Ladle Rat Rotten Hut

Once long ago, in a country far away, a young man sat in a hospital bed recovering from open heart surgery. His crazy, fun-loving sister sent him a piece of paper upon which there were no capital letters nor punctuation nor spaces. He puzzled those letters till his puzzler was sore. By the time the letters meant words and the words made sentences and the sentences became a story, that young man had memorized the thing! And thus became a tradition at every family gathering for that young man to tell the tale of Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.

Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner ladle cordage, honor itch offer lodge dock florist. Disk ladle gull orphan worry ladle cluck wetter putty ladle rat hut, an fur disk raisin pimple colder Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.

Wan moaning, Rat Rotten Hut’s murder colder inset, “Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, heresy ladle basking winsome burden barter an shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tutor cordage offer groin-murder hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist. Shaker lake! Dun stopper laundry wrote! An yonder nor sorghum-stenches, dun stopper torque wet strainers!”

“Hoe-cake, murder,” resplendent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, an tickle ladle basking an stuttered oft. Honor wrote tutor cordage offer groin-murder, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut mitten anomalous woof. “Wail, wail, wail!” set disk wicket woof, “Evanescent Ladle Rat Rotten Hut! Wares are putty ladle gull goring wizard ladle basking?”

“Armor goring tumor groin-murder’s,” reprisal ladle gull. “Grammar’s seeking bet. Armor ticking arson burden barter an shirker cockles.”

“O hoe! Heifer blessing woke,” setter wicket woof, butter taught tomb shelf, “Oil tickle shirt court tutor cordage offer groin-murder. Oil ketchup wetter letter, an den – O bore!”

Soda wicket woof tucker shirt court, an whinney retched a cordage offer groin-murder, picked inner widow, an sore debtor pore oil worming worse lion inner bet. Inner flesh, disk abdominal woof lipped honor bet an at a rope. Den knee poled honor groin-murder’s nut cup an gnat-gun, any curdled dope inner bet.

Inner ladle wile, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut a raft attar cordage, an ranker dough belle. “Comb ink, sweat hard,” setter wicket woof, disgracing is verse. Ladle Rat Rotten Hut entity bet rum an stud buyer groin-murder’s bet.

“O Grammar!” crater ladle gull, “Wood bag icer gut! A nervous sausage bag ice!”

“Battered lucky chew whiff, doling,” whiskered disk ratchet woof, wetter wicket small.

“O Grammar, water bag noise! A nervous sore suture anomolous prognosis!”

“Battered small your whiff,” insert a woof, ants mouse worse waddling.

“O Grammar, water bag mousy gut! A nervous sore suture bag mouse!”

Daze worry on-forger-nut gulls lest warts. Oil offer sodden, thoroughing offer carvers an sprinkling otter bet, disk curl and bloat-thursday woof ceased pore Ladle Rat Rotten Hut an garbled erupt.

Mural: Yonder nor sorghum stenches shut ladle gulls stopper torque wet strainers.

That young man grew up to be my uncle, Ron Watson, and while he, claims, to have passed the torch to my nephew, Ryan Beckham, the tale of Ladle Rat Rotten Hut will always be his.

[NOTE: Lead picture here of Ron from 2010 Reunion as he told this story, by popular demand! Again!}

FAVOURITE FOTO: Mel and Anita

Foto Facts:  Mel and Anita Watson, October 10, 1992 in Portland, Oregon

We won’t see a lot of Nana — Anita — here, on the website, simply because she didn’t contribute to the DNA of the Watson clan. Yet she was a huge part of my generation and the older members of the next generation.

These pictures are from my first wedding, held on Grandpa and Nana’s 17th anniversary. To celebrate their anniversary we had a cake just for them to cut during the reception. While my marriage crashed and burned, my divorce finalized a mere 14 months after these pictures were taken, they are a few of the pictures from that day I retained.

 

These pictures remind me that love remains.

 

That second chances happen.

 

That we must grasp both.

 

I remember the shock, maybe even anger, that Grandpa remarried so quickly following Grandma’s passing. Folks closer to the situation likely felt this more keenly than we did in the States. The summer of 1974 we received the devastating news Grandma was succumbing to her cancer. It was the first time I ever saw Dad cry. We didn’t have the money for two trips to Canada from California. My family made the excruciating decision to travel to Canada while Grandma was still alive. A bittersweet visit. (And perhaps, a tale for another day.)

Someone else will have to tell the story of how Mel and Anita met, and their whirlwind romance.

For me, the simple fact they found each other is enough.

She kept him young. She teased him. With her, Grandpa got to Scotland.

~ Contributed by Sherri Meyer

Please send us one or more of YOUR Favourite Fotos with some explanation and we will share it here.

Loving the Ginger

Mark Hunter and wife, Melissa Olin, at the 2006 Reunion

Mark Hunter was the only true ginger of my generation…just look at those fiery looks!

During the 2006 Reunion, Mark noted there had been some research to indicate the recessive red hair gene was dying out due to interracial marriages and such. (Of course, that info has since been debunked.) While only 2% of the world’s population has red hair since both parents have to have the gene to pass it on to a child, an estimated 40% have the recessive gene. Scotland boasts the highest percentage of natural redheads at 13% while Ireland comes in second with 10% according to one article from 2015.

The Meyer Boys: Charles, Robbie, Alex, and Ian June 2007

I quipped that I’d done my part by producing not one…not two…but three gingers. Heck, even the oldest started out strawberry blond thus it could be argued he has a “strong” recessive gene.

Through extensive research, thank you Aunt Linda, we also know the ginger made an appearance in:

Alexander Ronald (b. 1808 Auchindoir, Aberdeenshire d. Wandworth, London, England)

George Patterson Ronald Taylor Fowlie (b. 1887 Strichen, Aberdeenshire d. 1956 Vancouver, BC)

George Ronald Fowlie (b. 1911 Moose Jaw, SK d. 1995 Whitewood, SK)

Can you add a ginger to the list?

Ginger Fun Facts:

• Red hair and blue eyes is the rarest combination — a trait both Mark and Ian share — making them the rarest minority in the world, with only 1% having both.
• The lucky ducks don’t go gray. However, they also have the hardest time coloring their hair. (But why would they want to?)
• Gingers require more anesthesia, some say by approximately 20%. Having boys, with visits to the ER for various “boys will be boys” moments, I can attest to this! There’s even been research that shows redheads are more sensitive to hot and cold pain, with their bodies able to change temperature much quicker.
• “A tradition in Poland states that if you pass three redheads in a row, you will win the state lottery. Redhead luck to everyone!” Damn. I guess I need to move to Poland, with three gingers in my house that I pass on a daily basis…I’d be rich!

All Because Two People Fell In Love — Or Is It?

During our 2006 Reunion, someone made the comment, “All of this because two people fell in love,” or something to that effect.

Seriously, we went from this . . .

Mel and Grace circa 1930s

to this . . .

2006 Reunion

and that is pretty darn awesome!

I recently read Your Family: Past, Present, and Future and the math is staggering! When you look at his graphs, Aunt Linda’s Who the Heck? post makes a whole lot more sense. He even states, “absorb this fact: according to Rutgers anthropology professor Robin Fox, 80% of all marriages in history have been between second cousins or closer.”

Yet, that two people falling in love and gettin’ busy takes on a whole new level when you think about ALL the other couples in your past who helped make you who you are. That if just ONE couple failed to hook up, all those people in 2006 wouldn’t be there.

POOF!

Mind blown.

The Genealogy Bug

What is it about the birth of a child, the death of a parent or grandparent, that starts one thinking about those who came before?

Hidden journaling on this reads: Here you are…meeting your 1st Great-grandchild. What was going through your mind? What would you say about your legacy of 27 Great-grandchildren? (as of the August 2006 Watson Reunion) Sadly, we can’t ask you. You left us in January 1995, just months after your 2nd Great-grandchild was born. This picture from May 1992, when Ryan was just 4 weeks old, is the only picture of you holding a Great-grandchild that I know of. What was going through your mind as you held this next generation? Love you Grandpa and still miss you keenly after 12 years. Journaling: September 8, 2007 (your 97th birthday)

For me, it was my maternal grandfather. Not his death, devastating as that was, but rather the legacy he left behind. I’ll never know what kicked his genealogy bug into high gear but he diligently researched his ancestors. Back in the 1960s and early 1970s when there was no Internet :gasp: and everything was tracked down through correspondence and good ol’ legwork. He had five children and he presented each of them a hand-drawn family tree (four 16×20 sheets worth) and a 40+ page hand-written summary. Five copies folks! By hand!

While I had known about the family tree prior to his passing, I didn’t appreciate it in time to ask him ALL the questions that have since developed. Yes, the genealogy bug had bit me. But I was a kid, still in high school…there would be PLENTY of time.

Wrong.

It took the passing of Grandpa Watson. The fact he only met one of his great-grandchildren, Ryan Beckham (who is now married himself). Knowing exactly what opportunities I’d lost. I bought myself a software program, started entering all the info I had, mailed letters to everyone I could for more info, and researched what I could online.

But my research took a back seat to raising my own family. Until Aunt Linda contacted me…and this site was born.

I attribute the closeness of my dad’s side of the family to Grandpa Watson. Back before the Internet and emails — these days family emails quickly turn to spam with dozens of people replying to any given email (heaven help the poor fool who uses their work address) — everyone would call or write to Grandpa, he in turn would send out lengthy letters every few months, thus keeping everyone up-to-date on everyone else in the family. It was dedication, too. He typed it up on an old manual typewriter, hitting each key hard enough to go through six sheets of rice paper with carbon in between more important than speed. It was a celebration of sorts when those letters would arrive. Those letters remain a treasured piece of Melville Alexander Watson.

And here we are, working to preserve that legacy for the generations to follow.