According to my banker, Iowa is one of the few states to require that every house have what they call an, “abstract”, or a record of all hands it has been through, mortgage activity, etc. So, when we bought our current house, we got a very neat little folder with pages describing every transaction on our house since 1940 which is rather neat. I thought I would share the first page of our house’s abstract, detailing the first recorded transfer in 1940.

Note the mortgage for $1,200 — I guarantee you we didn’t pay that in 2005! (more like 40+ times that amount)

I was never known to be a fat kid, but apparently all children go through a phase in which they are a bit on the rolly-polly side of things. After all, they do call it “baby fat” for a reason.

In this photograph, yours truly is only a few weeks old, being held upright by my mother’s hand underneath what appears to be the remains of a rather unfortunate polar bear. Note the deep “Pralle dimple” in my chin and the rolls on my arms competing with one another to see who can be the next wrist. The best part is the expression on my face. I am either trying to decide if the photographer is a complete idiot or I am working on a diaper-filling event; I’m unsure which applies.

My mother has never been an unfortunate-looking person, but when she was younger, she was downright cute. In this clipping from the November 1st, 1959 Des Moines Register, you can see my mom in the lower-right-hand corner, grinning away between her ringlets. Although you cannot see it, the dress she is wearing is one that my parents eventually had my sister model when she was a similar age and got photographs of it, hanging them up together on the wall — mother and daughter in a spitting-image contest.

I think the other participants are equally as interesting. I’m unsure as to what is on the kid’s head in the upper left corner photograph, but I’m pretty sure that my offspring will never be seen in a bonnet with Peter Cottentail’s hind end sitting on top. The upper right-hand picture is also very curious. Nowadays it doesn’t seem out of place, but remember, this is 1959, well before the Civil Rights Act of 1964, so I’m sure the placement of a black baby in a predominantly white newspaper was something of an anomaly (perhaps not, but this is my perception).

I was a kid addicted to books and reading thanks to my parents and grandparents who were always yanking me up into their laps and tossing out amusing voices and expressions while turning the slabs of colorful dead tree in front of my glazed eyes. I was up for a good story anytime, anywhere, just let me grab a belt to wrap around my upper arm and off we go.

One of the most memorable books from my childhood was Two Kittens, a story about a couple of felines doing various things around the house in an anthropomorphic sort of way. I don’t recall everything that they did in the book, but I do recall that this was one particular story read often by my grandmother and her ability to meow and bring the characters to life in her own way was unsurpassed — at least, to an adoring grandson.

In this image, yours truly sits and has a thumb lollipop while my grandma reads me the book. Note the picture of myself, several years younger, in the background, as well as the beautiful green-and-gold armchair that we’re sitting in. Add in the overly-thick brown frames of my grandma’s glasses and we have a late 70s/early 80s scene in the making.

When I was a child my maternal grandparents had set of concrete statues out in their front yard of a Latino man wearing a sombrero and a donkey carrying some wicker baskets. The entirety was made out of molded concrete and painted, except for the wires that held the “baskets” onto the donkey and a piece of rope that ran from the donkey’s bridle to the man’s hand. Ever since I can remember, my grandparents called these two, “Jack and José”, which was usually accompanied by my grandfather giving his best donkey braying impression.

Jack and José were a constant amusement to us children and we often asked to sit upon Jack’s back and take him for a ride. Eventually this stopped once we got too big, but we would still stop by and give them each a pat while making the rounds to see Grandpa’s gardens. They were still there when we sold the house after my grandparents moved to the nursing home; shortly thereafter they went away.

I never really asked how my grandparents, who are as white and German as they come, came to possess such an odd lawn ornament. I am sure that one does not arbitrarily go out and buy set of 600 lb. Latin American concrete statues, but there was nothing in my grandparent’s past or nature that would have necessarily prompted such a thing. I should probably ask them sometime when I visit, if I remember. Regardless of their answer, however, a lot of memories are wrapped up in good old Jack and stalwart José.


As a prelude to the new year and to jazz things up a bit around here, I’m posting some interesting things that I’ve been grabbing with my flatbed scanner over the past few weeks. Some might be poignant, some funny, some just strange — but if you read here regularly, you’re used to that by now. I hope you enjoy.