Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

Have you heard about the Octopus and Grouper Collaboration?

Can a person fall down two Fabbit-Holes at once? I say yes. Because I did. So should you. It’s more fabulous than one. I just checked my calendar. I had the whole Octo-Grouper angle running. Then this

Now what? Who the fuck am I celebrating again? And why? And when? I ask because I have a dog in this hunt. Or a Grouper.

Battle On!

I checked my calendar again and it confused the hell out of me. Again. I sent an emergency text to The Oldest to confirm my awkward feelings (she’s an expert).

YUP. Total Breakdown. Maybe Google. Maybe Me. Maybe the Gods. Or gods. We can’t be sure at this point. Or we can be sure and we can lie to you. Either or, it’s in your best interest. Either way. Please let me continue without me interrupting you. That’s quite distracting.

Watch two species work together scrounging and scavenging.

Oh yeah, and surviving too. We might have to get used to this. The whole leader/free world/broke/dystopia/aftermath thing. Remember? You will. This is just prep.

So a Grouper and an Octopus go hunting together and don’t kill or eat each other. Almost like GDub and the dude he shot in the ear. Damn, a hit and a miss in the same shot. One more and I got him. So much for eating what you shoot.

Don’t talk about ocean food pyramid, I’m going bigger point here. They use look patrol to corral yellow fish. Wild Yellow Fish. Talk about a Reef Bully Gang. They actually look at each other and do the nod, just like catering. Scary.

We are on look patrol now. Be wary.

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Make sure you always have a “Soft Touch Mechanism”. Just one click away, your escape to Margaritaville. I actually need a / FULL AUTO STOP

The whole Sacred Ground thing swallowed me up as I visited my ancestors buried there. The scaffold necklace that choked the breath out of San Gabriel became obvious by disappearing.

What had been hidden suddenly and immediately thrust upon me unexpectedly. Thanks to 2020s penchant for shitting on centuries-old Euro-trash, a roving band of do-gooders set the San Gabriel CA Mission on fire. That really evened up the score with that old bastard Junipero Serra. He shoulda stayed on that island he came from. Damn immigrants.

Barely 150 years after The Mission was built, a peasant family from St. Boniface, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada made their way down to LA. Those peasants were my Great Grandparents John and Eugenie Waelbrock. You can read about them here.

The Value of a Penny

The Waelbrock’s were devout Catholics, and much of their life involved the Mission. Their kids went to school there. They obviously attended church there. Knights of Columbus and Church Picnics and and Holy Services. Not to mention weddings, funerals and baptisms.

Grandpa John’s middle name was Octave. I wonder if he was the 8th child? RIP Grandpa John

Now, they rest there in eternal bliss, thanks to their Lord Jesus Christ. One thing about Grandma Waelbrock, she believed in the Lord. But she believed more in the Lord’s trinkets, chachkis, and statues. She had a 2’ Jesus that stood on a table in her living room. He always gave me the guilt. I’m not even Catholic but I obeyed.

They rest alongside their son, Theophile, who succumbed to his injuries five days after the fuel truck he was riding shotgun in crashed. His death is described as excruciating. He was 18 and it was 1940.

Uncle Theo is to the right, Grandma St. Pierre (Eugenie’s mom) straight ahead, and my Great-Great Grandparents Charles and Evelyn Waelbrock. I love how they rep Belgium hard on the tombstone. Shout Out to Brussels.

I guess I can legit print a shirt to wear that states “Made in Belgium”. Don’t know why I would, but one has to love the passion of that statement for eternity. I’m down for National Pride. Seems like that a bad things round here these days.

My Family Lore goes that Grandpa John, a Master Carpenter, did extensive work on the statuary niches on the exterior.

Prior to the burndown during the lockdown (don’t get me started there) these niches had wood elements. I used to walk by and think about Grandpa John, as I envisioned him sharing his craft for the House of the Lord. His belief was strong. Now they’re gone.

So, fresh off my trip to New Mexico, with a side visit to Durango, CO, I walk around the Mission and discover informative panels I’ve never seen before. And that we’ve traveled the same path. From here to there and back.

Turns out, the connections run deep and there really is only six degrees of separation. From everything.

The interweb of connectivity shared by us, one family, runs deep. Ring the bells. Praise the Lord. All who wander are not lost . . .

Ric