The Rev. Thomas Carter. Our 9th Great Grandfather. A Humble and Pious Man.

A Painting of our Great Grandfather's Ordination as the First Minister
Ordained into the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1642.

From the Fortress of Solitude.
Overlooking the Pleasant Grove

Dear Clan,
Tonight I want to introduce you to our 9th Great Grandfather, the Rev. Thomas Carter (1608 to Sept. 5, 1684). He was a Puritan Minister and the first minister ordained in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1642. He was a humble and honest man that was loved by his community.

A Biography of our 9th Great Grandfather:

The Rev. Thomas Carter was a admitted to St. John's College, Cambridge University, April 1, 1626. He received his Bachelor of Arts in January, 1629/30, and his Master of Arts in 1633.

It is interesting to note that our Great Grandfather, the Rev. Thomas Carter was for several years (1628-1633) a fellow student at Cambridge University with the Rev. John Harvard, the founder of Harvard College. They both came to America and settled in neighboring towns. It is probable that they were well acquainted while at the university. Both entered the ministry. Both were made freemen of the Colony of Massachusetts in the same year, 1637. The next authentic information on Thomas Carter is the fact of his being admitted a freeman of Dedham, Mass., March 9, 1636/7 . . . being "presented" by Philemon Dalton. (Dedham Records.)

From the records it seems that Thomas Carter was preaching in Dedham, and at this time was filling the office of Elder in the church at Watertown. In Watertown, Thomas Carter was granted a homestead of ten acres and, in 1642, a farm of 92 acres and a lot in the town plot.

Thomas Carter preached in Woburn for the first time Dec. 4, 1641. This was the second service of public worship ever held in the new town. His sermon was based on a passage in Gen 12. The town records wrote of the sermon "incouraging to trust in the Lord for the Means." This sermon or his previous reputation seems to have impressed the people of Woburn, for the Town Records state: 1641, Dec. 19.

“They now all at Mr Carter, who was very backward to promise anything, but only to bee helpful to them at sum tims which was very seldom."

The ordination of Mr. Carter as a minister came about as follows:

Aug. 14. A Church gathered at Woburn. Mr. Knowles, (assistant pastor of Watertown) Mr. Allen, (pastor of Dedham) Mr. Symes, Mr. Carter and divers other godly and faithful ministers of Christ held out the wright hand of fellowship in the name of the other Churches." After much persuasion, Mr. Carter finally yielded a reluctant consent and became the first minister in Woburn, being ordained November 22, 1642.

In Winthrop's "History of New England from 1630 to 1649” you can read the following account of the ceremony:

The village at the end of Charlestown bounds, was called Woburn when they gathered a church, and this day Mr Carter was ordained their pastor with the assistance of the elders of other Churches; some difference there was about his ordination; members fit to solemnize such an ordinance, they would desire some of the elders of the other Churches to have performed it; but others supposing it might be an occasion of introducing a dependency of Churches, etc., and so a presbytery, would not allow it, so it was performed by one of their own members, but not so well or orderly as it ought.

Capt. Edward Johnson, one of the principal founders both of the church and the town, was present on this occasion, and described the ordination in his "Wonder Working Providence" (published in 1654):

After he (Thomas Carter) had exercised in preaching and prayer the greater part of the day, two persons in the name of the Church laid their hands upon his head and said, We ordain thee Thomas Carter to be Pastor of this Church of Christ: then one of the elders present, desired of the Church, continued in prayer unto the Lord for his more especial assistance, of this his servant in his work, being a charge of such weighty importance as is the glory of God and the salvation of souls, that the very thought would make a man to tremble in the sense of his own inability to the work.

At his ordination, the town presented him with a house, which they built for his use, and also gave him a salary of £80 per year, one-fourth of which was to be in silver, the remainder in various necessaries of life, at current prices. This compensation was increased in 1674 by the grant of twenty cords of wood annually, to be delivered at his door. From the time of his ordination, Mr. Carter ministered constantly to his people without the help of an assistant for thirty-six years, when the Rev. Jabez Fox was chosen assistant pastor. He continued in the service with Mr. Fox for six years more until his death in 1684, thus making the entire period of his ministry at Woburn more than forty-two years.
Johnson, in his "Wonder Working Providence," speaks of Thomas Carter as a "reverend Godly Man, apt to teach the sound and wholesome truths of Christ" and one who had "much encreased with the encreasings of Christ Jesus."

Sewell, in his History of Woburn, says:

Mr. Carter appears to have lived secluded in great measure from the world; and hence he is seldom if ever named in history among the eminent clergymen of his day. Still there is abundant evidence that he was a very pious, exemplary man, an able and sound preacher of the gospel, and one whom God honored and prospered in his work. Under his ministrations, the church was greatly enlarged and built up, and the town flourished, and was for the most part in peace.

In the following lines addressed to him in the "Wonder Working Providence", Mr. Carter is represented as a plain, but faithful and successful minister; a pastor of distinguished humility and meekness, and in gentleness toward his flock:

"Carter, Christ hath his wayes thee taught, and thou Hast not withheld his Word, but unto all With's word of power dost cause stout souls to bow, And meek as lambs before thy Christ to fall: The antient truths, plain paths, they fit thee best, Thy humble heart all haughty acts puts by; The lowly heart, Christ learns his lovely hest, Thy meekness shews thy Christ to thee is nigh. Yet must thou shew, Christ makes his bold to be As lions, that none may his truths tread down; Pastoral power he hath invested thee With; it maintain, leest he on thee do frown. Thy youth thou has in this New England spent, Full sixteen years to water, plant and prune Trees taken up, and for that end here sent; Thy end's with Christ; with's saints his praises tune."

Family, I give you our 9th Great Grandfather, The Reverend Thomas Carter.

Simply,
Victor

Bob Coronato's 1st Painting for the 2010 Masters of the American West Show

Here are a few shots of my brother in law's new painting of Russell Means for 2010 Master's of the American West Art Show. Bob has an Amazing Talent. He and Lisa are heading to the show this weekend. Mom and Dad are in California watching their kids.

Thomas Dudley, our 10th Great Grandfather. Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Thomas Dudley, Our 10th Great Grandfather

Thomas Dudley (October 12, 1576 - July 31, 1653) was a colonial magistrate who served several terms as Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony and Deputy Governor. During his terms he did the following:

• Founded the city of Newtowne, which later became Cambridge Massachusetts.
• He built the first home in Cambridge.
• He signed the Charter creating Harvard University. Thomas Dudley Gate at Harvard was named in his honor, as is the non residential Dudley House

The Charter Creating Harvard University Signed by Our Great Grandfather.

This Great Grandfather was born in Northampton England. In 1629 with tensions between the Puritans and the British government high, Dudley was chosen as one of the five officers to travel to the Americans under the Royal Charter.

It is difficult to understand Thomas Dudley's decision to leave England for the unknown shores of North America. In England he had friends, position and prosperity. But he decided to leave all this behind. Apparently, the pressures of persecution were so great that he was virtually forced to leave England or give up his religious convictions.

In 1630, Thomas and his wife and children sailed to New England with the Winthrop Fleet, a group of eleven vessels carrying 700 passengers. The Dudley family was on the flagship, the Arbella. The Fleet left England in the Spring and arrived in Salem in June.

Thomas was a strict Puritan and clashed several times with other leaders of the colony. He was known to be very inflexible in his views. Cotton Mather wrote that if Thomas Dudley had been alive at the time of the witchcraft trouble, New England would never have been disgraced by the bloodshed of innocent persons. He was one of the principal founders of the First Church at Boston and in the church now standing at Berkley and Marlborough streets is a tablet with the following inscription:

THOMAS DUDLEY. FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS GOVERNOR OR DEPUTY GOVERNOR OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY. AS GOVERNOR HE SIGNED THE CHARTER OF HARVARD COLLEGE. BORN IN ENGLAND 1576. DIED IN ROXBURY 1653. A MAN OF APPROVED WISDOM AND OF MUCH GOOD SERVICE TO THE STATE.

On July 31, 1653, Thomas Dudley died at the age of 77 at Roxbury, Massachusetts. There was a great funeral, with the most distinguished citizens as pall bearers. the clergy were present in large numbers. Military units were present with muffled drums and reversed arms. He was buried at Roxbury, near his home, where his tomb may be seen on the highest point of land. His epitaph was written by Rev. Ezekiel Rogers and reads as follows:

In books a Prodigal they say;
A table talker rich in sense;
And witty without wits pretense;
An able champion in debate;
Whose words lacked number but not weight;
Both Catholic and Christian too;
A soldier timely, tried and true;
Condemned to share the common doom;
Reposes here in Dudley's tomb;

To finish our converstion with this Great Grandfather I end with a letter he wrote in 1631. You can read something written by his own hand.

Governor Thomas Dudley 
Letter to the Countess of Lincoln: March, 1631

Upon the river of Mystic is seated Saggamore John, and upon the river of Saugus Sagamore James his brother, both so named by the English. The elder brother John is an handsome young ...[one line missing] conversant with us affecting English apparel and houses and speaking well of our God. His brother James is of a far worse disposition, yet repaireth often to us. Both these brother command not above 30 or 40 men for aught I can learned. Near to Salem dwelleth two or three families, subject to the Saggamore of Agawam whose name he told me, but I have forgotten it. This Sagamore hath but few subjects, and them and himself tributary to Sagamore James, having been before the last year (in James his minority) tributary to Chicka Talbott. Upon the river Merrimack is seated Sagamore Passaconaway having under his command 400 or 500 men, being esteemed by his countrymen a false fellow, and by us a witch.

First printed in 1696 in: Massachusetts; or, The First Planters of New England. The End and Manner of their Coming thither, and Abode there, Boston 1696.

Simply,
Victor

July 1972. A Few of Lisa's Baby Pictures

From the Fortress of Solitude
Overlooking the Pleasant Grove

Dear Clan,
Tonight was Parent Teacher Conferences. I had one parent darken my door. I'm lovin It! Normally I wouldn't have parents on parent teacher conferences because I direct the Space Center. But, I volunteer to teach the school's gifted math class in the mornings so that obligates me to visit with any parent that has a desire to see how their little Johnny and Missy are doing.
Really, the hardest and most challenging thing about working with the math gifted is their talking. Gifted children like to babble on and on and on and on. They like to think of themselves as little adults. They have opinions about everything and sincerely feel us 'real' adults care about those opinions. As a teacher It is my job to foster those opinions, but I don't have to really give them much credence. I'm good at looking at them eye to eye and making them feel like they have my undivided attention when in reality I'm one thousand miles away.

Tonight I bring you a few snapshots of little Lisa Larke taken a few weeks after her birth on July 5, 1972.
Here she is in the arms of 15 year old Kim sitting on mom and dad's bed. Kim was just out of the shower which explains her attire and hair. I'm sure she'd want that made perfectly clear.

Here she is just after getting her nappy changed. I don't remembe why I put the bag over her head. It was just one of those things to make the picture interesting.

And again in Kim's arms fast asleep.

And finally throwing a tantrum in her swing. I loved that swing. It was the only thing that was 100% effective at getting her to go to sleep. The problem with the swing was the wind up mechanism. I'd put Lisa in the swing, she'd cry a tempest for a bit then mellow and finally drift off. The swing went back and forth only as long as the wind lasted. Sometimes one wind wouldn't be enough to get her to sleep so we'd have to wind it again as she was drifting off. That extra wind was the real challenge. Our challenge was to wind it up again without the noise waking her up. It was a challenge because the crank was so loud. I remember cranking that thing slowly - ever so slowly hoping not to stir the sleeping beast. I was successful 50% of the time.

Now for a confession. We must all ask Lisa's forgiveness for this.

If we wanted a good laugh (the rest of the brothers and sisters) we put Lisa into the swing and let it put her into a deep sleep. I'd gather my siblings around the swing when it stopped, place my hand on that obnoxiously loud crank, and wind that thing as fast as I could. The sound shocked her awake. You should have seen her eyes - they'd get as big as saucers, and she'd quiver like she was made of jello. Then the air intake; she'd go into momentary shock, want to cry but never had enough air because we scared the wind right out of her. We'd laugh while she'd attempt to suck in enough air to scream. Of course there was a price to pay. She'd finally let loose an ungodly sound and then we'd deal with it - so we didn't do it often; only when we needed a good laugh or when friends came over. You know, something to do when you were board.

Simply,
Victor

Saint Alfred the Great, King of the Anglo-Saxons. Our 39th Great Grandfather

From the Fortress of Solitude

Dear Clan,
Tonight I continue with our Famous Ancestors. May I introduce you to a 39th Great Grandfather, Saint Alfred the Great. The second Cannonized Saint in our family's history. He is the ONLY English king given the title "The Great". Alfred is venerated as a saint by the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church and is regarded as a Hero of the Christian Church by the Church of England and Anglicans worldwide.

Alfred was born at Wantage in Oxfordshire in 849, fourth or fifth son of Aethelwulf, king of the West Saxons. Following the wishes of their father, the sons succeeded to the kingship in turn. At a time when the country was under threat from Danish raids, this was aimed at preventing a child inheriting the throne with the related weaknesses in leadership. In 870 AD the Danes attacked the only remaining independent Anglo-Saxon kingdom, Wessex, whose forces were commanded by Alfred's older brother, King Aethelred, and Alfred himself.

In 871 AD, Alfred defeated the Danes at the Battle of Ashdown in Berkshire. The following year, he succeeded his brother as king. Despite his success at Ashdown, the Danes continued to devastate Wessex and Alfred was forced to withdraw to the Somerset marshes, where he continued guerrilla warfare against his enemies. In 878 AD, he again defeated the Danes in the Battle of Edington. They made peace and Guthrum, their king, was baptised with Alfred as his sponsor. In 886 AD, Alfred negotiated a treaty with the Danes. England was divided, with the north and the east (between the Rivers Thames and Tees) declared to be Danish territory - later known as the 'Danelaw'. Alfred therefore gained control of areas of West Mercia and Kent which had been beyond the boundaries of Wessex.

Alfred built up the defences of his kingdom to ensure that it was not threatened by the Danes again. He reorganised his army and built a series of well-defended settlements across southern England. He also established a navy for use against the Danish raiders who continued to harass the coast.

As an administrator Alfred advocated justice and order and established a code of laws and a reformed coinage. He had a strong belief in the importance of education and learnt Latin in his late thirties. He then arranged, and himself took part in, the translation of books from Latin to Anglo-Saxon.

By the 890s, Alfred's charters and coinage were referring to him as 'king of the English'. He died in October 899 AD and was buried at his capital city of Winchester.

In Summary:

Alfred was King of the southern Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Wessex and one of the outstanding figures of English history, as much for his social and educational reforms as for his military successes against the Danes. He is the only English monarch known as 'the Great'.

Saint Vladimir of Russia. Our 35th Great Grandfather.

An Icon of St. Vladimir of Russia. Our 35th Great Grandfather. He Brought
Christianity to the Slavs. He began the Conversion of Russia from Paganism to Christ.

Dear Family,
Yes, as shocking as it is, Russia’s most holy native Saint is our 35th Great Grandfather. You don't know how relieved I am. At least with one Saint in the family we all have a chance on heaven. My hours of research paid off! Now, according to the Orthodox Church you can print the icon of Grandpa Vladimir, frame it and pray to it. Imagine that, having a Russian Saint in your home that just happens to be one of your great grandfathers.

Now, a few things about St. Vladimir. One of the largest cathedrals in Kiev Russia is named after him. The University of Kiev was named after him. There is the Russian Order of St. Vladmir and Sait Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary in the United States. The Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches celebrate the feast day of St. Vladimir on July 15th.

Vladimir was born in 958 A.D. and was the youngest son of Sviatoslav I of Kiev and his housekeeper Malusha, who was described in the Norse Sagas as a prophetess who lived to the age of 100 and was brought from her cave to the palace to predict the future.

Vladimir was a warrior King and conquered many lands for Russia. Vladimir had remained a pagan, perhaps taking eight hundred concubines and numerous wives and erecting pagan statues and shrines to multiple gods. Although Christianity in Kiev existed before Bladimir’s time, he remained a pagan. It is said he took part in rites involving human sacrifice.

A Statue of our Great Grandfather overlooking the Dniepier River, Russia

His Conversion to Christianity

In 983, after another of his military successes, Prince Vladimir and his army thought it necessary to sacrifice human lives to the gods. A lot was cast and it fell on a youth, Ioann by name, the son of a Christian, Fyodor. His father stood firmly against his son being sacrificed to the idols. More than that, he tried to show the pagans the futility of their faith: ‘Your gods are just plain wood: it is here now but it may rot into oblivion tomorrow; your gods neither eat, nor drink, nor talk and are made by human hand from wood; whereas there is only one God — He is worshipped by Greeks and He created heaven and earth; and your gods? They have created nothing, for they have been created themselves; never will I give my son to the devils!’”

An open abuse of the deities, to which most Russians bowed in reverence in those times, triggered widespread anger. Rampant crowds killed the Christian Fyodor and his son Ioann (later, after the overall christening of Russia, people came to regard these two as the first Christian martyrs in Russia and the Orthodox Church set a day to commemorate them, July 25th).
Immediately after the murder of Fyodor and Ioann, early medieval Russia saw persecutions against Christians, many of whom escaped or concealed their belief. However, our grandfather, Prince Vladimir, was troubled over the incident. The chronicles have it that different preachers came to the Prince, each offering a particular faith. Vladimir spoke to Muslims, Catholics, and Jews, but for different reasons rejected all the religions. Finally, a Greek philosopher told the prince of the Old and New Testaments and presented him with a canvas depicting Doomsday. When he learned of the fate of the unrepentant were in for, Prince Vladimir was benumbed by terror and after a short pause said with a sigh: “Blessed are the doers of good and damned are the evil doers!”

Another Statue of Great Grandfather Vladimir in London

Vladimir settled on Christianity. Vladimir was baptized at Cherson, taking the Christian name of Basil. Upon returning to Kiev he destroyed pagan monuments and established many churches, starting with the splendid Church of the Tithes.
Vladimir took it upon himself to convert his subjects to Christianity. In 996 he erected the large Church of St. Mary ever Virgin. In 996 he built the Church of the Transfiguration, both in Kiev. He gave up was and established schools, introduced courts.
The conversion of Russia was not, of course, an immediate success. It took several decades before Christianity struck roots in Russia firmly and definitely.
Vladimir I completed unification of all eastern Slavs in his realm, secured its frontiers against foreign invasions, and - by accepting Christianity - brought Russia into the community of Christian nations and their civilization. He was remembered and celebrated in numerous legends and songs as a great national hero and ruler, a "Sun Prince." Venerated as the baptizer of Russia, "equal to Apostles," he was canonized about the middle of the 13th century.

Summer 1966 at 210 North 42 Street. Rapid City.

Summer 1966. Kim was 9. I was 8 My Baptism Year, Kevin was 5,
Janice and Jon were 3 and Jilane was 18 months.

Click to Enlarge

From the Fortress of Solitude
Overlooking the Valley of the Pleasant Grove

Hello Clan,
Our family moved from 38 East Signal Drive to the South Canyon neighborhood of Rapid City in 1965. We rented a home at 210 North 42nd. Street. It was sad leaving Signal Heights but South Canyon opened new opportunities for a young family.

I remember the day this picture was taken. The photographer worked out of his car. He knocked on the door and offer a picture package if mother was interested. She said yes. He brought in his equipment. While he set up we rushed through the house getting into our church clothes. You'll notice I'm wearing something nicer than that last picture of 'anything that buttons or snaps is a go'. I was 8 and either just baptised or about to be.

Now, this may well be one of the only pictures in existence of Jon not acting stupid. It was a miracle and as soon as the flash ignited Mom knew she had a masterpiece. I'm sorry to see the picture has degraded over the years but now it is digitized and protected for ever. In this picture I apologize for Janice. Notice she doesn't know what to do with her hands. Secondly - the tongue. She had an adult tongue in her small head. It was so big she couldn't keep it inside her mouth. It was sticking out all the time. We teased her about it relentlessly. I'm surprise she isn't traumatized about it today.

The six of us were very close. The three boys shared a basement bedroom, so did the three girls. The upstairs had a kitchen, living room, a small master bedroom for mom and dad and another bedroom we called the TV room. That's where we went to watch TV. I remember our favorite shows were Bewitched, Green Acres, The Andy Griffth Show, The Wild Wild West and of course Johnny Quest.

We attended South Canyon Elementary School. Kim's best friend lived across the street. Her name was Pandora. When our chores were finished we'd ride our bikes to a wooded area with watered by a small creek we called Monkey Village. We swung from trees, had forts and general just played and hung out all hours, only going home to eat and bed. We also lived close to the hills and spent hours hiking and exploring. live was different then. Much simpler.

STORY BOOK ISLAND

Jilane at Story Book Island

Here we are a few years later. Jilane is older now. We're at Story Book Island. Remember visiting Story Book Island during the family reunion a couple years ago? We went there a lot as kids for two reasons: 1. It was fun and 2. IT WAS FREE!

Jon at Story Book Island

Jon looks to be about 5 in this picture. Jon was the most loving outgoing kid. He embarrassed me all the time. Where ever we went he'd walk up to total strangers and introduce himself and start a conversation. Never a fear never a worry. He talked and laughed and talked and laughed. Oh, I should add, he did all of that when he wasn't tripping. The kid was a danger to himself. He was always tripping and falling forward - right onto his face. We always used to say how lucky he was to have a pug nose.

Driving Miss Luella. My Afternoon Giving Mother Parking Lessons!

Yes, I know this isn't Mother but it Sure Comes Close to What
I Saw and Experienced Last Sunday. You All Owe Me Big Time!

Last Sunday morning I was home enjoying an exceptional view of the valley. The sky was crisp blue and the air was clean, a real treat considering the muck we’ve had to breath for the last several weeks.
“Victor!” mother called from the door leading to my home's basement apartment. She was using her “I’m going to ask you to do something so I’ll use my kind, less shrill” voice.
“Yes,” I hesitated in responding. She knew I was home so remaining silent wouldn’t be wise. It would only result in a personal visit up the stairs.
“Would you take me driving so I can practice parallel parking?”
I let her words hang in the air until the shock of their meaning dissipated to the point where I could respond. My mind went through thousands of calculations in an attempt to rearrange the universe in such a way that I could get out of doing it without disappointing her. I opened my mouth to lie....
“Yes, I’ll take you,” I said. I don’t knew where those words came from. I suspect guilt planted them into my head. She needed help and I was home. It was a son’s duty. I also realized that her chances of passing the parallel parking part of the driving test were as good as dad ever saying “I’m tired of working. I’m going tot take the rest of my life off.”
“Let’s go,” she shouted. Her excitement reminded me of a dog circling and yapping in delight after realizing he’s about to get to ride in the back of the pickup truck for a trip into town.

I fell to my knees realizing the mortal danger I’d put myself into. I prayed, using my own made up prayer; afterwards, thinking my own prayer for safety wouldn’t be enough, I went online and did a quick Google search for “Prayers for Driving Instructors”. I found a good one, fell again to my knees and recited it word for word. I heard her ascending the steps. I closed my computer, put on my coat went into the kitchen, opened my desk, and searched for my amulets. I found my Rabbit’s foot and plastic Buddha. I couldn’t find my Star of David but felt it would be OK considering we doing this on a Sunday, and Sunday wasn’t the Jewish Sabbath. I put the two items in my coat pockets and turned to select a cross necklace from the many hanging around the wooden banister separating my kitchen and living room. They were sent to me by dozens of Catholic charity searching for donations. Sheezzzz, I gave a couple bucks to a Catholic homeless shelter for teens in New York City and Presto... my name is spread to every Catholic charity world wide. I selected the cross sent by the Sister of Ever Increasing Hope, put it around my neck and walked out to the garage to meet her.

“Get in,” she said. She was sitting in the driver’s seat of her Titanic sized Lincoln Town Car. I got in. She backed out of the Garage without hitting anything. Fortuna was with us I thought. I thought too soon. She didn’t take the driveway at an angle causing the car to scrape against the rise where the driveway and sidewalk meet at a sharp incline. I cringed at the sound of metal on concrete. She didn’t hear or feel it. She was too busy finding the road. She managed to find Drive and we jerked forward.

“How’am I doing?” she said as she leaned forward to rest her chin on the steering wheel - her favored driving position. You see, she has a cataract in her right eye, so she really only sees out of her left. She thinks she has a better view of the road if she leans forward that extra foot and a half. The hood of the Lincoln stretching out several yards doesn’t help. I fastened my seat belt and rubbed the cross around my neck praying to Saint Christopher for deliverance.

I watched her as we rolled down the hill. Her eyes were wide open staring at the road ahead.
“What’s the speed limit,” she shouted nearly sending me out the door. I was clutching the door handle anyway, ready to jump and roll if necessary. You know the old adage, at sea - its every man for himself on a sinking ship.
“Twenty Five,” I shouted back. She slammed on the brake to slow from 18 miles per hour to 12.
“Read this,” she tossed a yellow paper at me containing the notes written by the driving evaluator from her last failed attempt to pass the driving test. He’d written that she wasn’t looking over her shoulder when changing lanes.
“You’re not looking over your shoulder when changing lanes,” I said.
“Where?” she shouted. Her foot found the brake again. A radar gun would have clocked us at 8 miles an hour at that point. She jerked her head left and right looking for something that wasn’t there.
“When you change lanes - you need to look over your shoulder,” I explained.
“Oh..... got it,” she answered. Our speed increased. I looked at the paper again. Down in the bottom corner I found a cross drawn in ink. Below it were these words, “Pray for us now and in the hour of our death Amen.” I recognized them from the Catholic “Hail Mary” prayer.
“Mom, was your last driving evaluator Hispanic?” I asked.
“How did you know?” she answered. I let it go.

We approached the traffic light at the bottom of the road on 1100 North. She was going to merge to the left to get into the turning lane. She braked, then spun her head violently to the left to check for cars creeping up beside her. Then, to my surprise, she spun her head to the right to check for cars. We stopped on the red. We waited. Her hands clutched the wheel. My hands clutched the dashboard. The light turned green. We didn’t move. Yes, she saw the green but was busy looking to the left and right for oncoming cars.
“Go?” she shouted out the question, unsure of herself.
“Yes, its green?”
“So Go?”
“Yes.. GO!” And go she went, pedal to the medal. I believe the Lincoln rolled up on its right two tires on that corner.
“God help us,” I mumbled.
“WHERE?” she shouted. Her foot found the brake again.
“Keep going,” I said loud enough for her to hear.

A quarter mile down the road we came to the school crossing zone.
“School Zone,” she said. “They’ll get me if I don’t slow down.” We slowed.
“Mother, its Sunday. There is no school.”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
“Slow down only if there are children present or if the yellow lights are flashing.” I reminder her.

“That’s were Judy lives. She’s my friend,” she said as we passed the large house next to the cemetery.
“Who drives when you and Judy go out?” I asked.
“Judy drives,” she replied.
Yes, I was right. I knew Judy would be the designated driver. Would you let an old lady with one good eye and paranoid of everything else on the road drive you anywhere?

We got to the light on Center Street. She was going to turn right. Again, she cranked her head to the left and right before signalling the turn and moving into the right turning lane.
“Why are you looking over your left shoulder when you’re making a right hand turn?” I asked.
“You said the instructor wrote that I needed to look over my shoulder when changing lanes. Did he write that or not?” she asked a bit perturbed.
“Ma, look over your shoulder at the lane you’re moving into to check for traffic, not at the lane you’re moving out of,” I explained.
“Well make up your mind,” she shot back.

The rest of the way to the driving range was filled with the same. She cranked her head to the left and to the right all the way down the road, at every intersection, at every stop sign and every time she changed lanes no matter what direction she was turning.

We managed to get to the driving range alive. She pulled up to the tall cone markers marking the place where parallel parking was tested.
“This is where I keep failing,” she hissed as we pulled up to the front two cones marking where the back bumper of a parked car would be. Behind us stood two taller cones marking where the front bumper of another parked car would be.
“I’ve got to get this car in there,” she said point to the small open space between the two sets of several orange cones stacked on on top of the other.

“OK, let’s do this,” I said. Hoping for the best. For the next ten minutes she maneuvered the car. First forward, then she would check the position of the front cones. Then backward and rechecking the positions of the cones. She was looking for some magical sweet spot that would guarantee a perfect park. I urged her to just “Do it already”. She bit her bottom lip, cranked the wheel and hit the gas.

We stopped after the back right tire went up and over the curb.
“Damn it,” she mumbled as she shifted from reverse into drive and peeled forward out into the driving lane and into the parking lot. She turned hard left, circling around, passing the parking test point into the opposite parking lot. She made another hard left and pulled back into position to try it all over again. I’ll call that her classic Circle 8 maneuver.

She tried again. Success! We didn’t climb the curb. We also didn’t parallel park. We ended up half in the parking place and half into the road.
“Damn it,” she mumbled and stepped onto the gas. Another classic Circle 8 maneuver.
The next time I talked and talked and talked her through the parking. We moved slowly an inch at a time. It was nearly a success. We did another circle 8 to reposition the car for another attempt.

By this time I was getting car sick with all the circle 8’s. We were into it 20 minutes and I had to get out or I’d loose my lunch, breakfast and supper from the night before. I got out of the car and stood beside the cones. I talked her through a half dozen attempts. She got the last one right! There were cheers. She was so proud of herself. She insisted she do it again. She got the next half dozen wrong. Her problem was she couldn’t see the cones very well. She also freaked out because the Lincoln had a backing up alarm. Every time she’d get close to the back cones the alarm rang sending her into shock. Thirty minutes into the practice she became desensitized to the alarm.

On the 19th attempt she successfully knocked over the back two cone pillars.
“Damn it,” she mumbled and sped off into another circle 8. On her next attempt she knocked over the front left set of cones. By then I’d had enough. I got in the drivers seat. She stood outside and I parallel parked the car several times so she could see how it was done. Half the time she seemed more interested in the cones than my demonstration. She thought they were lower than the last time she attempted to pass the driving test.

She got in again even more determined to succeed. I remained in the car and tried to teach her to focus more on the mirrors than cranking her head around so much.
“Mirrors! I can’t see the cones in the mirrors!” she shouted.
“Are you telling me that you can’t see the cones in this mirror?” I said pointing to the mirror on the outside of my door.
“Am I suppose to?” she asked. I heard a chuckle from the back seat. I turned, and for a brief thousandth of a second I thought I saw what appeared to be an angel. Her guardian angel. The one she says is there to help with her driving. It was all just too much. I moved the mirror until she saw the cones in their right position.
“Look at that, I can see the cones!” she said happily. After that, she parked nearly perfectly.
She had parallel parking mastered and it only took 90 minutes to do it!

On the way home she got a phone call from my father. I answered it fearing to let her talk on the phone and drive at the same time.
“How many cones did she know over?” he asked from work. My dad works at Walmart. He retired many years ago, has plenty of money but likes to work to keep busy.
“Ask her if she’s going to Walmart today,” he asked.
“If he needs me to go I will,” she replied. I passed the message back to dad.
“Tell her I need my three D’s” he responded. “Do you know what the three D’s are?” he asked.
“No,” I said, and in reality I didn’t care to know.
“Drink, dinner and dessert,” he said. I passed the information to mom and the call ended. I thought for a moment. That entire conversation seemed strange.
“Mom, Dad’s at work. He’s at WalMart. He’s asking you to drive to Walmart to pick up a drink, dinner and dessert. Why? He’s already there. Why doesn’t he do it himself?”
“He thinks it tastes better If I do it?” she answered as she cranked her head back and forth so much I didn’t need the window down for a breeze. Her head was fanning the air enough.

I was never so happy to get home in my life than I did last Sunday. The next day she went in and took her driving test. She passed!
“I passed,” she said when she got home.
“Any problems?” I asked.
“Nope. I got up and had a revelation. I realized the Lincoln was too big so your father and I rented a small compact car for the day and that's what I used for my driving test. I parked that small thing on the first try. Thanks for you help honey!”

"You're welcome. I'm glad you passed. I told you you could do it. I never lost faith," I lied while feeling peeved I spent all that time on Sunday trying to teach her to park that Titanic Lincoln. Now hopefully her license will be valid enough years so I can recover before it all has to be done over again.


Simply,
Victor

A Mystery Solved. Mary Queen of Scots our 1st Cousin (14 Times Removed).

Mary, Queen of Scots. Painted while in Prison

From the Fortress of Solitude
Overlooking the Pleasant Grove

Dispatch to the Clan,

A Mystery Solved,

Every since I was a child I remember Grandma Mattson telling me that we were related to Mary, Queen of Scots. She couldn’t say how, she just knew we were. Today, that mystery is solved. This old family memory, passed from generation to generation is true and today I will explain how.

Our story begins with our 14th Great Grandfather King James IV of Scotland. He fathered our 13th Great Grandmother, the Lady Margaret through his mistress Margaret Drummond. After Margaret died, James IV married the English Princess Maragret Tudor, the sister of the famous Henry VIII. They had a child named James, who later became King James V of Scotland. Therefore Kings James V of Scotland was our 1/2 14th Great Uncle so to speak. From this point on I’ll not use the term 1/2 now that you understand the relationship.

Mary at 13 years old

Mary, Queen of Scots was the daughter of our Great Uncle, James V of Scotland. Therefore, Mary was our 1st cousin 14 times removed. She became Queen of Scotland at the age of six days. She was crowned nine months later.

Mary and Francis

In 1558 she married Francis, the crown prince of France. She was not Queen of France for long. She was widowed in December 1560. Four years later she married her first cousin Henry Stuart. He was murdered by an explosion in 1567. After that she married James Hepburn, who is believed to be the murderer of her 2nd husband Henry Stuart.

Mary with her young son James VI

Mary was forced to abdicate the throne of Scotland in after an uprising. Her one year old son James VI became King of Scotland. After an unsuccessful attempt to regain the throne Mary fled to England to seek protection from her first cousin, Queen Elizabeth I (a distant cousin of ours) whose kingdom she hoped to inherit because, as we all know, Queen Elizabeth (daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Henry’s second wife who was later beheaded by Henry) never married and had no children.

Mry was arrested because of three plots to assassinate Elizabeth. Mary wanted to seize the throne of England and reestablish Catholicism as the religion of the land (remember, Henry VIII created the Church of England and turned England into a Protestant nation). Mary was tried and executed by beheading.

Contemporary sketch of the Execution

Her execution was a gruesome business. She spent the last hours of her life in prayer and also writing letters and her will. She expressed a request that her servants should be released. She also requested that she should be buried in France. The scaffold that was erected in the great hall was three feet tall and draped in black. It was reached by five steps and the only things on it were a disrobing stool, the block, a cushion for her to kneel on, and a bloody butcher's axe that had been previously used on animals. At her execution the executioners (one of whom was named Bull) knelt before her and asked forgiveness. According to a contemporary account, she replied "I forgive you with all my heart.” The executioners and her two servants helped remove a black outer gown, two petticoats, and her corset to reveal a deep red chemise—the liturgical color of martyrdom in the Catholic Church. As she disrobed she smiled faintly to the executioner and said, "Never have I had such assistants to disrobe me, and never have I put off my clothes before such a company." She was then blindfolded and knelt down on the cushion in front of the block. She positioned her head on the block and stretched her arms out behind her.

In Lady Antonia Fraser's biography, Mary Queen of Scots, the author writes that it took two strikes to decapitate Mary: The first blow missed her neck and struck the back of her head, at which point the Queen's lips moved. (Her servants reported they thought she had whispered the words "Sweet Jesus.") The second blow severed the neck, except for a small bit of sinew that the executioner severed by using the axe as a saw. Robert Wynkfield recorded a detailed account of the moments leading up to Mary's execution, also describing that it took two strikes to behead the Queen. Afterward, the executioner held her head aloft and declared, "God save the Queen." At that moment, the auburn tresses in his hand came apart and the head fell to the ground, revealing that Mary had had very short, grey hair.
It has been suggested that it took three strikes to decapitate Mary instead of two, a ritual devised to protract the suffering of the victim.

Mary's Tomb at Westminster Abbey in London

There are several stories told about the execution. One already mentioned and thought to be true is that, when the executioner picked up the severed head to show it to those present, it was discovered that Mary was wearing a wig. The headsman was left holding the wig, while the late queen's head rolled on the floor. Another well-known execution story related in Robert Wynkfield's first-hand account concerns a small dog owned by the queen, which is said to have been hiding among her skirts, unseen by the spectators. Her dress and layers of clothing were so immensely regal, it would have been easy for the tiny pet to have hidden there as she slowly made her way to the scaffold. Following the beheading, the dog refused to be parted from its owner and was covered in blood. It was finally taken away by her ladies-in-waiting and washed.

Simply,
Victor

Our 14th Great Grandmother, Margaret Drummond, Mistress to James IV. Murdered?

James IV King of Scotland. Our 14th Great Grandfather.
Grandma Mattson to her father and along the Pierce Line

A Dispatch from the Fortress of Solitude
To the Clan

Tonight I tell a tale of woe. It is the story of our 14th Great Grandmother Margaret Drummond. She was born in 1475 to John Drummond the 1st Lord Drummond. In 1495 Scotland’s King, James IV (our 14th Great Grandfather) beheld her beauty and sought a relationship. They fell in love. She became his mistress. The King was unmarried at the time. In 1496 she lived in the royal castle at Stirling. Together they had a child named Margaret Stewart, our 13th Great Grandmother.

It is widely believed that James IV secretly married Margaret. There are no pictures of Margaret.

Tragedy

Margaret died of food poisoning in 1501 along with her two sisters Eupheme and Sibylia while staying at their parents’ residence. Normally the fact that someone died of food poisoning during this time in history is common. Standards of food hygiene are unlikely to have been very good then, and cases of accidental food poisoning have happened in any period. However, with three people who presumably died shortly after eating the same meal, the claim of poisoning gains serious merit.

Murder Theories

It is suggested that our Great Grandmother was murdered either by English agents or pro-English elements in the Scottish nobility. If she was married to James IV then her death was necessary in order to allow, or force the King to marry the English princess Margaret Tudor (Henry VIII’s sister). The plaque on her grave in Dunblane Cathedral says she was “privately married” to the King and that she was murdered by Scottish nobles who supported the English marriage.

Dunblane Cathedral

The marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor brought about the Union of the English and Scottish Crowns 100 years later when their great grandson James VI claimed the English Throne upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I (daughter of Henry VIII).

If James IV and our great grandmother were married then the Union of Crowns might never have taken place and Scotland might have remained an independent country. Of course this is a theory. No one can be sure.

Serious historians doubt she was poisoned, believing the poisoning was an accident.

Our 13th Great Grandmother, Margaret Stewart, now without her mother, was raised at Edinburgh Castle as Lady Margaret. She was supported throughout her life by her father James IV.