Is it any wonder?

“What happened?” (Photo probably by my mother.)

My brother’s wife in northern DE has been digitizing old family slides like the picture above.
She posted some on our family Facebook.
Most were taken by my mother (“MD” = “Mother-Dear”).
The picture above looks like my mother took it. Line up everyone on a sofa under a wall-mirror, switch her Instamatic to flash, then wonder why a big starburst was in her picture.

“It’s the Mississippi I tell ya!” (Photo by Mother-Dear.)

Photos like this go back a long way. In 1952 my parents took another brother to Arkansas for cancer treatment — he eventually died.
As our car crossed the Mississippi River she took a picture. It’s posted above.
Um, what I see is blurred bridge railing, her first of many blurred bridge railing pictures.
“It’s the Mississippi I tell ya! Why are you always so disrespectful?”
My sister in Lynchburg, VA (Falwell-land) entreated me to name those in the picture.
I’m the oldest, she’s the youngest; we’re 17 years apart. There were seven in our family; four remain.
I can’t. The picture is 1963; I was away in college.
My first guess was my cousins Patsy and Judy were in the picture, along with my cousins Denny and David Broadwater — I couldn’t remember David’s name at first.
I’m told I have 60 cousins (gasp). I have many aunts and uncles, and they all had many children.
A cousin Diane weighed in saying it was a visit to or from my Uncle Bucky (Walter).
She identified herself, the others, and wondered who “Patsy” and “Judy” were.
So I responded with the following long-winded post:

“It’s beginning to sound like this was a visit TO or FROM Uncle Bucky.
The lamps seem familiar, but not the location of the couch.
What I remember is a couch that defined the entryway into our house in DE; that is, it was north (south/east/whatever Jack says).
It seems by 1963 the organ woulda been on the south (east/whatever) wall — not a sofa.
The oldster who is Uncle Bucky I thought might be David Broadwater, Aunt Ginny’s son (I remembered his name).
I wasn’t part of this visit; and how do I know it wasn’t MD visiting Uncle Bucky in Camden?
I never saw much of Uncle Bucky — he was sort of on-the-outs.
All I remember is Uncle Bucky drove Public Service bus, and he and wife Francis had many kids.
And one, ‘Joan,’ was murdered by her boyfriend, shot.
‘Patsy’ and ‘Judy’ and also ‘Denny’ are the last of my Uncle Bill’s (Ethelbert) kids. He had many before them, but the only one I knew was my cousin Dougie, who was a navigator on one of Strategic Air Command’s KC-135 tanker planes. He also owned a V8 ’56 Pontiac two-door hardtop.
Dougie was in his 20s by then, ‘Patsy’ about two years older than me, ‘Judy’ my age, and ‘Denny’ two-three years younger than me.
And we all know my Uncle Bill built the ENTIRE Ben-Franklin suspension-bridge between Philly and Camden single-handed with only a toothpick.
And he invented the submarine-sandwich; but ‘them greezy eye-talians ruined it by replacing the cucumbers with ‘maters.’
Also that he loudly proclaimed (engage pots on kitchen-table) to be ‘the world’s biggest leprechaun.’
When Ben-Franklin Bridge opened as ‘Delaware River Bridge’ in 1926, my paternal grandfather told me he was the first across in his ’34 Packard.
Is it any wonder I became a ‘slinger of words?’
My mother claimed she was related to Betsy Ross and Daniel Boone, and her ancestors came to America on the Mayflower.
‘Judy’ was great to talk to, hyper-intelligent like her mother (my Aunt Marion). I used to say I wanted to marry someone like Judy, and I did.
Patsy had something wrong with her — supposedly a product of earlier intermarrying within the Connor Family.
Denny and I lobbed water-balloons from the attic-floor (fourth) of their giant house on Lansdowne Ave. [Actually E. Baltimore Ave.] We got one successfully into the back seat of a top-down Buick convertible.
The owner stopped and pounded the front door. My Uncle Bill sent him packing! This was the time of the giant famblee conclave to decide what to do with Aunt Mary’s kids.
Aunt Mary had been put in an insane asylum.
It was also the time my Uncle Bill pounded the kitchen-table with pots, and my mother started crying.”

477 words. Far as I remember Facebook once had a word-limit.
I guess not any more; my 477 words posted in entirety.
Of course, a 477 word post is 472 more than average. I’m a word generator.
Usually it’s “You go girl” or “Congrats.”
Notes:
—My brother Jack in Boston redefined the compass direction of a road that goes east past our old neighborhood in northern DE.
He loudly declared it was south, which I guess it is other than past our neighborhood. It’s probably signed as “south,” although I would call it southeasterly.
Like many in our family he brooks no criticism. If I disagree I’m stupid and of-the-Devil; cue The Donald.
—RE: the lamps.....
My mother refused to remove dust-covers from her lampshades. Were they her lamps? Could be.
—My Uncle Bucky and his family lived in a row-house in Camden, NJ, across from Philadelphia.
—Our family had an electronic organ as well as a piano.
—My Uncle Bill, whose actual name was “Ethelbert,” was first-born of my mother’s family. He became a civil engineer, self-employed I guess, and was want to brag about his exploits.
—My Uncle Bill always pronounced “Italians” as “eye-talians.”
—The Ben Franklin Bridge is a giant suspension bridge across the Delaware River connecting Philadelphia with Camden, NJ. It opened in 1926, and was the first cross-river car-traffic artery that didn’t use ferries.
—RE: Lansdowne Ave.
At the time of this conclave, my cousins Patsy, Judy, and Denny lived with their parents is a giant house in Lansdowne, west of Philadelphia. The house was in the corner of E. Baltimore Ave. (”Baltimore Pike?”) and Wycombe Ave. —The house has since been torn down.
The Buick was on Wycombe Ave.
Their house was much bigger than needed, except my Uncle Bill had a gigantic ego.
—Rumors have surfaced about earlier intermarriage among my mother’s ancestors. They’re used to explain Patsy, my Aunt Mary’s insanity, and one of my brothers having Down Syndrome.

My old friend at the Messenger newspaper, Marcy Dewey (now Mahoney) used to ask where I got so much insanity to blog.
“Marcy, it’s everywhere,” I’d say.