Life Has Loveliness; Humming Along With The Songs

Just Like My Mom And Grandpa Did For Me

--By Katie

Last year Andy I went hiking in the Shenandoah Valley. I had so much fun telling Andy the different types of flowers that we were seeing and the names of the birds that flew by us. Andy asked me what kind of flowers we were seeing and I was shocked that he didn't know what a forsythia was called. I've since realized that my love for and knowledge of the nature around me really stems from Grandpa.

Grandpa and Katie -- who is 

wearing a carnival mask.

I remember going over to Grandma and Grandpa's house when I was a little kid and I would look through his guidebooks on plants, trees, and animals. He would spend such a long time answering my questions about the different pages in the books and I absolutely loved it. We would go on walks and he would pick up leaves that were on the ground and tell me if they were a sycamore leaf or a maple leaf. He taught me that the bark of a birch tree was thin and soft and peeled easily off the trees. I loved when he would tell me the name of the birds and I was always so impressed when he could do a bird call that sounded just like bird in front of me. 

Grandma and Grandpa

Grandpa had so much love for the people and things around him and I know that has impacted all of his family members. His love of nature, knowledge, and his appreciation for the little things helped me to feel the same way throughout my life and I am so thankful I had those experiences. I will pass down the excitement for books and nature and whistling like a bird to my children just like my mom and Grandpa did for me. His joy in so many things reminds me to appreciate the world around me. I remember when I was at a St. Patrick's day party when I was a teenager I sat next to Grandpa as he hummed the songs everyone was singing. He rocked back and forth to the music with a smile and that little moment has stayed in my head. It was such a simple moment but seeing the happiness radiate from him reminds me to find the happiness in the small things.  

Suzy, Katie & Kyle

I found a poem that really makes me think of him. It is called Barter by Sara Teasdale and it reminds me of being a kid and being so excited to talk to Grandpa about all the things he loved. Grandpa was someone who really taught me to appreciate poems. We would read Robert Louis Stevenson poems and then when I was a little older we would read more challenging poems and we would talk about what they meant. I'm so glad he was in my life to share so much of his appreciation for the world.

“Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like the curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.”

I will miss my grandpa very much.

An Unlikely But Authentic Patriarch

The Turtle Lives Twixt Plated Decks
--By Luke

Luke (left) and Matt

Photo by their Uncle John

Many years ago in Alaska, when my brothers and I were children, and our father and mother were still young, our grandfather spent many summers at our cabin in the woods. The place was overrun. Sled dogs barked and howled at all hours. Rabbits roamed the house with impunity, alongside several generations of hamsters. The parakeets and budgies were less fortunate: they were constantly falling sick.

Wild snowshoe hare looking into the window during
a Gakona, Alaska Christmas.

The property was also home to countless wild animals habituated to us. Especially favored were the snowshoe hares, whose population swelled under our protection, and whose vast numbers, in the end, summoned from the wilderness an impressive force of predators. Attacking on foot were foxes, martens, and coyotes, while great-horned owls hooted ominously from the treetops – death from above. Grizzly bears occasionally traversed the property at night, leaving surprisingly large tracks to wonder at in the morning. Small boys also had to watch for moose, which might stomp on them if they got too close. 

Tim, Luke and Grandpa

Into this menagerie came Grandpa Bob, our summer resident humanist and the designated representative of a distant civilization to which our parents had once belonged. Grandpa’s learning was impressive, but he also knew what it was to grow up in a state of nature. My brothers and I

Tim, being feral.

must have seemed feral to him, and I think this gave him delight. He tempered our wildness with a dose of grown-up learning. He explained the difference between “who” and “whom.” A local expression popular with us, “I got’s it,” was not proper English, he said, though a descriptivist might find it acceptable. He inculcated respect for literature and writers, and curiosity about the motives and talents of Swedish ladies. During the winter, he sent recordings by post, on cassette tapes, of poems old and new – humorous verses about childhood and about our Alaska pastoral.

Luke & Grandpa

He was a man of few affectations. But it was obvious even in those days, from the way he spoke and carried himself, that he felt older than his years, like Bob Dylan or Jude the Obscure.  Noting the pleasure he took in his (at the time) imagined infirmity, and thinking I might please or, at least, provoke him, I asked him once about a poem by William Yeats, “The Coming of Wisdom with Time.”  The poem goes:

Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.

I pointed out that the coming of old age, in Yeats’s poem, is not without certain consolations, such as ready access to truth, and asked if he agreed. I recall him grunting with disapproval  – or was it approval? I couldn’t tell. But I may have been too young for the poem in question, or he may have found Yeats too pretentious. 

His real appreciation, in any case, was for light verse. One of his favorites, which I remember him reciting on numerous occasions, was Ogden Nash’s “The Turtle”:

The turtle lives twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex.
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix to be so fertile.

He always chuckled at the end. I didn’t understand the joke at first. Turtles aren’t native to Alaska’s interior. It was only years later that I saw turtles face-to-face, or gained an inkling of what they did below decks.

But I could tell that Grandpa identified, somewhat mischievously, with the turtle of the poem – that practical, plated, half-concealed, clever, and fertile creature. We, a clutch of far-flung grandchildren, were among other things proof of his potency, his creation in more ways than one.

In the end, Robert Wysong was an unlikely but authentic patriarch. I believe it gave him satisfaction to live, like Job of the Old Testament after his reward, to see “his sons, and his sons’ sons, even four generations,” and finally to die “being old, and full of days.”

I'm Not Sure If Grandma Wants To Know This

Keuka Lake, Grandpa, Limericks, And A Small Mouth Bass

--By Will
I’m not sure if Grandma wants to know that this honor goes to someone else, but my most memorable meal I’ve ever eaten was prepared by Grandpa.

Will

I must have been 6 or 7 years old when Grandma and Grandpa visited us at Keuka Lake.  It was not a particularly warm week.  I remember it raining quite a bit.

Stuck inside we enjoyed each other’s company.  In typical Grandpa fashion, discussion ranged from tree classification to the Sudan to the Boy Scouts to Limericks.  I also remember a very lively game of Pictionary.  Then I think we made some more Limericks.

What I remember most came the next morning.  I had recently gotten a fishing pole and I wanted to learn to fish.  Grandpa was the first person to stay at our house that had both a fishing license and the patience to help me learn this skill.  

We left the house early in the morning after a large downpour.  Grandpa explained that this was the best time because the worms would be easy to find and the fish would be more active. 

Grandpa & Company On Keuka
 Lake, 5 Years Before This Story.

We sat out on the dock and he taught me how to get the worm on the hook.  We practiced the best way to cast the line.  We even practiced the right speed to reel in the line.  (slow, but not too slow)  While we sat there with my hook in the water, Grandpa caught and released two fish.  I was impressed and he explained that to catch a fish you had to be relaxed and quiet.  Soon after I started emulating his behavior I felt a big tug on my line.  He helped me reel in the BIGGEST FISH I HAD EVER SEEN.  Once it was out of the water he explained that it was an adult small mouth bass, and it was about 7 inches long.

A few hours later, around lunchtime, Grandpa and I took the bucket that was holding the fish up to the house.  He helped me take care of all the scales and remove all the unpleasant bits.  We cut the fish and removed as many bones as we could.  Grandpa then cooked up the fish for me, all the while explaining the different characteristics of the small mouth bass and the different fish I would find in the lake.  

We ate the fish on the picnic table together.  It took about two minutes and three bites each.  It was the best.

I love you Grandpa.

Funeral Services For Grandpa This Friday At 10 AM In Gaithersburg, Maryland

Our Dad And Grandpa Will Be Buried After A 10am Viewing & Funeral On Friday, June 5th             

Note:  Corrected DATE, PLACE & LOCATION ST. MARTIN OF TOURS CATHOLIC CHURCH

Guestbook and Funeral Services in Maryland

Robert Wysong

Viewing: Friday, June 5, 2015 from 10 to 10:30 AM (at church) Service: Friday, June 5, 2015 at 10:30 AM Location: St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church, 201 S. Frederick Ave., Gaithersburg, MD

On Monday, June 1, 2015 of Gaithersburg, MD.  Beloved husband of Rita M. Wysong; loving father of Linda, Susan, Mary, Bobby, John and their spouses.  Also survived by fourteen grandchildren and their spouses and one great-grandchild.  Mass of Christian Burial will be offered at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church, 201 S. Frederick Ave., Gaithersburg, MD on Friday, June 5, 2015 at 10:30 AM where friends may call from 10 until time of Mass.  Interment to follow at Gate of Heaven Cemetery, Silver Spring, MD.

Grandpa Bob -- Robert Clayton Wysong -- died on June 1st, in the afternoon, after a long and lingering illness.

Until about a year before his death, in spite of lapses in memory, he was still able to function quite well; he could enjoy flowers and rides, enjoy his meals, watch TV, visit with his family and grandchildren, talk with people on the phone about all kinds of things, take walks and exercise, and do crossword puzzles and play a passable and interesting game of Scrabble. 

A brilliant, loving father and grandfather, he was not judgmental, but easy going and tolerant of the quirks and personalities of his wide-ranging family, including numerous grandchildren. 

Since it is so soon, there is a real possibility that some of Grandpa's grandchildren can't come, due to distances, work schedules, expense and other commitments. 

Please take a moment and write something in this blog -- to celebrate Grandpa's life with your reflections, memories, photos, stories and other thoughts. This blog, and your memories, will live on well beyond the day of the funeral. 

Grandpa's impact on your life is not just genetic; he also influenced your life in other ways. Let's honor him. Write all you want -- and write again, any time you wish, if you remember something you forgot the first time, or found a poem or photo you especially like... 

Goodbye My Dearest Husband

He Is Now In Heaven

It is a little after 1 a.m. June 2.  Yesterday at 4:45, Bob passed away.  As Bobby said , "He is now in Heaven."

Suzy and Bobby had taken turns being with him at the hospital.  Suzy was so happy when she felt a slight movement of his fingers curling around hers as she held his hand. Bobby played music (his favorite pieces) for him,  and I hoped that showing him the picture of him baking bread at Linda's might stir a little memory.  He was too far gone.  Just being comfortable with a breathing mask, and feeding tube and total lack of fear or anxiety or pain was the most we could hope for.

Last evening, I had been at the Crawford Room having dinner with my friend, Alma.  When I returned to my apartment about 6:30,  Suzy was there. I knew immediately that Bob had died.

Suzy reiterated how peacefully her Dad had left this earth.  That we all might be so lucky. We all had been prepared for this for a long time.  Bob was a "fighter" the Doctor said.  But we knew that he could "fight" just so long.

Mary said she would come down whenever I wished - maybe this weekend.  Linda will fly down from Alaska.  The funeral will probably be next Monday or Tuesday. Suzy and I are supposed to make the final arrangements tomorrow. Trish is hoping to have a small reception afterwards here at the Trott Building where I live. Little details - Suzy had his good suit jacket drycleaned, and bought him a nice new white shirt, size 6 l/2. Tie, courtesy of John Herron.  She had recently bought him a half dozen summer sport shirts. We may give them to one of the boys if they fit.

Lots of details, but Suzy and Bobby as always will take care of them.  It will spare me.  After all, their mother is going to be 92 next month - no "spring chicken." I will need all the strength I can muster for the next week or so.

I am happy I started this project and let Linda continue it .  Charley Paddock was the next one in line to write a tribute to his father-in-law.  I expect many more this week.  I plan to paint a couple of pictures of flowers (from Suzy's demos for her art classes) this week.  

I will try to have a fairly routine schedule so I will be OK for the funeral.

Besides my family, I have many new friends here at Asbury.  I didn't know them l0 months ago when I first moved here.  They are supportive and friendly.  

So, goodbye, my dearest husband.  You had a huge positive influence on all of us.  We will never forget you!

Your loving wife, Rita

Good At Arabic Syntax; Not So Good At Answering The Door. Pity The Poor Paper Boy!

In Hot Pursuit Of That Cute Girl With The Oriental Last Name. 

--By Charley

Set the WayBack Machine, Sherman.  The date: September 1970.  The place: 12074 Milton St.  Wheaton, MD.

Intense Jig-Sawing. Charley & Dad.

A nervous young man, a high school junior, climbs the five concrete steps to the front entrance of the house, opens the storm door, and knocks on the wooden entrance door.  He really wants to see that cute girl with the oriental last name who sits behind him in French class.  His heart pounds almost out of his chest and sweat beads on his brow.  No answer.  He knocks a second time, a bit louder than the first.

After a minute or so, the doorknob turns and the door slowly swings open.  A tall man with glasses low on his nose and an open book in his hand looks out.  His blue-ish sweater is mis-buttoned by one button…maybe two.   A long pause as the two establish eye contact. 

“Hi, is Mary home?” the young man asks.

“Just a minute”, the man replies, then slams the wooden door shut.

The young man stares at the wooden door and waits…and waits…and waits.  Perhaps forty-five minutes pass.  It seemed longer.  The young man debates leaving.  This is totally uncool, he thinks to himself.  Mary probably doesn’t want to see me, he decides.  Right now she’s slipping out some back door and running away.  What if someone sees me standing here this long?  Boy my shoulder is tired from holding this storm door open for most of the afternoon, is the next thought.  At no time did he consider knocking again.

Just at the moment that the young man starts to slither back down the steps in failure, the wooden door opens revealing an attractive mid-forty-ish woman with a small wad of money in her hand.  She extends the handful of money.  “How much is it?” she asks.

“Huh?” is the best the young man can muster.

Before the woman can say another thing, Mary peers around the door and elbows her mother out of the way.  “Hi!” she exclaims.  “Come on in.  How long have you been standing here?”

“Just a minute or so ”, he replies.

“But I heard you knock like an hour ago.”

“I thought he was the paper boy” the tall man mumbles without looking up from his book.

The Grandfather Of My Two Kids. 

That was my first encounter with Bob Wysong, my future father-in-law, and grandfather to my two kids, Caroline and William. 

Over the next several years Mary and I would go on dates or at least see each other, mostly at her house, almost daily.  Most dates would end with a two-hour-ish epilogue, which involved Mr. Wysong towering over me, and expounding on Arabic syntax or glottal stops or the hydraulic leveling system found in Citroen automobiles.

Summer Breakfast 

One of the most memorable exchanges was one evening around Christmas.  Mr Wysong was telling me about how words can be de-constructed into their roots when a small moth fluttered by and landed on a needle of the Christmas tree.  “Ahh!  Lepidoptera!” he exclaimed in mid sentence. 

I resorted to my good old stand-by reply.  “Huh?”

“You know…Lipidoptera.  Scale-Winged.  Lepi…leprosy…scaly.  Ptera.  Winged.  Like Helicopter…Helico…spiral…ptera…winged.  Helicopter.  Spiral-Wing.  Lepidoptera.  Scaley –winged.” 

His short lecture was like a nuke going off in my linguistically vacuous mind.  I walked around school for about a month telling anyone who would listen about moths and leprosy and helicopters and my friends thought I’d gone nuts.  I have never again looked at words as just sounds to be memorized and associated with objects.  Every time I think about the roots of a word I think of Mr. Wysong’s talk about lepidoptera. 

In the forty-five years since Bob Wysong slammed the door in my face, we have had many talks about many topics from Apple computers, to bread making, to how you could tell a sycamore tree because the bark smells like when you iron a blob of spit.  We even discussed how the banjo and the trumpet are basically the same instrument.  He set off lots of little knowledge nukes in my mind and I probably learned more of the practical world from Bob Wysong than from any of my many teachers. 

 Yet there were many times that I would just pretend to understand what he was talking about, thinking that if he ever found out how dull-witted and uninformed I really was, he would push me out that same wooden door and slam it again.  Only this time, knowing who he was slamming it on for real!  Or is it “whom he was slamming it on”?  Mr. Wysong would know for sure!

Charley Paddock

Son-in-law

When I Think Of Grandpa...

Grandpa’s Gifts: Precious & Rare

--By Priscilla 

Grandpa and Priscilla -- Grandpa's Little Jewel. 

Priscilla: I loved that poem...

When I think of Grandpa, one of the first things that comes to my mind is the book of poetry and writings that he made as a gift in honor of his grandchildren. The poetry collection was in my childhood bookshelf, and I read it over and over again throughout my youth.  In particular, I remember the poem that he wrote about me. Although our family’s copy of the book is back in Maryland—and I haven’t been able to read it for many years now—just moments ago I was able to reproduce this poem from memory.  Clearly, it’s made a very permanent impression.

"Does memory serve us by marking a few choice items for what they can tell us?" --Grandpa Bob

Memo to Priscilla, on the subject of childhood memories.

I loved that poem. It fascinated me to see myself through my grandfather’s lens. I don't think I’m exaggerating when I say that his descriptions of me solidified parts of my own self-image. Growing up, the adults and peers around me constantly tried to brand me as “shy” (much to my annoyance).  I found it significant and encouraging that my own grandpa—as stated in his poem—recognized that I was “shy no more”. It made me feel that we were kindred and that he understood the mind behind my often-quiet exterior.  It’s also true that I sometimes see myself fitting the other roles that the poem gave me: as a “style-conscious fashion plate”, a “connoisseur of song”, or one who tends to “play it cool and talk of weighty matters”.  And I always marveled at the line in which he labeled me as a “little jewel”; it seemed to imply that—in Grandpa’s eyes—I was precious and rare.

"Absolutely necessary in my choice of a husband."
Priscilla & Joe Alderman

I remember sharing this book of poetry with my closest friends when they would come to visit. Not only did I want to share this vision of myself that I so treasured, but I also wanted to subtly boast that my grandpa was the type of man who spent his spare time composing verse. While other grandfathers were only into golfing, or bingo, or ESPN, I was proud that Grandpa was an intellectual with a rich interior life.  In trying to replicate this romantic pursuit that both Grandpa and Grandma were so fond of, I spent hours filling up journals with poems and recollections by nightlight.  And this continued, in some form or another, until I had an MFA in creative writing.

Priscilla: Montessori Teacher
Still cool after all these years...

In my mind, this is the tone that Grandpa has set for our family; I see us as a family with intellectual leanings. We learn for the pleasure of learning, and we know the intrinsic value of creation and expression. This intellectual streak is part of what defines me, and it’s one of the main criteria that I seek in potential friends. As a teacher, it’s what I hope to nurture in my Montessori middle school students.  And it was absolutely necessary in my choice of a husband. I wanted a partner who would help me to give this gift to our future children—the gift of knowing the life of the mind.  And I hope that someday, we can pass on to our grandchildren this love of knowledge—this “little jewel” that Grandpa has given to me.

Singing Swedish Songs & Playing Scrabble... The Best Part Of The Day

--Guest Post From Belinda Braganza, Caretaker

The very first time I came to your home for a replacement for Rose, I liked Dad. He was very kind to me. 

Belinda and Grandpa

I will never forget him mentioning to me that I remind him of his mother. I took it as a great compliment. 

When I would go out on walks with him every evening we would sing Swedish songs and talk about his childhood. I loved playing Scrabble with Bob. That was the best part of the day. 

When I was studying for my citizenship Bob took up my questions a couple of times. He would say to me, "You're better than me. I have forgotten everything..."  I would reply I am the same. 

Bob never complained about anything. I miss Bob.

Scrabble With Dad & Belinda, August, 2013 

I Tried To Stump Him With Random Words, But I Don't Think I Was Successful

Meine wunderbare Großvater

--By Tim Wysong

I must have been 5 or 6 and just starting to form memories. One of my earliest and most fond of

"Hi Tim. Want to see what I'm doing?"

memories was Grandpa’s work station he showed me; the one on Milton Street, up the stairs, past where I slept when I stayed over. It was here where I first learned about computers. I remember I was so confused why there was a picture of an apple on it. Apples were a delicious fruit that had no place on this strange object called a computer. I was fascinated about that room and of all the books and projects Grandpa was working on then and

Tim Wysong

tried to spend as much time in there as possible. I even remember watching a football game with him in there on a little TV. We lost on the last play and anger ensued. He, being level headed, told me it happens and to relax, and made the tough loss better; a memory I will never forget.

Hola...

As I grew older into my late childhood and early adolescence was when I really started to appreciate Grandpa's cerebral prowess. Whenever he came over for dinner he always strutted his stuff and knew how to say whatever was just said in what seemed like every language imaginable. I remember always asking him to translate English to Arabic, and then again in Spanish, then again in German. He, of course did with no hesitation. I always smiled and thought it was not possible to know as many languages as he did at the level he did. I tried to stump him with random words but I don’t think I was successful. I was so proud, and still am, to have such a genius grandfather.

Babysitting Tim

As an adult, I was read a passage Grandpa made about me while babysitting me when I was a newborn. It had its politically charged moments and was laced with wit yet very endearing. In it he said someday when you have grandkids, hopefully you will look back and remember me fondly. As kind and caring and smart as he was, how can I not?

Love you Grandpa,

Tim Wysong

Grandpa Bob Treated Me "Like A Grown-Up"

Will, Caroline & Grandpa. (2007)

JE DESIRE UN CAFE S'IL VOUS PLAIT, MON CHER GRAND-PERE!

--By Caroline 

Grandpa teaches Caroline to play pool.
(Or perhaps, vice versa.) 
A non-educational moment.  

For as long as I can remember, I always looked forward to going to Grandma Rita and Grandpa Bob's house for Thanksgiving. Not just because of the food or the many cousins, or the skits...although those parts were awesome too.  But one thing I always enjoyed was how Grandpa Bob treated me "like a grown-up."  By which I mean, he would engage me in conversations about the obscure etymologies of words when I was maybe five years old.  He never talked down to me.  Instead he talked about linguistics and grammar as if he was talking to a college student.  And little five-year-old me thought that was wonderful.

One Thanksgiving when I was seven or eight, he sat down on the couch with me and pulled out a big green French language textbook from the army. It was from the forties, with zero pictures or gimmicks, and I loved it! He went through the first lesson with me, teaching me the proper pronunciation of "je desire un cafe s'il vous plait" and other first-lesson phrases.  Another year I remember him doing the same thing with Spanish, and even after I went home to Buffalo I would take out the old Spanish textbook he had given me and go over what he had taught me.  Another year, it was Arabic.

Caroline & Edmund

He definitely helped to instill a love of learning, and especially an interest in language.  In later years, I think that languages have come easily to me because of his influence, not only genetically but also because he explained the ways that words shift between languages when I was young enough to really absorb it.  It was such a nice gift for him to give me some linguistic insights at a young age.

Wedding Of
Caroline & Edmund

I also remember reading a book of poems that he had written about each grandchild, along with stories about his childhood.  He was such a good poet, and always a witty guy.  

I love you, Grandpa!  

Welcome To Our Family... And Now, Let Me Tell You About The "Greasy-Greazy" Line

A Proper Rite Of Passage. Thank You, Grandpa Bob!

Grandpa Bob escorts Hemo's Mom to her seat

--By Haimanti (Hemo)
I first met Grandpa Bob and Grandma Rita at Matt and Luke's graduation in 1999. I wasn't married to Matt at that time, but they were immediately Grandpa and Grandma. They come over for the ceremony and stayed in St Paul, Minnesota for a few days. That's when I first started to feel like part of the family. It was the most natural thing! Grandma and Grandpa took all of us out for dinner to TGI Fridays, and it was wonderful. We saw Grandma and Grandpa again in St Paul for Tim's graduation in 2002 and got to do it all over again! 

Grandpa dancing with Debo (Deb)

Grandpa Bob came out to Minnesota again for  our wedding in 2003. He came down with Suzy, Jay and Mary. His being there made the wedding seem like a proper rite of passage. He walked down the aisle with my mother. He was quite a hit when he danced with one of my bridesmaids (Deb)! Having the Wysongs over at our wedding along with Jeremy's family (Jeremy's brothers Jonathan, Noel and sister in law Maureen) and of course our parents and brothers was the high point of the weekend. We had a simple wedding, but their flying out to celebrate with us is what made it special and unforgettable. 

Matt & Hemo's wedding

We went out to visit Grandma and Grandpa over 4th of July in 2005. We stayed with them and got to meet with the rest of the Wysong family and our cousins, many of whom we're now connected with on Facebook. Grandpa picked us up from the train station. He told me stories about his international travels. He taught me how to identify regional accents across America. You can always identify someone who grew up in the south, just hear how they enunciate the word "greasy". Grandpa also really liked JRR Tolkein. They are definitely not children's books, he told me gravely. I tend to agree!

Matt told me that Grandpa Bob was the one who taught him and Luke to swim. He taught them when they visited over Christmas. They were in high school (correspondence school) and hadn't learnt to swim before that point. It was quite hard when they got started, but Grandpa sure did teach them! So thank you Grandpa Bob!

Wonderful memories and lots of love from Matt and Hemo.

Reception At Grandpa Bob's Funeral

Reception at Trott Facility

Grandpa Bob
(Please email your photos if you'd like to add more)

June 5th, 2015 

Andy and Grandma

Charley

Bob

Grandma Rita

Sharon, Lori, John Paul  & John

Trish, Katie & Andy

Priscilla

Father Valentine Keveny

Priscilla & Lori

Grandpa Builds A Shed

Grandpa's Father Was A Builder. And, At A Later Part Of His Life, Grandpa Built A Shed

The Shed on Stilts At Milton Street

Grandpa's Building

Grandpa's Maps Of Alaska

Grandpa Was Very Meticulous. He Made Many Maps Of Alaska, Using Simple Grids -- In The Old Style. 

A Lot Of Them Are On The Web.

(Click Below To See Grandpa's Maps.

Once You're On The Map Page, Click A Map To Enlarge It)

Click This Picture To Go To Maps