Fair words...plain talk....: remembering

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Fair words...plain talk....: remembering

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My big brother, Tacky Webb

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Ogden, Utah about 1945 Squeaky doors…. That’s what old memories are like…that old, squeaky door that creaks open just a little bit….out comes one memory and soon, it swings wide and there they all are….some make you giddy, some make you cry and the all remind you of why you are you. Martin Hillard Webb was born 10 August 1936 in San Diego, California to Hillard Vernon “Tex” Webb and Sarah Vernona “Denny” Denning Webb.  He was actually named Hillard Martin Webb, but the names were inverted on the official birth certificate. Hillard Martin Webb  As a young military family, there were frequent moves around the country and the world.  In 1939, they were in Panama on the Panama Canal. My mother used to tell the story of how eggs were so hard to come by, and being an Idaho ranch girl, she wanted her son to have fresh eggs. So she hunted them down so that every day, Hillard had that egg in his diet.  Mom also said they didn’t have many diapers ...
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Deerfield Massacre of 1704 My 6th great grandmother was   Sarah Basset Webb Field Price,   a Connecticut pioneer. Her husband,  Zachariah Field , my 6th great grandfather, died in an Indian attack and she remarried to  Robert Price . Their village was attacked by Indians, incited by the French, who burned their homes, and started a force march 300 miles to Canada in the winter cold. Weak, young or elderly were killed to keep the march moving quickly.  The young pastor, who seemed to be the target of the raid, had a young wife who recently gave birth. I read where she was so weak, she and her husband said good bye on the side of a freezing river, and she walked into the water to die. An Indian brave went in and gave her a quick death with a slice of his knife. My 6xgrandmother was 54 , and viewed as too old to make the march and died on the side of the road with many others. (This Webb line is my secondary Webb line, not my father’s Webb line. T...
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Boomer's at the Bridge Repost Aug 2007 Blog

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Boomer’s at the bridge... Looking back, I'm amazed by how well he hid his blindness...I knew he was losing his sight, the glaucoma was obvious. But he knew this house so well, he could walk anywhere surefooted. I came home from work on Sunday night...he was on the big shag rug he loved by my desk...and I bent to give him his pet...he was sound asleep..he woke...and he had no idea where he was, he was so disoriented, stood up...waiting. So I reached over and typed the keyboard...he knew where he was, gave him a sound que.. and he turned to go to the door to go outdoors. His hips were gone, the pain meds were a necessity, the pain meds tore up his stomach, causing more pain...it was time. Even in his pain, if I so much a choked up as I faced this final stage of our time together, he would rise and come to me. It's okay, I'm here. I going to take care of you. But this time it was time for me to take care of him. I'm going to fix this, Boomer. He slept that night in a pile ...
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