all cars accounted for

We've been juggling cars for the past three weeks.  Katie was in a minor accident that did almost 2k worth of damage to the 2003 Buick Century.  An old gentleman crossed in front of her and decided to stop his SUV directly in front of her. It's a good thing a retired police officer saw the whole thing and pulled over to assist.  Drummond Auto Refinishing did a good job with the car.  It looks to be in better condition than it did when Mrs. Hale signed the car over to us for Katie to drive.

During the same time, Gina's car started making a terrible racket.  Eddie Floyd took her 2002 Buick Century into his care and replaced the entire air conditioning system.  It was expensive, but we we're not in the place right now to get a new car.  I am at a crossroads with this one.  How much is too much to keep pouring into this particular vehicle.  We replaced the radiator a few months ago.  Like all our cars past and present, we drive them until the wheels fall off.  We've put a lot of money into this Buick since we bought it from her dad about three years ago.  Maybe we've come to a place where we'll get ten years use out of it without having to repair something expensive.

I pulled the 1973 Super Beetle out of the shop after I had new struts installed just in time to be without our two Buicks.  Katie had classes, so she took off with my 2005 Malibu for those weeks without her car.  Katie or I would take turns taking Gina to work  and from on weekdays.  Sometimes Gina would drive off with the bug and leave me stranded.  I've had plenty of work to do around the house so those days I didn't mind being stranded.  Most of the time Gina would be happy with a ride to and from work.

The Malibu held up nicely.  I did have to replace the battery, but it was still under the one year warranty from O'Reilly Auto Parts.  I got a new one for free.  This was nice to hear because all the parts and repairs as of late have left us strapped. 

Even though we've been without, we had what we needed.  It's nice to have the Finlayson family fleet up and running.  Though it cost a pretty penny, God provided. 

the yellow betty

The Yellow Betty in Betty Hale's driveway in Glencoe, AL in 2010.

My mother in-law, Betty Hale, passed away early in December.  She had given me her 73 Super Beetle about seven years ago, having said that I would appreciate and take good care of it.  I have and I will.  The day of the funeral services I was to meet the rest of my family at Crestwood.  I felt it fitting to drive her old bug there. 

Unbeknownst to me, Gina after finding out I brought the bug, arranged that we lead the procession on into the cemetery.  The car hadn't given me a lick of trouble going, but it started making strange noises as we made our way up the winding road behind the hearse.  It felt as if the bottom had fallen out of the car, dragging something loud over the dirt road.

I had the feeling that the car was ready to give up the ghost and wanting to be buried next to her old owner.  Strange timing.  Everyone was looking at each other in the car and I said a quick prayer for the VW to at least make it to the plot before falling apart.

After the graveside services, I looked under the car to see what was dragging.  Nothing.  The car started up, and I didn't want to take any chances with it.  We drove straight to Floyd's VW in Glencoe and dropped it off. 

Life got kind of hectic after Mrs. Hale's funeral.  We didn't need the car right away, so we just left it over there.  I figured Eddie would call me to get it out of his way when he could get around to fixing it.  I didn't pick it up until Wednesday.

As a Christmas present my sister Cindy gave me a new headliner for the beetle.  Unbeknownst to me, Gina paid Eddie to install it while he had the car.  Christmas came and went and I had no idea what awaited me.  When I finally got to see the car, Eddie told me that he had to use two headliners - both made in China and packaged FOLDED!  He tried ironing the first one out, but it was a no go.  It seems like those kind of items need to be packaged ROLLED instead of folded.  Oh well.  Eddie got the second one in and took the first headliner and custom covered the rear compartment.  He also used some insulation to baffle the engine noise.  I was really impressed that he took the extra effort to fix that back area for me - he was under no obligation to do so.

During Christmas of 2012, my sister had also given me a new front bumper to replace the old rusty one.  Eddie put the new bumper on the car too - attaching the rubber off the old bumper onto the new one.  The car looks so much better. 

I drove the car home, first time to drive it since the funeral, feeling like my car has a new life of sorts.  I told Betty a few years ago that I was going to slowly but surely restore her old car.  I doubt if it will ever be like new, but it's going to improve with age as time goes by.  Since she's gone, I can't help but think of her every time I scoot about town in it.

She drove that car around for over three decades, babying, pampering her car.  It was her prized possession.  Mrs. Hale once told me that the car represented freedom to her. She purchased it with her own money, meaning she could go when and where ever she pleased in life.  Anyone who knew Betty associate her with that little VW of hers.

I was once standing in line at Popeye's on East Meighan and a stranger came up behind me and asked if that was Betty Hale's VW.  I told him that it had been and that she passed it down to me.  I asked him how he knew that particular yellow bug had been hers.  He looked outside at the car in the parking lot and said "I'd know that car anywhere...never thought she'd ever sell it."  He said that he had tried to buy it from her on several occasions in the past.  Betty wouldn't part with it for any dollar amount. 

Mrs. Hale got to a place about eight years ago that she needed more dependable transportation as she got older, something automatic, a car with air conditioning.  She couldn't keep up with two cars and so she passed the bug onto me. 

I asked Gina why she didn't want to drive it much.  She only drives it when her car is in the shop and there's nothing else to drive.  She said she did when she was younger, but didn't care for the extra task of driving a straight.  She says The Yellow Betty smells like gas - even though I had the fuel lines replaced several years ago.  She says when she's in the car, she smells gas for the rest of the day. 

I don't mind it.  Maybe I'm just used to the smell of the old VW.  I don't mind driving straight shift, it's fun. 

spaghetti night now and then

Last night was leftover night because I had too much running around to do.  I didn't have time to cook like I usually do.  It's a good thing I had made spaghetti a few nights earlier.  It's a good thing my family loves spaghetti.  They mind having a spaghetti repeat a few nights later.  I had to make more noodles and toast some garlic bread.  I added a little more spice to the sauce because sauce has a tendency to mellow after refrigeration.  It didn't take long and seemed better than it had been on Tuesday night.

While setting the table, before calling them in, I thought of candles.  I didn't set candles, but I thought of them and smiled.  Why did I think of candles?  EVERY TIME mom served spaghetti to the FInlayson family growing up, there were candles on the table.  The table would be set with a table cloth and candles burning.  It always made spaghetti night special to me as a kid, all eight of us eating our spaghetti dinner in the dark, to the light of the flickering candles.

I wish though that I had a picture of the man on the ceiling. There's no way I can describe him for you.  Every time the candles were burning beneath the old lamp fixture, there would be a shadow cast upon the ceiling over our heads that resembled a huge smiling face.  It was an unusual of old hanging fixture in the kitchen.  I haven't seen one like it before or since.   Ours was a mere happenstance that a candle lit beneath beneath would cause such a funny looking fellow up there.  It did every time. 

So I reheated the spaghetti last night thinking of spaghetti nights of my youth.  Thinking of the old vinegar bottles covered with colorful candle wax that I had not thought of in years. Thinking of all my siblings eating our spaghetti, while giggling at the big happy shadow on the ceiling smiling down at us. 

discriminate movie goer

I used to go to the movies all the time.  Going to the picture show has become so expensive these days that I just don't go to ANY new release.  I do a little online research to see if the movie of interest may not be worth going to see.  I end up not going more than going.

This weekend I noticed that the new RoboCop movie had just been released.  I mentioned to Gina that I had been wanting to see it, but wanted to see some reviews first.  She later asked me if we were going and I told her that we can wait until it's on Red Box or Netflix.

I'm tired of paying premium price for mediocrity.  Even though I try to check out movies before going I still get burned every now and then.  The last recent burn was The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.  It received great reviews and a movie that I had been looking forward to seeing.

I also abstain from movies with a left wing political agenda.  I like Russell Crowe, but will skip seeing him play Noah.  Early script reveals  God punishing man with a flood because of their lack of respect for the environment.  Hollywood's Noah might be politically correct, but not Biblically correct.  I'll pass watching this one from Redbox or Netflix.
“It’s about environmental apocalypse which is the biggest theme, for me, right now for what’s going on on this planet. So I think it’s got these big, big themes that connect with us. Noah was the first environmentalist.” 
–Darren Aronofsky (Director)

To be frank, I am tired of Hollywood.  The sad thing is, I really enjoy film. I was once an avid movie goer.  I find watching old classics more entertaining than paying to see newly released super-hyped schlock.

what if

hell was not made for man
but to hell many have gone and will
man's flesh temporary
a man's soul eternal
with only two places for a soul to go
only one narrow road
where a small gate awaits

there are those who say
God is too loving too good
to damn a single sinner
but it is man
always man
that chooses his path
the way each man wills to go

sin will be paid for one way or the other
for the wages of sin is always death

there is simply no room no place

for the rebellious Godlessness unbelieving ones
in the presence of the holy God

there is no tolerance
no more grace
for those who refused denied rejected
 a great love and adoption
so freely and often offered

and so comes the second death

hell was not made for man
but many have gone and will

even if God so loving so good
made a third world for those to go

what if
God created a third world

for all who in life rejected salvation
the true and only one and way
what if
God had created a third world
for the fallen unbelieving
what if
another world made
where there is eternal separation
a world made for the unrepentant man
without his divine presence protection and light

that world too
would be
just another hell


The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.

-Psalm 9:17-

“There are only two kinds of people in the end:
those who say to God, “thy will be done,”
and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.”
-C.S. Lewis-
The Great Divorce

no other like my grandmother

This is my maternal grandmother Irene Quine Covington (1902 - 1988) with her little brother Charles Preston Covington (1905-1977).  I wasn't around my grandmother Irene Davidson much  while growing up because she lived in California.  I did get to know her as she started visiting Gadsden, AL and eventually moved here after grandfather Fred Davidson's death in 1981.

Most of my mother's siblings, with the exception of aunt Ina Davidson Chunn and my uncle Buster Davidson had migrated West before I was born.  I only remember seeing my grandfather two times in my lifetime.  It was great finally getting to know my grandmother when she lived here.

She was an unusual person who spoke her mind and spoke it loud.  When she was quiet, she seemed to be going deep into memories she kept to herself.  She was a helluva cook.  Whenever she performed her magic in the kitchen, friends tried their darndest to get themselves invited over for supper.  It took some time for her to warm up to me but when she did, I could get her to laughing with little effort.   In a way she was a stranger in our midst.  She was kinfolk and it only took a little time to adjust and get to know one another.

It didn't take long.  Her love was unique and genuine.  I'd kiss her on her cheek and she'd smile with  tears welling in her eyes.  I didn't hear her say "I love you", but it was written all over her face.  She didn't have to.

Fred and Irene Davidson

the singing lieutenant commander

Click image to see large version.

By 1947 Lt Commander Patillo Ainsworth Finlayson (Uncle Pat) was back in the states.  He was relocated to the Orlando Air Force Base and served as Information Officer.  He remained in the Navy until he saw a posting for a job as historian for Warner Robbins AFB.  He remained at Warner Robbins until his retirement in the 1980's.  I'll nail down the exact dates of his time there ~ in time.

This is a great photo. Pat loved to sing.  He sang in the church choirs all his life.  Among his belongings are church bulletins and programs of the many places and events he performed.  He had a grand voice.  All I have to do is think about Uncle Pat and I can clearly hear him singing in my mind.  If you knew him, you can too!

Sister Ship LST-314

LST - 314 was laid down on 7 September 1942 at the New York Navy Yard; launched on 30 December 1942; sponsored by Mrs. Gertrude F. Holmes; and commissioned on 15 January 1943. During World War 11, LST-314 was assigned to the European theater and participated in the following operations: Sicilian occupation-July 1943 Salerno landings-September 1943 Invasion of Normandy-June 1944 The tank landing ship was sunk by an enemy torpedo off Normandy on 9 June 1944. On 22 August 1944, she was struck from the Navy list. LST-314 earned three battle stars for World War II service.

the captured aviator

The last time I spoke in person with my uncle Pat, he asked if I could find anything about the aviator that was once transported aboard the USS LST-312.  I was able to find his name but Pat had passed away by then.  I was soon contacted by his granddaughter because of a previous post about the incident.  Pat always wondered what happened to that Luftwaffe airman. He would have been delighted to have known his name.

While aboard the 312 the prisoner, the crew were not allowed to speak to prisoners.  Pat said the prisoner was always escorted by two guards, each with a 45. Pat did say that he briefly went back and forth with the prisoner over the Joe Louis and Max Schmelling fight.  Pat always got a kick repeating the story.
 
I looked at him, and surprisingly he said, in his German accent "Max Schmelling - 12 ROUNDS!" Our guards and myself quickly shouted..."Joe Louis -1ROUND!"  -Pat
 
Nadine Goldenbaum, Hermann's granddaughter, wrote me and reminded me that I had mentioned I had a picture of him somewhere.  I went to digging and found the photo to scan and share with Nadine and you.  I also enlarged Hermann Goldenbaum's face so we can all get a good look at him.  Forgive me Nadine for taking so long to get back with you.

Though I couldn't identify the captured aviator for Pat Finlayson in time, perchance they've already met on the other side.

Hermann Goldenbaum

USS LST-312 Ship's Log Excerpt / June 10, 1944

0105, air raid, what a barrage.  Wouldn't think anything would get through.  One plane down. 0430, air raid.  1015, American SC came alongside with orders to beach at 1600.  Two LSTs were sunk on the way over yesterday.  One was our sister-ship, the 314.  With the 313 getting it at Gela, that leaves just two of us, the 311 along the shore.  Two were sunk.  1430, moved in closer to the beach.  Brought German pilot onboard who was shot down last night.  1815, unloading.  Vandagriff and Purdy went on the beach.  Fox holes and gun-nest reported on the beach with tunnels all over the place.  This is reported to be the worst beachhead of all.  French people don't seem to be too happy at having us here, but that's tough shit.  We have orders to take no prisoners.  They weren't taking too many anyway. 2050, unloaded, tide coming up.

British LCT trying to beach, but can't get in close enough.  Even so they are pushing the American troops off anyway.  Tide rising like crazy, trucks stalling and half covered already, troops yelling for help and trying to get ashore.  Some drowning, can't get help to them fast enough.  They are afraid of an air-raid and want to beat if off the beach.  About 20 vehicles lost, don't know how many men.  2305, air-raid.  Had warning of heavy aircraft concentration today on the radio, maybe it's true.

Log entry of Richard (Dick) B. Hudson SM3/c
from 'Sentimental Journey of the USS LST-312' by David B. Finlayson 2011

fading letters

Receiving letters from loved ones is quickly becoming a bygone practice.  I enjoy social media just as much as the next guy, if not more, but I miss letters.  I still write letters to my cousin Beverly in Columbia, SC and my sister Jennie who lives in Rock Hill.  Now Beverly isn't online but Jennie is. Even though Jennie is on facebook and has an email address, I often prefer just going the snail route and put ink to paper.

I enjoy composing the letter, sticking it in an envelope, sticking a stamp on it, then take a walk to the mailbox.  I enjoy receiving letters too.  The majority of letters I get these days are junk mail and bills.  One of these days we won't need mailboxes at all.  Our grandchildren will look at an old picture and ask, "Grandaddy, what's that in your front yard?"  "That's a mail box, back before computers we had mailmen who picked up and delivered mail."  Yes, one of these days we'll more than likely have to explain the abandoned practice to a generation who never wrote or received a letter in the mail.

I have filed away a thick accordion folder filled with letters from family and friends that I've saved down through the decades.  Each are a window into my past, into my family's past.  I have a letter my dad wrote me while I was studying art in Atlanta back in 1985.  I have a stack of letters mom wrote me from '90 through '96 while Gina and I were living in Kentucky.  During that same time my brother and I wrote back and forth a good bit.  I have lots of precious letters from aunts and uncles who are now deceased.  I treasure all these old letters.  It's kind of sad to think that my children and their children will not have this experience.  They will not have such precious artifacts as old letter from loved ones.  They might have emails but hard drives die and digital information will be lost if hard copies are not made.  Messages, comments, texts - all data lost.

People don't write letters like they used to.  Good penmanship is a dying art because we are writing less and less.   So much is lost and so much will be a thing of the past.  I don't have to write letters, there are quicker cheaper means to tell people how we're doing and what's going on - quicker ways to tell someone that we love them.  I am finding myself writing letters for the enjoyment of it.  Maybe those letters I've written will be kept in a special keepsake place to draw from in years to come.   Maybe they'll pull a letter out every now and then when I am gone and remember our relationship and that I loved them.

Write soon.