were first televised in the US.  I’m sure it was Dad who turned the Games on and got the 4 of us hooked on watching.  (As I am writing this, I have the women’s gold medal basketball game playing in the background, 1:46 left to play.  Yeah, they won the gold, by 1 point!!!)  Anyway, sorry for the distraction.  From then forward, I was hooked. 

I was glued to the TV during the 1984 Soviet vs US Hockey game.  It was just a few years later when I was in Lake Placid and attended a hockey game in that same arena.  I was livid during the Harding/Kerrigan scandal.  Michael Phelps definitely had my attention as did Nadia Comeneci, Mark Spitz and many, many others. 

I pushed my family to attend the 1996 Summer games in Atlanta which they did for me.  Mom, Dad, brother, husband, step-daughter, we had a blast. In 2002 for the Winter Games in Salt Lake City I convinced two friends to join me.  They weren’t super into the sports, but they did greatly enjoy the adventure.  Even forked over big bucks to attend opening ceremonies in Salt Lake City which I have never once regretted.  That was such a special evening. 

I applied to be a volunteer at the 2012 Summer Olympics in London, but that didn’t work out….never heard a word from them.  While I worked at J&J they held a competition for the 2004 Summer Olympics for employees to write an essay on why they should get to go to the Games as a company reporter, I submitted an essay.  Heard through the company communications that they had so many applicants that most of us never heard a thing back from them. 

I will no doubt stay home for the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan Cortina and be just as glued to the TV.  I look forward to 2028 Summer Olympics games in LA.  Might have to start saving my pennies for that one!!!

Every Day

 

It’s another hot summer Sunday and I’ve been watching the Olympics…..alot!!  I should be paying better attention, but I keep getting distracted by the activity outside our living room window. 

What is going on is that I have a hummingbird feeder right outside our front window.  I get a kick out of them.  This year, for the first time ever, we’ve had a sunflower plant suddenly appear, completely uninvited.  Photo below.

This plant has been particularly helpful to the hummingbirds as they perch on the plant waiting their turn at the feeder. 

By sheer coincidence, before this sweetie showed up, I happened to plant some sunflowers in a bed behind our house.  They are now blooming beautifully.

To my knowledge the hummingbirds have not found these, not sure, haven’t seen them on this plant. 

The additional joy of both of these plants is that the Yellow Finches seem to love them…..I mean really love them!!!!  They are feeding heavily on the uninvited plant at the front of our house.  It is a perfect view, we can watch them easily without disturbing them.

I am so thrilled.  You see, several years ago, when we lived at our prior house, we had a boat load of Yellow Finches.  I love them for so many reasons.  Sadly, one day the West Nile Virus arrived.  Suddenly there were no more Yellow Finches.  There were also no more Crows.  No more Red Wing Black Birds….and so many others.   

It has been many years, and thankfully, slowly they are reviving.  I see Crows now, Red Wing Black Birds, and now, right here in our yard, Yellow Finches.  They even seem to be saying ‘Hello’.

I assume that these who are now showing up, have some kind of immunity to the West Nile….I don’t know that for a fact, but it sort of seems obvious, cause I’ve heard that the virus is still around. 

I know it seems like a simple thing, and it is, but it is one that puts a smile on my face….every day.