329. Playing Hookie, An Impromptu Family Reunion, and other comments

Today was a beautiful, if somewhat breezy, day - a good day to play hookie (hooky?) from the office, and that is what I did. I had already planned to attend to some family business in Frankfort, so off I went to Kentucky's capital along I-64, where the widening project is coming along between the Weigh Stations and Waddy (or Waddy-Peytona for those of you who aren't aware these are two different places, the former an actual village a little south of I-64, the latter an intersection where the Elmburg Pike crosses the Old Louisville Road near Shelby County's recently built Heritage Elementary School. Eventually the interstate is to be widened all the way from Louisville to Frankfort. Eventually, given the state of affairs of the affairs of the state, may be a long wait, but the first steps have been taken.

After disposing of the family business, I made my way over to the Kentucky Democratic Headquarters, to see someone I had previously emailed about viewing some paperwork therein. Due to some scheduling conflicts, that paperwork-viewing didn't happen. There is some grand planning taking place at Headquarters as Friday, May 9th (pointed out to me in a phone call as being a mere 48 hours away) is the date scheduled for a big Kentucky Democratic Party fundraiser in Louisville, to be held downtown at the Convention Center. As an aside, I am old enough to remember when saying the words "the Convention Center" referred to a building on Muhammad Ali Boulevard between Armory Place and Sixth Street, back when Muhammad Ali Boulevard was still called Walnut Street. But, I am not of an age to remember the building alongside Armory Place actually being called The Armory, which for years it was. That building is now called The Gardens. The fundraiser is being held a few blocks to the northeast at 4th and Market streets. But, I digress.

While at HQ for my non-paper reviewing meeting, I struck up a conversation with the two women volunteering at the front desk, Hazel and another one whose name I have since forgotten. I didn't mention to them the aforementioned paper-viewing plans, but rather paid for two tickets to the aforementioned fundraiser scheduled this Friday in the aforementioned Convention Center. As I understand it, there are levels of financial participation, from the $10,000.00 level on down to the $50.00 level, the level upon which I will be participating. The higher the ticket value you purchase, the closer you will be to two bottles of wine, some dessert, Jerry Lundergan, Jon Hurst, and the Guest of Honor, New York Senator Hillary Clinton. At the $50.00 level, my seats may well be out in the middle of the Clark Memorial Bridge a few blocks away, but, as is sometimes lamented in these situations, it is for a good cause.

Before I left HQ, I also filled out one of those "I wanna be a delegate to Denver" forms, telling the two volunteer ladies I didn't really want to go, I just wanted to say I wanted to go. One of them, the one whose name escapes me, asked about the weather on my drive up which led to a conversation about how it is always windy at Democratic Headquarters, something I know to be true based on 35 years of visits. I remarked to her that across the street the Sunset Memorial Cemetery was also similarly typically windy. I mentioned my grandmother being buried there, and she assented in my suggestion that the cemetery was indeed a blustery place.

Upon leaving Headquarters, without viewing any papers or speaking to anyone in charge other than the two ladies, I made my way over to the cemetery. Buried therein are my grandparents, their parents, several of their brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins, and in-laws, all generally in the same area. While I was visiting the graves, first one car, then another pulled up behind mine and I noticed they were noticing me, and noticing in particular that I was standing generally in the same area they would be standing if they had beaten me to the area. Eventually emerging from the first car were my grandmother's first cousin, Mary Margaret Collins Jackson, her daughter Nancy who lives in Lexington, her granddaughter-in-law who is another woman whose name I didn't catch, and that young woman's child, Dominic Filipini, a resident with his parents and grandparents of Florida. Emerging from the second car was Mary Margaret's husband Jim, residents of Versailles.

Mary Margaret's father, Earl Louis Collins, and my great grandmother, Rachel Scott Brawner, were half-brother and sister, although we generally disregard that half business in our family. In common lingo then, me and Dominic Filipini, the young boy from Florida, are sixth cousins. A true genealogist would correct me on this pointing out that he is my third cousin thrice removed and I am his fourth cousin twice removed. In any event, including the deceased upon whose graves we were standing, there were five generations of us there, all descendants of Annie Choate Brawner Collins, who is herself buried downtown in the Frankfort Cemetery.

Eventually we all hugged and departed the confines of the decedents of our family. From there I made my way downtown, passing the Obama for President Frankfort HQ recently opened on Main Street, opening in the building next door to where my great-great grandmother Annie Choate Brawner Collins raised all those children. I met with my friend Aaron Horner for a cup of coffee at the Kentucky Coffeetree Coffeehouse, having of cup of the Peru blend brewed by Erec the barista. We chatted on the sidewalk about horseracing, roadtrips, Pat Riley (yes, THE Pat Riley), schedules, and a little politics. Former State Senator Lindy Casebier stopped by for moment and chatted as well, telling us of his connection with THE Pat Riley. One of Frankfort's street characters, a man named Tom, stopped to tell us he had enjoyed three coney-island dogs from the vendor on Saint Clair Street and was on his fifth cup of coffee from the coffeeshop, although his cup is one which, given the generosity of the coffeeshop, never runs dry. A Nicholasville-based R J Corman train came through from the west (which would mean it had probably passed through Waddy) to the east (toward Lexington) down the center of Broadway, headed for the pre-Civil War tunnel which Aaron suggested he might want to explore sometime. It was dug through in 1849 and is seen in the image below. I remember going through it several times as a teenager, which was a long time ago.

Finally, I departed my favorite capital city and made my way back home along the Left Bank of the Ohio River near Milepost 606, where the beautiful but breezy day, has given way to some slight rain showers and an overcast sky.

Happy Trails.