September 30, 2011
World War II Letters: Present to a Sweetheart
September 29, 2011
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you this fine winter day? I sure hope you are all right. I got back OK and everything is going nice here now. I sure had a wonderful time while I was home and I sure hated to come back here. Dad, I didn’t realize you worked 4 to 12 Sunday and I’m awfully sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye.
Well the weather here was swell when I came back but yesterday it turned cold and now everything is frozen again. I hope they have arm weather down her in the summer time. This morning we fell out and were carrying lumber for board walks and we almost froze to death. About 9:30, sergeant Smith called me in the office and told me from now on, for the next four weeks I am to report to the gym at 9:00 in the morning until noon, and I asked him why and he said a lieutenant from the base was holding a class teaching jiu jitsu and there was supposed to be one man from each company there. Then when the course is over, we are supposed to be instructors in judo in our respective companies. I’m really enthused because I knew some of it and this lieutenant is a judo artist, so when he teaches us we’ll know the stuff pretty well. He taught us wrist locks and how to break bear hugs today. In a course of four weeks we should know plenty because we go up there every morning six days a week, and that would be 24 lessons. I am supposed to get gym shoes and trunks now so when these guys pay me, I’m going to town and get some.
How is everyone else there at home? Tell them I said “hi” and to write to me. I’ll close for now, hoping to hear from you soon. I’ve quit writing this letter four times to play ping-pong, so if i is hard to read, you know why. Bye for now.
Talk of Marriage, a World War II Letter from Elwood Bolinger to his Parents
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| John's Parents Bonnie and Elwood, during World War II, not yet married! |
Feb. 17, 1943
Dear Mom and Dad,
How are you? How is everyone else there in the little towns of Highland, Griffith, Gary, & Hessville? I am just fine. My cold is gone and I am all settled in my new company. I’m getting used to these guys now and they seem like a pretty good bunch of men. We are doing the same thing in the company as we were in the 1801st. I am even working with the same guys over at the garage that I worked with before. We went to work this morning, but this afternoon we stayed here for driving instructions and practice. We kept taking turns driving a truck around over the field. Some fun! I received three letters from Bonnie today so I am very happy with army life. The only thing is that I haven’t received any from you or Eddie, or Jesse, or Vi. Tell them I want them to write and if they don’t, I’m going to flip my lid. Boy, I just got a laugh. De Grazio was restricted to camp for a week, and he was just now playing ping pong with the 1st sergeant. He thought he was getting good so he says, “Sergeant, I’ll play you a game of ping pong for my restriction. If I win, you forget about keeping me here and if I lose, you restrict me another week, only you have to spot me ten points,” so the sergeant says, “ I’ll give you a better chance, I’ll spot you eighteen points.” They played the game and De Grazio won, so he left with a big grin on his face. After he left, the sergeant told us he was going to lift De Grazio’s restriction tomorrow anyway. There isn’t a better 1st sergeant in the army than him. He was my 1st sgt in the 1801st but he isn’t now that I was transferred. Did I tell you I have a steel bed now? Well I have. No more army “cots” for me (for a while anyway). I’m resting better now than I was before too.
Mom & Dad, I have some good news for you. Bonnie & I are going to try to be married this summer. Isn’t that swell? I’m about the happiest guy in the world right now. I called her last night and it sure seemed good to hear her voice again. I haven’t been gone very long but it sees like a long time to me. Oh yes, I took that ticket to the train depot here in Battle Creek, and Ill bet you’ll never guess how much of a refund I got on it. I got exactly 13cants, and it cost me 20 cents to ride the bus in town and back to get it. I was so mad, I couldn’t see straight. Well, did the battery charge up in the Chev, or was it ruined? By the way, next payday, I’m going to send you $10 for my 1943 license plate. I’m sorry I couldn’t get it while I was there, but it is a good thing I didn’t. Well, I’ll close for now, but I’ll write again soon. By for now.
(I hope you are as happy over Bonnie’s & my hopes as we are. Bonnie & I have been praying for three years now that we could be married. I only hope our prayers will be answered. So long.
A 1943 Letter from John's Dad, Written in the USO
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| Bowling Alley, c 1940s |
1/17/1943 Battle Creek, Mich.
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? How is everyone there at the GREAT towns of Highland & Griffith and Hessville? I’m writing this in the USO and I have no pencil so you probably won’t be able to read this. I never could write with a pen. Dad, I received your letter and I really was glad to hear from you. I'm glad you are off the night shift for a while. By the way, you know every time I come home, you are working 4-12. Well, this time we will be able to put it over on the Inland Steel Co. You can’t be on nights more than 5 or 6 days and I’ll be home then, so maybe I’ll get to see you this time. Are you going to go bowling with us? I sure hope you will. The last time I was home, Bonnie & I planned on going bowling with the gang and it sure would be nice if you could be there with us. Say, you said in your letter that you have the office of Senior Warden. I don’t know much about those different offices, but I do know that it is something to be proud of. “Congratulations.” I’ll bet you have plenty of work to do now, don’t you?
Well, Mom, how is the bowling scores now? I imagine they re going up. (They better be or I’ll catch up to you and beat you! (Yes, Lord, if I get 45 I’ll be lucky, and there you are over the 100 mark).
I was supposed to meet Ray Canarrse here at 6:00 and he hasn’t showed up yet. They are going to eat pretty soon so he better hurry.
Well, this is the only piece of paper they have left like this, so I’ll close before I run out, OK? Tell Bonnie I said “hi” when you see her or talk to her. When I write to her I’ll tell her to tell you I said “hi” OK? (O.K.)
Bye for now, and I hope to see you in 16 days.
September 28, 2011
World War II Letters: "I'll Be Seeing You"
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| World War II Army Barracks Photo |
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
"I'll Be Seeing You"
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through
In that small café, the park across the way
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
------ instrumental break ------
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through
In that small café, the park across the way
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
------ instrumental break ------
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
World War II Letters: Some Bonnie Bolinger Photos
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| Add caption |
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| The day after this photo of my brother David, my mom and me, I would be diagnosed with Scarlet Fever and be confined to my room for several weeks. |
PARENTHETICAL NOTES ABOUT MY MOTHER
My blog is being devoted for a while to my dad for his service during WWII, but he and Mom were a team until he died in October of 1986. In public Mom was always on Dad’s arm, because he was always there to steady her walk. I can’t honor him without remembering and honoring her as well. It would be like having the pepper shaker without the salt.
I remember my mother being a woman of dazzling beauty, not from make-up, but from naturally flawless complexion, radiant eyes, perfect figure, and beautiful taste in clothing that suited her to perfection, clothing that she always managed to find at bargain prices. She never worked at being lovely. That’s just the way it was. In elementary school I was always proud when Mom came to school as room mother or to participate in some other classroom activity. From the first grade on, kids in my classes would always comment, “Gee, your mom is so pretty.” And she was a sweet as she was beautiful. She was a super housewife, who kept an immaculate house (a miracle when considering us three kids), and nursed us all back to health from our bouts with mumps, measles, chicken Pox, flu, and myriad other illnesses. The day after the photo from 1952 of Mother, David and me, I was diagnosed with Scarlet Fever and was confined to my room for several weeks. Mom nursed me back to health even from that.
When I was twelve years old, Mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor on the left side, the largest tumor at that time that Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota had ever removed from a patient. Her surgeon, Dr. Bernardi, said that she would probably have a year to live. She was partly paralyzed on her right side, blind in her right eye, and deaf in her right ear for the rest of her life. She outlived her surgeons and died fifty years later in 2008. She walked with a cane for most of those fifty years, kept house, did gardening, attended church, and continued to live life with strong determination that she could do everything she needed to do with Dad to raise her family, just at a slower pace. I’ll include more photos of Mom before and after her life-altering surgery. She was a remarkable woman for any era.
--John Bolinger
September 27, 2011
4 Letters from John Bolinger's Dad to his Parents, from Patterson Army Air Base, 1942
In this letter Dad asks about his twin brother Eddie and Eddie's wife Marge, and older brother Jesse and Jesse's wife Bee. Vi (Violet) was their younger sister. Even simple things like a pack of cigarettes or a candy bar was a luxury for most soldiers, But Grandma and Grandpa Bolinger tried hard to send whatever they could to make life a little easier for their son Elwood (my dad). I'll include a photo of Bonnie (my mom) with Aunt Marge at the beach in 1944 and a photo of Dad and two of his army buddies. Dad is on the right. Uncle Eddie was serving in the United States Navy while Dad was in the army.
Oct. 19, 1942
Oct. 19, 1942
Army Air Base
Patterson Field
Fairfield, Ohio
Dear Mom and Dad,
I received those Camels and I sure do appreciate them. I was about out and had no more money for any. I signed the pay roll today, so I guess I’ll get paid the 30th.
How are you today? I just wrote to you yesterday, but I want to write another letter. It will be a short one, as I am almost out of words already. I got a letter from Eddie & Marge, and one from Jesse & Bee today. I sure was glad to hear from them. Tell Vi to write again soon. I may write to her this evening, but I’m not sure. I have to study my handbook as we are going to have a test on the first 3 chapters and everyone who doesn’t pass gets K.P., and I sure don’t want any more than my share of that.
Oh yes, a plane crashed here this morning while it was coming in for a landing. It was coming in swell and all of a sudden it just nosed right down. It didn’t burn and the mend weren’t hurt, so it ws OK. They were shaken up though.
I signed the payroll today so I guess I’ll be able to look forward to a guitar.
Say, Mom, could I ask a favor of you? Could you send me a couple of pairs of shorts and 2 shirts and some Lux? I hate to ask you to do that but I can’t wear thee G.I. shorts any longer. I’m 28 in the waist and these are 40. I was going to send them to Pop but I find I’ll have to keep them for inspection.
The sergeant came through here this morning after we were called and took the names of all the men who weren’t up. Every one of them has K.P tomorrow. Nice, huh? I was up but it’s a wonder.
Well I guess I’ll have to close for now but I hope there is a letter on the way for me. I sure miss you.
Lots of love,
Elwood
Bye for now.
I’ll write again soon.
***************************
Things in those days weren't "cool." They were "swell." Judging by the movies of that era I can see that the term was VERY popular. "Gee, things were swell."
Dad wrote this on his 21st birthday. I'm including a photo of Mom with Dad's friend Hyram from 1943, and two photos of Mom that I believe were instrumental in Dad's proposing to her later in 1944. JB
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in the past few days, but I’ll try to write at least every other day now, OK?
Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time to see you before you went to the lodge. Bonnie got out of the store a little late and that was why we didn’t get there on time. We had to stop at her house for just a minute, and then we came on home.
I sure had a swell time while I was home. I wanted to be home for Thanksgiving so bad, and was sure happy when i got to come. Now all I have to do is worry about X-mas. If I get home then, I could never ask for anything more.
How is everything? Just fine, I hope. Did Uncle John get to go home yet?
Well, I didn’t get paid today. When I went in after my money, I found out I was red-lined. By that I mean I won’t get my money for at least ten days and maybe not until the 17th or 18th. Some fun, huh? I forgot to put my middle initial in my signature when I signed the payroll.
We had an accident here about 4:30 this afternoon. A plane crashed on the field. It nosed into the ground while landing. The pilot was shaken up a little, but otherwise OK. I have had it pretty easy for the past day and a half. I haven’t been on guard duty but I may be tomorrow. I don’t know yet.
The records in the office were all mixed up, so they called us in to be interviewed so they could reclassify us. I was hoping I would get out of this guard squadron but when I got in there, what should they want me to do but go into supply. They saw on my record that I had two years in parts. I told them I wanted engine repair, so I don’t know how I’ll come out. I suppose in the end, I’ll be in the supply station, because they have enough mechanics.
Tell Jesse & Bee and Eddie & Marge I said “Hello,” will you? I’ll have to close for now but I sure hope I get a letter from you tomorrow. Bye for now.
With love,
Elwood
P.S. I sure do think the world of this little pocket testament. I’ve started to read it, and I’m going to read it from cover to cover. Thanks a million.
Bye now.
******************************
Messages may have been simple and mundane, but they were so important as connections to those loved at home. No one Tweeted then, and telegrams were horribly expensive. Holding a letter from home and reading it again and again, even keeping it under one's pillow, was vastly important to the soldiers. I imagine in that respect things haven't changed for our boys in Iraq, Afghanistan, and anywhere else in the world they may be stationed today. The difference is that often a text message or Tweet, or e-mail may be lost. Snail-mail letters of that era from the 1940's can still be read seventy years later as a very personal record of the wider context of war. The mere feeling of touching them again all those years later cannot easily be described. My father died October 20, 1986, and having his letters from when he was in his twenties means everything today. JB
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? I’m just dandy. We have been working longer hours, but they are making us drill two hours a day now, and we can really feel it. We are all feeling a little better. We are still in school and will be for a few weeks yet. The things they are on are still the simple things in the basic work of an army vehicle, and some of us know that stuff, so we get to fool around a little just like we used to do in high school. I really like it.
Well, enough about us, how is everything there at home? Why am I not receiving mail from Eddie & Marge, and Jesse & Bee, and Vi? Tell them when you see them that when I come home, “I’m going to turn them every way but loose.”
Dad, have you been able to stay away from a cold? I imagine pretty near everyone has one because of the weather. I hear you got a “C” gas rationing card and I sure was glad to hear that. Now you will be able to continue your work and your duties in the lodge and not have to worry about when you can be there next. Say, Dad, that reminds me, The Masonic Temple here in Battle Creek have put aside two nights a week for us fellows to come into their bowling alleys and use them for recreation for ourselves. they are letting us use them free of charge. I don’t believe anything ever satisfied this bunch quite so much as this has. We are going to get up a team and challenge the 1800th Ordinance. Our commanding officer has also arranged for us to use a swimming pool every Tuesday evening. Isn’t that swell?
Well, I’m sorry this isn’t a very long letter, but I’m running out of words. I’ve been telling you I would write you a long letter, and one of these days I will. Bye for now.
Your loving son,
Elwood
(Thanks again for that money and those cigarettes. They sure helped a lot.
Tell Bonnie I said “Hi.”
************************
In this letter my father reveals himself to have been more of a prankster than I ever imagined he could be. He also gives some description of the barracks itself.
Battle Creek, Mich.
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? Just fine, thanks. Well, here I am in the little old green barracks sitting on my (concrete) bunk writing. Things are pretty dreary here today because everyone is in town. I would like to have gone, but as you know, I was confined to the area for three days. (I’ll learn to straighten my bunk someday maybe). I’ve had quite a lot of fun right here at the barracks these last 3 days. Last night we folded up the corporal’s cot while he was in town. we weren’t satisfied with that, so we put his mattress on the rafters like they did that bunk last week (remember?). He was so mad when he came in that he tried to make us get up and scrub the barracks. We didn’t do it, because he couldn’t prove who the ones were that had done it. There were five of us that actually did the work, but the rest of the guys that were here supervised the job. then on the third bunk from mine, we had one of his covers and wet the ropes on his barrack bags and used them to tie his bed roll fast to the head of his bed. By the bed roll I mean his comforter, because we have to roll it up and put it on the foot of the bed. When he came in, he cussed like a trooper. I’m going to be afraid to leave my bunk the next time i go to town. I’ll be back in a minute. I have to go to chow.
I’m back and the food was terrible. They don’t have a good meal on Sunday evenings, because there are so many men gone.
say, I have some good news for you. Do you remember I told you I was getting a 7-day furlough? Well, I’m getting ten days. We have figured it to start Feb. 2. Of course, that may be wrong, but I believe that is when it will start. Gee whiz, just think, me being home for 10 days. Nobody will get any rest will they? (I won’t stay out so late, because I’ll have more time, OK?)
Well Dad, this ding busted watch stopped the other day. I didn’t drop it. It just quit running. I’m going to bring it home and leave it there, then I know it won’t get wrecked. Maybe I jarred it playing the games here at camp. I don’t know. It only runs when I do.
How is everything there at home? I sure hope everything is all right. I sure wish I were there with you again like we used to be. Boy I sure used to be a heck of a guy to keep track of, wasn’t I?
We are finally going to go through the gas chamber tomorrow afternoon. It is a big chamber filled with tear gas. You go in it with your gas mask on and after you have been in ti for a while, you take your mask off. They do that to show you that your mask will protect you. I hear that when you take your mask off, you really make tracks to get out of there (no doubt).
I had my overcoat and the coat to my uniform cleaned and pressed, and I also had my trousers and shirt cleaned and pressed. They sure look swell. Now I’m going to have my trousers taken in at the waist, then my whole outfit will be OK.
Well, I guess I’ll close for now but I hope you write to me soon. Bye for now and be careful.
Your loving son,
Elwood
I’m going to write to Jesse and Bee and Eddie & Marge today.
I’m getting old in this outfit. I’m even beginning to smoke a pipe. Write soon.
******************************
Dear Mom and Dad,
I received those Camels and I sure do appreciate them. I was about out and had no more money for any. I signed the pay roll today, so I guess I’ll get paid the 30th.
How are you today? I just wrote to you yesterday, but I want to write another letter. It will be a short one, as I am almost out of words already. I got a letter from Eddie & Marge, and one from Jesse & Bee today. I sure was glad to hear from them. Tell Vi to write again soon. I may write to her this evening, but I’m not sure. I have to study my handbook as we are going to have a test on the first 3 chapters and everyone who doesn’t pass gets K.P., and I sure don’t want any more than my share of that.
Oh yes, a plane crashed here this morning while it was coming in for a landing. It was coming in swell and all of a sudden it just nosed right down. It didn’t burn and the mend weren’t hurt, so it ws OK. They were shaken up though.
I signed the payroll today so I guess I’ll be able to look forward to a guitar.
Say, Mom, could I ask a favor of you? Could you send me a couple of pairs of shorts and 2 shirts and some Lux? I hate to ask you to do that but I can’t wear thee G.I. shorts any longer. I’m 28 in the waist and these are 40. I was going to send them to Pop but I find I’ll have to keep them for inspection.
The sergeant came through here this morning after we were called and took the names of all the men who weren’t up. Every one of them has K.P tomorrow. Nice, huh? I was up but it’s a wonder.
Well I guess I’ll have to close for now but I hope there is a letter on the way for me. I sure miss you.
Lots of love,
Elwood
Bye for now.
I’ll write again soon.
***************************
Things in those days weren't "cool." They were "swell." Judging by the movies of that era I can see that the term was VERY popular. "Gee, things were swell."
Dad wrote this on his 21st birthday. I'm including a photo of Mom with Dad's friend Hyram from 1943, and two photos of Mom that I believe were instrumental in Dad's proposing to her later in 1944. JB
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in the past few days, but I’ll try to write at least every other day now, OK?
Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time to see you before you went to the lodge. Bonnie got out of the store a little late and that was why we didn’t get there on time. We had to stop at her house for just a minute, and then we came on home.
I sure had a swell time while I was home. I wanted to be home for Thanksgiving so bad, and was sure happy when i got to come. Now all I have to do is worry about X-mas. If I get home then, I could never ask for anything more.
How is everything? Just fine, I hope. Did Uncle John get to go home yet?
Well, I didn’t get paid today. When I went in after my money, I found out I was red-lined. By that I mean I won’t get my money for at least ten days and maybe not until the 17th or 18th. Some fun, huh? I forgot to put my middle initial in my signature when I signed the payroll.
We had an accident here about 4:30 this afternoon. A plane crashed on the field. It nosed into the ground while landing. The pilot was shaken up a little, but otherwise OK. I have had it pretty easy for the past day and a half. I haven’t been on guard duty but I may be tomorrow. I don’t know yet.
The records in the office were all mixed up, so they called us in to be interviewed so they could reclassify us. I was hoping I would get out of this guard squadron but when I got in there, what should they want me to do but go into supply. They saw on my record that I had two years in parts. I told them I wanted engine repair, so I don’t know how I’ll come out. I suppose in the end, I’ll be in the supply station, because they have enough mechanics.
Tell Jesse & Bee and Eddie & Marge I said “Hello,” will you? I’ll have to close for now but I sure hope I get a letter from you tomorrow. Bye for now.
With love,
Elwood
P.S. I sure do think the world of this little pocket testament. I’ve started to read it, and I’m going to read it from cover to cover. Thanks a million.
Bye now.
******************************
Messages may have been simple and mundane, but they were so important as connections to those loved at home. No one Tweeted then, and telegrams were horribly expensive. Holding a letter from home and reading it again and again, even keeping it under one's pillow, was vastly important to the soldiers. I imagine in that respect things haven't changed for our boys in Iraq, Afghanistan, and anywhere else in the world they may be stationed today. The difference is that often a text message or Tweet, or e-mail may be lost. Snail-mail letters of that era from the 1940's can still be read seventy years later as a very personal record of the wider context of war. The mere feeling of touching them again all those years later cannot easily be described. My father died October 20, 1986, and having his letters from when he was in his twenties means everything today. JB
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? I’m just dandy. We have been working longer hours, but they are making us drill two hours a day now, and we can really feel it. We are all feeling a little better. We are still in school and will be for a few weeks yet. The things they are on are still the simple things in the basic work of an army vehicle, and some of us know that stuff, so we get to fool around a little just like we used to do in high school. I really like it.
Well, enough about us, how is everything there at home? Why am I not receiving mail from Eddie & Marge, and Jesse & Bee, and Vi? Tell them when you see them that when I come home, “I’m going to turn them every way but loose.”
Dad, have you been able to stay away from a cold? I imagine pretty near everyone has one because of the weather. I hear you got a “C” gas rationing card and I sure was glad to hear that. Now you will be able to continue your work and your duties in the lodge and not have to worry about when you can be there next. Say, Dad, that reminds me, The Masonic Temple here in Battle Creek have put aside two nights a week for us fellows to come into their bowling alleys and use them for recreation for ourselves. they are letting us use them free of charge. I don’t believe anything ever satisfied this bunch quite so much as this has. We are going to get up a team and challenge the 1800th Ordinance. Our commanding officer has also arranged for us to use a swimming pool every Tuesday evening. Isn’t that swell?
Well, I’m sorry this isn’t a very long letter, but I’m running out of words. I’ve been telling you I would write you a long letter, and one of these days I will. Bye for now.
Your loving son,
Elwood
(Thanks again for that money and those cigarettes. They sure helped a lot.
Tell Bonnie I said “Hi.”
************************
In this letter my father reveals himself to have been more of a prankster than I ever imagined he could be. He also gives some description of the barracks itself.
Battle Creek, Mich.
Dear Mom & Dad,
How are you? Just fine, thanks. Well, here I am in the little old green barracks sitting on my (concrete) bunk writing. Things are pretty dreary here today because everyone is in town. I would like to have gone, but as you know, I was confined to the area for three days. (I’ll learn to straighten my bunk someday maybe). I’ve had quite a lot of fun right here at the barracks these last 3 days. Last night we folded up the corporal’s cot while he was in town. we weren’t satisfied with that, so we put his mattress on the rafters like they did that bunk last week (remember?). He was so mad when he came in that he tried to make us get up and scrub the barracks. We didn’t do it, because he couldn’t prove who the ones were that had done it. There were five of us that actually did the work, but the rest of the guys that were here supervised the job. then on the third bunk from mine, we had one of his covers and wet the ropes on his barrack bags and used them to tie his bed roll fast to the head of his bed. By the bed roll I mean his comforter, because we have to roll it up and put it on the foot of the bed. When he came in, he cussed like a trooper. I’m going to be afraid to leave my bunk the next time i go to town. I’ll be back in a minute. I have to go to chow.
I’m back and the food was terrible. They don’t have a good meal on Sunday evenings, because there are so many men gone.
say, I have some good news for you. Do you remember I told you I was getting a 7-day furlough? Well, I’m getting ten days. We have figured it to start Feb. 2. Of course, that may be wrong, but I believe that is when it will start. Gee whiz, just think, me being home for 10 days. Nobody will get any rest will they? (I won’t stay out so late, because I’ll have more time, OK?)
Well Dad, this ding busted watch stopped the other day. I didn’t drop it. It just quit running. I’m going to bring it home and leave it there, then I know it won’t get wrecked. Maybe I jarred it playing the games here at camp. I don’t know. It only runs when I do.
How is everything there at home? I sure hope everything is all right. I sure wish I were there with you again like we used to be. Boy I sure used to be a heck of a guy to keep track of, wasn’t I?
We are finally going to go through the gas chamber tomorrow afternoon. It is a big chamber filled with tear gas. You go in it with your gas mask on and after you have been in ti for a while, you take your mask off. They do that to show you that your mask will protect you. I hear that when you take your mask off, you really make tracks to get out of there (no doubt).
I had my overcoat and the coat to my uniform cleaned and pressed, and I also had my trousers and shirt cleaned and pressed. They sure look swell. Now I’m going to have my trousers taken in at the waist, then my whole outfit will be OK.
Well, I guess I’ll close for now but I hope you write to me soon. Bye for now and be careful.
Your loving son,
Elwood
I’m going to write to Jesse and Bee and Eddie & Marge today.
I’m getting old in this outfit. I’m even beginning to smoke a pipe. Write soon.
******************************
World War II Letters of John Bolinger's Dad: letter 2
 |
| Dad, right, with 2 Army buddies |
In this letter Dad asks about his twin brother Eddie and Eddie's wife Marge, and older brother Jesse and Jesse's wife Bee. Vi (Violet) was their younger sister. Even simple things like a pack of cigarettes or a candy bar was a luxury for most soldiers, But Grandma and Grandpa Bolinger tried hard to send whatever they could to make life a little easier for their son Elwood (my dad). I'll include a photo of Bonnie (my mom) with Aunt Marge at the beach in 1944 and a photo of Dad and two of his army buddies. Dad is on the right. Uncle Eddie was serving in the United States Navy while Dad was in the army.
The World War II Letters from my Father, by John Bolinger
Fairfield, Ohio October 4, 1942
Dear Mom and Dad,
How are you? How is everything going? OK, I hope.
I’m writing from a different place this time. We were shipped here yesterday. When we arrived here yesterday, they gave us the evening off, but we couldn’t leave the grounds. I went down and called Bonnie, and tonight, if I can, I’m going to call home.
We have our uniforms now, and they really give you a mess of clothes. I have 2 barrack-bags full. Here is what they give you: 2 pairs of shoes, 3 ties, 2 pants o.d., 2 shirts o.d., 2 pants summer, 2 shirts summer, 2 pants work, 2 shirts work, 1 uniform coat, 1 over coat, 1 rain coat, 6 pair of socks, 3 towells, 4 handkerchiefs, 1 pair leggings, 1 cap o.d., 2 summer caps, 2 work caps, 1 razor, 1 comb, 1 canteen, knife, fork and spoon, mess kit, 1 cup metal, 2 blankets, 2 barrack bags, 1 comforter (no pillow, phoey) 4 pairs of shorts, 2 shirts, 1 field jacket coming yet. How is that for an outfit?
We are sleeping in tents now, and it is cold, WOW! I think tonight I’ll wrap the mattress around me.
Bonnie told me last night that you have been calling back and forth, and I think that is swell. I wish I was there.
How is the mill, Dad? Still as hard as ever, I imagine. Is the little cherry still running?
I am hoping we will be stationed pretty soon so that we can settle down. If we do, I may be lucky enough to get a furlough in a couple of months. Maybe even a month and a half. I sure hope I get to come home around Christmas.
Well, I guess I have to close for now, but please write. Love, Elwood
Letters from my Father, by John Bolinger
Dad was inducted into the United States Army September 30, 1942. His first letter home to his parents was October 4 of that year. Dad was only twenty years old, had never been away from home, and faced, along with his comrads in arms, one of the most daunting conflicts in human history over the next four years. The word "home" to him took on a deeper significance every day during the war, and I believe that this phenomenon has not changed during the past seventy years. Our soldiers stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan are still powerfully moved by the word "home." The letters Dad wrote early in the war show a deep attachment to his Indiana home. Subsequent letters keep that devotion but also show more of the anxiety of that terrible time in our history. JB
September 25, 2011
Time Capsule in Two Old Hat Boxes: Letters from my Father, by John Bolinger
 |
| Dad, age 18, 1939 |
 |
| Mom, age 18, 1943 |
Whenever possible I will include photocopies of the actual letters and the cartoons, holiday cards, and photos that Dad included in them along the way. One irony may be that I am sending out to the world through my computer pieces of a past long gone, pieces that cannot be Twittered or texted easily but which may create those same feelings of connection we all try for daily but so seldom achieve.
We live in an age of “instant” communication through iPhones, computers, texting, and Tweeting. Some people feel the need to be in constant communication with the world through cell phones, which they keep attached to their ears almost at all times. It is ironic too that in a world that is becoming more crowded, noisier, and more mechanized on a daily basis, the same world seems to be getting more impersonal, and lonelier.
We suppose that a simple text message of “Hi, I’m in the frozen food section of the Piggly Wiggly” is worth sending only because there is that opening for some kind of response, albeit as mundane as the message was. I’m not sure if such messaging creates the illusion of some level of badly needed intimacy, but it can also separate us further from the very world with which we want to feel in touch. Think of all those people on streets, trains, in restaurants, theaters, even in cars (even when with friends or family), who are oblivious to who and what surrounds them, because they are consumed by that little cell phone, convinced that texting or chatting is of greater import than actually being with people. My question continues to be “Why?” What emptiness is filled by that prosaic activity that we imagine to be almost as significant as our own heartbeats?
I believe that if people seventy years ago had been given cell phones and instant texting access, things would not have been any different from what they are now. In that light, I would like to share with you a passageway back to the early 1940’s during World War II, when my father, Elwood Bolinger, served in the United States Army Air Corps, and his twin brother Eddie, served in the United States Navy.
My deeply personal interest in that time comes from a couple of old hat boxes filled with over 100 letters written by my father between 1942 and 1945 to his parents, who lived in Northwest Indiana. My grandmother saved them all, and after her death, the box of letters went to my Great Aunt Viola Irvin in Pennsylvania, who gave them in 1990 to my mother, who kept them until her death in 2008. After my sister’s death in May of 2011, I inherited the letters. They speak of everything from the horrors of war and waiting daily for letters from home to the love Dad had for my mother, who became his sweetheart April 3, 1940 and his wife December 26, 1944, when Dad was on a brief leave.
He wrote hundreds of letters to my mother and to his twin brother Edward too, but those have all been lost, so I’m glad to have the letters Dad wrote to his parents with some of his feelings expressed about Mom, along with his views on the war, which was the larger context of those years for everyone in America, Europe, Great Britain, and Asia.
My Indiana blog will be devoted for a while to those communications now almost seventy years old. Dad was meticulous about dating all his letters and indicating where he was stationed at the time... bases in Pratt Kansas, Battle Creek, Michigan, Arcadia , California, Lincoln, Nebraska, London, England, or the Island of Guam. I can’t guarantee that all the details from these letters will touch you as deeply as they do me, but they may provide familiar frames of reference for those of you whose parents or grandparents served our country during those dark years of WWII.
We suppose that a simple text message of “Hi, I’m in the frozen food section of the Piggly Wiggly” is worth sending only because there is that opening for some kind of response, albeit as mundane as the message was. I’m not sure if such messaging creates the illusion of some level of badly needed intimacy, but it can also separate us further from the very world with which we want to feel in touch. Think of all those people on streets, trains, in restaurants, theaters, even in cars (even when with friends or family), who are oblivious to who and what surrounds them, because they are consumed by that little cell phone, convinced that texting or chatting is of greater import than actually being with people. My question continues to be “Why?” What emptiness is filled by that prosaic activity that we imagine to be almost as significant as our own heartbeats?
I believe that if people seventy years ago had been given cell phones and instant texting access, things would not have been any different from what they are now. In that light, I would like to share with you a passageway back to the early 1940’s during World War II, when my father, Elwood Bolinger, served in the United States Army Air Corps, and his twin brother Eddie, served in the United States Navy.
My deeply personal interest in that time comes from a couple of old hat boxes filled with over 100 letters written by my father between 1942 and 1945 to his parents, who lived in Northwest Indiana. My grandmother saved them all, and after her death, the box of letters went to my Great Aunt Viola Irvin in Pennsylvania, who gave them in 1990 to my mother, who kept them until her death in 2008. After my sister’s death in May of 2011, I inherited the letters. They speak of everything from the horrors of war and waiting daily for letters from home to the love Dad had for my mother, who became his sweetheart April 3, 1940 and his wife December 26, 1944, when Dad was on a brief leave.
He wrote hundreds of letters to my mother and to his twin brother Edward too, but those have all been lost, so I’m glad to have the letters Dad wrote to his parents with some of his feelings expressed about Mom, along with his views on the war, which was the larger context of those years for everyone in America, Europe, Great Britain, and Asia.
My Indiana blog will be devoted for a while to those communications now almost seventy years old. Dad was meticulous about dating all his letters and indicating where he was stationed at the time... bases in Pratt Kansas, Battle Creek, Michigan, Arcadia , California, Lincoln, Nebraska, London, England, or the Island of Guam. I can’t guarantee that all the details from these letters will touch you as deeply as they do me, but they may provide familiar frames of reference for those of you whose parents or grandparents served our country during those dark years of WWII.
JB
September 23, 2011
Canasta, by John Bolinger
This card game was wildly popular during the 1940's and 1950's. My parents played it often with friends when they weren't playing pinochle. I still enjoy playing the game, which works for two up to five players. Sometimes people like to play with partners if there are only four players.
Ace = 20
2 = 20 (wild card)
Joker = 50 (wild card)
Face cards = 10
8 through 10 = 10
4 through 7 = 5
Black 3 = 5 (Can’t be used in a canasta but is good discard)
______________________________
Mixed canasta (at least four of a kind plus wild cards in total of seven cards) = 300
Natural canasta ( seven of a kind) = 500
Red 3 = 100 (only after meld) or can count negatively. All four at once total 800
Red 3 = draw again
______________________________
Begin with 11 cards for each player
Begin with 50-point meld
1500-3000 points = 90-point meld
3000-5000 points = 120-point meld
______________________________
Pile of discards may be picked up instead of drawing a new card if there are at least 3 such cards on table or 2 in hand.
Wild card (placed sideways as discard) can freeze pile so that picking up occurs only with two of a kind IN HAND matching top card.
September 22, 2011
John Bolinger's First Writing Challenge for 2011
Too Late
Write a narrative of at least four pages describing how it feels to come back as a spirit after your own death. This is not intended to depress you, but rather to help you appreciate what you have in this life. Give it a chance, and I promise that you will be enriched by the experience. The following restrictions will apply”
1. You can see only in black and white (no color).
2. No one can see or hear you or feel your presence in any way, except through memories.
3. You have no sense of smell or taste.
4. You have no sense of touch.
5. You no longer have power to act upon anything or anyone physically in this world.
6. You can travel to any place you like by just thinking of it...and you are there instantly.
7. You may travel to any times of your life that you wish and observe whatever happened then as an “outsider,” because these times would be just shadows of the things that have already passed.
8. Your hearing is perfect.
******************************
Do not spend much time talking about how you died. The important thing is that you see life going on without you. You have left an empty space (empty desk at school, empty bed at home, etc.). You may attend your won funeral if you wish...and describe in some detail the reactions of friends and relatives. What would it feel like to see life go on without you, like a black and white TV show? What (whom) would you miss most” Are there things you regret not doing or saying before you died? Make the reader feel the sadness you feel and the emotions you experience about having take life for granted in certain ways (not having appreciated all the simple and beautiful things that life gives us.) Use the word, “I” as you describe the whole thing and make it sound REAL. Make me weep for the beauty you feel you have lost.
At the conclusion write a paragraph about the final moments before your spirit must leave this world forever and how that goodbye feels.
******************************
The purpose of this writing is to make you look at your own life...the good and the bad of it...and to help you see what wonderful things you have missed or just taken for granted along the way...and perhaps to appreciate a little more that life is a miraculous gift. Remember Emily from Wilder’s OUT TOWN, Jacob Marley from A CHRISTMAS CAROL, and George Bailey from IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. All lives are significant and filled with unspeakable beauty and possibility, even in the “smallest” ways. There is no exception. After you write the last sentence of your narrative, it should feel good to remember that your heart is still beating, and that life is still yours for making choices and making a difference in this world.
JB
Write a narrative of at least four pages describing how it feels to come back as a spirit after your own death. This is not intended to depress you, but rather to help you appreciate what you have in this life. Give it a chance, and I promise that you will be enriched by the experience. The following restrictions will apply”
1. You can see only in black and white (no color).
2. No one can see or hear you or feel your presence in any way, except through memories.
3. You have no sense of smell or taste.
4. You have no sense of touch.
5. You no longer have power to act upon anything or anyone physically in this world.
6. You can travel to any place you like by just thinking of it...and you are there instantly.
7. You may travel to any times of your life that you wish and observe whatever happened then as an “outsider,” because these times would be just shadows of the things that have already passed.
8. Your hearing is perfect.
******************************
Do not spend much time talking about how you died. The important thing is that you see life going on without you. You have left an empty space (empty desk at school, empty bed at home, etc.). You may attend your won funeral if you wish...and describe in some detail the reactions of friends and relatives. What would it feel like to see life go on without you, like a black and white TV show? What (whom) would you miss most” Are there things you regret not doing or saying before you died? Make the reader feel the sadness you feel and the emotions you experience about having take life for granted in certain ways (not having appreciated all the simple and beautiful things that life gives us.) Use the word, “I” as you describe the whole thing and make it sound REAL. Make me weep for the beauty you feel you have lost.
At the conclusion write a paragraph about the final moments before your spirit must leave this world forever and how that goodbye feels.
******************************
The purpose of this writing is to make you look at your own life...the good and the bad of it...and to help you see what wonderful things you have missed or just taken for granted along the way...and perhaps to appreciate a little more that life is a miraculous gift. Remember Emily from Wilder’s OUT TOWN, Jacob Marley from A CHRISTMAS CAROL, and George Bailey from IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE. All lives are significant and filled with unspeakable beauty and possibility, even in the “smallest” ways. There is no exception. After you write the last sentence of your narrative, it should feel good to remember that your heart is still beating, and that life is still yours for making choices and making a difference in this world.
JB
September 21, 2011
Farewell to a Brother, a poem by John Bolinger
In April of 2001 my brother David died of lung cancer. A man of great insight, sensitivity, and intelligence, he also possessed a terrific sense of humor and was always able to become a child again on Christmas mornings, on birthdays, the 4th of July, and on the roller coasters that he loved so much. I still believe he was a musical genius, not because he was my sibling, but because he had an extraordinarily inventive nature that created complex and brilliant new worlds of sound from the simple strings of his Humming Bird acoustic guitar. I still miss him terribly.
FAREWELL TO A BROTHER
Summer is over,
And I’m walking on the layers of it,
Like geological sediment
Pressed down hard by time.
The self I used to know
Lies deep under layers of memory,
Where wholeness lurks just out of sight,
To be studied (if discovered) and cataloged
For later use, then tested for truth
And redeemed without coupons, commas,
Or dead leaves that cluster ‘round its center.
One whom I love lies there too,
Buried among goodbyes of
Tears now hard as granite.
The earth spins on that stick
My third grade teacher called an invisible axis,
And gravity keeps us from being flung
Into outer space,
But inner space is what I mean...
With that moment of farewell,
Never to be removed,
But only built upon,
Irrevocably,
A petrified recollection
Of such density, that it remains embedded
Forever in the deepest parts,
Like some hopeless fossil
In that substratum
Of an early April morning,
Perhaps someday to be found
And polished into something else,
A stone for a ring
Or an agate for a cameo
Over someone’s heart.
JB
Summer is over,
And I’m walking on the layers of it,
Like geological sediment
Pressed down hard by time.
The self I used to know
Lies deep under layers of memory,
Where wholeness lurks just out of sight,
To be studied (if discovered) and cataloged
For later use, then tested for truth
And redeemed without coupons, commas,
Or dead leaves that cluster ‘round its center.
One whom I love lies there too,
Buried among goodbyes of
Tears now hard as granite.
The earth spins on that stick
My third grade teacher called an invisible axis,
And gravity keeps us from being flung
Into outer space,
But inner space is what I mean...
With that moment of farewell,
Never to be removed,
But only built upon,
Irrevocably,
A petrified recollection
Of such density, that it remains embedded
Forever in the deepest parts,
Like some hopeless fossil
In that substratum
Of an early April morning,
Perhaps someday to be found
And polished into something else,
A stone for a ring
Or an agate for a cameo
Over someone’s heart.
JB
September 19, 2011
Come on Fluffy, This Ain't No Ballet , by John Bolinger--Another YouTube Excerpt
The wonderful YouTube creative team, that calls themselves 'onecoffeeaweek' has brought another chapter of John's memoirs to life.
I won't give away what happens here, in Chapter 5; one clue is below. Beware if you are wearing mascara that is not waterproof: you will laugh-cry it off....
Enjoy! Annie
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
September 17, 2011
Easy Dinner Party Recipes: Baked Chicken Salad, Apple Cranberry Crisp
Baked Chicken Salad Casserole
Preheat oven to 350 degrees4-6 Boneless Chicken Breasts
4-6 cups of water
2 Teaspoons salt
1 Teaspoon pepper
1 Teaspoon paprika
1 Teaspoon celery seed
Cook chicken breasts in water with above ingredients until tender. (If
you use an electric frying pan, cook chicken at 300 degrees for about 45
minutes, then turn down to 275). Be sure to check water levels while
cooking, and add water as needed.
Cool chicken (you will need 3 cups of chicken).
ADD TO CHICKEN:
11⁄2 Tablespoons minced onion
11⁄2 cups of chopped celery
1 - 8 oz can of water chestnuts
1 pkg. frozen peas
1 Teaspoon salt
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
1 cup (approx) mayonaise
1 - 2 oz jar of diced pimentos
1⁄2 Teaspoon pepper
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese (Use good English or Vermont Cheddar, not the orange stuff)
Mix and place in a 9 x 13 baking dish. Cover with shredded cheddar
cheese and bake at 350 degrees until cheese melts. Add large can of
crumbled onion rings and continue baking until onion rings turn golden
brown.
After baking, let set for at least 15 minutes. (May be served cold the
next day).
Bon appetit!
Ingredients
4 cups apples peeled and sliced
1/3 cup flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup oatmeal
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup melted margarine or butter
Put apples in shallow 8-inch pan. Sprinkle with lemon juice. Combine all dry ingredients with butter and mix until crumbly. Sprinkle all this over apples and bake at 375 degrees for 30 minutes.
I usually put a small dollop of good vanilla ice cream on each serving.
Serves: 8
September 16, 2011
A Weekend of Cozy Poetry, by John Bolinger
John is both a linguist, and a musician...evident in the imagery and melodiousness in his poetry...Am not giving you too much here... some to savor on a September evening, that feels like late August. -- Annie
AUGUST AFTERNOON
Thelma wore a shawl and rocked
on the two crescent moons of her chair,
while the cat sprawled out
like an old fur piece in front of the screen door.
Henry lay on the back porch swing,
reading a tabloid from the Piggly-Wiggly:
WOMAN MISTAKES GLUESTICK FOR DEODORANT-
CAN’T TAKE OFF DRESS FOR TEN DAYS...
The photo said it all.
Billy stayed in his room upstairs
with a mayonnaise jar of fireflies from Sunday night,
their uninspired habitat having drained their batteries,
and on the wall next to the open window,
hung a picture of the family together in the snow one Christmas,
the gray and icy river behind them contradicting
the present, passionate buzz of cicadas outside.
JB
******************
FIXED POINT
He was a bouncing ball upon the words
of someone else’s song,
outwardly happy and energetic,
but inwardly grateful for small things,
like the suppository box,
that showed the good taste
not to include visual directions.
A respectable sinner of quiet yearnings,
he dreamed of breakfast in bed,
but settled for greasy eggs and bacon
in a torn red booth
at AUNT SHIRLEY’S CHICKEN SHACK.
Life became a race
which he was no longer interested
in winning...
His watch ticked and the days clicked
by and by,
dominoes falling one against another
until that morning when
the meaning was gone,
except for snow outside and
a stream of sunlight
through a crack in the curtains
upon his red blanket, kicked aside,
like discarded Christmas wrapping
with no hope at all of gift exchange.
JB
***************
MANUSCRIPT
Minutes are quick passages,
layering themselves into days
that stick together finally
like pages in an old novel.
Part of the plot, lost along the way,
must be rewritten,
motives revised (if remembered),
characters redone, because
they were too romantic,
and unmarked chapters reordered,
because one day
the binding gave way.
No one remembers where they go,
these fragments of thought,
these hopes as empty as
teachers’ desks in midsummer...
when silence repeats
all the Once upon a time’s
of a life.
At last these costly dreams,
paid for my meager time,
lie scattered on the floor,
and a clock hangs on the wall,
like a big price tag.
JB
*********
PROSE FRAGMENTS...JUNE, 1954
The Aunt Jemima toaster cover smiled
on the gold-speckled counter top,
where Mom made pot roast
for Aunt Edna and Uncle Lou.
Sunlight filtered through fruit-print curtains,
like an X-ray of Pete’s Produce Market,
while the twins and I played hide and seek,
and I stayed inside the kitchen window seat
with the vegetables until Donald threatened
to put my turtle Trudy in the oven
if I didn’t come out.
After pound cake with peaches, the radio played
“No Other Love,” a tango for trombones
that made my parents dance
over the salt water taffy wrappers
we kids had dropped on the floor.
Screens pulsed with moths
yearning for the Chinese lamp in the front window,
and when company was gone and I lay in bed,
I wondered if the next day my clothes
would still smell so strong of peppers and onions.
AUGUST AFTERNOON
Thelma wore a shawl and rocked
on the two crescent moons of her chair,
while the cat sprawled out
like an old fur piece in front of the screen door.
Henry lay on the back porch swing,
reading a tabloid from the Piggly-Wiggly:
WOMAN MISTAKES GLUESTICK FOR DEODORANT-
CAN’T TAKE OFF DRESS FOR TEN DAYS...
The photo said it all.
Billy stayed in his room upstairs
with a mayonnaise jar of fireflies from Sunday night,
their uninspired habitat having drained their batteries,
and on the wall next to the open window,
hung a picture of the family together in the snow one Christmas,
the gray and icy river behind them contradicting
the present, passionate buzz of cicadas outside.
JB
******************
FIXED POINT
He was a bouncing ball upon the words
of someone else’s song,
outwardly happy and energetic,
but inwardly grateful for small things,
like the suppository box,
that showed the good taste
not to include visual directions.
A respectable sinner of quiet yearnings,
he dreamed of breakfast in bed,
but settled for greasy eggs and bacon
in a torn red booth
at AUNT SHIRLEY’S CHICKEN SHACK.
Life became a race
which he was no longer interested
in winning...
His watch ticked and the days clicked
by and by,
dominoes falling one against another
until that morning when
the meaning was gone,
except for snow outside and
a stream of sunlight
through a crack in the curtains
upon his red blanket, kicked aside,
like discarded Christmas wrapping
with no hope at all of gift exchange.
JB
***************
MANUSCRIPT
Minutes are quick passages,
layering themselves into days
that stick together finally
like pages in an old novel.
Part of the plot, lost along the way,
must be rewritten,
motives revised (if remembered),
characters redone, because
they were too romantic,
and unmarked chapters reordered,
because one day
the binding gave way.
No one remembers where they go,
these fragments of thought,
these hopes as empty as
teachers’ desks in midsummer...
when silence repeats
all the Once upon a time’s
of a life.
At last these costly dreams,
paid for my meager time,
lie scattered on the floor,
and a clock hangs on the wall,
like a big price tag.
JB
*********
PROSE FRAGMENTS...JUNE, 1954
The Aunt Jemima toaster cover smiled
on the gold-speckled counter top,
where Mom made pot roast
for Aunt Edna and Uncle Lou.
Sunlight filtered through fruit-print curtains,
like an X-ray of Pete’s Produce Market,
while the twins and I played hide and seek,
and I stayed inside the kitchen window seat
with the vegetables until Donald threatened
to put my turtle Trudy in the oven
if I didn’t come out.
After pound cake with peaches, the radio played
“No Other Love,” a tango for trombones
that made my parents dance
over the salt water taffy wrappers
we kids had dropped on the floor.
Screens pulsed with moths
yearning for the Chinese lamp in the front window,
and when company was gone and I lay in bed,
I wondered if the next day my clothes
would still smell so strong of peppers and onions.
September 15, 2011
Treasure, A Poem by John Bolinger
TREASURE
Like a miser
This summer day keeps the sun
until piles of gold lie in the garden,
spent at last on windows, flowers
and a lady bug crawling ambitiously
up a ribbon of ivy.
And in this last possession of time,
in this antiquity of light,
just before the sky
puts on her evening attire
amid the dark luxury of trees
and sequin stars,
over a red Japanese maple
hovers a humming bird,
like a tiny apostrophe,
and today belongs
to that immense plunder
of all days gone by,
kept secret and deep
in the universal heart.
JB
Like a miser
This summer day keeps the sun
until piles of gold lie in the garden,
spent at last on windows, flowers
and a lady bug crawling ambitiously
up a ribbon of ivy.
And in this last possession of time,
in this antiquity of light,
just before the sky
puts on her evening attire
amid the dark luxury of trees
and sequin stars,
over a red Japanese maple
hovers a humming bird,
like a tiny apostrophe,
and today belongs
to that immense plunder
of all days gone by,
kept secret and deep
in the universal heart.
JB
September 14, 2011
Indianapolis, Indiana
Ask a Hoosier what true metropolis exists in his state, and he will answer Indianapolis, which is the capital and by far the largest city in Indiana and the second largest in the Midwest after Chicago. The comfortable mix of urban splendor in the city skyline and the charming tree-lined streets in residential neighborhoods like those on the Old North side are a joy to experience, especially in the spring and fall. A beautiful city, filled with places to explore and enjoy, Indianapolis (Indy as it is affectionately known by Hoosiers) remains one of my favorite places.Some of the most striking monuments are the Indiana War Memorial, the Solders and Sailors Monument (completed 1901), and the Indiana State House. Among the many lovely parks in the city, Garfield Park with its conservatory and sunken gardens is my personal favorite, and the IndyGo public transit system of buses makes getting anywhere in the city an easy, safe, and comfortable experience. The Indianapolis Zoo is a terrific place to take the kids.
Besides the 22 branch libraries in the city, Indianapolis provides a wide variety of theater and music in places like the Beef & Boards Dinner Theater, Clowes Memorial Hall at Butler University, The Indiana Repertory Theater, the Indianapolis Symphony at Hilbert Circle Theater, and the Madame Walker Theater Center, and the Slippery Noodle Inn, a blues bar and restaurant operating continuously since 1850, when it opened as the Tremont House.
For sports fans Indianapolis is home to the Indiana pacers for basketball, The Colts for football, and for race car aficionados, the Indianapolis 500 at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. The Indy 500 races are held in May, usually over Memorial Day weekend, and the Speedway boasts 250,000 permanent seats!
There are also the Indianapolis Art Center, The Indianapolis Museum of Art, the Indianapolis Arts Garden, and the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art. Dominating the city skyline is the Chase Center, a 48-story edifice with two towers making it the tallest building in town.
Another place in Indianapolis that is very dear to me is the Humane Society, one of the most dynamic and compassionate in the country. It is run by my friend John Alshire, who has made the Society’s mark through spreading an awareness of what the public can do to save animals and relocate homeless pets. I have tremendous respect for John, who was born to do the wonderful work he does helping the helpless. http://indyhumane.org/
Because my roots are thoroughly Hoosier, I am proud of Indiana, its marvelous people, history and culture. My heart will always be there. If you plan to visit Indianapolis, give yourself at least five days to savor as many great places and activities as you can.
John Bolinger
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