The 13ths of February 1986, 1996, 2001

February 13, 2026

 

Much like a prior post, “The 27ths of November 1984, 1986, and 1987,” February 13 is another date that three significant events for me

 

In 2001, twenty-five years ago today, one of the best pastors I’ve known passed away.  Buffe Karraker who founded Northwest Church in Fresno.  He was a no-nonsense preacher who knew the Bible and knew how you fit into it. His style was southern, lowkey, yet unyieldingly strong and forceful.  Ann amazing man of God. I was fortunate to get oldest son Jason to experience him a number of times both in services and during a handful of Northwest’s annual men’s retreat.  Unfortunately, Joseph only experienced one of the retreats and none of the Sunday services.

 

Thirty years ago tonight, my father, Raymond Willard Stone passed away.  He was born on June 5, 1923, in a dirt floor house in Holland, Missouri.  The house was along a dirt road, now known as E2, a dividing line between Arkansas and Missouri, just west of the Mississippi River. It’s now a field.  He grew up there for many years. I remember him sharing when we visited the site in 1993, that he played in the fields and would walk down to the Muddy Mississippi to play and fish.  I’m guessing a bit, but I think he was about 10-12 years old when his mother placed him and younger brother Ira in a VFW orphanage in Eaton Rapids, Michigan.  They stayed there through high school.  

 

Forty years ago tonight, Jeannette, my first wife, and I split up for the last time.  We had separated twice before.  The first time while we living in Madera, she moved out. Later, during our one year in Ventura while I was working for my father, I moved out for a couple months.  I knew, and tried to impress on her, a third time by either one of us would be the final time for me.  The separations created an insurmountable amount of unnecessary emotional and financial burdens. 

 

I thought we were doing pretty good.  In fact, when my parents visited us at our East Palo Alto Ave home during Christmas time in December 1985, I remember talking with my dad in the garage about several things. During the discussion, we talked about how Jeannette and I were getting along.  I told him I was feeling really good about things, and thought we were finally over the hump in determining how to manage our relationship.  Funny how things sneak up on you. 

 

On Thursday, February 13, 1986, Jeanette informed me that she had rented an apartment, and had already started to move, buying some furniture and having it delivered there.  I reminded her that this would be the final time. She was committed.  I wasn’t angry, I was just finished. 

I was done with arguing about issues, and I certainly wasn’t going to argue about who gets what. 

We had two vehicles.  One was a 1984 two tone brown Volkswagen Vanagon.  We bought it new on December 31, 1984 while Jeanette was self employed doing daycare at our home.  The other was a bright red 1984 Toyota Corolla that had been a rental car that Jeanette bought for me for Valentines Day, 1985.  For much of our marriage, my primary car was a 1968 Volkswagen Bug. The Toyota was for me to commute to work in, now with decent radio, heating, and air conditioning.

I asked Jeanette which car she wanted.  She wanted the Toyota.  Fine. 

I told her that I would leave the next day, Friday, Valentine’s Day, by the time she got off work.  I would return Sunday evening, and by then, she should take anything and everything she might ever want, because after that, the window closes. 

When I returned home, I didn’t know what to expect.  Maybe I did.  I still didn’t care what was or wasn’t there. No much was there.  She had taken our bedroom set, which was fine with me since she got it during her first marriage.  The boys bunk beds and furniture were still there because she had already bought new sets for them.  The washer and dryer were gone, yet left the refrigerator.  Most of the family room furniture was gone.  Art work and wall photos were gone. Cabinets emptied.  The large heavy console style TV was still there.  Almost all the kitchen dishes, utensils, pot and pans, and cutlery were gone.

There it was. The baseline.  Everything got better from there.  Some things improved quickly, others took longer.

Three thirteens.  All hard to deal with over the years.  Nonetheless, I learned and grew from all of them.  

I miss my father the most.  I always will. 

January 4, 2025 Photo Dump

Scanning some photographs today.  Most of these are from Polaroids or matt finished photos, hence the clarity isn't the best.  

Here's what I know about each one.

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Mom, Dorothy Stone, probably mid-late 1970s while in Palm Springs with my father, Raymond Stone.

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Ray and Dottie Stone, at our home at 10876 Galvin, Ventura, CA celebrating something.  Likely my father's birthday on June 6 in the mid to late 1970s.

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Probably the fall of 1975 or winter of early 1976.  Me, crashed out on my bed at our Ventura home with new puppy Sandy.  Jeannette and I had take a quick trip, maybe even a day trip, from Ventura to Morro Bay.  While walking on a mostly empty beach, this puppy came up to us. We asked around a lot for anyone who might know the puppy, and couldn't find anyone who recognized it or any friends who had puppies.  We couldn't find anywhere to leave the puppy, so I took it home to Ventura after leaving information with others on how to find me so I could return it.  On the way home, we named it Sandy (since it was found on the beach).  It was a cocker spaniel mix, heavy on the cocker spaniel.  We never heard from anyone about the dog.  

My mother bonded with it very strongly.  So much so, that 2-3 years later when Jeannette and I bought our first home, my mom didn't want to give it up--and we let her keep it.  

Sandy in the backyard of the Galvin Street home.  

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Looks like my 21st birthday celebration at our home in Ventura.  My mom, me, and girlfriend (future wife) Jeannette Jarvis.  

Is that leftover steak on the table?  

Oh, the shame!  Hahaha!!

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This is Aldine and Ernest "Ern" Sillers.  He came from Nova Scotia, Canada, and if I recall correctly, she was from Boston or close by.  She certainly had the New England accent throughout her life.  They never had children.  He was actually my mother's uncle, Violet's brother.  

"Uncle Ern" was a Father in the Episcopal church, rising to the level of Bishop.  Uncle Ern was fun and funny guy.  A quick, respectful, and quiet wit.  He planted churches that still survive.  The one I remember best is St Marks Episcopal Church, 10354 Downey Ave, Downey, CA 90241, http://stmarksdowney.org . 

We usually went to there home for Thanksgiving (just behind the church at 8355 Bigby Ave, Downey, CA 90241).  After the meal and while Aunt Aldine and my mother would clean up, Uncle Ern would take me for a walk around and through the church telling me interesting and funny stories.  

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The photo below was marked on the back, Thanksgiving 1977.  The two most recognizable people in it for me is my Uncle Ernest "Ern" Sillers, and seated to his left with her hand on her chin is his sister and my maternal grandmother Violet Rodgers (mom's mother).  

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Anna Creelman in front of her home in Camarillo, California.  Her husband was Aubrey Creelman.  They originally owned a number of acres of land in Camarillo for growing avocados.  I don't know how my mother knew them.  I think they were close friends with my grandmother or grandfather.  

We visited them a time or two a year.  By then, they had sold off most of their orchards, and only had an acre or two left.  Dad would get as many avocados as he wanted.  Aubrey was a typical farmer/rancher, smart, witty, and cleverly handy with tools.  I still have and use some of tools that he marked with green paint.  

This one is marked July 4, 1977.  I don't recognize the location.  In it is my mother, Dorothy Stone, Fred Petrasek, and Virginia Petrasek.  My mother and Virginia went to U.C. Santa Barbara together, and were truly like sisters from different parents.   We visited them often at thier home in Sherman Oaks.  Laura was my age.  Allan is a year or two younger.  They are the ones who let me go on most of their summer 1969 vacation in a Winnebago.  We went to the east coast, saw the launch of Apollo 11, and then I eventually flew home from Providence, Rhode Island.  

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Graduation from Buena High School, Ventura, California, June 1972.

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Unknown formal dance or prom in Ventura, California.  "Proud mom" photos.   The scanned photos don't show it well, but my tuxedo was very dark Navy blue in color.  I don't recall who I went with or which dance this was though.  

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One my mother did mark was this photo from May 1974.  The young lady is Karen Grahek.  We dated for a while, and I loved hanging out with her and her family, who were some good pranksters.  I think in another post, I showed an embroidered shirt of my blue 1973 VW Sport Bug that she did for me.  Like people do, we went our separate ways in life, and both became our own.  

Oddly enough, it wasn't until the destructive Thomas Fire Ventura in December 2017 that I learned that her and her husband's home was just a couple houses away from my parent's former home.  Sadly, both homes were lost.  My parent's had passed away by then, but Karen and her husband lost everything.  

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1975 Chevrolet LUV (Light Utility Vehicle) pickup truck.  I bought it new, and very stripped, from the Chevrolet dealer in Ojai, California.  Jeannette was with me.  I ended up modifying it a lot, as you can see.  White spoke rims, and slight lift in the rear, and an awesome BMB Camper Shell (Fillmore, CA).  

I was part of a truck club called Lil Truckers Ltd.  The jacket I'm wearing was the club jacket.  

The wrinkle on the side of the truck in front of the rear wheel well happened in the parking lot of Save-On Drugs, at Victoria/Telegraph Roads in Ventura.  Jeannette had borrowed my truck, and as she backed out of a stall to leave, someone else backed out of their spot and tagged the truck.  I played hell getting the truck fixed by the guy who did it.  It took a while, but finally got it squared away.  

My father's small aluminum fishing boat is in the background.

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Some Polaroid photos my parents (Ray and Dorothy Stone) took of each other on the patio of their home at 10876 Galvin, Ventura, CA.  I'm guessing about 1980.  Sandy, the dog, had aged a few years.  

The patio cover they had installed was large and really nice.  The folding chairs in the background of one of the photos were aluminum framed with redwood slats.  I don't think I've ever sat in a more comfortable folding patio chair.  

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Probably about 1981-1983, my father relaxing at their home at 941 Scenic Way Drive, Ventura (the one that burned down in the Thomas Fire after they sold it and had passed away).  This was in the "den" that was on the south side of the house.  From that vantage, you could look out the back sliding glass door and enjoy a great view of the Santa Clara River Valley with the Pacific Ocean in the distance.  A nice way to fall asleep.