Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Losing Track of Time

Here is what happens to me on a regular basis: I am trying to come up with an interesting topic for my other blog (OR trying to come up with a new trivia question for the Historical Society's Facebook page) and I begin browsing through the Beryl Ford Collection of photos. And soon I think I have an idea of what I want to say (or ask). But then, I see a random picture of, well let's say the Douglas Bomber Plant that was built here in Tulsa in 1942. Hey, my grandma worked there as an inspector! Let's see what other photos are in here; maybe she's in one of them. And so I start going through photos linked to the Douglas Plant. The information I learn from some of them lead me to Google for more information. Already, an hour has passed since I began this endeavor.
Soon, I am learning about the Liberator and other planes. Which leads me to wondering about the airplane-carrier ship my dad was on in WWII. And what was the name of the CV9 he was on....? Oh wow. There is a lot of information on the U.S.S. Essex! More so than the last time I searched the Internet for it. Other veterans have added their own photos and memories. I begin reading diary entries from other Navy veterans that were on the ship at precisely the same time that my dad was. You see, we have the letters he wrote to his parents so I know when he got on the ship (and where, now that I have more info). 2 1/2 hours have now passed and I am immersed in those letters of his. The last of the letters were sent towards the end of the war. When he was on the ship, he couldn't say much because it would be censored out (literally cut out). Another thing is he kept writing how boring it was on the ship and how bored he was. As I now read the documentation on what was happening, I know he was just saying that rather than the scary truth to his folks. I have again learned something new about Dad. These letters were not discovered until the year 2000, after having moved into an assisted living facility. My very private father had kept them in a cigar box up in the top of his closet all those years. I am so thankful his mother kept them. Reading them helped us, his 3 girls, get to know him better and learn so much about his wonderful relationship with his parents that we never knew.
And now it is almost 4 hours since I sat down. It is lunchtime and I'm still not even dressed. Where did the morning go......? And what am I going to write about?

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