At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, May 07, 2015


The other day I found out that a direct ancestor sired his first son when he was seventy years old. Which, you'll have to admit, is a rather late start. There were two more that followed. This datum contrasts nicely with another ancestor who had over two dozen living offspring, by three successive wives, only the last of whom outlived him.

Both men lived before television or even radio had been invented.
One imagines that zesty activities of a procreative nature may have been a way of staying entertained on long winter evenings, which begs the question what the late-starter did for several decades to stay warm and busy before the birth of his firstborn.

That may take a bit more research.

I notice, by the way, that the weather has turned summer-like. What that means in San Francisco is that by dusk it is blustery, after nightfall distinctly frigid. Quite beastly, in fact. The cold is horrid.
My right leg aches like billy-o.
Couple that with the fact that there is absolutely nothing on teevee, and you can see my quandary. As well as why finding out what my ancestor was doing for fun for fifty years plus is urgent.

I hope it wasn't parcheesi. Or whist.

Actually, neither is a likely possibility, as parcheesi does not seem to be mentioned much before the 1870's, and whist is akin to gambling, which my genetic stock is predisposed to disdain.

Long winter evenings in Upstate must have been frightful. Darkness, cold, dehydrated cheese, and bad cider. The stultifying company of uncles and aunts, or slope-browed neighbors who remembered one as a child. Sooty rafters, smelly clothes, and damp accommodations.
They probably had Bible-reading parties.

Without coffee and tobacco they would have killed themselves.

I've got coffee and tobacco.

In bucket loads.

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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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