A copy of this got sent without the explanation I intended to insert: As you'll
see below, I originally attached three photos, which caused the message to
bounce. So now I know attaching photos is a no-no. Too bad. The three I tried
to send made a nice set to go with this story. [Which as I acknowledge may be
*way* more detail than anyone cares for.
Any way, here you go, with the explanation and without the photos.
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On Oct 9, 2010, at 10:38 PM, Bob Sullivan wrote:
Throw the A70-210 lens into your bag and use it if the chance arises.
Put the 100mm macro onto the camera tonight and start practicing with
the green button.
You'll learn plenty and the conscious step of pressing the button to
determine speed will be educating.
It's really not a problem, don't let it be a barrier to a good lens
you need to take along.
I'm familiar with talk of the green button, but not on the DS. My understanding
-- and what I've been doing -- is that when working with M lenses on it, you
set the shutter speed, then use the exposure lock button to set the aperture.
[It's possible I could be really screwed up about this, but I think I'm
following the procedure set out in the manual. I believe people here talked
about it, too, back when I first got the camera and was wondering how to use my
M lenses.
Now for the other part of your story, an English sister nobody knew about,
and Dad was a US airman stationed in the UK.
Wow, how does that work out!
Pretty, cool. Our mother died last December. It had a big impact on our far-flung family,
a couple generations of which in some families I'd never met. In a reflective mood one
Saturday afternoon back in January, I started Googling to see if I could find copies of
articles published by my dad. I did, but I also came a cross a note posted on a web forum
for guys who served in the US ARmy Air Force in WWII inquiring as to the whereabouts of
Lt. Edward C. Weir, who was based at such and such a location -- Sudbury, Suffolk -- and
served in such and such a crew. The writer indicated that my father had had a
"profound effect" on his family. I wondered at that, but didn't make much of
it. I responded, saying I was Lt. Edward C. Weir's son, that he was deceased, and that I
would answer any questions he might have.
The next morning I had an email from the writer. He thanked me for responding and said,
"My reason for writing is a little different than you may have imagined. I have
reason to believe your father is my grandfather." I say this sister was unknown
before January this year. That's not totally true. I'd heard rumors, but discounted them,
especially so far as they came from my father, as he was apt to dramatize things along
these lines. Turns out my sisters here, who are all younger, somehow knew more than I did
-- that there definitely was a daughter, what her mother's name was, but that's all.
I immediately called the guy -- he'd included his number in the email. When he answered I said,
"Hello, Neal. My name is . . . I guess I'm you're uncle." We talked for an hour and a
half. My most expensive telephone call ever. His mother knew very little for fact about her father.
Her mother had essentially abandoned her to be raised by her grandparents, was not forthcoming
about her father, and had lived a somewhat profligate life during the final years of the war and
immediately after before finally settling down. Most of her information came from an aunt, who'd
also. known our father. This kid had been looking for his grandfather for twenty years! He knew
more about my father's service than I did. He had corresponded with, may even have met, members of
his crew. He sent me an article written by the tail gunner in my dad's crew with descriptions of
some of the more dramatic episodes of their service. [Getting shot up, having to return home alone,
making it back to base, running out of gas on all engines half-way down the runway.] He and his
mother and his siblings have been big "Americanophiles" all this time. He talked about
having played football semi-professionally for twelve years. I thought he was talking about soccer.
He was talking about American football!
After I got off the phone I sent him a copy of a photo of my father taken while he was
stationed in England. Looked like he'd just come back from a mission, bomber jacket, black
headphones over his officer's cap. He went out and got a nice copy printed, got it framed,
wrapped it up, and took it to his mother without telling her about our conversation. She was
overwhelmed. It was a lot for her to take in, and a few days before she was up to talking to
any of us. As I expected, she was welcomed with open arms. As one of my sisters said when I
called to tell her about it, "Wow! That's cool!'Since then there's been a lot of
Skype-ing back and forth. We've learned a lot, and have become comfortable with our expanded
family, but of course actually meeting, and then spending an expended time together will be,
as we say, "a whole nother thing."
One of things we've reconstructed about the situation is that the relationship between
our father and my new sister's mother was apparently not a casual war-time thing. He had
a relationship with the family and expected her to follow him when he returned to the
states. When he got back here he and my mother were not reunited initially, in spite of
the fact there were already three children in that relationship before he went overseas.
We suspect that the reason my "new" sister's mother didn't follow him is that
when it came time for her to do so she was already pregnant with someone else's child.
I don't have a way to post photos to the web, yet, so I'm taking the liberty of
attaching the photo of my father that I sent to Neal. Also one of my sister at
a museum on a former Army Air Force base, taken before they knew anything about
us. Also one of the White Horse Inn in Sudbury, where apparently there was a
lot of drinking, singing, and fraternization.
This is way off topic, and possibly far more detail than anyone wanted. Forgive
me. I frequently get carried away with words.
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Eric Weir
Decatur, GA USA
eew...@bellsouth.net
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