Grand Pockets’s Blog

Genealogy, Family, Poetry and Peeves


BOAZ FLEMING condensed from Rootsweb threads
b Jan 3, 1758 d Mar 20, 1830
married 1st Elizabeth Hutchinson and 2nd Eliza Laidley
served in Revolutionary War as pvt in Delaware Continental Line.

Upper Monongahela Valley, p. 406:
William, Robert, Archibald and John Fleming settled in 1741 in
Penn’s Colony on the Delaware. In 1789, John, with three of his brother
William’s sons, Nathan, Boaz, and Benoni, removed to West Virginia and
settlred on lands along the Monongahela River. Of John, there is no
account. The three nephews remained and were joined by their sister, Mary,
and their step-mother, Ann Hudson.

Boaz Fleming son of William Fleming and Jane/Jean Frame. William born in
Scotland 6/5/1717 arrived in America about 1740 with his brothers, Archibald,
Robert and John. Boaz born in Kent Co., Delaware 1/3/1758. He married
Elizabeth Hutchinson abt 1785. In 1887 they removed to VA with their daughter
Clarissa. Boaz founded the town of Middletown VA, now Fairmont, WV.
Children of Boaz and Elizabeth:
Clarissa b 1786 Kent Co., Delaware
William b 12/161788 VA
Mary b 4/1/1791
Elizabeth b 5/23/1793
David b 3//7/1796
Sarah b 11/18/1798
Lemuel b 8/15/1802
Jane b 4/14/1804
Joannah b 9/23/1810
Margaret b 3/22/1814
Elizabeth Hutchinson Fleming died in 1823. Boaz married Eliza Laidley in
1826. They had one child Dexera b in 1827. Eliza died a few months after her
birth in 1827. Boaz died 3/20/1830. For more info on this Fleming family
and others see the book "The William Fleming Family – a Genealogy" by Frank
Brand published in 1941. This book is available from Higginson books as a reprint
and I have some of it here on my blog.


July 17, 2009 Posted by | family, genealogy | 1 Comment

Lute and Liza Gould

Charles Luther and Eliza Ann Conaway Gould. “Lute” with one of his ever present beagles, they are outside the old homestead on Hanna Ave in Loveland, Ohio. Eliza’s father was Edmund Macaulay Conaway, Lute’s was George Washington Gould, both of Marion County, WV. They are my great grandparents.

gould-lute-lizaLute was a carpenter and farm worker in season and built 4 houses on Hanna Avenue. He loved coon hunting with a pack of beagles that ran the nights along the Little Miami River hunting.

February 27, 2009 Posted by | family, genealogy, photo gallery | , , , | Leave a comment

Oldies but Goodies

Another old family photo, my cousin Larry Gould giving me a push in my red wagon. Larry is one of those unsung heroes of everyday life, serving his  community in a career in law enforcement as a deputy sheriff for Hamilton County, Ohio. We are both descended from the Conaways, Flemings and Goulds of West Virginia, from James Aaron Gould to George Washington Gould, to Charles Luther to Lawrence Jay Gould and then Larry from my Uncle Robert Lee Gould and me from Patricia Gould both of Loveland, Ohio.



February 20, 2009 Posted by | family, photo gallery | , , , , | Leave a comment

Old Memories in Box of Photos

My mom sent me a package this week containing all the old photos and memorabilia from my growing up. On hand it worries me that she would send me these precious memories that she has clung onto for years, but it was a terrific gift. The memories flooded through me as I went through the box. Things thought forgotten were remembered suddenly. I’ll share just one here, the rest I’ll get on flciker eventually. Well, maybe not those old grade cards. Be kind of hard extolling the virtues of good grades to my grandkids if they saw those.

scan4002My old fire chief special. I use to pedal like crazy and plow it into the yard where it would stop instantly – the narrow wheels would sink in the ground and it would throw me forward. Which seemed great fun so I tried it on the garage wall.  I jammed something somewhere that really hurts little boys.  The only car wreck I’ve ever caused.


February 9, 2009 Posted by | family | , , , , | Leave a comment


Okay. My friends got me out last night…this is a Tuesday mind you, and I have to work in the morning. Like in getting up at 4:30 am.
“It is a birthday party,” they say, “for Mike. Ya gotta come.”
Maybe I will, I tell them, thinking to myself, you guys are nuts, how are you gonna get up tomorrow? Its evident that most of the guys are going but I’m still sure I’ll just stay home and 3:30 finally arrives.
When I get home I’m bored, and Renee is working and Sadie is at her Grandma’s, and I have hamburger helper lasagna and Pepsi for dinner. At 6:30 pm I cave in. Okay. I’ll go to Legends (the club they’re at) for one beer and say hi to everyone.
I arrive to cheers and heads up! and Chuck-o! and all the inane things people greet you with they’re drunk enough to become best-friend familiar. The scene was cool: mostly friends from work, not too many collegians, smooth, steel drum-like lounge music, not too loud and a few couples moving together on the dance floor. Legends is the kind of club that has large crowds most of time, too young and too hip for me generally.
Tonight, perhaps because it’s Tuesday, perhaps because everyone is partied out from the weekend, its laid back and atmospherey and I’m feeling comfortable as I sit with the gang and order a LaBatt Blue. We’re laughing and joking around when Jeff introduces me to a girl – not to hook me up because it’s his niece but, I think, he feels I’m old enough and married enough to be harmless and trustworthy.
Cori is very pretty, chic, 20-ish and a live wire. She flirts with all of us, dances one set after another non stop and becomes the life of the party. She knows how to tease the older guys like me, set the younger ones on the edges of their seats watching her every move and, I think, although this is really new and different territory for me, more than a few of the women are appreciating her, too.
So, one beer becomes two, I’m having a good time and decide I can bend my rules a bit and stay til 10. It’s gotten a lot quieter of a sudden when someone asks – “Hey, where did Cori get to?”
Jeff checks everyplace out – restrooms, parking lot, everywhere. No Cori. He is worried. We all start looking. Been about an hour since anyone’s seen her and we’re getting more worried since she left without a word to anyone. Jeff is about to call the cops, this is his niece and he’s saying his sister will kill him dead as a doornail if anything happens to Cori when in through the doors she walks.
She just pats Jeff on the chest and kisses his cheek when he asks where she’s been. “Went for a walk, Uncle Jeff, I’m a big girl you know,” and leaves him fuming as she heads for the dance floor, waggling a finger at Brandon like he’s a bass about to land on her hook or something. He is landed, too, steps right up there. Tomorrow I am going to check that boy for a nose-ring, I swear I am.
Now we are all a group of 4 tables pushed pretty close but still a bit apart, and since I was one of the last to arrive, I’m near the back. Jeff, Mikey and most of my buddies my age are clear at the other end. So who comes up and sits by me when the set is done?
Yep. Cori. She leans over to sip a drink and say, “Uncle Jeff is too much. He’d never understand.”
“Understand, what?” I ask her.
“I gave Tony a booty call a while ago…it was getting so boring here”
“A booty call? You mean your boyfriend”  I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hear this explanation.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Tony’s just my local fuck.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Responding is difficult when half a LaBatt Blue beer has just been spit – by oneself – down one’s shirt.
“Don’t tell Uncle Jeff, okay?”
“Don’t worry.” I sure as  hell ain’t gonna to tell Jeff that! I’m thinking to myself.
She is up and running for the dance floor again just like that, as nonchalant as if she’d told me she went home to do the laundry.
I wiped my shirt off, said goodbye to everyone and feeling old and out of my time, went home.
One thought from an old song kept running through my mind all the way there.

This is the dawn of the aging of Aquarius…

February 4, 2009 Posted by | family, humor | | 1 Comment

What the Hell is Wrong with you?

Well, after my last post I sat down to eat, felt uncomfortably full and retired to bed.  I awoke feeling like a boa constrictor had wrapped around my chest, got out of bed, took a half dozen steps and collapsed.  Another damn heart attack. So I’ve been stinted again, and I’m home, exhausted, sore and very glad to have how many days I’m given to love my family and appreciate life.

You know, I considered, while laying there in that clackety-clack hospital bed, (the new-fangled kind that shifts under you automatically, supposedly to prevent bed sores but gives a really creepy feeling if you’re cognizant and able to move yourself) why I really love genealogy so much when it’s those darn genetics that are a huge part of my health problems. Dratted ancestors. Did they all have to have peanut butter pipes for arteries?

Okay, truthfully, I have to lay more blame on my own choice of lifestyles, since I smoked from the age of 18 on. And being naturally thin and lanky, I never really worried about what I ate, gobbling buffet lines of fried foods, eggs, butter, cakes, pies, pizzas and pastas without considering what all that fat and cholesterol might be doing to my heart plumbing even if it wasn’t fattening me up. I enjoyed every damn delicious bite, too, so hold the sympathy. I’ve loved the hell outta life and I ain’t done yet, Jack.

All this means is that I am living a new kind of life now, and its one I intend to enjoy just as much – as soon as I can adapt to the taste of skim milk and egg beaters. They say its kind of an acquired taste – foods with no fats, I mean; and once used to “no fat” the old fat-filled foods taste bad. I hope to hell it happens soon, though because the “no fat” varieties of ice cream, for instance taste like crap. Soy meat tastes like crap. Skim milk tastes like whitened water.  Someone said to me, try tofu, it tastes good and its great for you. I tried it and spat it out. I wanna ask my friend “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Food, of course, is an acquired taste for all of us. Cultural and personal choices made from early years on tend to accumulate in our brains as tastes we love and crave. My grandkids for instance think raw rolled oats cooked the old fashioned way tastes like crap. They want instant stuff with articial flavoring. Personally I think that stuff tastes like sweetened shredded cardboard.

Same with hamburgers – my grandkids want hamburgers from McDonald’s. When I grill a nice juicy thick hamburger they complain it doesn’t taste like McDee’s. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” I wanna ask.

It’s not just tastebuds that you have to fight if you truly want a healthier diet – its the pocketbook, too. Why is it that foods made with loads of artificial chemicals and a lot of energy intensive processing cost half as much as foods with no artificial chemicals, and far less processing? I’d  like to get the heads of some big companies like Con Agra, and Sara Lee, and General Mills together and ask them “What is the hell is wrong with you?” Put the good foods and the bad on equal financial footing and hey- it’s all on you brother. Eat stupid and suffer the consequences. If you can afford the good food and eat the bad anyway I go back to my key phrase “What the hell is wrong with you?” (By the way – I put myself in this category). I wonder, though about young families with children who are struggling with every dime they make, and elderly or disabled on fixed incomes.

All this talk about food has me starving. I’m thinking of phoning in a Pizza Hut Supreme and having a dish of Rocky Road for dessert. After all that hospital blandola I’m due, right?

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”


January 27, 2009 Posted by | family, sarcastic humor | , , | Leave a comment

Aimee and Mandi – My Daughters

I have two daughters, and like most fathers I am blind to their faults and think they are too good for any guy they meet. Luckily I actually like Dobie and Brian, their consorts, but that doesn’t mean either is actually worthy. When I had a heart attack and open heart surgery Aimee and Mandi were at my bedside throughout the thing, staying for hours on end even when I told them to go home. They are also blind to my faults, those legion, because that is the way fathers and daughters are. A wise man once said – “No other success can compensate for failure in the home”. In life my greatest success has been as a father. That’s not because of any great thing I did when they grew up, but, despite the fact it was their own choices that have made them into such terrific adults, I get the undeserved but welcome feeling “Hey, we did a pretty good job with them” whenever I’m around them. Plus, they made incredible grandchildren!

Daughter Mine

She is part of me that tomorrow
will embrace, when the morning
glory is bare on the trellis slats
and snows into the earth have sunk,
my clarion of spring,
tissue and seed
and the sap flowing in apple trees,
she is me and I am she.

Speak to her when I cannot,
when the slow peace flows
through my heart and limbs
and gives this soul release,
speak to her then, of my love for her.
What lived in times of caesars,

kings and tendriled history,
what lived through her impetuosity,

unremembered but still part of me,
is hers now, daughter of mine.
She is me and I am memory.

©Charles Elledge2008


January 23, 2009 Posted by | family | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Curmudgeon Me

I need to bitch more often. More people read the blog. Does that say something about human nature? I know it does to me and I mean me, myself. Heartwarming stories are chicken soup for the soul but who the hell eats chicken soup all the time? Give me some good red meat “got-that-off -my-chest” beefing for the main course.

There are few things nice about getting older. People that extol the virtues of age are god-damn liars. One of the few things that is neat , though, about wrinkling up and playing raisin is the allowance made for being a crabass, even give it a cuter sounding name – curmudgeon. Its a natural fact about aging – you ache more and thus bitch more. Plus more time to store up gripes, think about ’em and refine bitching technique. It cracks me up when I hear wisdom and age correlated as if age is somehow connected to wisdom. All you have to do to be considered wise it seems is muck things up for fifty or so years and then emerge from the mess still alive and and – curmudgeonly – to have people begin calling you some kind of sage.  That’s not wisdom. That’s being stupid enough to make most of the mistakes available in life’s vast array of choices, and lucky enough to live through it all.

Age has meant humility for me, though. Realizing exactly how many times you probably made the wrong choice and accepting it as your life. Proud humble, though. Damnit, I wouldn’t change many things. One or two, maybe, but part and parcel I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my ride so far and I plan to grow even more curmudgeonly and called a dirty old man at least a few times before I’m done.  It’s the least I can do since its expected of me.


January 11, 2009 Posted by | family, humor, sarcastic humor | , , , | 1 Comment

Nosefrida Baby Care – No More Bulb Basters!

I recently made a post about my nephew’s clogged nose and the battle of the snots that ensued, lasting most of the night. A reader, Chris, pointed me to a cool new invention called the “Nosefrida”. This thing is ‘da berries’!

Really, every parent on the planet should know about this cool little tool – no more mini turkey baster bulb squeezing snot suckers! No siree – now I can insert this device in lil nephew’s nostril, suck on the attached tube and sloop the goop right outta Dan Jello! Say what? You suck out the kid’s snot? Through a tube attached to your own mouth? YUCK!?

Okay – at first glance it does sound gross but first the tube is attached to a filter, and a larger cylinder that captures every bit of the goo – nothing gets close to you. And for you mom’s and dad’s out there – it is safe, gentle (much gentler than the bulb thingies that I always fear will end up tearing through those tender nose membranes) and sanitary. There is no chance at all you get baby’s stickies anywhere near your own mouth – you are only providing safe suction. You are in effect a ‘Mommy vac’ – or ‘Daddy-vac’- to give equal billing.

Hey, the important thing is this little invention works and works better than anything else for unplugging the little snots – er – kids. PLUS – it’s cheap! Just follow the link to Nosefrida’s site and read all the pediatrician recommendations, or ‘google’ Nosefrida and see independent reviews from child care experts and other parents – the biggest experts of all.

Grandpockets wishes this thing had been around when I raised my little ones but my grandkids won’t be without one!

Just a disclaimer in today’s affiliate driven web – I DO NOT have an affiliate id for this, or get a thing for plugging it. I just really, really think every parent of small children should take a look at this – from Chris to me to you – Nosefrida gets my highest grandparental seal of approval.


January 6, 2009 Posted by | family | , , , , | Leave a comment

I Need a New Programmer

I'm just a Video Game? Me?

I'm just a Video Game? Me?

Are we living in a real Matrix? A simulated reality generated by some wacked out video game programmer in a higher universe? According to Konrad Zuse’s “Calculating Space”, it’s a possibility. Zuse, is not some science fiction novelist but a physicist who postulated the theory that life may just be one big program in 1970. This ‘digital physics’ theory still has proponents, including Seth Lloyd, one of the world’s leading physicists who proposed a modified theory of digital physics that attempts to reconcile it with quantum theory. Basically all the universe and all within are just bits of information, quantum particles that are either “on” or “off” to drastically simplify things, like bits in a program. The ‘Matrix’ movie series borrows much of its underlying premise from the theory. The difference is in the movie all those humans hanging in baggies – suggests that once humans were other than programs, while the theory suggests that basically that is all we are.  God, as a programmer, is a more than a bit jarring, but at least that suggests the program has a direction and purpose – in reality the theory proposes no such direction. We are simply random, complex interactions of all information that exists, bytes that pass in the quantum night. I wonder what they call the game we live in up there in alternate universe land? Warcraft, Earth Version? Doom Too? Quake – Its Just a Game? Now, at least, I can quit worrying about my foibles and quirks – it’s just the way I’m programmed. And the kid that’s playing me? Boy did I get a dumbass!


January 3, 2009 Posted by | family, humor | , , , , , | 3 Comments