Lice, The Perfect Way to End Your Week.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,
Before I started this family history blog I wrote interesting stories about family on my work blog (Spacecenterblog.org). I've decided to take them from that blog and post them to this blog so they are recorded in the right place.

So, gather around this digital forum here at the Fortress and let me share a story of horror and redemption. In it, you'll witness members of my family at their best and worst. We travel back to July 2009. This is what happened as I returned to the Fortress from a long week at Space Camp.

Saturday, July 25, 2009 ended our last full week of camps at the Space Center. I was ready for a nice lay down when I got home. I was shutting down my computer and gathering my things when the phone rang.

“Are you sitting down?” my sister Jilane asked. Jilane is one of my five sisters. She lives one block from me in Pleasant Grove.

“Who died?” I responded as I removed my lanyard and whistle. You’re not a real teacher unless you wear a Shrieker 2000 industrial strength whistle around your neck.

“Aidia has lice.” She said as a matter of fact. At first I didn’t comprehend the ramifications of such a statement. My first reaction was to say something like “And that means what to me?” After a moment’s reflection I realized why she wanted me seated for the news.

Perhaps a bit of a back story. My sister Lisa and her three children are staying at the Fortress for the summer. They return to California at the start of the school year. Aidia is her daughter. She has two sons, Draker and Caden. Many of you that work at the Space Center met Draker at camp this summer.

This last week The Fortress became The Fortress Discount Lodge and Home for the Elderly and Senile. The following extra guests checked in for a week’s stay:

• My sister Annette and her four children.
• My aunt and uncle from Arizona.
• Our permanent residents, my parents Charles and Luella whooccupy a small mother in law apartment in the dungeon. They are still able to function normally, drive and use the toilet but can’t be trusted with electricity and anything that is powered by it.

“Lisa wants you to check Draker for lice but don’t make a big deal of it. It will embarrass him,” Jilane added.

“Yes, I’m going out into the Voyager, take the microphone from Emily and announce to the crew and staff that I’m taking my nephew off the ship so I can check him for lice and other vermin.”

“Just do it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I found Draker wearing a Voyager’s engineering uniform ready to go out to the Bridge to check the ship for hull fractures. I motioned for him to follow me. Emily objected saying she needed him to do the acting part first.

“Spread the joy,” I mumbled to myself. “Send him to me when he’s finished.”

A few minutes later he walked up to my desk. I asked him if he knew what ‘unclean’ meant.

“You need to take a bath?” he questioned.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. Do you understand what happens to little boys that never bath or wash their hair?” His eyes widened expecting me to accuse him of such a thing. I stopped him before he could continue.

“Little boys that refuse to apply water and soap to their bodies can develop diseases like leprosy, scabs, leeches, and lice! I need to check you for lice. Don’t run, it won’t help. Crying will only draw attention to your condition and if word gets out that lice might be present within these walls there will be a panic and stampede not even my Shrieker 2000 can stop. Now walk quietly into the nurse’s station. Don't talk to anyone and wipe away that look of horror.”

He followed me. I put on rubber gloves and began the inspection. Several minutes later I pronounced him lice free. Draker was happy and wanted to return to the Voyager. I called Jilane and gave her the good news. Her reaction surprised me.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked. A few moments later I was driving him up to her house for the professional inspection. I’m please to announce that my initial diagnosis was correct. Draker was lice free.

I expected to see EPA agents in full biosuits at my home when Draker and I pulled into the driveway. I was pleased with how Mormony everything looked. Yes, your typical average LDS neighborhood in Utah County. I got out of the car, took in the warm summer air scented with freshly mowed grass and pondered how pleasant everything was in Pleasant Grove.

The calm and serenity came to an abrupt end when I walked into the kitchen from the garage. The kitchen counters and table were covered with every possible cleaning agent used for lice abatement available for purchase at your neighborhood WalMart. They were weapons being gathered for a major assault on the infestation eating through the hair follicles of innocent Williamson’s, Belnaps and Coronatos.

Oh the Humanity!


I carefully walked around the chemical shop on the kitchen table and into the living room. I stood in the center of the room afraid to let my body come in contact with anything that might have a moving surface. Lisa saw my predicament and rallied to my cause. She grabbed a can of lung burning Destructall spray in each hand and sprayed everything with stereo shots. Luella was trapped in a corner chair. A cloud of Destructall moved in her direction like a fog of death.

“Move!” Lisa shouted. Mother saw the fumes, rose to her feet and did a shuffle that would have been a YouTube hit if we had a camera ready to film.

Both my sisters were armed and ready for war. Their children were in bathing suits, lined up outside the Fortress' four bathrooms and ready for delousing. The children were brought in one by one, put in the tub and scrubbed from top to bottom with Nuclear Nix Lice Removal shampoo, cream, ointment, solution, and alixer. Both sisters were in their bathing suits as well so it could all be contained in the tubs.

Once the sandblasting was complete and the children’s bleeding skin bandaged, out came the lice combs and the tedious process of de -nitsing their scalps. The children’s screams were so intense mother had to leave and seek refuge at my uncle’s. I of course wasn’t bothered considering I spend all day in space blowing up children ;)

Once the unclean were proclaimed clean, the delousing of the house began. Destructall Spray was unleashed on the children’s mattresses. All the bedding, towels, blankets, pillows, clothes, etc. etc. and etc. were dumped into the back of the pick up and taken to Pleasant Grove’s only coin operated laundry mat. Several hours later and twenty five dollars in quarters lighter, the bedding was finished and pulled removed from very hot dryers.

It was after 11:00 P.M. The procedure was complete after six hours and $150.00, but the Fortress was safely nuked and ready for habitation.

I was exhausted from sitting and watching these two great mothers scrub, curse, shout, clean, clean and clean as they debated who’s child got lice first, and from where.

Today I sit in my sterilized home feeling lucky to have survived my first lice infestation. Rest your worried minds - I didn’t have lice and neither does Draker. The Space Center is therefore lice free (unless Brock has lice. We will have to check him out).

All is well and I hope and pray next week will be uneventful. Please, may I ask for boring, dull and mindless. I need boring, dull and mindless.

Mr. Williamson

Sunday at the Fortress

From Today's Lectionary: "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

John 20:19-31

20:19 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."

20:20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

20:21 Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you."

20:22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit.

20:23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

20:24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.

20:25 So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

20:26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you."

20:27 Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe."

20:28 Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!"

20:29 Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

20:30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book.

20:31 But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

I spent several hours in the King's College Chapel enjoying the music of the King's College Choir during the time I lived in Cambridge,England . Today we listen to the choir as they sing the famous Easter hymn "Christ the Lord is Risen Today".

g

Sunday at the Fortress

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Another Sunday without the sun. It appears the gray troubled clouds over the Fortress seem unwilling to surrender their tenuous grip on our pleasant valley's skies. And so we're held captive another day by a large storm front. Yesterday we experienced the full smorgasbord of weather, ending with snow. Today we expect the same but hope for better. Like all things natural - we know that this too shall pass.

Our Sunday at the Fortress begins with a hymn from one of our ancestral home countries. Please enjoy the English hymn "Onward Christian Soldiers"

The First Sunday of Lent

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Our family is a collection of individuals, each approaching God differently. We have a history of fierce religious independence as seen from reading and researching our family's history stretching back hundreds of years. But when all is said and done, we sit together as Christians, believing in the power of God in our lives.

Today is the First Sunday of Lent. At the Fortress I pause a moment to ponder the mystery of God as we approach Easter and the celebration of Christ's resurrection.

A Happy Sunday to All...

Simply,
Victor

(Singing today is King's College Choir from King's College, Cambridge England. I lived in Cambridge for several months and grew fond of this chapel and its world renowned choir. Enjoy)

A Essay on Where We've Been and Where our Descendants will Venture.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

I ponder on what our ancestors accomplished as I research, write and post this history of our family. I marvel at the valleys, mountains, oceans and prairies they crossed and the lands they tamed to give us this land we call home. Then I wonder where our descendants will travel. I think of the challenges they will face.

Who will be the first in our family to venture into the darkness of space? Who will be the first to step foot on a distant planet? Will they remember us? Will they pause and thank us for the gift of life and knowledge as they search their night sky looking for a pale blue dot called Earth?

Please take a moment with Carl Sagan and think of those yet to come that will carry your name and genes to the stars.

Simply,
Victor

Our Family Tree Ready for Examination

Our Family Tree, A Work in Progress

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,
You may be wondering why its been nearly one week since my last post. If you haven't been wondering then I ask, why? Why aren't you rushing home every day, breaking speed limits along the way, bypassing the welcoming embrace and kiss of a loved one, in a hurry to get to your computer and discover what new ancestor I've unearthed to study? If you haven't, then shame on you. Might I also add a suggestion that you reprioritize your priorities and put long dead ancestors first, at the expense of work, home and family :)

To quash rumors spread through family circles, let me say that I've not fallen off the face of the Earth, or spirited away by Somali Pirates or gray extraterrestrials. The Space Center had a few staffing problems last week caused by a staff that refused to take my suggestion and get a yearly flu shot. When I don't have subs I need to muck in with the troops to get the job done.

What time I had for family history was spent doing something I've know I had to do ever since I started this project. I had to take all these ancestral names and family lines I've discovered and get them into a proper family tree for all of you to study and enjoy.

Well, after hours of work, I've got a family tree that is accessible to everyone. The Williamson line is nearly entered (although I don't have all the dates etc yet). The Mattson line is waiting and will get done this week.

To access our family tree please click on the following link, then bookmark the page for future reference. AN AMERICAN DYNASTY FAMILY TREE.

There are a few things you should know about this site.
Family trees are very large and take up hideous amounts of room. So, family lines are cut off. To access cut lines look for the following:


You know the family line continues if you see a vertical line exiting the name boxes. Click on the person's name and the line will continue on the screen.

If you click on a person's name, information on that person will appear in the left side bar.

These family lines are the result of over one year's research. There is always the chance the information I have might be incorrect. If you see an error please tell me so I can get it corrected.
Remember, these lines may change as additional information is discovered.

You'll also notice a question mark in front of some names ? A question mark means that this line represents my best guess based on all evidence available. I will not add a branch to our tree is I'm not at least 90% - 100% sure it is correct. If I'm between 70%-89% sure then I'll add a question mark before the name. The question mark will stay there until I'm sure, or almost sure it is correct based on the evidence I find.

Please let me know any dates I can add in people's biography.

Simply,
Victor

Thoughts From the Fortress

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,

Am I the only one who's noticed the dark clouds of gloom and doom hovering over so many people's heads these days? When I listen to them they remind me of a tune I once heard on the old TV show "Hee Haw". If I remember correctly, it's lyrics were, "Doom despaire and utter poverty, deep dark depression and complete misery. If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all..."

My office desk is located at the crossroads of three of our five simulators at the Space Center, so I get to listen to people from every part of the State, along with my own staff and the staff of Central School, tell me their premonitions of impending doom. They feel the Apocalypse is nigh. They see the writing on the wall.

Much of their concern stems from the gloom and doom news commentary heard on radio and television from commentators who make their living by selling doomsdayism. They drive people into hysterical panics for ratings and the selling of books, pamplets and newsletters.

I remember once talking to someone whom I thought was reasonably intelligent about my plan to get a flu shot later that same day. He urged me not to get it. He'd heard that the government put something into the shot to make us deathly sick. The purpose was to thin the surplus population. How many things like that have you heard? The internet is ripe with them, and it will only get worse as 2012 comes closer.

"There has never been so much unrest in the world," I've heard some say (funny, but they've forgotten both world wars).
"Have you noticed the strange weather, just as foretold," others say (funny, but have they forgotten the dust bowl of the 30's? Just to name one example).

I've lived long enough to see bad times come and go. Just from what I know about history, I guarantee there have been worse times. I challenge anyone to bring me evidence that what we see and hear today is worse than anything that has happened in the past. You'll find it difficult if not impossible to do so. Isn't it a pity students today aren't spending more time studying history? Without that historical foundation, our students lack the mental tools needed to sift through the propaganda to see what's true and relevant.

I bring up this topic for one reason. I fear that Fear Itself may eventually be the agent responsible for the collapse of our free society. And from freedom's ashes would rise a police state, as has happened in the past. When people are frightened, they are more inclined to surrender their personal liberties in return for safety. We see it happening today. We fear terrorism, so we spend billions of dollars on ultra top secret agencies which in turn watch us, listen to us, and track what we say and do. I wonder if the terrorists have won to some degree, through our reactions and overreactions to their threats and deeds.

Our ancestors fled the old world and came to America for the very freedoms we are in danger of losing if we are not careful. They fought in our nation's wars to protect those freedoms. It is up to us to take measured and prudent actions not to lose the very thing they fought and died for, even if it means risk. We cannot let fear run our lives.

Nobody ever said freedom was free.



A Lesson from Growing Up in the Old Days.

The picture above reminds me of the kind of South Dakota parenting that raised me in the 60's and 70's. I remember once telling my mother I hated her. I was an impatient youngster who wanted everything my way. I wanting to go outside and join my friends in a dirt clod fight down at the vacant lot at the end of the street. Mother wanted me to spend my precious play time cleaning my room or something equally as painful. I got a couple good swats on the rear end for saying what I said and got sent to my room. A few minutes later she heard me laughing. It was my way of telling her that the spanking didn't hurt. The event escalated to the point where I told her I wanted to run away and never come back. She agreed, telling me that if I didn't want to be a part of the family I should go and find a family that would let me do anything I wanted - when I wanted. She drove me out of town and deposited me on the side of the road with a small suitcase she'd helped me pack. She told me she loved me and wished me well. She jumped into the Rambler station wagon and drove away.

I was suddenly on my own, on the highway leading to the Reservation. I could see myself getting taken by away by a band of Sioux Indians thinking I was General Custer's great great grandson or something. I burst into tears, and for the first time in my life, was truly frightened of being alone. A moment later the Rambler came back. The 60 seconds or so it took her to make a U turn taught me the lesson she wanted me to learn. It was a hard lesson for me to learn but one I've never forgotten. Would a parent dare try something like that today? I ask that because Utah is about to pass a law forbidding parents from leaving unattended children in parked cars, let alone on the side of a road. It was a different world back then.

Thanks for that lesson Mom.

Simply,
Victor

Are our Younger Williamsons and Mattsons Dreading the Return to School? A Post for Them.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,

I spoke to a few former students as I left the school today (yes, it may come as a shock, but some of us have to work for a living). They were hanging out on the playground. They were having a good time until I asked if they were ready to go back to school. Wow, talk about a mood changer. The air suddenly got dark. They described what seemed to be a concentration camp where their freedoms were suspended and they had to 'tow the mark' or else. Of course everything they said was exaggerated but it did get me thinking, and when I start thinking you'd better expect a post.

So, in the spirit of good fun, I wrote this letter to those students from the exaggerated school they described to me. Perhaps the young people in our own families feel the same way. If so, here is someone with a somewhat sympathetic ear.

Simply,
Victor

P.S. Thanks to thepeoplescube.com for a few of the pictures below.

This message was brought to you by
The Ministry of Truth, Education and Propaganda (Minitrue).
We Think, So You Don't Have To.

A Message from

Silas T. Sludge
Minister of Truth, Education and Propaganda
Pleasant Grove

Attention All Students:

School vacation is coming to an end. As the Minister of Education I urge to put away your newly acquired distractions (given to you for no apparent reason other than you were born) and reacquaint yourselves with your textbooks and school schedules.

All students are ordered to return to our schools Monday morning displaying happy and cheerful dispositions. Of course, once the bell rings, you will immediately take your learning positions as displayed in the photograph above, taken from your Good Student Handbook issued at the start of the school year.

Any student caught in any state of semiconsciousness will be dealt with according to the rules and regulations outlined on pages 10 through 15 in your handbook. Discussions of what you did during the holiday are permitted in the common areas and cafeteria only.

Remember the sacrifice society has made to ensure you have a good school to attend. Think of your parents working day in and day out without complaining so you have this opportunity. An opportunity many children do not have. Look how tired they are at the end of their work day - all for you.

How will you thank them for this sacrifice? Will you toil forward, always forward, toward the end goal of graduation and finding a meaningful role to fill in our society? It is expected.


This is Albert Slipple. He exemplifies the Ministry's idea of a proper student. He rises early and fixes breakfast for himself, his brothers and sisters and his working parents. He does the dishes before leaving his modest apartment for the six mile walk to school. He keeps himself company on the long arduous trek by singing songs of courage and steadfastness. His grades are always top of the class. He sings in the school choir. He helps the school custodians. He works with the school's headmaster by reporting on students that have forgotten the rules as outlined in his well worn and memorized Good Student Handbook.

Delma Dropsley, on the other hand, is a student recommended for special care as outlined in your Good Student Handbook. She is often late for school and becomes distracted easily. She has been known to question the rules and has used unapproved colors in her science notebook. She has also been found on numerous occasions loitering outside one of the city's schools after school hours instead of working at home on her homework. Such behavior cannot be tolerated.

Remember, school is a happy place. It is your home away from home. It is a place deserving your love and complete and undivided attention. It is a place where you can forget who you are and focus instead on what is expected of you. It is a place where the confusion of free thinking is shackled and replaced the knowledge that we will do the thinking for you.

If you find yourself questioning this, please report your disturbing thoughts to a teacher, headmaster, custodian or lunch lady. We are here to help you be happy and have ways to help clear your thoughts from distractions. You must trust us.

Welcome Back to Where you Belong!

Signed,
Silas T. Sludge

ALERT....... ALERT...... ALERT.......

You were caught snickering during the reading of this letter. This is a violation of the Good Student Handbook. You have been reported. Your misconduct number is below:


Follow the instructions as given in your certificate of misconduct. And shame on you.
_________________________________________________________________

And finally, we have many family lines stretching back to England, Scotland and Wales. So, that means we should really enjoy sarcastic English humor. Since this post is dedicated to our younger family members, how about a spot of Young English Humor to tidy things up?

Victor

The Family Christmas Card Reunion

Example Card. This family is not related to us.

They appear too normal and happy :)

From the Fortess of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello Everyone,

The Family History Blog is approaching its first Christmas (I started it after the New Year last January). I'd like to start a yearly tradition that needs YOUR support. Our family's are spread far apart and our full reunions are rare indeed. Christmas seems to be the perfect time for everyone to touch base with the extended family at least once a year. I'd like to do that by asking every family that sends out a family Christmas photo to send one to me for the blog. Please included the names of everyone in the family and a short relationship chart showing how your family is related to our common grandparents (I can figure it out easily if you tell me who your grandparents were / are).

Now this is what I'm talking about. This family is not related either (an example card) but at least they appear more 'normal' according to our family definition of what 'normal' is. :)

I'd like to have Christmas family photos from all the descendants of George Matthew Williamson and Margaret Willis on the Williamson side and all the descendants of John Albert Mattson and Ida Tornberg and their siblings descendants. I'd also like to welcome cards from Grandma Violet's Pierce relations.

Its as easy as addressing one of your family photos and yearly letters (if you do one of those telling everyone what your family has been doing for the past year) and mailing it to me at the Fortress:

Victor Williamson
1207 N. 730 E.
Pleasant Grove, UT
84062

Of course, if your card is digital and can be emailed that would be better. My email address is:
ussvoyager@aol.com

Please spread the word about this project to your siblings, children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. Many are not regular readers of the blog. I'm hoping our "Christmas Card Reunion" will be successful. It can be with your support.


Simply,
Victor

The Williamsons Gather to Eat.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Happy Thanksgiving from the Fortress!

I hope all of you enjoy a very carnivorous Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving makes meat eaters like us happy because we hold the place of Supremo Honchorus on Nature's food chain.

A Williamson Thanksgiving Day

All I can say to describe a Williamson Thanksgiving is this. Have any of you seen the cartoon Simpson's eat a meal? They sit around their dining room table entirely focused on the food. Conversation is unnecessary. Manners are time consuming and distracting to the task at hand - which is the consumption of mass quantities as quickly as possible. The Simpsons are totally focused on their food. The only sounds heard at the table are the guttural expressions of chewing, gulping, gnashing of teeth, swallowing, slurping, and the screeching of forks scraping the surfaces of empty plates.

Now, take that mental picture and double it and you have an idea of Thanksgiving with the Williamsons.

Thanksgiving is how Williamson children are initiated into the adult world, our version of a Bar and Bat Mitzvah. The feast is layed out on the adult's table. The children, along with all accompanying animals, are regulated to the newspaper covered floor. Smart Williamson parents bring their children's swimming suits. The children change into them for the mass feeding. After the meal the children can be taken outside, hosed off, dried off and changed back into their clothes.

The feast begins with a blessing on the food pronounced by the oldest male in the room who still has a place at the Adult Table. His eyes are kept partially open, surveying the food as his booming voice gives thanks to the Lord for the bounty before him. As his voice begs God's blessings his mind is preparing the game plan. No football coach is better than a Williamson male at perfecting and executing plays. The football coach's art is on the field and the Williamson's is the dinner table.

The meal spilled into the Kitchen

We all wait for the "Amen" with our tools of the table ready for battle. Once sounded, the battle begins. Elbows come into play along with well placed kicks, stabs, jabs, and an over use of "French" shouted to warn off the young and weak as everyone jostles into position. The family arranges itself from strongest to weakest in the food chain for the turkey and dressing. The strongest get the best slices of meat leaving the grizzle and fat for the youngest at the end. After two minutes a haze of partly chewed food and spittle hangs over the table like a fog.

At three minutes into the meal those new to the Williamson table reach for the first aid kit. Band-Aids are dispensed to stop blood from the nasty fork punctures and cuts caused by the blinding light of swirling utensils from getting into the food.

Children not dressed correctly pay the price

Children earn a place at the table and in the circle of Williamson adulthood by proving they can get enough food from the table, and other's peoples plates, to feed themselves. I remember the day I was graduated from the newspaper covered floor to the table. I was 12 years old. The Thanksgiving meal had just begun. I stood there in my swimsuit with my brothers, sisters, and cousins. They surged forward with shoves and kicks on the "Amen" while I stood firm, reviewing my game plan, forged over years of experience and mistakes. I ducked just in time as my 4 year old sister was head butted across the room by my football playing uncle. I saw my chance at that moment.

Grandma halfway through dinner wearing her gravy nicely

Grandma wasn't well that day. I knew that would throw her off her game. We normally steered clear of Grandma. Everyone knew she was blessed with a defense mechanism far better than horns, muscle, or wits. Grandma had GAS, combined with a digestive system able to produce it at will. During the meal us children would approach her plate to steal mashed potatoes or turkey. Her advanced age made her appear the weakest in the pack. Grandma sensed our proximity and would rock up onto one buttock and release enough natural gas to warm two houses through an Alaskan winter. She was Deadly.

That day I noticed that Grandma's intestines were not up to full production and moved in her direction. Her eyes darted around the table for visible encroachments on her porcelain plate. She used her right hand to shovel food into her mouth and her left, armed with two forks, stabbed out in all directions forcing the foolish into retreat. I moved closer, coming in from the direction of her cataract covered left eye. She saw me out of the corner of her cat eyed glasses with the pearl trim with ruby inserts just as I reached out for a thick juicy slice of white meat. I saw her rock upwards toward the right side of the chair. Her face turned red as she summoned the best her internal pipes could produce. I froze, hoping for the best. Then - a squeak. No, it was more a tiny peep. Nothing. Grandma came to the table unarmed and therefore completely open to attack.

The Geriatric Table.
Bean soup, bread, gravy and tea.

Sixty second later Grandma was left with a clean plate. Applause erupted from the gathering in celebration of another Williamson entering the ranks of adulthood. Grandma surrendered her place at the table and joined the geriatric table in the kitchen for white bread and gravy. I had made it.

Great Grandmother Luella practicing her defensive skills during breakfast this morning. Most of her eggs and bacon ended up on the living room carpet.

Cameron DelGrosso. Great Grandma Luella's Nemesis.

Today's feast will begin shortly. I fear for Luella. She recently had an operation and may not be up to defending her place at the table. I'll do my best to defend her servings but Brandon and Monica's oldest son Cameron is in the sixth grade this year and hungry for a place with the adults. We shall see what happens.

Happy Thanksgiving to All,

Simply,
Victor

The Great Utah Blizzard that Wasn't. An Embarrassment

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove (A snowless Pleasant Grove I might add)

Hello To All!

I did everything I thought I should do. I watched the weather reports on TV. I read the weather forecasts in two different Utah newspapers. The signs were clear. Northern Utah was going to be hit with a major winter storm. They called it a blizzard - a storm of epic proportions with 60 mph winds and snow. I heard some say the highways would be impassible. So, taking all that into account, and thinking of the best interests of our customers, staff and volunteer, I made the decision to close the Space Center for all private missions Tuesday and Wednesday.

I rushed to the Fortress after school Tuesday and jumped in the Battlestar to pick up a few needed supplies from Lindon’s WalMart. What a madhouse! I joined hundreds of other shoppers in a frenzied game of shopping cart bumper cars. Each of us feared we would be caught on the roads if we didn't get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. I had a vision of being trapped near the Purple Turtle, stuck in a mammoth snow drift on State Street away from home and family. In my vision I saw the angel of death's skull face swirling in the avalanche of soon to be coming snow.

I finished my shopping list and rolled my cart toward the front of the store to pay and exit. I rounded a rack of ladies intimate apparel and came into view of the check out stands. I saw long lines of desperate shoppers waiting impatiently, each shifting his weight from foot to foot to keep blood circulating. Their gaunt expressions spread feelings of hopelessness to the new shoppers getting into line. Some looked like trapped wild animals with their heads darting back and forth looking for any queue with a moving line.

There was a high pitched sound that made everyone freeze. I thought it was the sound of the fire house siren warning us that white death was approaching? I realized what it really was a moment later. On Checkout 6 a child was screaming to be released from the wired jaw of the shopping cart's child seat. The mother acted quickly and shoved something sweet into the kid's mouth taken from the candy and gum shelves lining the checkout aisle.

I continued my search for the shortest line.

Two full shopping carts were left abandoned near the jewelry department. I'm assuming their owners had given up on the lines and left the store. I knew why. They feared the blizzard would catch them in a Walmart line, unable to be with their loved ones with it struck. I understood. Don't we all want to end life’s journey with family and friends? Who wouldn’t want to be held tightly in a warm embrace and smothered in kisses as the roof collapses above you, burying you and yours in an avalanche of white, carrying you together into eternity?

I stood confused, not able to process my next move. Then a course of action became clear. There, partially hidden by the long lines and magazine racks, was one check out register marked 20 items or less with only one person in its line. I had more than 20 items, but desperate times called for desperate measures. I made my move and rolled past several others unaware that checkout register was open.

“Suckers,” I thought to myself with a true sense of satisfaction.


I parked my cart behind an older gentleman purchasing a magazine and flashlight. Others saw what I had done and followed. A long line formed quickly behind me. I put my 20+ items on the moving belt knowing I had broken the sacred Shopper's Compact. I heard growling laced with mumbling. My fellow shoppers gave me cold penetrating stares. They knew - that I knew - I had more than 20 items. They knew that I knew I was breaking the Compact. I could read their thoughts.

I’ve always been an honest person. I’ve always followed the Shopper's Compact. But today was different. It was every man for himself with the storm bearing down upon us. The very fabric of society was beginning to dissolve right there in the Lindon WalMart - and I was a part of it. I feared the tension was so ripe it would only take one spark to tear away our last vestige of humanity, sending a shopping center full of people back thousands of years on the evolutionary scale. The vision of all of us scavenging through the SuperCenter in search for a carcase to chew on unnerved me.

The cashier ignored my indiscretion and rang me up. I couldn’t swipe my credit card and sign my name fast enough. I had to get out, away from those people.

I looked up a the sky as I emerged from the store. It was cloudy but still no snow or wind. Cars were coming and going around me. Shopping carts were abandoned everywhere. People were in a hurry. The ship was heading for the iceberg and we knew how this story could end. I put my provisions into the trunk and turned for the car door.

That's when I heard a thump. A woman had just backed into a parked car opposite the sidewalk from where I was parked. She drove forward a few feet, stopped and pulled into another parking place.

“She’s going to do the honorable thing,” I through to myself. She got out of her car and walked over to inspect the damage she’d caused. She stood there for thirty seconds or so then jumped back into her car and sped off.

I thought about following her and getting her licenses plate number, but in the end I didn't. I convinced myself it was none of my business. The Battlestar had rear wheel drive and was worthless in snow. I was in a hurry and didn't do the honorable thing. Am I ashamed of myself now? Yes but ........ there is always a "Yes But". I'll leave it at that.

I got home, put the groceries away and walked out onto the deck overlooking the valley and lake.
“Bring it on,” I said to the sky overhead. “I’m ready for you. I’m from South Dakota and understand you all too well. I know your moods. I know how you work. This is one house prepared for a long siege.”

Blizzards are as common in South Dakota as lime jello at a Utah social. I remember snow so deep we couldn’t open our screen doors to get outside. I remember cold so bitter your words froze, crackled and fell to the ground before the listener could hear them. A Utah blizzard would be laughable to someone with my history - yet, I knew to be cautious. Old man winter had a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

_______________________________

Its Thanksgiving Day. The predicted blizzard bypassed Utah county. We got jack squat. I feel I’ve been played and am not happy. I closed the Center for nothing. I sacrificed my integrity at Walmart for nothing. What's worse, I LEFT WORK EARLY! That's embarrassing and shameful. Leaving work early is disgraceful for a proud workaholic like myself.

And so, I apologize to my family, friends and coworkers for showing human weakness. I vow it won’t happen again. The Space Center will stay open no matter what. Our lights will burn through fire, flood, famine, tornado, earthquake, blizzard, drought, and pestilence.

And in the words of my hero, Winston Churchill

We shall go on to the end.......
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be,
we shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender.

Happy Thanksgiving to All.

Simply,
Victor

The Lost, Hoping to be Found. Can you Help on this Mission Person's Investigation?

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,
Tonight I'll post three pictures of unidentified persons. The dusty memories of the two ancients I have access to haven't a clue who they are. Of course, I'm not sure Luella paid much attention. I was interrupting her Oprah. Charles was more interested that I post his autographed picture of Gabrielle. I'm guessing she is a famous model from yesteryear. He's pretty proud of this photo and autograph, so be sure to mention it when you see him next. Say something like "You old dog, How did you get someone that HOT to pay any attention to you!"
You'll be in his good favor to the end.


Now, enough of the diversion. Let's get back to business.

I putting these out on the world wide web hoping someone out there in Familyland will know (or have an idea - even a hunch would be a start) of who they are - so, here we go....

Look closely at this photograph. You see a young blond girl with baby in carriage. Looks turn of the 20th century to me.

Another picture from the same era. Any ideas? The little one might be a midget (is that politically correct to say?) If she isn't a midget then that little girl is about the homeliest little girl I've ever seen (oops, let's hope it isn't someone's dearest dearest great great Grandmother. If so then I've really put my foot in it!).

Finally, this picture. This was taken in Hot Springs, South Dakota. Luella thinks the young lady on the left is Great Grandmother Vesta (Violet's mother). If so, then who are the other two? Vesta was raised by Charles and Nancy Roe and they didn't have a son. On the other hand, the little girl might be Vesta? If so, then the boy might be her older brother James but he doesn't look 8 years older than her, does he?

Well, there you have it. Three mysteries waiting for someone to comment. I'll leave them to you and move on to other things.

Simply,
Victor

Luella's Day of Freedom! No More Trips to the Canal. And Pictures of the Early Mattsons!

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello To All,
A major purchase for the Fortress was made today. A new washer and dryer will be delivered on Thursday to make mother's life a bit easier. I took Luella to Best Buy and RC Willey once she returned this morning from doing a load of laundry down at the canal. She was overjoyed with the announcement that after all these years of knuckle scrapping on a wooden washboard, Dad and I were finally willing to spend the money to get a completely automatic, ELECTRIC no less, washer and dryer for the Fortress.

Our first stop today was Best Buy in Orem. Luella wasn't impressed with the salesman at Best Buy. He was young and wasn't able to answer all her questions. I think he was thrown off his game by her appearance. She looked like an old Chinese washerwoman with bleeding knuckles (I didn't give her time to wash up before we left). He printed the information on an out of model LG washer and dryer and we went on our way.

Luella enjoyed our next stop and the RC Willey across the busy street. The salesman was sales veteran. He was upon us the moment our feet hit the Appliances Department. He looked like he was dressed for church (1950's style). He had polished shoes, perfectly pressed slacks, a crisp white shirt with tie and hair cut and combed back off his face (a lesson the Best Buy kid should learn). He knew the answer to every question. He enjoyed talking washers and dryers. He even had washing and drying jokes! He had the Consumer Reports Books on hand for comparison shopping. He knew every screw and magnet in the machines and threw in enough goodies and rebates to seal the deal. Luella was overjoyed. To be honest, I was more interested in the new 3D Panasonic Television they had on display at my 11:00 o'clock position.

We drove back to the Fortress several hundred dollars lighter in the wallet.

I wonder if our clothes will be any cleaner? Will they smell better? Don't know. I do know it won't take three days to dry a full load of towels in a new dryer. That should save some electricity. Anyway, the money will be well worth it to keep mother from making another trek to the canal below the Fortress with her washboard and soap to do the laundry. Bless her heart but could we continue to let her push a full load of canal washed, wet clothes back up the hill of 1100 North in that borrowed WalMart shopping cart with the wobbly wheel? This new washer and dryer will be well worth not having to put up with the neighbor's dirty looks and the never ending calls from Social Workers banging on the door asking uncomfortable questions about Elder Abuse.

And now, for tonight's enjoyment as we gather around the digital fire we will look at some old pictures of a simpler time in the 1950's for the Mattsons of Montana and Spearfish, South Dakota.

In this picture we have Luella, Grandma Violet holding baby Linda and Grandpa Walter. This picture was taken around 1942 on the Montana Ranch. This is one of Luella's favorite pictures of her parents.

This is Luella proudly modelling her new coat. She thinks she is a junior in high school.
She loved the coat. Isn't it a sad commentary on life today when you think that Luella, even after all these years, can still remember everything about that coat. Just getting a new coat was such a special occasion you had to stop to take pictures of it!

In this picture you have Uncle Marvin, Uncle John, Great Grandmother Vesta and Luella in her new coat. This was taken early in the morning. Luella is still in her pj's. Luella was about 15 years old. John was 11 and Marvin was 9.

This is a picture of Great Grandma Vesta with her husband Jim Logan. Standing beside them are Luella and Charles, newlyweds of two days. Back then, Charles took his shirt off all the time to show off his muscles. If he did that now, at 74 years old, Immigration would be called in to deport the strange starving Ethiopian on the loose every day in the Orem, WalMart.

This picture was taken in June 1956. After their wedding, the couple went to Newcastle, Wyo and stayed the night (giving them a one night honey moon. Romantic, yet cheap - important in those days). They had a lovely little apartment near Spearfish Park for the first few months of their marriage. Dad got a job in Deadwood with the State Highway Department so they moved to Deadwood. They had an apartment above the Montgomery Ward Store. Luella worked at Goldburg Grocery running the Bakery Concession Stand.

This is a picture of John Albert Mattson holding Luella as an infant. Ida and John were so proud of their first grandchild (they only had one child - our Granddad Walter). John Albert had large hands. He was a very hard worker and loved to walk whenever it was possible. He and Ida were born in Sweden. He was the black sheep of the Mattson family. He loved to drink before he and Ida married. After their wedding Ida took control of his spending money. Whenever they went to town Ida would give him one dollar to spend in the saloon and that was it. His drinking was under control.

The Mattson's drove to Belle Fourche, South Dakota from the Montana Ranch for a picnic and to take a few pictures. In the top picture you have Linda with her curls, then Uncle John, their first cousin Diane Pierce (daughter to Violet's brother Walter) and finally Uncle Marvin.

In the lower picture we have Luella proudly posing to show off her new saddle shoes. All the girls wore them with white anklets. Luella was 12 or 13 in this picture. Shocking isn't it. She was very tall for her age. The pictures were taken in Belle Fourche Park.




These are pictures of Uncle John as a baby.

And that is it for today.

Simply,
Victor

A Post on the Williamson Family Reunion 2010?

A Real Time snapshot from the deck of the Fortress. A Storm is Looming.
I Must Type Fast.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello Williamsons,
My parents and sister tell me the Williamson family reunion was delightful. Sadly I wasn't able to attend. As I keep reminding my family "Some of us have to work for a living" (Said with tongue in cheek). I was neck deep in Space Campers between the ages of 10 and 14, not to mention a staff of teens and young adults - all needing attention and direction.

That is all done. The Center is closed until August 20th. I have three blessed weeks of vacation. I don't want to hear space, talk space, think space, eat space, or breath space during this time (yes, even if it were discovered a large asteroid was hurtling toward Earth capable of wiping out all mankind and we had two weeks to live. Even then, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW).

I'm hoping someone out there took pictures at the reunion and is willing to share them with us. I asked my parents, but trusting either of them to master the art of click and shoot would be too much to ask. You must understand that they both suffer from technophobia and find anything with a blinking light terrifying. You should see the way Luella controls her digital TV and Dish Network Satellite Receiver. She understands "On" and "Off". She comprehends "Volume" and the "Up and Down Channel Arrows". She is clueless about everything else and relies on multiple phone calls and visits to fix her reception when she accidentally pushes one of the other 100 buttons on the remote and suddenly finds herself watching the Chinese Broadcasting Network instead of her beloved CSPAN.

In addition to the pictures I'm hoping someone would be willing to write something postable about the gathering for the rest of the family to enjoy. Remember this blog is rated PG so leave out the pictures of Charles flipping the bird in two photo shoots. God bless him - he is in his 70's you know and has trouble remembering the difference between flipping someone off and giving someone the Thumbs Up!

Wow, close lightening strike. Wait for it......... YES, the thunder rattled the windows. I'd better seek shelter indoors. Standby.......

OK safe and secure inside the Fortress.

Also, it was mentioned at the reunion that many are enjoying the blog. I'm grateful for your kind words and encouragement. It was also mentioned that many Williamson's (me included) have an interest in the family's current events. Granted what happened 1000 years ago may be interesting but learning how our little cousin saved the life of his Grandma was awesome. I'm wanting to post current family news. That's where YOU COME IN. I need at least one person from each branch of the family to send me your current family news: Weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, arrests, trials, graduations, honor rolls, and other items of general interest. I've asked for family trivia in the past and got nothing but an empty email box.

So, I'm asking once again. Please send current family news. Let's keep in touch with each other so when we have our next gathering we won't all be such strangers to each other.

I'll sleep tonight knowing that you'll have something waiting for me in my email IN box in the morning :)

Simply,
Victor

A Night's Journey in Search of Ancestors. Why I do What I'm Doing.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

I'm glad you've come along. Tonight, in our virtual quest for family, we journey back in time to search for our Mattson ancestors in Sweden. It is the mid 1800's. Our journey has taken us through field and forest in search of a great great grandparent. We travel on a sleigh forged from imagination. The snow cracks loudly beneath us as we pass through the frigid Scandinavian night air.


Wool blankets and coal warmers shield us from the worst of the mid winter cold. The horse's breath makes white clouds. He breathes heavily as our driver urges him onward, deeper into the forest in search of our family, nearly forgotten by time.

The stars are good companions, peering down through curtains of green light swaying in an unseen celestial wind. I glance at my watch. It is 4:00 P.M. yet completely dark. The shy Swedish sun peers briefly over the horizon during winter's months, then disappears, leaving us to our own good company.


We forge ahead.

Through the ancient pines I see the lamp lights of a small cottage. The horse knows the way and turns instinctively. My nose is quick to discern the smoke from a warm fire. Perhaps tonight we find the people who, until now, have been remembered as names written on the frail pages of a an old family bible.

If not, we will continue. The night is still young and our blankets warm.

The notes of a piano accent the sound of the sleigh. We have arrived. I recognize the melody, an old Lutheran hymn. Shall we knock and introduce ourselves?

I remove my mitten and knock on the wooden door. The singing stops. A bolt is undone and the door opens to a family sitting around a fire looking curiously to see what the night has brought.
I clear my voice and speak, hoping my poor Swedish will carry my intent, "God kväll. Är du, av en slump, det Mattson familjen?"

"Ya," comes the curious reply. I feel a burden released. I've found them. The search was long and never easy, but to see them for the first time, together, has rewarded my purpose and intent.

This is why I search, to meet the people who made 'us' possible. I want to tell you their stories.


Simply,
Victor

Memories from Jefferson Elementary School, Rapid City, South Dakota. 1965.

Victor, just before starting 2nd grade at Jefferson Elementary.
It a pre Penny smile you see.

From the Fortress of Solitude
Pleasant Grove

Hello All,
Thank you to everyone for the many kind birthday greetings sent to brighten my day. Well, if the next 52 years goes by as quickly as the first, I'll be an afterthought faster than the time it will take for the rest of that thick forest of hair I once had to fall out!

One of my objectives for this blog is to record our family's history. That history includes the time we spent growing up in Rapid City, South Dakota.

I loved Rapid City. I love Rapid City. I enjoyed all three of the neighborhoods we lived in. I enjoyed my many years in the city's public schools - except second grade. Second grade taught me one important life lesson - not everyone has your back.

I spent second grade at Jefferson Elementary School in Rapid City, located at the bottom of Signal Heights, the hill our modest duplex sat atop. Second grade was challenging for three reasons:

• My teacher Miss May. Young, inexperienced, and a true suffragette.
  
• Penny - the girl all second grade boys hated the most.
  
• Mr. Arnold - the Principal and secret National Socialist.

Our classroom was located across the hall and down one room from Mr. Arnold's office. Our principal, Mr. Arnold, believed in strict discipline. If you broke the rules you paid the ultimate price - a trip to his office where the paddle awaited. Yes it was a simpler time in the early 1960's. Children didn't run wild through the school's like they do now. In those days the adults that were in charge. Today, it's the kids. We've gotten to the point where adults are terrified of even looking at a child wrong. What a miserable state of affairs we've created.

From my desk in the second grade I could see out the door into the hallway leading to the school's office. I witnessed the face of many a wayward student walking that long dreadful corridor. Their steps were slow as they passed our room. Occasionally the soon to be paddled child would glance into our classroom as he passed. I remember their faces and expressions. I remember their eyes dark and hanging with desperation and despair.

If my teacher, Miss May, caught us looking into the hall she would snap her fingers to draw us back to our coloring. Then I would wait. It never took long before the paddling commenced.

"I won't do it again! I won't! Whack, Whack, Whack, Whack!" The sound of the board against the child's backside resonated through the hallway followed by the crying and yes, sometimes screaming. At which point Miss May would get up from her desk and walk slowly toward the classroom's door looking at each of us along the way. She always wore a slight smile on occasions like this.

"You see children," she would say putting her hands together as if in prayer, "If you misbehave you'll visit Mr. Arnold. Listen, do you hear that boy crying? Which of you will be next?"
At that point in her speech she would stop and survey the room. You felt her mind probing yours. She was searching for anything that would deliver you to her. Any lie, any cheating, any tripping or spitting - any misbehavior would doom you to her first and then Mr. Arnold. I really believed she had the power to look into my soul so I did my best to think about something else instead of my multiple transgressions. Her probing eyes instinctively paused on mine. She knew I had the black heart of a mischievous second grader disguised by a sweet smile and round pleasant eyes. She knew one day I'd break and confess all.

Miss May always stopped just before closing the classroom door to take one last glance around the room to reinforce her joy at the thought of feeding one of us to the lions. That's when she'd reveal with her eyes the boy most in danger. It was always the poor wretched child last looked at as the door closed.

The girls in my second grade class loved Miss May. She never looked at them; she never scolded them. The girls enjoyed the loathing she demonstrated for boys. They enjoyed the terror her looks and pauses inflicted on us. As a youngster I imagined she was a master of disguise. On the outside she had the appearance of a young school mistress without guile. On the inside my mind saw something else; the most horrible thing a second grader in 1965 could think of - the green wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz. I'd look at her fingernails for traces of green whenever I had occasion to visit her desk. A trip I, and every other boy, avoided with the same trepidation as a trip to the school nurse for your shots.

Miss May's favorite student was my nemesis. Her name was Penny. Her face was splatter with brown freckles and the top of her head ablaze with red hair. Penny, the name to this day makes me shudder. To the unknowing classroom visitor, Penny looked like a little angel, but I knew better. I knew her by her other name - Despair. I never knew her last name. Perhaps she didn't have one. Nero didn't have a last name. Claudius didn't either. What about Jezebel?

Beside being an honor student, Penny's other vocation was my tormentor. For her it wasn't a job but a calling from the almighty. It was His way of punishing me for failing to wash behind my ears or tossing the vomitous green peas into the trash mother would heap on my plate at suppertime. God knew my sole was in jeopardy and sent Penny to stomp me into humble submission.

At recess Penny watched me like a hawk. It was her `Make Victor's life intolerable' time. Any girl that liked me would be was hunted down on the playground and pulled into Penny's group of cackling hens. After a few minutes the girl would emerge looking at me like I was a bloated dead cow oozing with pus.

I hated Penny - or as close to hate as a second grader can come. I would have sold my soul to the devil just to see Penny marched off to Mr. Arnold's office. Those few minutes of her on the receiving end of a good paddling would make eternity's flames worth it. Her cries, paired with Miss May's look of horror, would be candy to my eyes and ears. The first whack would bring every boy in the second grade to his feet cheering.

The uncontrolled enthusiasm caused by Penny's paddling would transform from cheering into rioting - starting with the the breaking of crayons and the toppling of desks. Teachers would surrender their classrooms under the barrage of globs of finger paint. Anarchy would reign in the second grade at Jefferson Elementary School, Rapid City South Dakota -

until Mr. Arnold opened the door.

To Be Continued.............

Simply,
Victor

Please Watch and Remember. Embrace Life

Its not time to write about you in the past tense.
Embrace Life.

Simply,
Victor