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John William Garrett Clary was born August 31, 1898, northwest of Elwood, Indiana in Madison County. His parents were John William & Mary Frances Noble Clary. His mother’s line came from Salisbury, Maryland, and settled in Clermont County, Ohio before moving on to Madison County, Indiana.

Garrett married Mary Belle Jones on September 30, 1920, and they had three children: Ronald Monroe Clary (1921-1936), Donna Mae Clary Barmes (1924-1992), and Joyce Ann Clary Riser (1933).

Garrett was a farmer in Boone Township of Madison County, Indiana, retiring to Elwood in 1966. Garrett died in October, 1997, and is buried in Forrestville Cemetery in Madison County, Indiana.

Their lineage:  (I apologize for any misspelling of names)

  1. Ronald Monroe Clary (died at age 15)
  2. Donna Mae Clary – married Leroy D. Barmes
    1. Diana Kay Barmes Haas
      1. Darin L. Jolliffe-Haas
        1. Jose A. Jolliffe-Haas
      2. Dena Linn Haas Johnson
        1. Jonathan Garrett Surber
        2. Andrew Langlee Barmes Surber
        3. Kaytlinn Mae Johnson
        4. James Johnson
    2. Destin Lang Haas
      1. Parker Leroy Haas
      2. Frederick Lee Haas
    3. Ronald Dean Barmes
      1. Alicia Deann Barmes Hildenbrandt
        1. Jamie Hildenbrandt
        2. Jennifer Hildenbrandt
        3. Jordan Hildenbrandt
      2. Amanda Barmes Yaba
        1. Hailey Yaba
        2. Jocelyn Yaba
    4. Tommy Kent Barmes
      1. Jarod Barmes
      2. Michael Barmes
  3. Joyce Ann Clary Riser – married to Roderick Riser
    1. Kim Collette Riser Watt
      1. Brittany Watt
      2. Derek Watt
    2. Debra Deann Fox
      1. Joshua Fox
      2. Jacob Fox
      3. Jordan Fox

 

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I had every full intention of being more productive today but it clearly was not meant to be.

Last night, Jose and I attended a “Poor White Trash Birthday Party” for our friend, Christi Salchak. It was a riot. The guests were invited to dress in their finest white trash attire. I was more reluctant than my son who wore his tight “Little Hottie” shirt he bought from Kings Island, a painted on mustache, hiking boots, and a ball cap… he looked the part. The Salchak kids were appropriately dressed for this, as was their mother who appeared in the front yard to greet us wearing a halter top, ratty shorts, a pink bathrobe, leopard print slippers, and curlers in her hair.

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The hosts provided hot dogs and boxes of moon pies, and the guests were to bring something. We brought a large bowl filled with individual pudding cups, cheap fruit pies, and plastic spoons sticking up amongst the pudding and pie arrangement. To top it off, which had everyone howling, we plopped down a bucket of Lee’s chicken on the table. We roasted our own hot dogs, and enjoyed a pleasant fair and terrific conversation.

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Later we played “Butt Charades” and “Toss The Underwear Over The Bar” – and the door prizes were items from a laundry basket of garage sale items. While the teenagers played hide and seek on the vast, wooded, stream-lined property, the adults, and one of my former students (now in college), sat and talked around the campfire.

By 11:30pm, Jose and I were pulling into the Haasienda.

This morning I was wide awake after another fitful night’s sleep. I just could not get comfortable, and the light headache I had endured all of Saturday was much more apparent. I read a little between dozing, and finally roused at 8:00am to feed the animals, eat breakfast, check sugar, take morning meds, and prep for the walk.

While on the walk I smoked my pipe, blew a kiss to the neighbor lady who drove by, and laughed at Flyer trying to catch squirrels. Upon the return home I:

  • checked items on the computer
  • endured some Obama bashing on Face Book from some piece of work from my hometown (not the Whack Job who hounded and stalked me all last fall during the election)
  • watched some coverage of Senator Kennedy’s funeral
  • blew the leaves in the front yard
  • waved to the neighbor mowing his yard
  • took out some weeds
  • putzed around the backyard
  • planned to go to the deck to work – but too chilly
  • cleaned my study
  • re-covered the material on my piano bench
  • used the extra material, along with some Magic Stitch, to make a cover for the top of my piano
  • rehung my windchimes – which have failed to chime this summer
  • chatted with Jose – and laughed

Now, Jose is off to work. I shall call Mother for our weekly recap, relax, and then pick up Jose from work for the last part of youth group (SIGNS). I look over my laundry list of today’s activities and I still feel as though little was accomplished…

 

Late afternoon Friday the skies began turning gray, and rain threatened the Miami Valley. Just as Jose was leaving to report to the band room, the splotches of wetness began appearing on the sidewalk. Within minutes the deluge had begun. At 6:30pm, the rain had stopped and I stepped into the heavy, steamy air to walk to the high school to take photos of STEP-OFF.

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STEP-OFF is one of my favorite traditions to observe with a Fairmont football game. The marching band and guard assembles in front of the school (actually, the performing arts’ wing) and begins the march over to the stadium, winding down Delaine through approximately five blocks of the neighborhood. When the band reaches the opposite side of the school, students and adults who are tailgating before the game, fall in behind the band. Home owners along Delaine are often hosting cookouts, or just standing on their porches, in their yards, to cheer on the Marching Firebirds. As the band moves beneath the rich, overhang of leaves, the too bright stadium’s lights begin filtering through the specks of openings in the green arch. The excitement always mounts as each section of the band, accompanied by the funky rhythms of the percussion, begins a choreographed movement with their instruments – the best being the sousaphones! Once the band arrives at the stadium there is an even greater sense of excitement when the 204 members march through the tunnel beneath the gigantic stadium, drums pounding harder, and louder, creating a fantastic vibration on the seats above. It is a wonderful tradition that I enjoy each home game.

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I took photos as the band started STEP-OFF, and then hurried over to the corner of Lincoln Park Blvd. & Delaine to catch them as they made their first turn into the neighborhood. After the band passed, I walked over to Lincoln Park and the Fraze Pavilion to take photographs. As I walked the park it occurred to me that the recorded music heard floating over the neighborhood from the stadium was not yielding to the band’s pre-game music. I later learned the game’s start had been held due to lightning.

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Jose arrived home, chattering away about the events of the night, and then the deluge began, again… and the rains came… forty days and forty nights…

Last night, I sat propped up in bed like I was the King of England, typing away at my laptop resting on the hospital table (a great purchase so that I can work from bed in the mornings and late evenings), watching the special “celebration” for Senator Ted Kennedy. What a wonderful tribute to the Liberal Lion, as he has been dubbed. Brian Stokes Mitchell sang a beautifully arranged version of “The Impossible Dream” from MAN OF LAMANCHA.

The most touching moment, for me, was the tribute paid to “Uncle Ted” by his niece, Caroline Kennedy. Her voice cracked a few times, heightening the emotion following the tremendous tributes from Senator Kennedy’s political friends and foes. Caroline recounted the “history trips” on which Uncle Ted took the massive numbers of nieces and nephews to various historical sites around the country. This grabbed me immediately, wishing I had been a nephew on those excursions, and reminding myself that I am an uncle who enjoys sharing history with his nephews. Caroline stated the trip from Hyannis Port to the Kennedy Library in Boston, passing familiar historical sites, was “my last history trip with Uncle Ted.”

And then, to close the celebration, a rousing Irish number, one of my favorites, “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.” It was joyful, yet wistful. It seemed to me, the most touching tribute to Senator Kennedy, and the entire Kennedy family.

This morning, I am writing, and watching the preparations for Senator Kennedy’s funeral in Boston. The family is just leaving the Kennedy Library, and the mourners are assembling at the church. It is strange to think that for this service, Senator Kennedy’s voice will not be heard. Since 1968, his voice has become familiar leading family and friends through services for various family members… Bobby, Rose, Jackie, John, and various family members.

The television coverage is showing the casket leaving the library, a fitting exit in a gentle rain. There are also the former presidents and vice-presidents, and their wives gathering in the cathedral, minus George & Barbara Bush. I am sure this will be a fitting, grand farewell to the last of the three Kennedy brothers who served our country.

Irish Eyes

There’s a tear in your eye, And I’m wondering why,
For it never should be there at all.
With such pow’r in your smile, Sure a stone you’d beguile,
So there’s never a teardrop should fall.
When your sweet lilting laughter’s Like some fairy song,
And your eyes twinkle bright as can be;
You should laugh all the while And all other times smile,
And now, smile a smile for me.

When Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, ’tis like the morn in Spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.

For your smile is a part Of the love in your heart,
And it makes even sunshine more bright.
Like the linnet’s sweet song, Crooning all the day long,
Comes your laughter and light.
For the springtime of life Is the sweetest of all
There is ne’er a real care or regret;
And while springtime is ours Throughout all of youth’s hours,
Let us smile each chance we get.

This morning I woke at 6:15am and pressed the On/Off button on the television’s remote control. There was a video showing the White House silhouetted against the rising sun… but the flag was lowered to half-mast.

Within seconds my racing mind was informed….

Senator Edward Kennedy, 1932-2009.

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When I traveled to Washington, DC with my brother’s 8th graders in 2000, we sat in the senate gallery and amidst the sea of dark suits, the white, silvery hair of Senator Kennedy stood out. My brother, Destin, also a presidential history enthusiast, leaned forward over the gallery rail, staring down at the iconic figure. It was a moment where we got to see a great performer on the stage of American history.

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It is strange to think of our country without a Kennedy, from the Camelot generation, not at the helm of our government. While the media personalities are expressing their opinion that the next generation of Kennedys are not as powerful as their parents, I believe it is too soon to call the play on this generation. After all, they were overshadowed by their father, and uncle.

This morning, I am not as taken with Senator Kennedy’s politics, nor his successes, or mistakes as I am with Ted Kennedy the family man – especially, Uncle Ted. This morning I think of the nieces, and nephews who have lost a cherished uncle.

I was born the day the Warren Commission released its report on President Kennedy’s assassination. In June 1968, two months following Senator Robert Kennedy’s visit to my hometown of Elwood, Indiana, I sat with my parents watching his funeral at Arlington Cemetery.

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Uncle Ted was the Kennedy of that generation with whom I was the most familiar. My Uncle Ron was my version of an “Uncle Ted,” and had he lived, I have no doubt he would be the revered uncle. However, my brother and I are now the uncles, and we each believe in our obligation to uphold this grand title. I love being a father, but there is something enchanting about being an uncle. There is a mutual adoration, and affection, that is strikingly different with nieces and nephews.

My grandfather loathed the Kennedy’s – a loathing he adopted from his father that sprang back to an episode during The Great Depression. However, I think my grandfather would join me in agreeing that Ted Kennedy appeared to be a much loved uncle. My grandfather seemed to be the favored uncle for his nieces and nephews, and throughout their lives I witnessed his pride, and joy in their accomplishments, and the agony springing from their tragedies. I always marveled at his adoration of his grandchildren, but there was always that “uncle element” in his being that I cherish still to this day. My grandfather, and Uncle Ron were great role models for this uncle, and I can only hope, and trust, that I shall follow in their footsteps as a great uncle.

Jacqueline-Bouvier-Kennedy-Onassis

 

God, how many times have I written that title over the past few years I have blogged. My cousin, Dana, and my friend, Jeff, are tremendous, faithful bloggers. I always try to use these two as role models with cooking, household items, and other creative things, but manage to fall short. I have concluded I am just not a cook, nor do I enjoy it. I have also concluded that home decor, and even gardening is not my arena, either.

Therefore, blogging shall be mine!

So, for starters…

SOUTH PACIFIC, the little show that had so many derailments from outside sources, and even school administration, bounded into the auditorium with success, and much cheering from the audiences. The cast was just right, and the orchestra was wonderful. The technical component was saved by two brilliant Centerville students, Jack Gallagher and Ryan Grant, and my former student, Andrew Stroud, took over the sound board. And I had three of the most wonderful ladies as producers: Sandy Focht, Suzanne Grote, and Joyce Carter. Joshua Logan’s son, Tom, and his granddaughter, Kate Harrigan, offered wonderful, touching telephone calls to the cast, as well as voice overs prior to curtain. It has been nearly a month since the show and the magic of its journey still lingers.

In some ways, it was a very fun summer, and in others, it was not. Due to the grueling episodes from some outside individuals who wished to work against the productions, it made for a very trying summer. Still there were many pleasant events with visits with the family, a three-day trip to Indiana Beach, Kings Island, and a ton of gatherings at the Carter home in Beavercreek. Jose was present for almost all the SOUTH PACIFIC cast adventures, and seemed to make some good friends.

Today is August 25th, 2009. In one month I turn 45 years old. This is kind of strange as I remember when my grandmother, who was only 40 at my birth, turned 45.

Next door at Fairmont, the freshmen and sophomores are in class – the juniors and seniors join them tomorrow. In some ways I am glad school is starting back up, and again, it heralds the end of summer. I will be directing the Beavecreek Show Choir Band this year, and doing several other things at BHS which I cannot disclose at present.

This summer has been interesting in other ways… people entering my life, people exiting my life… some with whom I care to share a life-long friendship, and others I know are only momentary.

Now, it is on with my day. Teaching, some writing, and then a band booster meeting. Jose begins the evening marching band rehearsals tonight – Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6:00-9:00pm. So, I will have free time to write, walk, and do whatever needs my attention.

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