Happy Birthday, Elle

 Many long years ago I received one of the best gifts of my life. I had gotten two worthless brothers in prior days.  Squally, demanding brothers were not my thing.  Then, my sister came.  And lo and behold she was just as squally and demanding as the brothers had been.  Maybe it was even worse because there were a great many of comparisons to myself. My sister did not instantly become my best friend as my mom had predicted.

My sister and I were rather distant through the years.  She was different than me.  She seemed bossier and pushier and she never listened.  She got her way because she was the "baby."  I was jealous of her.  I did everything first and "better" but somehow she seemed to get a lot of attention.  My mom always said that she was the smartest of her children.  I felt left out in my mom's relationship with my sister. We were never close growing up.

Years later when she became a mother in the year I lost a baby, we seemed to find our way back to each other.  Over the years since then we have grown closer and closer.  These days I would say that she is my best friend.  We travel together.  We talk often.  We like similar things and understand each other.  I wonder who I would be if I had not had a sister.

So, happy birthday, sister!  I hope that you have a great day.

Coach

 One of my brothers has asked for my help.  He asked me to be his exercise coach. Since he lives several states away, this is a trick.  But, then he told me that we would use the phone.  He texts me the amount of exercise he does each day and I say something encouraging to him.  It is easy to do and I have enjoyed it. It has even inspired me to walk the imaginary dog a few more times.

I recommend this method of encouragement.  It is free and personal.  I might even ask him to coach me back.

Northern Ohio Rambles

 My great grandfather was born in northern Ohio. He was very young when he left, but old enough to remember and tell stories about his time there.  His grandfather and great grandfather lived there close to him.  They are buried there in Geauga County.

I went to find the cemeteries where these grandparents were buried.  John Smith was born in Massachusetts.  He served in the Revolutionary War.  He may have gotten land in Ohio for his service.  He had a bunch of children with a wife who died in Massachusetts.  His children came with him to Ohio.  I know this because some of them are buried nearby him.  It was a rainy, rainy day when we wandered through the cemetery looking for him.  He was toward the back of the cemetery.  I got thoroughly wet looking for him.

Then we moved on to find Orrin Knox, John's son in law. Orrin was a veteran of the War of 1812.  Orrin is buried with his wife Lydia Smith Knox in a very well tended cemetery also near the back. It was still raining.  Still wet.  The rolling hills of northern Ohio were easier to imagine farming and making a living.  The area is known for maple syrup.

For lunch we went to an Amish area of the county.  The Amish were not the original settlers, but these days they make up 20% of the population.  We ate at Mary Yoders.  The food was delicious.  It was homemade in the best sense of that word.

Northern Ohio seemed like a sweeter, easier life than the mountains of New York. I can see why they settled there.  I can see why they moved on.  The flat glaciated plains of Illinois became a better place to farm as agriculture became bigger than subsistence farming.  Andrew William Seger came to northern Ohio from New York, married Louisa Knox and had children there and then moved on to Illinois. He served in the Civil War Union Army as an older man and his sons also served.  One died at Andersonville.

Northern Ohio holds the bones of some of my people.  They lived and died and some moved on. I liked northern Ohio, but I did have to wonder how cold it gets in the winter.  I was glad not to be there to find out.

New York On My Mind

 In New York, I have some dead relatives.  A third great grandfather William Seger was Dutch.  He was born in Albany, NY. Somehow he ended up in Tully, NY which is near Syracuse.  He married Paulina, had a bunch of kids and died young.  I was able to find the cemetery where he is buried, but the grave marker, if there ever was one, is not visible today.  The Christian Hollow Cemetery is overgrown back in a field. I hiked back through the field to the cemetery.  It was a beautiful day and I said a prayer for the lost father of young children.

William's widow Paulina had a very young baby when her husband died.  She soon married her husband's cousin Garret Houck who was younger by several years than she was.  She had a few more children with him.  She is buried with her second husband a few miles up the road in Cardiff, NY.  She outlived him as well. I wondered about her hard life, losing two husbands, bearing many children, cooking, mending, sewing.  They carried water from the creeks.  There were no stores to buy clothes or food. Her children from the first marriage, left and moved on as soon as they were teenagers. My great great grandfather was one of those teenagers.

Paulina's father lived a few miles down the road in Tully.  Captain Andrew English served in the Revolutionary War.  He was wounded at the Battle of Monmouth. He settled in Tully with his wife Rachel. I found his grave in Tully.  His wife Rachel migrated with some of their other children to Alton, IL.

I was most surprised by the Catskills which begin around that region.  For some reason I thought New York was flat land in the middle of the state.  It is not.  There are mountains. Low, small mountains but it seems to me they are more than hills.

I want to go back again to New York.  I think that the trail will lead me to Albany and Binghamton.  I will love to see the mountains and the lakes and learn about how people lived in the 1800s in that place. 

Who Am I?

 The DNA service that I have an account with recently "updated" the regions from which the DNA comes.  I lost all my German and suddenly became about one third Swedish and Danish.  I assume they mean Vikings. Because I have no known Swedish or Danish ancestry and I know from where most of my ancestors came.  And they weren't from the Norse regions.  I can trace everybody back to at least the mid 1800s.

So, my DNA shows some inexplicable results.  I am 12% from Wales.  Who?  Who were these Welsh people who gave me so much DNA?  Who were these Danes or Swedes? I can't figure it out.  The DNA didn't help me to find my ancestors at all.

I presume that there will be another update one of these days.  I bet I will lose some of that Viking ancestry. I am not happy about the results.  It doesn't matter that I am Danish or Swedish, but I don't think I am.  I am me and the DNA results don't matter to me at all.  It was just one piece of the puzzle to look at where I came from. And telling me something I am not is not helping.  At this point I do not recommend spitting into the vial and doing DNA tests because to me it hasn't helped uncover anything. (Maybe my angry attitude is the Viking in me.) 

The Long View

I have a couple of family members who aren't speaking to one another.  The two are sisters.  In a past life I tried to smooth out the difficult family situation that led to this, but I wasn't working on a complete set of facts, so my smoothing was not only unsuccessful, but perhaps added to the problem.  I don't really know.  The original event that triggered everything started over 20 years ago and really doesn't involve me.

I am sticking my nose out of things.  I am no longer trying to seek reconciliation.  The sisters will have to work that out themselves. I have tried to make amends for whatever harm I may have caused. It is sad. The sisters live  over 1000 miles apart so it isn't like they will be running into each other. It happens this weekend they will be less than 200 miles apart and still they have chosen not to see each other.

In cases like this I can't help but think of the long haul.  Do these sisters think that they will never speak again?  When they happen to see each other at family funerals or parties, will they avoid each other, never see each other's children? Do they plan to go through life as if their sister did not exist?  Perhaps they haven't thought that far ahead.

But, if I were still in the business of giving advice, I would ask them to consider the future and whether the plan is to never acknowledge the other?  They are both nice people who have families and dogs and volunteer for similar causes. It would seem to me that tey are missing out on one of the joys in life, to have a sister. But, I will put my hands in my pocket and keep my tongue in my mouth and I won't write them any letters on the subject, unless they ask......

Someone Special

 Last week I was at my uncle's funeral.  It was in Virginia, so it was a long drive to get there.  But, I chose driving over flying in these Covid times.  I don't know if there was a right or wrong choice, but it was the one I felt comfortable with. A surprising number of cousins came from all over to honor my uncle at his funeral.

Uncle Don was 85 years old. He was a very good man, a Knight of Columbus, a volunteer for Faith in Action, a Communion Minister.  He was a dad and grandpa.  He worked in sports medicine before he retired. He was my dad's youngest brother. I am Godmother to his youngest child.

The thing that I realized while with my cousins as we celebrated Uncle Don's life is, my uncle made each of us feel special.  Each of us might have claimed to have been his favorite or at least special to him.  He called each of us around Christmas this past year. He kept in touch. I bet that each of us there had some special memory of my uncle.

I will miss Uncle Don, but I am so thankful that he is no longer suffering. I am not sure how he managed to make each of us feel special to him.  Perhaps the simple truth is that each of us, all of us were special to him. And now heaven has another saint and the earth is a little poorer.  I am pondering how I can carry on the legacy of making everyone I know feel special to me.

The Party

 I picture Heaven as a big party.  My grandma is up there playing cards with my dad and Uncle Dick.  Aunt Mary would also be part of the card party.  I can see them getting up a game.  I can see this last sibling joining in the game.  I can picture the hugs and congratulations as he enters the room. Oh, the joy in Heaven.  Oh, the sadness here.

Someday, I hope to join the game.

Heaven Welcomes Another Saint

 My uncle passed away last week.  As is often the case, he seemed to be doing a little better and there started to be hope and then he was gone. It isn't an unexpected passing.  As sick as he was, I didn't expect to get to visit with him again.  He would have reserved that time for the close family.  I would want that.  But, he is gone for me.

Memories of that uncle--he came to visit my family when I was four years old and brought me a beautiful copy of Alice in Wonderland.  I still have it, I just can't find it.  But, it is here in my house somewhere.  When my uncle was coming to stay overnight when he worked in baseball my mom would try to impress him by buying baked goods and special foods.  I remember a time when my brother saw cinnamon rolls with the groceries and remarked that he didn't know that uncle was coming.  (The rest of us did know, that brother was a little clueless sometimes.) I remember that my mother thought that uncle didn't like chicken so we went to great lengths not to serve chicken when he visited.  Yet I also recall having chicken almost every time I ate at his house. I went to his wedding.  It was the first wedding I really remember. I remember going with my dad to get a Christening cup for his daughter. I am his son's Godmother. And on and on. I wish I had more time.  I wish I had asked more questions. 

So, this week I am headed to a funeral.  It is across the country.  I will drive carefully.  I will get  there and back safely.  It is a challenge.  But, I have to be there. 

Uncle Don

 

That guy in the blue is my dad's brother.  He is the last of the siblings.  He worked in baseball.  He was a heavy smoker. He was my famous relative.  He is one of the most humble people I have ever met.  He is a devout Catholic.  His wife, Aunt Polly, is on the far left and my mom is in the middle. I know this was somewhere where my mom lived because it is her furniture, but I don't remember when this picture was taken. Uncle Don reminds me of my dad who passed away in 1982.  I treasure that resemblance.

I got news this weekend that Uncle Don is very sick.  He is in the hospital. They are hoping to wean him off a ventilator.  It isn't Covid. He has a fungus or a growth or something in his throat. I am really not sure of the exact problem.  Uncle Don has COPD and uses oxygen.  Lots of problems.

If Covid had not happened, my sister and I had plans to go out to see him on the east coast in 2020.  We were revisiting those plans this fall, but with the delta variant they seemed unlikely. He is miles and states away.  All I can do is pray at this point.  And I will pray.

The Language of Home

I grew up in a family where my dad, the English teacher required correct speech.  He was often correcting the "cans" with "mays".  I feel that I learned how to speak well from my Dad even if I sometimes didn't appreciate the corrections while I was growing up.

The contrast was my mom who also by in large used correct grammar.  She came from southern Indiana people who had some folkways in their language. I never even thought about it until I went out into the wider world.  My mom used words that either she made up or were part of her folk heritage.  I have wondered about this, but I could find little evidence that some of Mom's words were real words.

I have decided that I don't want to forget some of them, so I will put them down here.  Mom had a temper.  She was a redhead with green eyes. When Mom lost her temper she called it having a "tizzy." Looking up tizzy online I see that it is a word, but the origin is unknown. When Mom got really mad she would give you a "scutching."  Looking that word up I see that it is related to beating flax.  I wonder how that word got passed to Mom? And Mom used "defugalty" to mean a disagreement, which really means a miscommunication. Looking online, I see that these are really words.  They were not words that I found in a regular dictionary in my youth and I have been made fun of for using them a time or two.

I think there were some words that I have forgotten over the years. Mom's colorful speech has changed over the years and she doesn't give scutchings anymore and it has been a long time since she has been in a tizzy. The past couple of years have brought some defugalties between my siblings and myself, but I think that we can iron them out.

Welcome to the World

 Well, my little grand niece arrived a day or so later than I thought she would.  It ended up being rather an emergency delivery with a C-section and rather sick mommy, but little Matty is doing great.  She has my grandmother's middle name for her first name.  It makes a nice connection for me.

I didn't hear about her arrival until Thursday, so I am not sure when she was actually born. But, no matter, she is here and I think given modern medical science everybody will be okay in the long run.  I hope to get across the state to see this baby sometime late in August.

I will finally off load the babysitting of my grandchildren in mid August.  This is something I asked for in December, but given the pandemic it has been slow in happening. I love these grandchildren.  I am generally not favorable to daycares, but I finally had to conclude that I couldn't continue the way I had been. I need a life.

And I need to see about a bunch of things that have gotten pushed to the side.  I need to see my eye doctor. I need to see about getting rid of the squirrels in my soffit.  I need to have some tests done.  I need to have some other tests done.  I need to see a doctor about my knee.  I need to see my investment guy and probably my estate guy.  And I need to get my first real haircut since the beginning of the pandemic. So, before I jump into all of that after the grandchildren are in daycare, I would like to bop over and meet this new little Matty while the angels are still lingering in the air. 

Great Aunt

 If all goes to plan, I should become a great aunt again today.  I am already a pretty great aunt, but I haven't even met most of my great nieces and nephews. I expect to see this baby at least once a year and hopefully more often. This great niece will even live in the same state as I do.  I am excited.

My niece, the baby's mama has had a hard time getting pregnant.  This little girl is a surprise and a miracle for a number of reasons.  She is anticipated. She is joy.

So, if you are reading this, say a prayer for the new mommy and baby.  Today is the day (unless she comes early, since I am writing this on Sunday).  Big brother and Daddy are in anticipation of this little girl and all the surprises she will bring. And I am a great aunt.  Trust me, I am.

Finding My Roots

 I enjoy watching the show "Finding Your Roots" on PBS.  I think if I were to pick a celebrity to sit and have lunch with, I might choose Henry Louis Gates, Jr., the host of that show.  I like the questions he asks his guests and I could probably think of a few questions I would like to ask him.  We are both, it would seem, interested in the past.

I have a pretty good grasp on my family tree.  The most recent immigrants were the Poles who came in the late 1800s.  The rest of the crew largely preceded the birth of our nation.  I have a raft of Revolutionary War soldiers, War of 1812 soldiers, Civil War soldiers (Union side) and so on. My heritage is largely white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, and it was only those Poles who were the late comers who made me Catholic.

I am very disinterested in looking for nobility or royalty or even famous people in my ancestry.  I have found a few titled Englishmen I think, but that really isn't what I am looking for.  I wish women's history were recorded better.  I am curious about the lives of those ladies, my forebearers. I am interested  in where my ancestors lived and why they traveled where they did.  The DNA stuff has really made it interesting. I find some of my DNA confusing. Some of it is so predictable.  I had hoped to find some variety in my heritage, but by in large I am northern European, British Isles, and a good dose of German. 

All this means is that although I have not found any slave holders in my direct ancestors, I have and my people have enjoyed white privilege.  We have had a leg up. When the chips were down, we were able to come back in a generation or so.  Nobody hated us for who were are, just because we breathe.  Nobody felt that they had a right to take things away from us.  My ancestors were helped along.  I find that I have to sit with that sometimes.  I sometimes don't know how to feel about it all.  

Twelve Percent

 My DNA test shows me to be 12% Welsh.  I wasn't all that surprised by that.  My mom's family claims Welsh descent.  Some of them were Quakers with names like Davis and Roby which are Welsh derived names.  I fully expected to see Welsh in my DNA.  That was until I looked at my Mom's DNA.  She is 0% Welsh.  What?

That would mean that Dad's side has a lot of ancestors from Wales or perhaps I got all the Welsh DNA that my dad had to offer.  But, on Dad's side, his mom, my grandma is entirely German and Polish.  There is a bit of European Jewish ancestry there, but no English or British Isles.  I can name these folks and where they came from.  My grandfather's side must be the folks from Wales.  But these people came over in the 1600 and 1700s and most of what I find are people from Holland, England, Ireland, and Scotland.  By and large I don't see a lot of Quakers (who were the majority of the Welsh settlers before the Revolutionary War).  But, some of my paternal great great grandmother's people did come from Pennsylvania which is where those Welsh Quakers settled.

Still, 12% is a sizeable piece of DNA.  Where did the Welsh people come from?  Who were they?  It is interesting to dig around and try to figure it out.

I Became a Big Sister

 Some 65 years ago I became a big sister.  Before that I was an only child and I think I probably preferred that, but the brother came along with or without my consent. Being a big sister was never a role I cherished. I can't really remember playing with my brother.  I remember him breaking my toys. I bet he remembers me being bossy.  Because I was.

I hope that parents today do a better job of orienting siblings toward each other. I don't remember being encouraged to play with my siblings.  Or even to get to know them.  That was growing up in the Baby Boomer years.  A lot of kids and not much psychology.

But, years after my childhood I have come to appreciate this brother born 65 years ago.  He has his problems, but he is my little brother.  We shared a childhood and memories.  We have a perspective or point of reference that is not the same, but understands the other.

This brother and I differ in so many ways.  But, I can't imagine life without him.  Happy Birthday, Little Bro. I hope that you have a great one.

Last Word

 I am upset with a family member.  They posted something on social media that I disagreed with.  In fact they regularly post things that make me mad.  But, the things aren't personally about me, I just take them personally because I strongly disagree.

The last post like that really steamed me.  I considered that instead of my usual tactic of hiding their post, I might respond and tell them off.  I felt like their opinion might reflect poorly on me.  But, of course that is really nonsense. I am not responsible for the opinions of a family member.

Anyway, as I sat their with steam coming out of my ears about the thing they posted and considered which nasty comment I might make about their post, someone posted a meme about imagining that the thing you said would be the last thing you ever got to say to that person in this life. If that wasn't God speaking to me, I don't know what was.

I have snoozed that family member for a while.  I have calmed down about their opinions. I feel they are so wrong.  If we tried to discussed it they would name call and belittle me as they have done in the past. I have decided that I am the bigger person.  I will consider the source and just not engage with them on this kind of topic.  Because, you never know.  Someday it will be the last conversation that one of us has in this life with the other one.  I don't want regrets.

Rosemary

 My mother in law's name was Rosemary.  She has been gone for several years.  She had dementia the last many years of her life.  She was gone before I even entertained the idea of divorce, so she knew none of that.  Like most mother in law relationships, there were things about her that I liked and things I didn't.  I learned after she was gone that she didn't like the way her son treated me.  I never would have guessed that.

Rosemary had a tough life in many ways.  Her daddy died when she was very young.  Her mother scrambled to keep her kids.  Helen ended up marrying her dead husband's uncle who was recently widowed to keep house for him and to let her survive with her children not given away to an orphanage.  Then, as a very young woman, Rosemary married an older man who was already an alcoholic.  He didn't give her an easy life.  He did give her two children.  He died of cancer in his 50s and she was widowed.  She married again and moved to the South.

In some ways her second marriage was heaven.  Her husband spoiled her.  She didn't have to work.  He wasn't a drinker and he wasn't abusive.  But, he wasn't perfect and she brought with her all that had gone before in her life.  I knew her then and didn't find out about the rest until later, so I could never really understand why she was so unhappy when things were so rosy, Rose-y. 

Still, I always respected her, welcomed her. I was polite to her even when she danced on my last nerve. There were things I didn't know.  But, I will always remember that Oct. 16th was her birthday.  Happy Birthday, Rosemary.  I hope that you are dancing in Heaven.

Happy Birthday. Little Bro

 One of my brothers has a birthday today. He is up in his 60s so birthdays aren't such a big fun deal anymore. I was just old enough to remember when this brother was born.  The story of my picking him up as a newborn and carrying him across the room has been told so many times that I almost think that I remember when it happened.  I am sure that I remember that Grandma Ella came and stayed with my next brother and me while Mom was in the hospital. He was born while we lived in Thomson, but we moved soon after his birth and he has no memory of that village.

He served in the military for a whole career and then worked for a park district for a second career and finally retired from a home improvement store stocking job a year or so ago. He lost his first wife to cancer and his second to divorce.  He has a beautiful daughter in high school. We don't speak often, but for me he is a rock, someone I can count on. 

Happy birthday, Bro.  I think of all the families who choose to have only 2 children.  We would have missed you if you hadn't been part of our family.  Third children are a blessing. A gift from God.

Who Do You Look Like?

1 Cor 15:35-49 Just as we have borne the image of the earthly one, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly one.  (a part of the reading from last Sunday's liturgy)

I don't know about you, but I know that all my life I have heard comparisons as to who I looked like.  I mostly favor my dad's side of the family, I think, and have been told.  But, occasionally someone will tell me that I look just like my mother. I can see both my parents in my appearance and if my interests and actions.  While I may be a completely unique and original person, I wasn't formed out of nothing. I bear the image of the earthly ones who came before me.

My brother recently made a comment that my little granddaughter looks like me. I don't see the resemblance. She looks like her mother's side of the family to me. My daughter in law is not in favor of noting resemblances to others in her children. So, she very much liked it when I commented that this little "E" baby looks like herself.  Even though I struggle to find any resemblance to me these days, I am sure that as she grows I will find things about her that I have in common.  Perhaps she will like to quilt or read.

My grandson "A" does show some resemblance to my side of the family.  His face in profile looks so like a profile picture of me.  Something about the eyes and eyebrows looks like my son and like me.  But, this 2 year old is really into counting and numbers.  I wouldn't say that I was ever like that.  Perhaps he will like to travel or maybe pray.  Perhaps more things in common will be revealed as time goes by.

We all bear the image of our earthly origins.  It is reassuring to know that we all bear the image of our heavenly origins as well.  We bear the likeness to Christ.