Thanksgiving this year was a good one for our family. Everyone living in this household was in decent health for their age, the wife and I were enjoying our retirement and my son was happy in his job and in his life as a whole. We’d invited good friends to share our Thanksgiving feast with us and it was a good one. My wife outdid herself once again with the turkey, the mashed potatoes, dressing and gravy, two vegetable casseroles, fresh rolls with butter, etc and etc. Our family and our guests were happily full after eating and all was right with the world, at least for that day. We all were appropriately thankful for the blessings we had enjoyed and it was, everything considered and all in all, a nice day.
But that Thanksgiving had a deeper meaning this year, which I wasn’t aware of until just recently. Come along and let me explain.
It’s always a good thing, at least in my book, when a city doesn’t demolish an old building with all its interesting history and make a new parking lot. Don’t get me wrong, parking lots are needed and it’s occasionally necessary to bid adieu to an older building to create one, but it’s a wonderful thing when an old building can be repaired, repurposed and given a new life.
One instance of this occurring happened recently in my small town. A semi-derelict building down by the railroad tracks on South Street, whom most figured was destined for the wrecking ball and the landfill was purchased, repaired and now is being used as a brand-new micro-distillery. Two local entrepreneurs with several going businesses under their belts formed a partnership, saw the potential, bought and fixed up the building and started making rye whiskey and other handcrafted spirits.
Its name was and still is Minglewood.
This particular company has a long history. It was started in 1921 when the building was erected to serve as a coal delivery company. The following year they expanded and started also making and delivering ice in 25 to 100 pound blocks. They would deliver this ice and coal in horse-drawn wagons in those early days. Minglewood served my hometown and many surrounding communities with ice and coal for 38 years until modern refrigeration and heating changed the industry and closed the business. The two entrepreneurs recently saw the history and potential in the building in 2016 when they purchased it and started their new enterprise.
How all is this connected to my family you may ask? Well, to answer ya, my grandfather worked at Minglewood from the mid-1920’s through the end of World War II as an iceman! He was one of the gentlemen who loaded up the truck with ice in the mornings and delivered it to businesses and homes far and wide. His particular route was to the outlying communities beyond the city limits of our hometown. He would run his route looking at the homes and businesses along the way and when he saw the placard in the window requesting ice, he would stop and deliver the requested size block for the home’s icebox. He was a man of smaller stature, but very strong from the work he performed each day.
And, again, how does this tie into last Thanksgiving? Well, sometime during my grandfather’s employment at Minglewood, there were several pictures taken of him and his fellow workers – the icemen and the coal men. Through some means, which I don’t really remember, I have several of these photographs in my possession. Actually I have three of them right in front of me. There is a fourth one also, of that I’m positive, and that is the one I’ve been recently trying to find. I thought it might be a great idea to donate these pictures to the new Minglewood and possibly get them hung up on their walls! And grandpa would be back at the old place again!
But up to now I’ve been unable to find that pesky fourth photo.
I’ve gone through ALL of my photos the last couple days looking and I’ve got THOUSANDS of the darn things. I can kind of visualize a small packet of the 3 or 4 photos and maybe even the negatives also.
Tucked in somewhere…
So I’m now looking in places where there shouldn’t be photos. And finding the occasional one hiding here and there. But not the darn target I’m seeking.
But that still doesn’t lead us to last Thanksgiving, does it? We’re getting there. Be patient.
While perusing those multitudes of photos from bygone days, I ran across the packet that had the clippings and sympathy cards from when my father and brother had passed away. It was sobering seeing those items again and it was hard not to remember how sad it was when those events happened. And while I was looking at my dad’s obituary from the local paper in that packet of photos it occurred to me that I was close to being the same age as he was when he passed.
And I wondered how close.
I took his date of birth and date of death from the obit and put them into a program online that calculates elapsed time. It showed me that my dad lived 70 years, 8 months and 13 days. Then I inputted my birthday and calculated forward 70 years, 8 months and 13 days. The date I attained my dad’s length of life was Thanksgiving. Just a week or so ago.
Now isn’t that something! I’m presently older than my dad ever was! I suppose it’s some sort of a grand milestone in the larger scheme of things. Beating your father in the game of life. I’d already beat my mom in that contest as she passed away very young at 51. I also passed my next younger brother who died in his early 40’s. And of course my next youngest brother – the one that’s still with us - well I’ll always be older than him. I guess that makes me kind of the patriarch of my family, the old man.
It wasn’t hard achieving this honor. I just kept breathing.
And life goes on and every day I’m one day older than my dad ever was.
Every. Single. Day.
And it makes it hard not to wonder when this old bag of bones’ expiration date might be.
Or where that miserable fourth photo might be hiding…
