Uncle Floyd

Uncle Floyd is one of only two uncles left. He was married to one of my mother's younger sisters, Henrietta, otherwise known as Aunt Hank. My childhood memories of Uncle Floyd are very spotty. I can recall only visiting his family twice: once when I was about in 8th grade and the other time at his oldest daughter Patti Jo's wedding almost 46 years ago. When I heard Uncle Floyd's name, I immediately thought of CF. Consolidated Freight. They were a trucking company and every time I would see a red and green lettered CF truck, I would think of my Uncle Floyd. I found out last weekend that he never drove truck for them. He worked in the office of the company.
This brings up my visit last weekend to the eastern part of this great state. My bride was out of town and I thought this would be a good time to connect with these long lost Thibodeau cousins. Uncle Floyd and Aunt Hank had 4 children: Patti Jo, David, Trudy and Joe. It was my hope to meet these four, again, and Uncle Floyd. 60% of the family was what I was able to be with.
This blog is more about my Uncle Floyd, so apologies to the rest of the family. I really love to visit with older people because it is like visiting with a living history book. It is even more "swell" ( using a term of their day) if that old person is family. I asked him how he met Aunt Hank. He said he was brought up on a farm and one thing he learned on the farm was he did not want to farm. His folks arranged to send him to Chicago to trucking school, I think. While there, a buddy was dating a nurse and the nurse had a friend. A double date was arranged and Floyd became smitten. They dated until Floyd was sent overseas during the war. They wrote letters for awhile but then Hank took up with another man. That did not last long and then she started writing Floyd again. It got serious in the mail and plans were made to be married.
Grandpa Duell, Hank's father, picked up Floyd at the airport upon his return. Hank sat between her Dad and her fiance' in the front seat. Floyd told me that Hank kept on poking him in the ribs to tell her father that they wanted to be married. He finally asked Grandpa Duell for his daughter's hand. Floyd said that Grandpa reached his hand across his daughter lap and took hold of Floyd's arm and offered his congratulations. Uncle Floyd never forgot that.
Breaking the news to Grandma Duell was another whole thing. "I don't even know you!" were her first words when approached with the idea of the up-coming nuptials. She was always against the wedding and him until an event occurred. Hank had ulcers and was never to drink. There was a party and Hank had not been drinking but then got goaded into it and had a drink. She disappeared shortly after into the bathroom. Floyd missed her and had someone go and check up on her. Upon entering the bathroom, there was blood all over from her throwing up and bleeding from her ulcers. She was taken to the hospital for recovery. Uncle Floyd "nursed" the nurse back to health. He said the Grandma Duell never forgot that and he was OK in her book after that.
Years after Hank's death, he was at a grieving support group and met a nun. She invited him for a meal, if I remember right. This started a romance and Uncle Floyd ended up marrying a 70 year old virgin. His family has stated that she has been such a blessing for him; given him a reason to go on living. Now her health is not the best and he is being a caregiver again.
It was so interesting to hear him speak of my own parents. Aunt Hank was a nurse with my mother in Chicago. They lived together but did not get along very well. No surprise there. Aunt Hank, I was told was very easy going, laid back. Quite the contrast to my mother. Floyd said he liked my mom all right and was quite fond of my Dad.
He told a "Dad story" to me. l My Dad was a salesman for part of his career, selling refrigerated truck bodies made in Rice Lake. While on the road, he stopped in Manitowoc one time for a quick visit . He called Uncle Floyd over to the trunk of Dad's car and for a look inside. There were cases of beer and liquor. Dad told him this is how he would impress his clients. Floyd was impressed enough to never forget that.
I said to him that I don't ever remember him coming to the resort. He corrected me and that he had been there once. I don't ever remember him coming over. I must have been 2-3 years old and just did not remember.
He has a great sense of humor and I so enjoyed my time with him. I was told by David, his son, that if I behaved myself while on my visit there, that I might, just might, be invited to Uncle Floyd's 90th birthday party on or around Oct. 31st. OOOOh, spookey!
Now for the bad news. It was just too short of a visit. Thanks, Uncle floyd for sharing part of your life with me and putting up with all my questions. You are a ten in my book!

Fifty years of skiing

This past Thursday I was skiing at Afton Alps. Unlike the previous two times, this time I was alone. Meaning, I had a lot of alone time on the lifts. You always spend more time riding up the hill than skiing down. I started to reminisce about my skiing history.

I think I was about 12 when I started. My most memorable Christmas had to do with my first skis. There were few presents under the tree for me and I was a sad, sad boy. Then there was the treasure hunt and the skis wrapped up in the basement. They were so much nicer that what I had even expected. They had ebonite bottoms instead of just painted. There was ski free binding that allowed the toe to swivel for safety reasons. They had steel interlocking edges. There was a cable that went around the heel and then a lever that was in front of the toe piece to hold the boot onto the ski. Ah yes the boot. They were leather, laced boots. My first boots had an inner boot. So you had to lace up two boots, one inside of the other. They came up less than 3 inches above the ankle bone. These skis were a huge step up from the 8 footers with one strap that I used to wear at the resort when I was 6 or 7 years old. I would be at the top of a wooded hill and pick a route, straight through the trees, theoretically avoiding them all. From my mother's view from the side, looking through our picture window, she feared for my life, so she told me.

Hardscrabble ski area is no longer being operated but I have such a soft spot in my heart for that area. The cost was about $1.50 per day, I believe. My Mom or Dad would take me out or a friend's parents. The lodge you see above no longer exists. It burned down years ago. It was a classic building. It had three, large fireplaces in the largest room. You could sit all around each of them. Not sure if the lodge burned down from a fire place or not. A cafeteria off to one side of the room with a ski shop off to the other side. We would just find a bench to put our lunch and winter boots under to change into our ski boots. I never heard of anyone stealing anything back then. You could roast hot dogs over the fire if you wanted. The lodge was rebuilt and our high school class had a reunion there. My friend Bruce Larson, who I used to ski with all the time and I made plans to go the following winter to ski for old times sake. We did. It was cold but our hearts were warmed with nostalgia. Scant snow falls brought my beloved hill to another closing. I fantasize about opening it up self. On second thought, ah nope.

All they had were rope tows. They were something to master in of themselves. You would be at the bottom of the slope. When it was your turn you would slide up to the moving rope and let it slide through your choppers and gradually tighten your grip until you started to move and then you would hold on tight to stop the slippage and up you would go. Sounds easy, right? No so fast. If your grabbed on too soon or too suddenly, you would go flying forward and to a face plant. If you did fall or someone in front of you would so, then the rope would be running over your boots, legs or wearing the paint off your wooden skis as you watched and struggled to get out from under the rope. At the end of the day, your arms would be killing you from holding on to the rope all day. There were gimmicks invented to hold on to the rope. One was a clamp attached to your pole that allowed you to hold the rope with your pole. Much easier. The other was a pliers-like tool that would clamp onto the rope.

My friends and I used to do a lot of jumping. We would build a 3 ft. jump and see how high we could get. This is how I broke so many skis. When you would land, your tips would smack down and off would go the tips. Man, I think I broke 5 skis this way.

When I got into high school, I purchased a pair of skis from Arnies Ski Shop in Eau Claire. They were wooden but the had plastic tops, hidden edges, p-tex bottoms, ( the latest surface) and the first step in bindings called Cubco. I also had newer boots now; still leather, still double boots, still lace but higher, more supportive. About my first time on them had me at Indianhead ski hill in upper Michigan with my best friend. He had an uncle that lived up near there and we were staying with them. Almost the first time down the newly covered with powder hill, I fell forward and snapped of the tip of one my skis. I was devastated. I had saved up and picked these skis out on my own. I had to use rented skis for the rest of that day and next. I did replace the broken ski and it was a slightly different color from the other.

I think I was in college when I moved up to the next high tech ski equipment. Metal skis and buckle boots. The skis were Hart Cameros with Nevada bindings. The Cubco bindings turned out to a disaster. They would come off while you were skiing. The worst was when I had just gone off a large jump; 4-5 ft. and the one binding released. Talk about a fall. I will never forget my first run down the hill at Hardscrabble with this new equipment. I had more edges than I knew what to do with. I had to learn to ski all over again. No more sliding all over the hill.

Games on the hill. I had a bunch of buddies that I would ski with and there were some girls from our class that we needed to impress too. Tag was one that we would play. Jumping was always a hit. We would link our poles together by slipping handle through the basket of another guy and then we turn circles around each other as we skied down the hill. Doing tricks like tip rolls; skiing toward the edge of the run, placing poles down hill near tips and then jumping, keeping tips on ground and bringing the heels up to your back as you pivoted around to face the opposite direction. My brother Jeff was very good at it, me, not so much. Jumping by doing spread eagles and bringing our legs up in a crouch were a couple other moves we would do.

Embarrassing moment on the hill; skiing up to the most popular girl in the school, shortly after getting my braces off my teeth, smiling widely and asking her if she noticed anything different. Panicking she says, "You are not wearing your glasses". Sheeeesh, I had never worn glasses. Shot down again.

When I got to college, skiing was still my favorite winter sport. My last year in college, my fraternity buddies and I went on several trips. One was to northern Michigan and Indianhead. We also skied Telemark near Hayward and Mt. Ashwabay near Ashland and of course Hardscrabble. Those were good, crazy, alcohol induced times. I think I got out 20 some days. that last year.

Even when I got into the Coast Guard, Mom and I would go to Lake Placid and ski on White face mountain. I had a tough time there. There was more powder and the runs were narrow instead of wide open like I was used to. I just couldn't make turns when I wanted but when I needed to. The powder added to my demise and the result was blue stained long underwear. You see, I was wearing my Coastie dungarees and I spent so much time on my butt that the wet dungarees bled blue die right through to my white thermal underwear. My confidence took a big hit skiing there. While there I bought new skis at a season ending sale in Lake Placid. Roussignal strato 102's. One of the best selling skis of all time. I skied on them up until 3 years ago when I bought a pair of parabolic skis on E-Bay second hand. Last spring I bought new, expensive boots at a store in Chaska where my son-in-law, Matt worked. I was able to use them three times this year and they are nice. Comfort and support.

So, there is my 50 year ski experience. You would think I would be pretty good by now. Actually, I'm still a work in progress. I'm still trying to get better. As I look at the window today, I think this year's experience might be over. I still hope to ski out west some day. That experience has not happened.....yet. As sore as I get after going, I am so grateful that I still can to it.

Mable Bunker

Before I tell you about Mable, I need to tell you about Dick. Dick is her husband of over 60 years. About a year and a half ago, Interfaith asked me to give rides to Dick from Turtle Lake to a "day care" for Alzheimer's patients here at a Amery church. I found Dick to be a delightful guy in his 80's. I never got even a hint that he was not tracking. Oh, he did mix up a daughter with a grand daughter once in conversation, but big deal. That can happen. I was then told that they had put him into Judy's Cottage, a special unit at Golden Age nursing home for dementia sufferers. He would not take his medicine and Mable could not make him.

Mable is his bride. Interfaith has asked me to give her a ride from Turtle Lake to see her husband on Tuesdays. She gets to see him 3 times a week; T., Th, and Sundays for church. She is quite hard of hearing. She wears hearing aids but I wonder how much good they do. For a long time, I found myself yelling at her for our conversations and to avoid hearing, "huh?" It got to a point that I would find myself yelling at the first person I came in contact after letting her off. I got quite frustrated a few months ago and just refused to yell at her anymore. For the next few rides, there was not much conversation. She is such a neat gal that I did not want this situation to persist. I got the phone number of one of her daughters and had a visit with her. She suggested that I lower the pitch of my voice and talk slower. Next trip with Mable and Voila, it worked.

Since then we have many interesting visits and I want to recall a few with you. She gives a little laugh after about everything she says. It is not irritating at all. She has made me laugh out loud several times: Last spring we were riding in our 4x4 truck over the heaving country roads and in one place we both sort of got launched up into the air straining against our seat belts. I apologized and she remarked, "at least I know I'm moving!" During the summer, coming into Amery, there was a long haired, long bearded man walking towards us carrying a weed whip. When she saw him she remarked, "he should take that weed whip to his hair and face!" This from a sweet old lady.

I asked her how hard it was to know that Dick and she will not be living together again after 60+ years. She got choked up and said it was very difficult. Mable is a "glass half full" kind of person and she immediately commented that at least she still had him to visit.

Back to her riding in the truck. You would not believe how she gets up into the truck; no problem and she will be 89 this June. I told her our last trip that I know no one that is as limber as she is at that age. I was reminded that she was a farm girl and had been active all her life. That her relatives had all lived to a ripe old age. She went on to say there were 6 children in her family and that she was the second youngest. Only she and her younger sister were left. It was her job to drive the team of horses on the farm. Her Dad did not get a tractor until much later.

She had to walk a couple of miles to her school. When she got to high school, they needed to walk across a field to a neighbors house where they caught the bus into Turtle Lake. In the winter, they skied across the field. At this point she laughs and states that she spent more time on the ground then she did on the skis. They would leave the skis at the neighbors until after school and use them to return home.

Speaking of school, she told me that school was always quite easy for her. She was 5th in her class of 40. I asked her if many went on to college and she said no. A few may have gone to a normal school. (These were 2 year schools, post high school where one could get a teaching certificate) She was always good in math so she worked in offices in book keeping after graduating.

She and Dick had three girls. One became a teacher and I'm not sure about the others. She has 6 grandchildren. One of her girls lives in Turtle Lake which is a blessing to her for she lives alone.

Our rides always have conversations about farms or crops in them as we drive through the country side. You can take the gal our of the farm but not the farm out of the gal, I guess.

I gave her a Christmas card with a personal note inside and she gave me a box of candy. (Just what I need)

After walking her into Golden Age, I go and see my friend Don Bruckner that I have written about earlier. A note about Dick, here; he is doing quite well but still is not allowed to live with his wife. She lives about 200 ft. from him in the assisted living facility, connected to GAM. He does not know why they will not allow him back to live with his Katie. Only that neither can take care of the other and they both need help. It seems that something could be done so that they could spend their last years together. I took my lap top into his room the other day and showed him the old pictures from the resort and he so much appreciated them.

These seniors that God brings into my life are such a valuable addition/resource to me. A walking, living history book, filled with wisdom; God knows I need all the wisdom I can get.

Birthdays

Birthdays can be a confusing day, at least for me. You see, it is like you want people to know it is your birthday and you don't. I used to think it was one day out of the whole year that was about me. Tomorrow won't be, shouldn't be. Yet, to be just about you is sort of narcissistic, don't you think? Life should not be about me.

I received many well wishes on Facebook and then wonder, how many of them are just automated. Oops, glass half empty.

It is time for reflection. Another year I survived, and year closer to "graduation". I am so grateful for good health; I can still do most things I could do as a young 40 year old, just not as well, as fast, as quick, for as long etc. Well, I don't know if I can still do a cart wheel. I haven't tried. Someone is always looking when I think of it.

That 16th birthday is a big one; Now I will be able to drive, freedom. Trouble was, I got grounded the day I got my license. Yes, there is story there. Then there was the Gentile Bar Mitzvah birthday, occurring at age 18. Now I could drink beer legally, vote, marry and get killed in Vietnam. I can remember sitting in a bar in Watertown, NY in 1972, thinking, man, I am a quarter of a century old. That being old. Now my youngest child is that. 50! Half a century. Yes, I am a little hung up on my age and century comparisons. Next big birthday will be the medicare birthday at age 65. Oh, and at 68 there is the 50th class reunion. Wait, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Presents and banana cake and sometimes a family gathering. More blessings. With a birthday right after Christmas, you don't get to spread the presents out over the year. Blast! My poor family just finishes buying presents for me for Christmas and then they have to buy again for my birthday. Blast for Them! Mom just sort of saves a Christmas present to give to me for my birthday. Good planning.

Then there is the whole old age thing. A friend of mine, Tom Perkins, used to say that "age was mind over matter, if you don't mind, it don't matter". I always liked that. I have tried to keep doing the physical things that I always have done. I hope to continue to do so, with God's continued blessing, until I just plain can't.

Christmas Traditions

Our Christmas eve service is being held at 6 pm again this year. With this time being smack dab in the middle of our Christmas celebration, I was reminded of the way it used to be: the way my family celebrated and the way our children were used to celebrating.
As a child, my parents would take me and my siblings to an early (4 pm) candlelight service. I would like to digress a minute if I might, to tell one of my favorite stories about my father.
My Dad prided himself as a good dresser. His job required that he dress well and he did. Expensive suits and , dare I say, clip on ties. They were the rage at that time. This particular Christmas, he had his best suit on and we were all sitting in the pew towards the front of the church. He must have been chastising me for the condition of my shoes. (We needed them polished regularly) Shortly after, attention was drawn to his shoes. Imagine his horror when he saw that he still had on the shoes he had on earlier in the day when he was painting. He had on this old brown, scuffed, white paint spotted shoes on to go with his expensive black wool suit. He panicked. We sort of did too because we could not stop laughing, silently of course. Silent night and all. Our shoulders were all shaking and people behind us must have wondered what we were all so joyful about.You all know what it is like when you aren't supposed to laugh and something occurs that is hilarious. After the service, he had his family literally surround him as we made our way out of the pews so no other church attenders would see his shoes. Being faithful, we all did as he asked.
After the service, we would drive around Rice Lake and look at the Christmas light decorations. They did so much more with lights in those days. We had a Christmas eve dinner and then opened presents from aunts, uncles, grandparents etc. because Santa would bring presents at night. This led automatically to the worst nights sleep of the year. Santa was coming, Santa was coming. Of course, waking up waaaayyyy before any one else, was a given.
The Christmas I most remember was the year I hardly got any presents. I was so low, moping at all the presents my siblings were opening. We took turns opening so I had to be skipped time after time. Finally, a note was found in the tree addressed to me. It led me on a "treasure hunt" and the tradition began. It had me go all around the house, only to find a note to where to look next. Finally! I said; FINALLY I was in the basement and there wrapped up was the most beautiful pair of skis. they were so much nicer than anything I thought I might get. They had steel edges, ebonite (plastic) bottoms, ski free bindings, ( so I wouldn't break my leg)
Mother would always fix a wonderful roast for dinner and then we would play with our new toys, or put together puzzles of car models.
The traditions that my wife and I started with our own children mimicked what I had been brought up with. Her catholic family would open presents at night and then go to mid-night mass. I knew that would not work with our kids so we adopted the same sort of tradition: church, lights, meal, followed by presents being opened. Christmas Day found us traveling to Rice Lake and have our Christmas with Nana.
A Christmas with my children that sticks out is reminiscent of my "skis Christmas". Mom and I planned on giving Don and Brian Nintendo for Christmas. This was an expensive gift for us, so not much else was planned on for the boys. Don did not handle it too bad but our sensitive Brian was just devastated. No presents, except maybe some under wear and socks. Finally, FINALLY, there was this note in the tree that led the boys on a treasure hunt with the Nintendo at the "end of the rainbow." Talk about elation, talk about extreme low to high of emotions, skyrocketing like a firework on July 4th.
Now, with most of our children married, we must share them with the in-laws and that is just the way it must be. So, we trade off holidays. If we get them for Thanksgiving, the in-laws get them for Christmas and visa versa.
So, the excitement still builds for me. I still have trouble sleeping right before Christmas but the cause is different now. My excitement now is the result of my anticipation of our children coming and I know laughter and fun will soon follow.
Lastly,the older I get, the more I try with some success to realize that Jesus, is indeed, the reason for the season. Merry Christmas to all.

Thanksgiving of a Life

During my prayer time this a.m., I was thanking the Father for my blessings that He hears from me about every day; Salvation, family, health, etc. My mind went back to the previous hour when I was reading the paper and saw a picture of a young girl sticking her head out the door of a hut. She obviously lived in deplorable conditions. Then I thought of my life and how much more I have had and failed to give thanks for. It brought to mind the saying, "There but for the Grace of God, go I".
The country that I was born in. The richest country in the world and one of the freest. The mother and father that God gave to me. A young couple that truly loved each other and were not afraid to demonstrate that to their kids. We never said, "get a room!" A standard of living that provided myself and my siblings with all our needs and some of our wants. We always had the best health care. Mother was a RN nurse. She even gave me shots of penicillin when I would get sick and "mothered" me to healing. A work ethic; My mother "forced" me to go down town and find a job when I turned 16. A college education was provided for me. A trip of Europe with the college choir was paid for by my parents. After the USCG service, my widowed mother bought our first home and provided the financing for it while I finished up my education degree. When we moved to Amery, she again was my mortgage holder and we paid her what we could afford. As a result, the mother of my children could stay home and raise them. We were blessed with 5 healthy, normal children and two others we will meet someday in Heaven. My Father led me to Amery where I could work, and provide for my family for 28 years. Now these children are on their own and continue to enjoy God's ever-present blessings.
So, rather than the usual "thank yous",during my prayer time, I have come to realize I need to go back much farther than the present. I have been blessed every single moment of my life.
What did I do to benefit ALL these blessings? Not a dang thing. I could have been born in the Sudan, the Congo or so many other places where life is so hard. But I wasn't. Do I have anything to complain about? Not a dang thing.
And yet, I look forward to so many more blessings but let me never ever, ever, forget the origin of them all.
When thanksgiving is given, there must be a recipient of that thanks. For me and really for you too, it should be to the origin of all good things. God the Father.

Grandparents

A month ago I was at the cemetery in Illinois where several of my relatives are buried. The occasion was the internment of my Mother's youngest sister, Jean. Aunt Jeanie's children placed flowers not only on their mother's grave but at several aunts and uncles that are buried there also. One set of headstones, prompts this entry and that was of my mother's parents. Jeremiah Porter Duell and Jennifer Halverson Duell
My Father's parents really were not in the picture of my childhood. I have pictures of them holding me as a baby but they did not come up to the resort to visit, maybe once? I have no recollection of them in my memory what so ever.
My Mom's parents, however, were quite involved. They would come up to the resort and pitch right in to help with projects. Grandpa, especially was handy. I think one had to be for one of his jobs was part owner and greens keeper of a golf course in Illinois. I remember him making steps up a hill to two of our cottages. He used boards and dirt to make steps. When it would rain, I used to like to watch the water come cascading down his steps. It was grandpa that got me interested in sports rather than my Dad. Grandpa would pitch this white,soft b-ball size, sponge rubber ball to me and I would hit it. I can' remember who would fetch it. He would have been in his early 60's, at this time I would guess.
A big event in my young summer life was where my parents would put me on a train and send me down to Grayslake for a week or two. (Out of their hair for a bit) This is where my grandparents lived and two sets of cousins all within one block of each other. Another family lived out of town on a farm and a fourth family in a nearby town. Oh, what great times we would have. I love to hear my cousins tell stories of my grandparents of which they has so many more than I do. They were around them all the time and for me, I only had a couple of times a year.
My grandparents had a shower stall. I had never saw a shower stall before. What an odd thing that was! What sort of games could you play in a shower? Grandma was a large woman and a shower was much easier for her to get in and out of compared to a tub. I would pick up things living with them those few weeks and then take these experiences back to my home. They were not always welcome back in my own domicile. Two things I remember specifically, that did not go over well with my mother at all: Grandpa used to mix his mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables all up and then eat them. He would say, "They all end up in the same place anyway." When I tried this new eating practice and quoted my grandfather, I was told that would not do that in this house. Jeepers! I mentioned that Grandma was a large lady so when she would shake rugs, she would take her foot and roll the rug up. Seemed to make sense to me. I did not have to bend my little fat body over so much or for as long. However, when I tried this new found technique at home, I was promptly told that I would not roll up rugs that way even if Grandma had done it that way. So much for learning from senior citizens.
Grandma gave me my first Bible. It was a King James. Of course! She once told me, and I have not idea why, that I would make a good pastor someday. I remember thinking, No way! I would have to give up golf and my love of sports. Pastors don't have any fun. I think she put in some spiritual seeds in me but I can't think of anything specific except the suggestion of being a pastor. I know her favorite Psalm was 71 but I don't know how I know that either except it was recorded in an old Bible of mine. I really got no spiritual input from my folks like I have stated in my testimony entry.
If our family would happen to be there on Christmas eve, I could hear Santa's reindeer bells ringing outside. And were supposed to sleep that night with presents opened in the a.m.? No kids seemed to notice that Grandpa was missing during the time we heard the bells. Oh, we wanted to believe sooo bad.
My cousins tell me that Grandma ruled the roost. I don't recall observing that but then again, they were around them so much more. I do remember them both being kind, especially grandpa. He died the spring I finished my first year in college and I was there for the funeral. Grandma would write me when I was in the coast guard and she died when I was still enlisted. I did not come to her funeral. My Mom buried my Dad and her own mother in the same year, I remember.
Just looking through old pictures reminds me of a different era, a slower pace, for sure, a greater degree of innocence. Sigh!
(A word about the pictures: The 40th anniversary sure does look like a sad couple. Mom and I are coming up on our 40th. I'm glad we don't look that old. The second pix taken in 1957 looks more like I remember them. They were not a grumpy couple as I remember)