It is Feb. 22, 2014, 6:54 PM.
My middle daughter, Morgan, left a few minutes ago for who-knows-where. We had a nice talk before she left, covering people in general. And politics.
And religion.
One topic among the many was the whereabouts of my youngest daughter, Avrie: both Morgan and I thought she was upstairs in her bedroom. But, during our talk, we learned via text that her mother had picked her up.
Ah, modern life!
I now have a Sam Adams "Escape Route" opened, and am listening to NPR's "Prairie Home Companion."
In other words, it is a typical Saturday night.
Several people have been telling me to start a blog. "You MUST start a blog," they say. I don't know why I MUST. I certainly don't want to posteritize random thoughts. Or wait----I should qualify that: I would probably enjoy writing random thoughts, but I can't imagine anyone wanting to read them.
To start a blog, I need a hook, a purpose. A reason for writing, if you will.
Then it came to me: I always thought that someday I would write a Sauer Family History. Why not as a blog? This way, the work can grow and evolve. Others can add their stories, videos, pictures, etc.. It could be a living, dynamic, cooperative family project.
So this is the inaugural post in what I hope grows into a significant piece of online literature. Feel free to make corrections or changes. Post them as comments to the blog, or send them to drawingsmiles@yahoo.com. I'll edit the contributions and incorporate them into the larger body of work.
Ready? Let's begin.
We start with a story that's grown to legendary status in my mind. It may or may not be true. I simply retell what I've been told. It is titled . . .
WAS IT GAS, WAS IT RICHARD, OR WAS IT BOTH?
Sauers are famous----or infamous----for bathroom humor. So I begin with this story, which is the mother of all bathroom humor stories.
My grandfather, Philipp August Sauer, and his wife, Louise (Maas) Sauer, lived in a small house on the outskirts of Lakewood, OH, when they were expecting their second child. The house still stood 10-15 years ago. My father, Richard Sauer, and his brother, David Sauer, showed it to my brother, Joel Sauer, and I. My impression of the house was that it was very small and, looking at it from the front, you saw a cornfield and a mini-mall in the background.
Anyhoo, this story begins with a party. The house had what we'd today call a patio door on the front of the house. The door opened onto a half-round balcony. On warm weather nights, Philipp and Louise would push their piano to the balcony and open the doors. Louise would begin playing and a neighborhood party would commence.
One hot, September night (someone provide the date; I believe it would have been September 29 or 30, 1933), the party was hoppin'. A potluck dinner, including sauerkraut, was served. Louise sat at her station at the piano all night, keeping the crowd singing.
But then, the guests left, the cleanup began. Suddenly, Louise experienced stabbing stomach pains. "Must be the sauerkraut," she thought.
She went to the bathroom and, as Emeril Lagasse (no relation) would say, "BAM!" Richard Philipp Sauer was born on the bathroom floor.
The child's father, Philipp, conducted the surprise delivery. He cut the umbilical cord and, with nothing else at hand, took off his pajamas bottom to wrap the baby. In his stressed state of mind, he found a quick, convenient, soft spot to lay the child. Then he ran to the neighbor's house---the neighbor with a telephone.
The neighbor, an elderly widow, opened the door a crack only. "Call the doctor!" cried Philipp. "My wife just had a baby!"
"Did you know, Mr. Sauer," the neighbor lady replied, "that you haven't any pants on?"
The doctor came. But remember, this was a small, Ohio community in 1933. It took a while for the doctor to arrive. I never heard a time estimate, but those who lived through the wait said it felt like forever.
An hour? Maybe more?
Anyhoo, when the doctor arrived, he went straight to the mother. Louise needed attention. The point is that, only after a considerable amount of time had passed, did anyone ask, "Where's the baby?"
Philipp, the only person who might know, couldn't remember. A frantic search ensued. The search came up empty. Oh, horrors! Oh, fate! Why bring us to the doorstep of paradise, only to show us a "No Admittance" sign?
But this story has a happy ending. The baby made a small sound. The worried parents, and the puzzled doctor, found Richard P. in a basket of laundry.
