Those Places Thursday - No Longer the Follower

Can you see me?  I certainly look different back then (Hint: the red hair is there, albeit dark red)

I seem to be walking down Army Memory Lane quite a lot recently, but it was a big part of my life.  A part I want to share with my children and their children as well.

I joined the Army as a Private First Class (PFC), and after a year or so of believing that I wanted to be an officer, I came to realize that I wanted to be a Noncommissioned Officer.  A sergeant.  I eventually got to my promotion board (that's another post which I plan to do in April) and then on to the Primary Leadership Development Course (PLDC).  I was stationed in San Antonio, Texas when I needed to go to PLDC, so I was sent to the nearest Army post which happened to be Fort Hood (ironically enough where I am now!).

I was a little scared when I went.  I had a horrible fear of failure.  I wasn't afraid of the academic learning.  I could do that, no worries.  I was afraid of the practical, field-work.  I was stationed at a unit that didn't go to the field.  While it was a great assignment to gain some very good technical experience in my job it wasn't the best job for gaining tactical experience, and that's what a good portion of PLDC would be about.

I guess I was a little insecure with my experiences, but I had great leaders and they prepared me well. I was at PLDC from the end of January to the end of February 1999.  There were three moments that stand out in my mind from my short four weeks at this school.  The first was during our field exercise. It was pretty cold out so the cadre set up fire barrels and we stood around the fire in the dark with coffee made from our MREs.  We held our canteen cups over the fire to warm it up.  It sounds like a silly, trivial thing to remember, but it was a lot of fun being able to take some time and just talk with classmates.

The second was on the last day of our field exercise.  It was the day that we were heading back in for recovery.  We had gone well over 24 hours without sleep and we were tired.  My cadre called me over and told me that I was the Honor Graduate for the class.  I just stood there and stared straight ahead and said, "Huh?"  The words weren't making sense to me.  My brain wasn't working.  They repeated it and I just said "Oh.  OK."  They told me to head back to my tent.  Like the obedient Soldier I was, I did just that.  I sat there outside my small tent with my M16 in my hands and just stared at the grass in front of me.  I stared and the grass STARTED TO GROW!  I am not joking, my mind was so tired and I was so out of it that I actually was hallucinating.  I started giggling and then a couple cadre members (after asking what I was giggling about) told me to go to sleep.  I did and it wasn't until I woke up an hour or so later that what they told me sank in.  I was Honor Graduate.  That was the #2 graduate in a class of about 100 (the #1 person was called the Distinguished Honor Graduate).  I was excited.  I hadn't let my unit down.  My fear of failure was for nothing...or at least it drove me to succeed.

The last significant memory I have of PLDC was graduation.  My Battalion Commander, the acting Sergeant Major, and my Platoon Sergeant were coming to the graduation.  There may have been one or two other minions that came out with them, but I was excited that these leaders (mostly my Platoon Sergeant, who was so awesome!) were going to be there, and I was giving the commencement speech.  There were technically 2 graduations and the way they split the graduations up, the Distinguished Honor Graduate was giving the speech in the afternoon graduation so I was giving the morning speech.  Why was this memorable?  Because the speech was written by the NCO Academy and my Battalion Commander thought I had written it and she congratulated me for giving such a great speech.  Why does this stick out?  Well, I despised my Battalion Commander and saying something along the lines of, "Thanks ma'am, but I didn't write it." just to make her seem foolish is a highlight any day of the week.  You'll discover the reason for my animosity toward this woman in the April post I alluded to.  It should be a pretty good one.

The picture at the top of the post was just of the students in my actual classroom.  Sure we had about 100 Soldiers in the PLDC "class," but we had to be separated into groups so they could teach us better.  I had fun with these Soldiers, but sadly, I don't remember their names.  Even though their names elude me right now, they were a significant part of that experience that was PLDC.  We shared experiences and supported each other during our time at school, and that school, for most of us, was the final obstacle we had to go through to become Sergeants.  No longer the followers, but expected to be the leaders.  No pressure though....

Can't Wait Wednesday!

I know we're all very excited about the release of the 1940 census.  I'm also equally sure that most of you have already heard that Archives.com released a link to the webpage for the new census so you can head on over and bookmark it now!  Why wait until April 2nd?!?!

Anyway, the link to the Archives.com post about the webpage can be reached by clicking here.  While you're there, I hope you'll not only save the bookmark, but read the brief post by Archives.com and watch the little video that is posted there.  It really is very informative, and if you're a history buff that knows everything about the various censuses?  Well, the video will just be food for your growing anticipation!

I've got to admit that I can be a bit flighty sometimes.  I was extremely excited for the 1940 census the way it was and that was purely for it being another census to find people in!  Now, yes, that's excitement enough, but would you believe that the Great Depression never once crossed my mind?  Talk about not taking the census into proper perspective!  Watching the little movie on Archives.com got me wondering about my ancestors.  How did the Great Depression influence them?  I really don't have their stories to learn from, but my eyes have now been opened a bit more in anticipation of the 1940 census.  I can't wait and I know that you can't either!

Until next time, have fun tending those roots!


(Oh and if Mom, Uncle Ed or Aunt Cathy are reading, please feel free to pass on any stories about our ancestors and the Great Depression that were passed on to you!)

The Annual Making of the Fastnachts!

Frying the Fastnachts

Fastnachts.  Deep fried dough.  What could be better?  This is technically a post from last year, but since I made this lovely recipe today for Fasching I thought a repost was needed!

I grew up in Northeastern Pennsylvania and went to college in Southeastern Pennsylvania so if you said "Fastnacht" to most people they knew that you were referring to a doughnut.  Being a German major in college and Catholic the terms Fastnacht and Fasching (Fat Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras) were common terms as well.  

Essentially as Ash Wednesday grew near it would be time to eat all those fatty foods before fasting (clearing out the pantry of all the goodies, so to speak).  Fasching more commonly (at least today) refers to the day before Ash Wednesday and these doughnuts are a last hurrah of sorts.  

My mom would make these every year when I was little.  I remember coming home from school and seeing my mom surrounded by fastnachts.....mmmmm  Yummy!!!  The funny thing is we aren't even German...at all.  My mom's 100% Irish.  My dad 100% Lithuanian.  Apparently my mom's best friend in school was German and she'd get lots of cool recipes from her and would turn them into family traditions.  I would irritate my parents to no end because, as a child, I had a difficult time saying Fastnacht [fasst-nahkt].  I would say "fasst-snot".  It was not intentional...at least at first :)

Benjamin helping roll the Fastnachts

When I went away to college I was delighted to see that Fastnachts were served there on Fasching as well.  I'd grab a ton and eat them throughout the day.  I'm sure on-lookers found it quite amusing to see me walking away with so many!  

When I had kids this was one of those things that I just had to make each year.  Now I didn't when we lived in Hawaii.  My oldest was really too small to appreciate them, but when he was 2 years old and were living in California, it was game-on, and oh did my kids learn to love these doughnuts!  They are an all day affair though, so I actually make them on Monday for them to beready for eating on Fasching (that's not saying that we don't enjoy them Monday night as well...it's still Carnival after all!).

Fastnachts on the last rise with the slits cut in the middle

So here's the recipe if you'd like to take a whack at making them.  I guarantee that you won't be disappointed!

Fastnachts

2 c milk, scalded

2 tbsp warm water (110-115 degrees (F))

1 pkg active dry yeast

3/4 c sugar

1/4 c margarine, melted

1/2 tsp salt

7 c flour

2 eggs, beaten

1/2 tsp nutmeg

Canola oil

Powdered sugar (or granulated, if you prefer)

Scald milk and set aside to cool.

Dissolve yeast in the water then add 1/2 c flour to the yeast and mix.  Add this to the scalded milk (ensuring the milk is not between 110-115 degrees (F) as well).  Stir.  Transfer to a very large bowl.  Add 1 tsp of the sugar and 3 c flour.  Mix, cover with plastic wrap (spray plastic wrap with butter spray) or a towel and allow to rise overnight in a warm place.

Punch down.  Add the eggs, margarine (again, make sure it's not hotter than 115 degrees(F)), nutmeg, salt, and remaining sugar.  Add as much of the remaining flour as you can stir with a spoon.  Allow to rise until light (about 2 hours).  

Punch down.  Roll on a floured surface to about 1/4-inch thickness.  Cut into squares.  Cut a slit in the center with a pair of kitchen scissors.  Let rise (about 45 minutes).

Heat oil to 375 degrees (F).  Fry in batches until golden, turning once.  Remove to paper towel-lined baking sheets.  While warm sprinkle with powdered or granulated sugar (we always did powdered).

Store in an air-tight container. 

HINT:  To proof the dough (make it rise faster) - Preheat the oven to 200 degrees (F).  When preheated leave on (and empty) for 4 - 5 minutes.  Turn the oven OFF and place the towel covered bowl in the oven (it's probably going to be on the lowest rack since you need a good-sized bowl for this and you don't want it touching the upper heating-element).  I only use the proofing for the first rise (about 3 - 4 hours), but you could probably do it for the second rise as well. 

Day old Fastnachts are no longer the lovely chewy goodness they were on that initial day, but fear not, just pop them in the microwave for a couple seconds or warm them up in the oven to bring them back to their first-day glory.  They take a lot of work to make, but I guarantee that once you've eaten them you'll be craving them! 

 

Military Monday - Benjamin Trunzo Jr.

Benjamin Trunzo Jr. was the son of Benjamin and Candus Trunzo nee Perry.  He married Edith Gay Boulanger on August 12, 1972 in Riverside, California (California Marriage Index 1960-1985).  They divorced ten years later (California Divorce Index 1966-1984).  I don't know if they had any children.  Benjamin is my step-father's 1st cousin and was most likely named for his father, Benjamin (naturally) and for their great grandfather, Beniamino Trunzo.

"NAVY ENLISTEES - Two local area men enlisted in the United States Navy it was announced today by Chief Petty Officer John O. Brown, local Navy Recruiter.  Kenneth Eugene Raymond, Penn Run R.D. 1,  enlisted in the seaman field under the High School Graduates Choice program.  Raymond is a graduate of Penns Manor Joint High School, Class of 1957.  Benjamin Trunzo, Jr., Beyer, enlisted as a seaman and is a graduate of Marion Center Joint High School class of 1961.  Both young men are currently attending recruit training at the Naval Training Center, Great Lakes, Ill., after which they will receive 14 days leave before reporting to one of the many Navy technical schools or fleet assignment."

[Published in the Indiana Evening Gazette, Thursday, Nov. 2, 1961, pg 12]

Sunday's Obituary - Jennie Trunzo nee Ferraro

Giovanni Trunzo nee Ferraro

Jennie (Giovanni) Trunzo nee Ferraro is my step-father's paternal grandmother.  She was born in Calabria, Italy where she married Ralph Trunzo on November 13, 1895 and gave birth to her first daughter, Rose on November 15, 1897.  I still haven't found when they immigrated to America. Different sources have different dates, which may or may not be true.  The conflict lies in Ralph coming to America 10 years before his wife.  I'm not really sure that happened and I'm more inclined to think it was an error in the record.  That's not to say he couldn't have and then made a trip (or two) back to get his wife and daughter.  Still, I'll keep looking for that immigration record.

My step-father's Italian side is a joy to research.  Ancestry has a database devoted to Calabria, Italy, and the birth marriage and death records always have the woman's maiden name.  Even their death certificates list their maiden names.  Yeah, I know other death certificates show a maiden name, but the death certificates here list people solely by their maiden names.  In order to find out who their spouse is, you have to read farther into the death certificates.  It really makes it useful to ensure you're looking for the right person!  I will have to make sure to do a post on what I've discovered using that database sometime soon.  Until then, this post is for my baby sister and step-dad.  I don't post on his side of the family nearly enough!

The Indiana Gazette, 08OCT1964, pg 6

"Mrs. Jennie (Giovanni) Trunzo, 88, of Sagamore, passed away at 11:30 p.m. Wednesday, October 7, 1964, at Armstrong County Memorial Hospital, Kittanning.

Born July 26, 1876 in Italy, she was a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. William Ferraro.

She was the widow of Ralph Trunzo.

Mrs. Trunzo had resided in Beyer for 29 years prior to moving to Sagamore where she has lived for the past 33 years.

She was a member of Sacred Heart Church, Sagamore, and the church Rosary Society.

Survivors include the following sons and daughters:  Mrs. Rose Sonni, Plumville; Mrs. Louis (Mary) Russell, New Brunswick, N.J.; Benjamin, Beyer; Jim, Phoneix [sic], Ariz.; 18 grandchildren and 25 great grandchildren.

Friends will be received at the Donald S. Bowser Funeral Home, Plumville, from 2-4 and 7-9 p.m. Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Funeral arrangements are incomplete.

The Rosary will be recited at 9 p.m. Saturday at the funeral home."

It's a bit disappointing that the obituary doesn't list anyone that predeceased her (apart from her husband that is).  My step-dad's father, John Trunzo, died before her and isn't listed in the obituary.  In fact there are a number of children missing (Samuel, Raffale Jr, John, and Nathle), but I haven't tracked down when they died yet (apart from John), so I can only imagine that they died before Jennie.

Wordless Wednesday - Harvey's Lake

My mom, her siblings, parents and aunts would go up to Harvey's Lake from Hazleton, Pennsylvania in the summer.  I know they all have very found memories of their time spent at Harvey's Lake.  This is a picture I took from one of the docks in the summer of 2010.

My Second Child and Departure from the Army, Part 2

Watch out!  8 pounds, 6 ounces of screaming, naked baby!

So on Sunday I began my story about the circumstances surrounding our decision and timing for having our second child.  Now it's time to finish that story and while it may have started out a bit shaky, it ended with the birth of my beautiful, second son.

Finding out about my pregnancy wasn't as easy as taking a simple pregnancy test.  I took an at-home test and there was one pink line and one very faint pink line.  I took another and got the same result. OK, well the instructions said that if any line shows up no matter how faint, you're pregnant.  So off to the Troop Medical Clinic for a confirmation.

So the tech at the clinic had me pee in a cup.  I saw her dip a stick in (the same as I had just used...or it looked a lot like it) and then we waited.  "You're not pregnant, Drill Sergeant."  My response, "But there are 2 lines."  She tried to tell me that the other line was too faint and that I was not pregnant.  I began second guessing myself.  I told her I wanted another test.  She said that she would have another tech test the sample and that they would call me later.

That afternoon, I was driving back from Fort Ord with my son in the car (heaven only knows why I was out at Fort Ord, because for the life of me I can't remember why) and I realized that I hadn't heard back from the Clinic.  I gave them a call and got an answer, "I'm sorry, but you aren't pregnant."  My son was four years old and he knew that mommy and daddy were going to try to have another baby.  I was in tears by this point and was trying not to cry, when he asked what the phone call was for and why mommy was upset.  I told him that there was no baby in my belly yet and he just started crying.  I lost it then as he kept asking, "Where's my little sister?!?!"

So the next morning I woke up and took another pregnancy test (yes I had multiple because you never can be too sure!)...and then another.  Both said I was pregnant.  I went back down to the Clinic and told them, "OK, I took 2 tests yesterday that said I was pregnant and then you guys did 2 and said I wasn't. I took 2 more this morning and they say I am.  Figure this out!"  The response was a perfectly sound medical conclusion "OK, Drill Sergeant, if you took 4 tests and they said you're pregnant, then you are.  Let's get you a profile and a prescription for prenatal vitamins."  Seriously?  You're just going to take my word for it?  OK...whatever....

Of course, I didn't doubt my pregnancy.  I was late and was never late, so the question really was, what to do now?  The Army Ball was coming up in a few days.  It was June.  The cadre had all chipped in to rent a stretch Hummer to go to the ball.  It was going to be an awesome night and we were all arriving in style!  I hadn't turned in my profile yet, and I hadn't told my cadre I was pregnant yet.  I had only told my husband by presenting him with a photo card that said, "The Cayemberg Family is about to get a little bigger"...or something like that...and we told our families.  I told the cadre that at the Army Ball I would drink a toast with them and if I drank the wine, I wasn't pregnant.  If I drank the non-alcoholic cider, then I was pregnant.  They all sat around as the first toast of the evening came and looked at me. I picked up both glasses and then drank the non-alcoholic one. There was much congratulating going on after that although somewhat quietly, because we weren't telling the trainees...

My husband and I at that last Army Ball

Now the trainees obviously knew that something was up.  They saw our table briefly get all loud and excited, but we weren't telling why. You may ask yourself why I would keep something like that a secret, well, can you imagine having a pregnant, hormonal Drill Sergeant?  I mean Drill Sergeants aren't exactly cuddly people to begin with, but a pregnant one?  Not to mention I had no desire to have trainees trying to baby me...or worse  saying that I was only yelling because I was pregnant. That would probably have sent me right over the edge.

I have to admit that I do feel somewhat bad for the Soldiers in Bravo Company for the remainder of my time.  I tried not to be hormonal. I really did, but some things would just set me off and I would just smoke the Soldier(s) that were responsible.  All within my boundaries, but still.

I ended up serving for almost my entire first trimester.  The problems I encountered were mildly amusing, but challenging none-the-less.  Trying to hide my morning-noon-and-night sickness was impossible.  When the bathroom is right next to where the Soldiers on duty are they can hear the barfing.  They never said anything except, "Are you OK, Drill Sergeant?"  A simple "My stomach is bothering me" ended the question, although I'm sure they knew.

My Battalion Commander was another mild problem.  You see brainiac said that I needed to put on a maternity uniform immediately.  I know I mentioned in my last post  that this guy hated Drill Sergeants and I seriously think he thought that a Drill Sergeant in maternities would just look hysterical...or that it would require me to leave early.  Either way, I wasn't doing it.  He may have been my Battalion Commander, but what he couldn't do was make me wear a uniform that didn't fit.  As far as I was concerned he wasn't removing me unless my profile got in the way (or my belly).  My unit was too short-handed for me to just stop working because the Battalion Commander whimsically wanted it so...and I was fit to keep up my duties.

I would lead the PT for the Soldiers on profile.  Someone had to so it didn't really look odd, and from time to time I would actually still run with my company and call cadence.  Granted, the guys would only let me do it at the end of PT when we were running downhill.  I gotta love how they took care of me!

Shortly before I took my hat off, I held a meeting with my platoon and told them what I know some had started to figure out...that I was pregnant...and what they hadn't figured out...that I was leaving the military. I explained it to them like they were family, because when you're a Drill Sergeant they are like your kids...and you're the dysfunctional parent that yells a lot.  I have no problem admitting that when I told them I was leaving the military that I teared up.  And I told them something that doesn't get said often enough.  Family has to come first.

By the time I took my hat off in August of 2005 I was wearing my BDUs with all the buttons on the bottoms undone, but my top (luckily) covered it.  A week or so later when I showed up in civilian clothes for my End of Tour Award I was looking as pregnant as can be.  I think that was a shock to the Soldiers!

Daddy with his 2 boys

So my husband, son and I left Monterey, California to drive out to what would be our new home in Clarksville, Tennessee...just over the Kentucky border.  On to Fort Campbell!  On the way, we stopped off to see my cousin get married and to say hello to some friends in Arizona.  Hurricane Katrina had just hit before our trip and as we drove through Texas we detoured and cancelled a planned stop in San Antonio because Hurricane Rita was on the way.  We arrived in Clarksville with the rain, and rain, and rain.

We found a home.  A great home, very quickly. And I found my way to a midwife on post as soon as TRICARE red-tape would allow.  At first, I couldn't get in to see anyone anytime soon, so that meant that my husband and I spent a little time with the Officer in Charge of the OB/GYN floor.  She was a sweet woman and she took care of us.  However, when I got in for some lab work the ladies there started screaming at me that I needed to have my ultrasound NOW.  What?  I was 22 weeks.  That's about right...right?  Don't yell at me because the Army moved us during baby-ultrasound time.  My hubby had to make some quick plans to get in on this ultrasound, but we managed to get it done with all of us there, my son included.

The tech told us the news.  A healthy baby boy!  We were delighted.  The sex didn't matter to us.  The healthy part was the only thing that ever did.  Benjamin, however, was still demanding to know where his little sister was.  Luckily, at the age of 11 he stopped demanding a little sister.

I went to a midwife even though I knew she wouldn't be delivering my baby.  I couldn't get in with any of the other doctors that could perform my c-section and I liked midwives anyway.  She was great.  The doctor that was assigned to deliver my child, however, I didn't like.  I'm not sure why either.  Just a feeling.

We picked February 12th for the c-section.  I didn't want to have a baby on Valentine's Day.  I didn't want Valentine's Day over-shadowing his day.  My mom, sister, and step-dad came down to take care of Ben while my hubby and I went in for Daniel's birth.  It was a blessing to have them there for the event and to take care of us (I won't talk about how you dumped cayenne pepper into a pot of boiling water, mom, and made the whole house cough like we'd been hit with pepper spray!  [HeeHee] I guess I just did! Love you, mom!)

Again with the name problems though.  Daniel was supposed to be a Nicholas.  I still like the name Nicholas, but there's no fighting pregnant lady hormones!  My husband and I tried out several different names and none of them felt right.  A few days before the birth we decided on Daniel.  I had a friend in elementary school named Daniel and always thought it was a nice name.  My husband told his family that we had decided on Daniel, but that we'd wait until we met him to make it official.  His middle name, however, would be Edward.  After my grandfather, my uncle, my great grandfather, my great great grandfather, my....well, you get the idea.  Lots of Edwards in this Irish family.

I love this picture.  Ben staring at his day-old baby brother.

This time my husband and I got to see our child be born.  I had told the doctor about the horrible epidural-didn't-work event with my first son and he said that I would have a spinal block.  Needle in the spine is all the same to me, I just wanted to be awake!  And in no-time, once the cesarean started, Daniel was out...and the doctor almost dropped him on the floor.  Did I mention that I didn't like this guy? Although there were many other reasons!

I saw him for a brief moment and they took him to the warmer for his vitals and to clean him up.  After my c-section was finished it was to recovery where my husband got to give him his first bath and mommy and baby could start bonding.

I'd like to say the breastfeeding went smoothly the second time around, but it didn't.  I'll save the gory details (for now), but my older sister came to my rescue there!  She came down to help out about 2 weeks after Daniel was born and drug my butt into the lactation consultant's office and then forced her to help (and this lady needed forcing!).

It was nice to be able to actually witness the birth.  Even if it wasn't a normal, traditional childbirth, it was us welcoming our second, beautiful, sweet baby boy into our lives.  Lots of diapers, crying, nursing and sleepless nights, but it was all worth it, and this time there was no going back to the Army and chucking my child in daycare.  I got to actually do all those mommy things that I had dreamt about when I was a little girl.  I missed work, but the trade-off was more than worth it, and we were blessed to be able to have the choice and be able to afford to have me stay home to care for our children.

My mom getting to hold her newest grandson!

A little genealogical twist to Daniel's birth...even though Fort Campbell is in Kentucky most nonmilitary people don't know that it's actually on the border of Kentucky and Tennessee, and when I say on the border, I mean part of it is in one state and part in another.  It's listed as being in Kentucky, because the headquarters building is in Kentucky, however, the military hospital on post is in Tennessee which means that Daniel has a Tennessee birth certificate! Something sure to confuse descendants researching us...born at Blanchfield Army Medical Center in Fort Campbell, Tennessee!  And another twist...Blanchfield is a family name.  That made having him there even more special!

Happy Birthday, Daniel.  A little later than I meant to post this, but perhaps that's appropriate since Army circumstances kept us from having you as soon as we would have liked to.  Again...everything happens for a reason.