So, I feel a little bad getting this one out so late.  There was a lot of great conversation and stories that happened before all the political drama this week and had nothing what so ever to do with any of it.

Having dinner, there were 11 adults, 1 tween, 2 toddlers and 2 babies.  The toddlers had been dropped off a little early since their big sister had a riding lesson, and I was showing off our horse Lucy to her potential new owners (she needs a job, and I just can’t keep her busy enough!)  Rest assured we did all make it in time for dinner to hit the table (it was a little late!)

There were Dad’s Chicken Strips, Green Beans with Bacon (every bite of those was gone!) Creamy Parmesan Noodles and Polynesian Bread (Thanks, Ilea again for that recipe! The extra loaf that somehow got overlooked made amazing french toast Thursday as well!)

Prayers were said for the food and for those in Puerto Rico recovering from the hurricane, especially those that are members of our Tuesday family.


We talked about goofy names and made it to the original “man Bunn”, which inspired this story to be shared.


Job Bunn was a Union soldier who was captured by the Confederate army while guarding a train. He was marched to Andersonville internment camp and somehow managed to survive. When the prisoners were released the union army would pay $5 for an enlisted man and $10 for an officer to the boats to bring them up the Mississippi. Job was on an overpacked steamship, the Sultana, that exploded, It killed 1192 soldiers (less people died on the Titanic). It is the worst disaster in US maritime history, but no one knows about it because John Wilkes Booth was assassinated the next day.



Job’s family erected a monument in his honor. His body was never found. My uncle the keeper of family history saw it a few years ago, and when he went to see it this year it was completely home. He made calls to all of the city officials, and when none of them knew where it went he filed a police report. Job’s memory shouldn’t be stolen.


We all agreed that it was a terrible story, especially with the memorial being stolen.  But, agreed that it would make an excellent documentary for our reporter friend.

This story leads to another about the husband of a church member who a served in WWII and survived a Naval accident, where a ship was damaged defending the East Coast and no one knew about it because the government did want the people to panic that the Germans were so near the shores.

And on lighter notes, we talked about how spouses were met during this time because of day passes for German Prisoners of War into Ann Arbor, and others because they were in the right place in the White House and met the right people to set them up!

We talked about my Dad serving in the Navy over in Italy, went into a bar one night and the waitress recognizing his last name said “Ah! Italiano!” and he replied, “No, Siciliano!,” and the waitress went pale and all of the locals paid their tabs and left the bar, leaving only the sailors in the room.

The mafia influence was really that strong?

Oh yea, if you were from Sicily at that time you were bad news.

We moved on to talking about a party happening over the weekend, and my craft show coming up.

Don’t forget if you want me to take something I need it this weekend!!

Did you get those soap dishes made for me?

When did you need those by again?

Saturday! If you can?

I’ll have her drop some off later this week.

Good! Thanks!


And for dessert, there was a toe squishing and Apricot Coffee Cake!  The coffee cake was much better than the toddler’s toes being squished, but rest assured she is fully recovered and has forgotten all about it.

The coffee cake, however, did not recover and had been fully demolished.









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