OK, what do I want for Christmas this year? Clothing? Nah. Jewelry? Nah. My OnStar installed in the truck? Maybe. Books? Possibly. Period outfit (fancy)? Could be. The Indiana State Parks Inn gift package? Maybe.
I could get 2 uses this year out of a period dress - the Ephiphany dinner and the Conference. Of course I may be attending both of those alone... Maybe I could ride with Kim and Brian to both. And each year I could use the outfit again...
OnStar would be handy, and a safety net for me, especially out on the road.
But what books? No clue.
The State Parks Inn gift package? Well, 2013 entrance fees to all state parks plus 70 buck in gift certificate? Would let me buy some souveniers at Spring Mill, such as mugs, etc., things we can't afford otherwise until this year. I may get this without regards to Christmas!
Someone to come in and clean the house weekly? Oh yeah! But first Kent would have to get it cleaned out.
A new air mattress that is more comfy than what I currently have? Sounds good to me.
To be able to sleep back in the bedroom, with my kitties in bed with me? Yes! New mattresses, better white noise.
Well, of course world peace. Jessica's Elizabeth to beat all the odds and grow up and live a normal life. Nick to never be deployed again. Our financial situation to improve.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
On Sandy Hook Elementary School Massacre
How do you write on something that is so morally reprehensible? On Friday, Dec. 14, a 20 year old man who lived in Newtown, CT, killed his mother in their home and then went to the school where she was a teacher and shot 21 children and at least 7 adults. Seven adults were killed; I don't know how many, if any, were injured. I refuse to use the name of this killer even though I know what it is. Using it only gives him fame and calls attention to himself. He doesn't deserve this. His name should be stricken from our memories forever. His dastardly, cowardly deeds should be remembered, but not his name.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Hurricane Sandy
The East Coast was shattered by a hurricane named Sandy this week. It flooded NYC subways and left Manhattan in the dark. The New Jersey shoreline will never again be the same. A replica of the HMS Bounty was sunk off NC. Philadelphia was hit hard with winds and flooding. Storm surge was 14 feet above high tide, and Sandy hit on the day of a full moon. The ocean met the bay in many places. CT was also devastated, but not to the degree of NJ and NY. She hit land n Monday Oct. 29.
People drowned in their homes. Over a hundred homes in a NY area of the borough of Queens burned down when firemen couldn't reach the area due to flood waters, and the high winds fanned the flames from one home to another. Father drowns getting other family members to safety. A mother leaves her home too late and car drowns out and she gets out with 2 kids and goes to houses for entry and is refused. Then waves tear both kids from her and they drown. A tanker uprooted from its moorings and grounds on the paved shoulder of a highway. Jersey Shore landmarks swept away.
So few people actually evacuated, especially those in flood plains. Oh, it has never flooded here in 50 years. You know how the govt overreacts. This was at least a hundred years storm. So yeah, the evacuation warnings were not called for. I really don't feel sorry for folks who remained behind and were trapped and are now trying to survive sans power and water. They could have found rides out of the area, or at least evacuated to much higher ground. However, the federal govt has been very slow in getting assistance to these folks. Today is when they showed up. Not Wed. or Thursday, but Friday. 5 days after. Hmm, sounds like Hurricane Katrina for New Orleans...
I don't feel too sorry for a lot of the folks who lived in these fancy homes right on the shore. Who never planned for such floods when they built/bought. Rich, rich people who have 2 homes, one of them a summer home. The Hamptons on Long Island. They have just paid a high price for their elitism and privilege. No, I don't feel sorry for them. I do feel sorry for those folks who have lost everything. This one lady said they saved for 30 years for their house and the bought it and retired there (in a neighborhood where their income wasn't up to par with the neighbors, but having paid for the home they could survive) and have lost everything. She found some possessions over a mile away, but the house is long gone. Hope they had good insurance.
Why do people insist on building homes in areas where natural disaster WILL strike at some point? On mountainsides where the soil is unstable because of all the building. On beach fronts where the sand erodes with every storm. Where dunes come and go. On floodplains where rivers and lakes rise. Or live in a state that is merely a penninsula jutting out in to the ocean and which gets raked by hurricanes year after year after year. Just how stupid are they? Location location location. And the East Coast just got a huge lesson about Location. AND what is going to happen when the polar ice packs melt during this century. NYC will be completely under water, as will almost all of FL. Darrell will not be welcome here when FL gets inundated. Chris, if still in Portage, could be flooded out too by global warming, by Lake Michigan or tributary rivers to the Lake. We should be OK here, at 814 feet above sea level. But it won't be 814 feet when the ice packs are gone. Maybe 2 to 300 feet above, then. Or if Chris is in FL at that time, he won't have a place to come back to. Of course I may not be alive by that time, so HERE won't be here. But you get my point. I am not so stupid as to live on unstable mountainsides in California or along fault lines, or along oceanic shorelines. Sure, I love the ocean, but there are storms that destroy homes all the time. A nice place to visit, but NOT to live, even though I was tempted, once. But just once.
People drowned in their homes. Over a hundred homes in a NY area of the borough of Queens burned down when firemen couldn't reach the area due to flood waters, and the high winds fanned the flames from one home to another. Father drowns getting other family members to safety. A mother leaves her home too late and car drowns out and she gets out with 2 kids and goes to houses for entry and is refused. Then waves tear both kids from her and they drown. A tanker uprooted from its moorings and grounds on the paved shoulder of a highway. Jersey Shore landmarks swept away.
So few people actually evacuated, especially those in flood plains. Oh, it has never flooded here in 50 years. You know how the govt overreacts. This was at least a hundred years storm. So yeah, the evacuation warnings were not called for. I really don't feel sorry for folks who remained behind and were trapped and are now trying to survive sans power and water. They could have found rides out of the area, or at least evacuated to much higher ground. However, the federal govt has been very slow in getting assistance to these folks. Today is when they showed up. Not Wed. or Thursday, but Friday. 5 days after. Hmm, sounds like Hurricane Katrina for New Orleans...
I don't feel too sorry for a lot of the folks who lived in these fancy homes right on the shore. Who never planned for such floods when they built/bought. Rich, rich people who have 2 homes, one of them a summer home. The Hamptons on Long Island. They have just paid a high price for their elitism and privilege. No, I don't feel sorry for them. I do feel sorry for those folks who have lost everything. This one lady said they saved for 30 years for their house and the bought it and retired there (in a neighborhood where their income wasn't up to par with the neighbors, but having paid for the home they could survive) and have lost everything. She found some possessions over a mile away, but the house is long gone. Hope they had good insurance.
Why do people insist on building homes in areas where natural disaster WILL strike at some point? On mountainsides where the soil is unstable because of all the building. On beach fronts where the sand erodes with every storm. Where dunes come and go. On floodplains where rivers and lakes rise. Or live in a state that is merely a penninsula jutting out in to the ocean and which gets raked by hurricanes year after year after year. Just how stupid are they? Location location location. And the East Coast just got a huge lesson about Location. AND what is going to happen when the polar ice packs melt during this century. NYC will be completely under water, as will almost all of FL. Darrell will not be welcome here when FL gets inundated. Chris, if still in Portage, could be flooded out too by global warming, by Lake Michigan or tributary rivers to the Lake. We should be OK here, at 814 feet above sea level. But it won't be 814 feet when the ice packs are gone. Maybe 2 to 300 feet above, then. Or if Chris is in FL at that time, he won't have a place to come back to. Of course I may not be alive by that time, so HERE won't be here. But you get my point. I am not so stupid as to live on unstable mountainsides in California or along fault lines, or along oceanic shorelines. Sure, I love the ocean, but there are storms that destroy homes all the time. A nice place to visit, but NOT to live, even though I was tempted, once. But just once.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Moved out of the bedroom
Well, it is offical. 10/19/12 and I have moved in to the computer room and am sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. Not that it is such a big deal. I haven't slept in the bedroom more than 20 nights since mid-February. Can't take the snoring, the thrashing, the randoms hits/kicks (those last ones being all completely unintentional). Kent is an active sleeper and as of late, I just can't handle it any longer. His movement are completely driven by his sleep, and he'd not harm me no matter what. I've slept most nights in my chair in the living room since Feb. At least on the air mattress I can now stretch out.
I was supposed to have the futon bed in the spare bedroom, but he never got around to cleaning out that room even though he told me it was the FIRST thing he'd do when he was laid off from Brock. Layoff date was 8/30/12, and it is 10/29/12 today. Yeah, like that happened. So he spent his last free weekend cleaning out the computer room. Only fair, I guess. He spent most of the time he could have spent cleaning out the spare bedroom over at Brian's, working on a new carriage for the swivel gun. As usual, he fiddlefarted around until he suddenly had a job. That has happened for 3 years running. And this time I wasn't understanding about it, because enough was enough. I had to come first in this. Yeah, I come first in a lot of things, but this was a life threatening situation for me, and there was not getting around it this time. I know I pissed him off, but it if don't stand up for my life, who will? No one, that's who. Kent hasn't been ill like I have to truly understand what it is like for me.
He was hired 10-24-12 at a place over in Lafayette, on second shift (boo, hiss) but at least it is a job. And he was a direct hire, not hired via a temp service. Which means he gets more money. And after his 90 day probationary period he will have benefits. Yes! Benefits! Gonna cost us a bunch, but by claiming my social security check after I turn 62 we will have enough to make up the missing funds plus pay for the medications and doctors, etc. Yes! Now if only...
I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep in the same bed with him, at least as long as he snores so badly. The snoring had been getting a little better since he was out of Brock and no long in the dust in Brian's garage. But that will probably be changing now that he's back to work. He says the plant is clean, but factory is a factory is a factory, and dust and debris accumulate... We'll see. After he gets some benefits we may look in to having his apnea diagnosed, and see if he can get the CPAP stuff so he actually sleeps deeply. Maybe I can tolerate that noise of a night. All this remains to be seen.
Maybe if we get a sleep number mattress to properly support us, he might lay more quietly. And then again, maybe not. He has not been working for nearly 2 months and the thrashing is suddenly worse...It is work related, that is for certain.
I was supposed to have the futon bed in the spare bedroom, but he never got around to cleaning out that room even though he told me it was the FIRST thing he'd do when he was laid off from Brock. Layoff date was 8/30/12, and it is 10/29/12 today. Yeah, like that happened. So he spent his last free weekend cleaning out the computer room. Only fair, I guess. He spent most of the time he could have spent cleaning out the spare bedroom over at Brian's, working on a new carriage for the swivel gun. As usual, he fiddlefarted around until he suddenly had a job. That has happened for 3 years running. And this time I wasn't understanding about it, because enough was enough. I had to come first in this. Yeah, I come first in a lot of things, but this was a life threatening situation for me, and there was not getting around it this time. I know I pissed him off, but it if don't stand up for my life, who will? No one, that's who. Kent hasn't been ill like I have to truly understand what it is like for me.
He was hired 10-24-12 at a place over in Lafayette, on second shift (boo, hiss) but at least it is a job. And he was a direct hire, not hired via a temp service. Which means he gets more money. And after his 90 day probationary period he will have benefits. Yes! Benefits! Gonna cost us a bunch, but by claiming my social security check after I turn 62 we will have enough to make up the missing funds plus pay for the medications and doctors, etc. Yes! Now if only...
I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep in the same bed with him, at least as long as he snores so badly. The snoring had been getting a little better since he was out of Brock and no long in the dust in Brian's garage. But that will probably be changing now that he's back to work. He says the plant is clean, but factory is a factory is a factory, and dust and debris accumulate... We'll see. After he gets some benefits we may look in to having his apnea diagnosed, and see if he can get the CPAP stuff so he actually sleeps deeply. Maybe I can tolerate that noise of a night. All this remains to be seen.
Maybe if we get a sleep number mattress to properly support us, he might lay more quietly. And then again, maybe not. He has not been working for nearly 2 months and the thrashing is suddenly worse...It is work related, that is for certain.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
The Little One
We had a squirrel make her nest in the pine tree just north of our back fence line, in the last pine tree behind our property in 2011. It was entertaining to watch her gather the leaves to make the nest from our northernmost maple tree.
She was a beautiful speciman of fox squirrel, and I named her Fat N Sassy. She had a couple of babies in the spring, one of whom earned the name Young N Dumb. Don't know if the other squirrel we kept seeing was hers or was a neighbor.
This fall I noted a young squirrel behind of neighbor's property, and it was just a beautiful as its mother. At the time of discovery I didn't know if it was male or female.
Never saw this squirrel run the lines or get over in to our north maple tree, so I sort of named it Young N Younger.
Last week I noticed that this squirrel was having a hard time coming down the tree just west of the nest tree trunk. Thought it might be because the tree was dead. It seemed to spend a lot of time behind our property, on the ground. Never seemed to go very far away while I was watching it.
On Monday I discovered the reason for the climbing difficulty. It had a sore right hind leg. On Tuesday I glimpsed a second wound on the inside of the right hind leg, and could see that it wasn't putting any weight on the leg. Just before dusk I discovered, to my horror, that the left front leg ended in a stump at about the wrist. Therefore, this poor squirrel only had 2 working legs. I knew that it was doomed to either get caught by a cat or dog while on the ground, or die of infection. That appalled me, and even though I knew no one would be there, I went looking for a DNR number, only to find there wasn't one for wildlife control in the phone book. I placed a couple of walnuts at the base of the nest tree, along with an apple, so it could at least have some nourishment near safety.
On Wednesay I observed this squirrel laying in the grass in the sun, reclining back so that I had a good view of the belly. It was then that I knew it was really a she. I tossed her some peanuts and some striped sunflower seeds but she was not interested. I started calling her Little One because of her youth and my horror at her injuries. It is possible that the left front paw was a deformity, but I'll never know, not having seen her clearly before Tuesday.
I was appalled at her lack of interest in the easy food. And when I came back to look at her about an hour later, she had laid belly down on the ground and had her tail up next to her body. I immediately though that she had just died, and I started crying. That was when I went in to the house and called the Humane Society. They suggested a place which sold traps, but I asked what I was supposed to do with it after I caught it because it was, after all, a wild animal. I didn't want to say I didn't want to get in trouble for helping out a wild animal without a license to do so, but I think that the lady knew there was an ethical dilemna there. She then asked if we could catch it under a basket, and I said we could (but I didn't have a clue what we'd use at the time). She said that they didn't normally deal with squirrels, and if it was so badly injured, all they could do was put it to sleep. My heart officially broke on that, although I knew that being put to sleep would be far kinder than starvation or dying of infection or getting caught by a predator. The lady then said she'd send out a Humane Society truck to pick up the injured squirrel.
Kent and I caught her, but she figured out a way from under the plastic pond tub. We had to chase her down again, and this time she went in to an empty kitty litter pail with an attached lid. Of course I knew her time on this Earth was now limited, and it was really tearing me up. I am crying as I write this because of how terrified I knew her to be when we caught her the second time.
She is an innocent creature. What if a predator had gotten ahold of Ptera and left her in that shape before we found her in the yard? Would I have called the Humane Society on her? No, Ptera is a cat, and I'd have tried to save her life. Of course, I did save her life by adopting her into the family, but she was a healthy kitten. Nonetheless, the thought of this innocent squirrel, who only wanted to eat, sleep, play, and follow her natural instincts losing her life because of me hit me hard. I know I was doing what was best for her, doing what was kindest for her.
I sat by the pail, talking to her. As if that did anything but scare her more, I'd imagine. but I was trying to use a calm voice to help calm her down. The Humane Society guy came back and we surrendered the pail with its contents to him. We told him it was badly injured and only had 2 legs to walk/climb with, and was not eating properly. The 2 walnuts that I'd left under the tree Tuesday night were still there. Have no clue what she ate, if anything, other than a few nibbles of apple Tuesday evening and Wed. AM.
It hurts that she is now dead because I called the Humane Society. But watching her suffer was worse yet. I've heard you can judge a person by how it treats animals, and I did waht was right, what was best for her. But the loss of her presence, the fact that I'll never have seen her scampering through the trees and the yard strikes at my heart.
Rest in peace Little One. You were so young, so innocent. You lost your opportunity at a normal life when some predator caught you. You got away, but you suffered mightily for that escape. And you paid the ultimate price anyway because of the extent of that hind leg injury. But please, rest in peace. You are no longer suffering, you are no longer hungry or lonely or afraid. Rest in peace.
She was a beautiful speciman of fox squirrel, and I named her Fat N Sassy. She had a couple of babies in the spring, one of whom earned the name Young N Dumb. Don't know if the other squirrel we kept seeing was hers or was a neighbor.
This fall I noted a young squirrel behind of neighbor's property, and it was just a beautiful as its mother. At the time of discovery I didn't know if it was male or female.
Never saw this squirrel run the lines or get over in to our north maple tree, so I sort of named it Young N Younger.
Last week I noticed that this squirrel was having a hard time coming down the tree just west of the nest tree trunk. Thought it might be because the tree was dead. It seemed to spend a lot of time behind our property, on the ground. Never seemed to go very far away while I was watching it.
On Monday I discovered the reason for the climbing difficulty. It had a sore right hind leg. On Tuesday I glimpsed a second wound on the inside of the right hind leg, and could see that it wasn't putting any weight on the leg. Just before dusk I discovered, to my horror, that the left front leg ended in a stump at about the wrist. Therefore, this poor squirrel only had 2 working legs. I knew that it was doomed to either get caught by a cat or dog while on the ground, or die of infection. That appalled me, and even though I knew no one would be there, I went looking for a DNR number, only to find there wasn't one for wildlife control in the phone book. I placed a couple of walnuts at the base of the nest tree, along with an apple, so it could at least have some nourishment near safety.
On Wednesay I observed this squirrel laying in the grass in the sun, reclining back so that I had a good view of the belly. It was then that I knew it was really a she. I tossed her some peanuts and some striped sunflower seeds but she was not interested. I started calling her Little One because of her youth and my horror at her injuries. It is possible that the left front paw was a deformity, but I'll never know, not having seen her clearly before Tuesday.
I was appalled at her lack of interest in the easy food. And when I came back to look at her about an hour later, she had laid belly down on the ground and had her tail up next to her body. I immediately though that she had just died, and I started crying. That was when I went in to the house and called the Humane Society. They suggested a place which sold traps, but I asked what I was supposed to do with it after I caught it because it was, after all, a wild animal. I didn't want to say I didn't want to get in trouble for helping out a wild animal without a license to do so, but I think that the lady knew there was an ethical dilemna there. She then asked if we could catch it under a basket, and I said we could (but I didn't have a clue what we'd use at the time). She said that they didn't normally deal with squirrels, and if it was so badly injured, all they could do was put it to sleep. My heart officially broke on that, although I knew that being put to sleep would be far kinder than starvation or dying of infection or getting caught by a predator. The lady then said she'd send out a Humane Society truck to pick up the injured squirrel.
Kent and I caught her, but she figured out a way from under the plastic pond tub. We had to chase her down again, and this time she went in to an empty kitty litter pail with an attached lid. Of course I knew her time on this Earth was now limited, and it was really tearing me up. I am crying as I write this because of how terrified I knew her to be when we caught her the second time.
She is an innocent creature. What if a predator had gotten ahold of Ptera and left her in that shape before we found her in the yard? Would I have called the Humane Society on her? No, Ptera is a cat, and I'd have tried to save her life. Of course, I did save her life by adopting her into the family, but she was a healthy kitten. Nonetheless, the thought of this innocent squirrel, who only wanted to eat, sleep, play, and follow her natural instincts losing her life because of me hit me hard. I know I was doing what was best for her, doing what was kindest for her.
I sat by the pail, talking to her. As if that did anything but scare her more, I'd imagine. but I was trying to use a calm voice to help calm her down. The Humane Society guy came back and we surrendered the pail with its contents to him. We told him it was badly injured and only had 2 legs to walk/climb with, and was not eating properly. The 2 walnuts that I'd left under the tree Tuesday night were still there. Have no clue what she ate, if anything, other than a few nibbles of apple Tuesday evening and Wed. AM.
It hurts that she is now dead because I called the Humane Society. But watching her suffer was worse yet. I've heard you can judge a person by how it treats animals, and I did waht was right, what was best for her. But the loss of her presence, the fact that I'll never have seen her scampering through the trees and the yard strikes at my heart.
Rest in peace Little One. You were so young, so innocent. You lost your opportunity at a normal life when some predator caught you. You got away, but you suffered mightily for that escape. And you paid the ultimate price anyway because of the extent of that hind leg injury. But please, rest in peace. You are no longer suffering, you are no longer hungry or lonely or afraid. Rest in peace.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Dad
Saturday June 9 2012 marked what would have been Mom and Dad's 74th anniversary. Needless to say it was a really depressing day for me; I had honored the event in my heart for several ears because Dad was remarried. And Dad was always alive. This year, however, Dad joined Mom once again, and now I have neither of them.
Sunday June 10 2012 would have been Dad's 96th birthday. I had decided that we would have another party this year because of Dad's failing health, and it would be a chance for all of us to get together again. But with Dad's death this past Feb. 20, that dream died as well.
I miss my dad. I wasn't the best daughter, especially in the past few years. I had issues, 2 big ones especially, that got in my way. I did manage to deal with one of them last year, but the abandonment one is still here. I couldn't tell Dad while he was alive, but I did tell him after he died. If he is in Heaven and watching, he heard me. If there is no afterlife, God forbid, well, then it doesn't matter, does it.
I know Gramma died never forgiving him, and I don't think Lyle and Marilyn will ever forgive him either. I am in total agreement with them. He left all of us behind to move south with his new wife so she could be closer to her grandchildren. Had they moved halfway between Kokomo and New Albany, I could have grudginly accepted that. But he moved 3 hours away. I know Glory convinced him that we would visit him often if he moved away, but given the fact that I HATE riding, there was fat chance of that. Dad knew this, but apparently forgot it. But the pain of the abandonment was great.
Once he was south, Glory seemed to change. I know she developed health issues and I am all too aware of how pain and frustration can weigh on you. But Glory was bringing him down... He was sitting home with her doing nothing for years before his health demanded it. At least he did finally get out of the house some in those last years before they sold the house. But once he was in the apartment, that changed too.
Glory is not a bad woman. She is quirky, more so since she is wheel chair bound. Opinionated. But then, who isn't nowadays? She loved Dad very much, and I know she doesn't really want to live without him. I believe that she was married to Dad longer than she was married to Vaughn's dad. Don't know that for sure, but it was Dad she said she'd be with in death, not Delbert. Even so, she will be buried next to Delbert, her first husband.
I miss you Dad. I wasn't the daughter you wanted the last 20 years of your life. I can't blame my feeling of abandonment on you; the feeling is mine. You did what you felt was right for your wife, with what many of us perceive as not right for your own flesh and blood. But it was your choice, and one I will never ever accept. I may one day learn to forgive you for leaving us behind, but it will not be easy. You will have to listen to many tirades against your decision in the process. And I can not promise I will be able to forgive you. But you are my father, and I do love you and I miss the presence that I knew was there even if so far away from me. I know you accepted my emotional distance, perhaps too easily. Which is probably my fault, too.
Father's Day 2012 is likewise the first without you. It has not been as hard as difficult as was the anniversary and your birthday, but it has not been easy. Two weekends in row which revolved around you - without you in this world.
I know that you were ready to depart this life, that you knew you had lived past what you thought you should lived. In spite of not being kept artifically alive, you were still kept alive by the hospitalizations and the nursing home We all knew that your birthday celebration last year would be your last even though I didn't want to accept it. I don't think that I was the only one, either. We all know that you went outside last summer (2011), hoping that you would not survive the heat, and that things went downhill from there when you were given CPR by your health aide at the apartment. So in a way you did get your wish, albeit 7 months later. And I didn't act like I should have. I have not been the person I should have been for many, many years. And so I live with the regrets that all this has caused. Nonetheless, I do miss and love you Dad. Greatly. I know that you know this, then as now. I told you every time we talked.
Rest in peace Dad. You taught us to be responsible and stand on our own two feet, and we learned that lesson. I was always proud of you as the provider, as the man the community knew and respected. You were there for me when I really needed it, and when some things that were Mom's that were supposed to be mine never came to me, I accepted it, but it did little to make me want to stay close. You sold my mother's things one by one by one until none were left. But I still loved you because you were my father. Sometimes I didn't like you very much, but I always loved you.
Sunday June 10 2012 would have been Dad's 96th birthday. I had decided that we would have another party this year because of Dad's failing health, and it would be a chance for all of us to get together again. But with Dad's death this past Feb. 20, that dream died as well.
I miss my dad. I wasn't the best daughter, especially in the past few years. I had issues, 2 big ones especially, that got in my way. I did manage to deal with one of them last year, but the abandonment one is still here. I couldn't tell Dad while he was alive, but I did tell him after he died. If he is in Heaven and watching, he heard me. If there is no afterlife, God forbid, well, then it doesn't matter, does it.
I know Gramma died never forgiving him, and I don't think Lyle and Marilyn will ever forgive him either. I am in total agreement with them. He left all of us behind to move south with his new wife so she could be closer to her grandchildren. Had they moved halfway between Kokomo and New Albany, I could have grudginly accepted that. But he moved 3 hours away. I know Glory convinced him that we would visit him often if he moved away, but given the fact that I HATE riding, there was fat chance of that. Dad knew this, but apparently forgot it. But the pain of the abandonment was great.
Once he was south, Glory seemed to change. I know she developed health issues and I am all too aware of how pain and frustration can weigh on you. But Glory was bringing him down... He was sitting home with her doing nothing for years before his health demanded it. At least he did finally get out of the house some in those last years before they sold the house. But once he was in the apartment, that changed too.
Glory is not a bad woman. She is quirky, more so since she is wheel chair bound. Opinionated. But then, who isn't nowadays? She loved Dad very much, and I know she doesn't really want to live without him. I believe that she was married to Dad longer than she was married to Vaughn's dad. Don't know that for sure, but it was Dad she said she'd be with in death, not Delbert. Even so, she will be buried next to Delbert, her first husband.
I miss you Dad. I wasn't the daughter you wanted the last 20 years of your life. I can't blame my feeling of abandonment on you; the feeling is mine. You did what you felt was right for your wife, with what many of us perceive as not right for your own flesh and blood. But it was your choice, and one I will never ever accept. I may one day learn to forgive you for leaving us behind, but it will not be easy. You will have to listen to many tirades against your decision in the process. And I can not promise I will be able to forgive you. But you are my father, and I do love you and I miss the presence that I knew was there even if so far away from me. I know you accepted my emotional distance, perhaps too easily. Which is probably my fault, too.
Father's Day 2012 is likewise the first without you. It has not been as hard as difficult as was the anniversary and your birthday, but it has not been easy. Two weekends in row which revolved around you - without you in this world.
I know that you were ready to depart this life, that you knew you had lived past what you thought you should lived. In spite of not being kept artifically alive, you were still kept alive by the hospitalizations and the nursing home We all knew that your birthday celebration last year would be your last even though I didn't want to accept it. I don't think that I was the only one, either. We all know that you went outside last summer (2011), hoping that you would not survive the heat, and that things went downhill from there when you were given CPR by your health aide at the apartment. So in a way you did get your wish, albeit 7 months later. And I didn't act like I should have. I have not been the person I should have been for many, many years. And so I live with the regrets that all this has caused. Nonetheless, I do miss and love you Dad. Greatly. I know that you know this, then as now. I told you every time we talked.
Rest in peace Dad. You taught us to be responsible and stand on our own two feet, and we learned that lesson. I was always proud of you as the provider, as the man the community knew and respected. You were there for me when I really needed it, and when some things that were Mom's that were supposed to be mine never came to me, I accepted it, but it did little to make me want to stay close. You sold my mother's things one by one by one until none were left. But I still loved you because you were my father. Sometimes I didn't like you very much, but I always loved you.
Deja Vu
Dear God, why is this happening again? Why don't I ever learn not to trust him? You know that I love him, but he fails me every time. Every time. About the only job he has not been fired from since we were married was the one where he was pouring concrete ornaments. He was fired from the sheetmetal workers. He was fired from the railroad. He was fired from Advanced Auto. He was fired from WWL, and now is he going to get fired from Brock. It wasn't so bad when I was still working, because I had a good income. But now my net is half of what it was. Since he'll be fired he can't collect unemployment for 6 weeks. He was sent back to the SQ line, which means he has lost the chance for one of those jobs on the Perfless lines, which was to become a full time job-getting hired as a regular employee, not just a temp. Just fucking great.
Lessa
The past few months I have noticed that my Lessa Houdini Aircat, aka Mouwess, has been changing. She has lost maybe 1/2 pound, but she isn't caring for her fur as well as she has in the past. She isn't eating as much, either, which would help account for the weight loss. I've noticed that she isn't eating her morning treat that Kent gives her like she used to. It may sit there on top of the freezer all day long (it is dry food, so no big deal). She has started licking her fur off her belly and legs again, after stopping the OCD behavior for over a year. Ptera Dactyl has been a part of the house for 2 years, and if Ptera is the chief cause, I would have thought it would have started when Ptera was first brought in to the house. And Lessa doesn't seem to be able to get comfortable very easily. Yesterday evening she wouldn't settle down; she was up and down and all around, including walking all over my legs, which were hurting anyway. Poor girl was yelled at several times and kneed off the chair several more. This behavior kept on even after Kent went to bed and I tried to settle in to sleep. It was nearly 5 AM before she actually completely settled in next to me in the chair.
However, her activity level outside does seem to be on the increase. Yesterday I watched her dance across the backyard chasing a white cabbage moth. She doesn't chase it with the same intensity as does Ptera Dactyl, but for Lessa, it was very active!!! She mostly loped after it, but there were a few leaps in to the air. I am so grateful that I was able to witness this cavort! I certainly hope it will not be the last one I observe.
She was leaving the backyard illegally nearly every day, but in the past few weeks
she has been staying in the backyard more often. Of course, then today she left the yard twice.
It is possible that Lessa has developed diabetes, just like Muffin. Kent and I have agreed that we will not give her shots. She'll be left with some dignity, unlike Muffin, if this turns out to be the case. It would shorten her life, but the betrayal to her at age 12 would be worse.
The idea of losing Lessa terrifies me. She is a direct link to Smudge, and once she is gone, we will have truly lost all of him. Sure, Yeowller was rescued shortly after we brought Smudge and Lessa in to the house, but Lessa IS the reason that Smudge entered our life. I wanted to make sure that she wasn't put to sleep because she was such an ugly kitten, and the intervening time between when I first saw her and we went back for her she was changing. The Ugly Duckling turned in to a Graceful Swan in those couple of months. She had the most beautiful pink nose, that eventually developed dark spots on the outside edges of. We lovingly called her Little Pink Rat Nose when it was all pink. Smudge was still alive when her nose began to change, and it continued to get darker year after year. Oh, the pink is still there, but not as bright pink and definitely not all over pink.
Lessa has always disliked loud noises and has loudly scolded us when our voices are raised, and sometimes when they are not raised... She has an obnoxious scolding voice, let me tell you! She always gets up from wherever she is and strides purposely towards whichever one of us is talking the loudest, and then starts in on us.
She used to love riding in the car, but she lost that love several years ago. Oh, she goes through the motions of wanting to go, but she won't come in to our arms to be carried out to the vehicle. She wants to go outside, out front, which is Forbidden Territory to her. It was always a treat to her to get to walk from the car to the house when she went for rides with us. I know she didn't like riding in Kent's truck, nor mine, but she quit riding in the car before we lost it in 2010.
I tears me up inside contemplating losing Lessa. The last cat we lost was Macha, 4 years ago. But Lessa, like I said, is a direct link to our best beloved Smudge, because we decided to bring him home with her, for company, never knowing that he would completely take over our hearts in just a couple days.
But I hope that I am wrong, and that Lessa has many more years of life left in her. Maybe she has arthritis, which would account for a less active life. If it is worse, then we keep her comfortable until she has no quality of life, and then release her from her earthly form, to go roam with Smudge as they wait for us with the others who have gone before us.
However, her activity level outside does seem to be on the increase. Yesterday I watched her dance across the backyard chasing a white cabbage moth. She doesn't chase it with the same intensity as does Ptera Dactyl, but for Lessa, it was very active!!! She mostly loped after it, but there were a few leaps in to the air. I am so grateful that I was able to witness this cavort! I certainly hope it will not be the last one I observe.
She was leaving the backyard illegally nearly every day, but in the past few weeks
she has been staying in the backyard more often. Of course, then today she left the yard twice.
It is possible that Lessa has developed diabetes, just like Muffin. Kent and I have agreed that we will not give her shots. She'll be left with some dignity, unlike Muffin, if this turns out to be the case. It would shorten her life, but the betrayal to her at age 12 would be worse.
The idea of losing Lessa terrifies me. She is a direct link to Smudge, and once she is gone, we will have truly lost all of him. Sure, Yeowller was rescued shortly after we brought Smudge and Lessa in to the house, but Lessa IS the reason that Smudge entered our life. I wanted to make sure that she wasn't put to sleep because she was such an ugly kitten, and the intervening time between when I first saw her and we went back for her she was changing. The Ugly Duckling turned in to a Graceful Swan in those couple of months. She had the most beautiful pink nose, that eventually developed dark spots on the outside edges of. We lovingly called her Little Pink Rat Nose when it was all pink. Smudge was still alive when her nose began to change, and it continued to get darker year after year. Oh, the pink is still there, but not as bright pink and definitely not all over pink.
Lessa has always disliked loud noises and has loudly scolded us when our voices are raised, and sometimes when they are not raised... She has an obnoxious scolding voice, let me tell you! She always gets up from wherever she is and strides purposely towards whichever one of us is talking the loudest, and then starts in on us.
She used to love riding in the car, but she lost that love several years ago. Oh, she goes through the motions of wanting to go, but she won't come in to our arms to be carried out to the vehicle. She wants to go outside, out front, which is Forbidden Territory to her. It was always a treat to her to get to walk from the car to the house when she went for rides with us. I know she didn't like riding in Kent's truck, nor mine, but she quit riding in the car before we lost it in 2010.
I tears me up inside contemplating losing Lessa. The last cat we lost was Macha, 4 years ago. But Lessa, like I said, is a direct link to our best beloved Smudge, because we decided to bring him home with her, for company, never knowing that he would completely take over our hearts in just a couple days.
But I hope that I am wrong, and that Lessa has many more years of life left in her. Maybe she has arthritis, which would account for a less active life. If it is worse, then we keep her comfortable until she has no quality of life, and then release her from her earthly form, to go roam with Smudge as they wait for us with the others who have gone before us.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Missing Smudge
These past few days I have really been missing Smudge. That big white tom cat was the love of my life. He claimed me by the second day he was in my life, and I gave him my heart. We nearly lost him about a year after we acquired him, because he had a genetic disease that caused his red blood cells to not generate, much like leukemia. However, it was not the catchable feline leukemia, or we could have lost the rest of the cats. With great love and care and at great expense, we extended Smudge's life for over 5 years. He had a great quality of life, and to anyone who didn't know his story, he was the picture of health.
I miss him sleeping between Kent and I. I miss him on my lap, by my side. He loved to go to sleep encircled in my arms, not realizing that I was really holding him-which he really hated. He never did like to be picked up or held, but he gave freely of himself. Yet somehow he didn't make the connection that encircled in my arms in bed was still being held. And I am so grateful for that!
And I miss that cat so much. When we adopted Desiree, also a big white cat, there were times I saw Smudge in the house. It did help to have her here, it eased his absence more than it brought back painful memories.
Smudgie has been dead for over 5 years and some days it seems as if it were yesterday.
I love you Smudge. I love you so much. I know that somehow you found your way back to me in a small way through Ptera. She loves me like you did and on some days when she looks adoringly at me, I see you in her eyes. I know that she is her own girl, that you just show up now and then when you can. And some days that is enough, while others it is not. Your absence is still so hard to bear, even after all this time. Your picture is on my computer so I see you each and every day. But I miss you in my arms and on my lap and in our bed. I love you buddie. My big white citricat who was such a lover and never bullied the others even though you were built to rule the roost.
I love you.
I miss him sleeping between Kent and I. I miss him on my lap, by my side. He loved to go to sleep encircled in my arms, not realizing that I was really holding him-which he really hated. He never did like to be picked up or held, but he gave freely of himself. Yet somehow he didn't make the connection that encircled in my arms in bed was still being held. And I am so grateful for that!
And I miss that cat so much. When we adopted Desiree, also a big white cat, there were times I saw Smudge in the house. It did help to have her here, it eased his absence more than it brought back painful memories.
Smudgie has been dead for over 5 years and some days it seems as if it were yesterday.
I love you Smudge. I love you so much. I know that somehow you found your way back to me in a small way through Ptera. She loves me like you did and on some days when she looks adoringly at me, I see you in her eyes. I know that she is her own girl, that you just show up now and then when you can. And some days that is enough, while others it is not. Your absence is still so hard to bear, even after all this time. Your picture is on my computer so I see you each and every day. But I miss you in my arms and on my lap and in our bed. I love you buddie. My big white citricat who was such a lover and never bullied the others even though you were built to rule the roost.
I love you.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Old friend and classmate, Sharon White Pyke, died unexpectedly Saturday AM. No history of illness or even of feeling badly, according to friends and family. Coming so close on heels of Dad's death, it has set me back a bit on my road to recovery. Teary and depressed, to say the least. Mary Karen Miltenberger Hall called me last evening to make sure I knew about it. She can't make it to viewing, but will be a funeral. I can't take a funeral so I had to go to the viewing. Did not recognized a single person there even tho' there were lots of folks. Considering that Sharon and her husband fostered 80 kids, it was not surprising.
Rest in peace, Sharon. You did a fantastic job as a mom and foster mom, which says a lot about the woman you were.
Rest in peace, Sharon. You did a fantastic job as a mom and foster mom, which says a lot about the woman you were.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Reenacting Shenanigans
My husband and I are re-enactors (or reenactors, if you prefer). And if it were not for bad luck, we wouldn't have any luck at all. Oh, the curse or what ever you call it doesn't rear its ugly head at each and every event, and sometimes it might even skip a year or so , but there is a long line of bad luck for us. Broken ridge poles with no way to replace until after the event. Missing canopy poles. Flat tires. An RV which changed an 11 hour trip in to a 17 hour trip. The 2002 border incident we were involved in. The list does go on and on. Lost cats. Ill cats. Bunny rabbit and cats. Not all incidents actually happended at an event. Some were enroute, some were heading home, some were both enroute and heading home. Most were not funny when they happended, and our tolerance and tempers were stretched beyond endudrance and exhaustion, but afterwards, we were able to find the humor in them, and they have become a part of our reenacting history. In the midst of minor disasters there have been some funny things happen, as happens all the time. All of these incidents are tied up with our reenacting memories and will find their way in to these blogs.
It is actually hard to choose which one to write about here. I don't know that I want to do these in chronological order, but I don't know that I don't want to do them in chronological order, either... I'll just have to wait and see what strikes me as the best for a first entry, and go from there.
It is actually hard to choose which one to write about here. I don't know that I want to do these in chronological order, but I don't know that I don't want to do them in chronological order, either... I'll just have to wait and see what strikes me as the best for a first entry, and go from there.
I Am Related To Myself 3 Ways!
Holy cow! I just discovered that not only is the Starbuck in me directly related to the Worth in me, but that the Starbuck is doubly related to me. One man's grandson married the granddaughter of his own sibling.
Of course, back in those days it was important to keep family property in the family, so first cousins were more likely to wed in order to do this.
There is no doubt that this is a close proximity marriage; the names and dates have been corroborated several different ways, and the marriage is real (recorded in state records).
And on top of this , I discovered that, also on the Starbuck side, I have Algonquin blood in me! Seems an ancestor wed this Algonquin princess... I'd always noticed that Aunt Anna and her kids had a darker complexion than Mom and we Eaton kids, and I thought maybe it came from Lloyd, but he was a fair Irishman, so it didn't come from there. Besides, Onda has these lovely high cheekbones that often denote Native American lineage. I can see them in our maternal grandfather's pictures (Lewis Garrett Starbuck) as well. Who'd'a thunk?!
Now it all makes sense. The cheekbones and skin coloration reemerged in Anna but even more strongly in Onda. Haven't told Onda of my discovery yet, because it might not be welcome news. She might even be sensitive about the skin coloration issue, but I would doubt it. Looking at Darrell and I, you would never think that we had Indian blood in us....blue eyed blondes and all....Mom's hair was dark, but not black. Mom's complexion was definitely light.
The relationship is too far back to be of any status to me; a few years ago I wouldn't even think about exploiting it if it were usable, but after the way my government has treated me and my fellow retirees, I'd not hesitate to use it! Shame on me for feeling that way, but shame on my government for discriminating against us!
Of course, back in those days it was important to keep family property in the family, so first cousins were more likely to wed in order to do this.
There is no doubt that this is a close proximity marriage; the names and dates have been corroborated several different ways, and the marriage is real (recorded in state records).
And on top of this , I discovered that, also on the Starbuck side, I have Algonquin blood in me! Seems an ancestor wed this Algonquin princess... I'd always noticed that Aunt Anna and her kids had a darker complexion than Mom and we Eaton kids, and I thought maybe it came from Lloyd, but he was a fair Irishman, so it didn't come from there. Besides, Onda has these lovely high cheekbones that often denote Native American lineage. I can see them in our maternal grandfather's pictures (Lewis Garrett Starbuck) as well. Who'd'a thunk?!
Now it all makes sense. The cheekbones and skin coloration reemerged in Anna but even more strongly in Onda. Haven't told Onda of my discovery yet, because it might not be welcome news. She might even be sensitive about the skin coloration issue, but I would doubt it. Looking at Darrell and I, you would never think that we had Indian blood in us....blue eyed blondes and all....Mom's hair was dark, but not black. Mom's complexion was definitely light.
The relationship is too far back to be of any status to me; a few years ago I wouldn't even think about exploiting it if it were usable, but after the way my government has treated me and my fellow retirees, I'd not hesitate to use it! Shame on me for feeling that way, but shame on my government for discriminating against us!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Sins of the Fathers..
I don't know what I did right when I was about 12 years old, but the decision not to have children may have been the smartest decision of my life. Most 12 year old girls would be dreaming about boys and high school and love and marriage and having babies. I went the boys route, didn't think much about high school, but was thinking of a career. I certainly did not end up doing what I thought I'd be doing back then, but I knew a career was a must. Love and marriage, too, was a dream, but the idea of kids was not. Was it because, at age 12, my eldest nephew was born, and I was faced with what it was like to have an infant around? Don't get me wrong, I love my nephews and their families! But tending babies?! And then dealing with toddlers and all? No, that wasn't for me! Was it the fact that I nearly died from my first asthma attack that year and knew that the allergies I'd inherited would be passed on, and would be worse? (Mine are far worse than what my dad and granddad ever had.) Struggling for each and every breath is a horrid way to live, and I'd not wish it on anyone. Was it a revelation from my Heavenly Father that it would be best if I didn't go out and multiply? I always knew that I'd not make a good mother. Could it have been a combination of these things? Likely, it is a combination.
Whatever the source or sources, I am so very thankful that I never gave birth to a child. While my brother's sons were healthy, there have been health problems from there on. My eldest nephew, has 3 children, the youngest 2 with the amino acid deficiency that forbade them meat proteins and dairy products while they were growing up. Not surprisingly, both of those kids both have some maturity issues, but one is dealing with it far better than the other. The eldest of the 3 may have already made the decision not to have children of her own, which would be a very wise decision, indeed.
My youngest nephew, fathered 3 healthy kids, but the 2 eldest, both girls, each have given birth to kids with birth defects. His youngest has not yet had any children, but I don't hold out hopes for defect free children there.
I never believed in the Old Testament God who visited the sins of the father onto the children, because I knew the New Testament God who gave us the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. However, as I look at my great nieces and nephews, I have to wonder if I have been wrong. I have to assign the sin of the father mostly to my brother, and to my father, because he initially set all this in motion. But my brother... His treatment, no, his abuse, of his sons set up his youngest son to carry on the abuse. And it is that side of the family which is experiencing the latest birth defects. We've lost one great-great nephew to a birth defect, and the future is not the rosiest for my newest great-great niece, who, at 6 days old, had open heart surgery, and faces at least 3 more. She may have immune problems, speech problems, skeletal issues... I am praying that her heart is her only issue, but I won't be surprised if she has other issues. Right now she has a feeding tube down her nose, and it may be a month or more before she can get rid of it; she has to consume 60ccs from a bottle before it can come out...
These innocent babies are being hurt. My only great-great nephew narrowly survived a seriously premature birth, which was an physical issue of his mother. He is now thriving, and seems to be free of the problems which killed his older brother. And I am starting to believe that my father and brother are indeed at fault. Yes, my decision to remain childless was indeed very smart.
Whatever the source or sources, I am so very thankful that I never gave birth to a child. While my brother's sons were healthy, there have been health problems from there on. My eldest nephew, has 3 children, the youngest 2 with the amino acid deficiency that forbade them meat proteins and dairy products while they were growing up. Not surprisingly, both of those kids both have some maturity issues, but one is dealing with it far better than the other. The eldest of the 3 may have already made the decision not to have children of her own, which would be a very wise decision, indeed.
My youngest nephew, fathered 3 healthy kids, but the 2 eldest, both girls, each have given birth to kids with birth defects. His youngest has not yet had any children, but I don't hold out hopes for defect free children there.
I never believed in the Old Testament God who visited the sins of the father onto the children, because I knew the New Testament God who gave us the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. However, as I look at my great nieces and nephews, I have to wonder if I have been wrong. I have to assign the sin of the father mostly to my brother, and to my father, because he initially set all this in motion. But my brother... His treatment, no, his abuse, of his sons set up his youngest son to carry on the abuse. And it is that side of the family which is experiencing the latest birth defects. We've lost one great-great nephew to a birth defect, and the future is not the rosiest for my newest great-great niece, who, at 6 days old, had open heart surgery, and faces at least 3 more. She may have immune problems, speech problems, skeletal issues... I am praying that her heart is her only issue, but I won't be surprised if she has other issues. Right now she has a feeding tube down her nose, and it may be a month or more before she can get rid of it; she has to consume 60ccs from a bottle before it can come out...
These innocent babies are being hurt. My only great-great nephew narrowly survived a seriously premature birth, which was an physical issue of his mother. He is now thriving, and seems to be free of the problems which killed his older brother. And I am starting to believe that my father and brother are indeed at fault. Yes, my decision to remain childless was indeed very smart.
Weakness, weariness
OK, call me weak. I'll admit it. And oft times I believe it. I am tired, so tired. Tired of struggling, feeling inadequate, failing. I am not inadequate, but people are beating me down and intimating. Not easy to swallow after having worked so hard for 30 years to be hard to replace. And it took 6 people to do all the parts of the jobs I did when I retired, and there were still things not getting done. Hardly useless. Tired of hurting all the time. Tired of not being able to breathe properly because I can't afford to go to the specialist, let alone afford the scripts that would ease the problems. Tired of feeling alone so much of the time. Tired of being yelled at much of the time, of enduring grouchiness from others when all I want to do is be grouchy, too.
I do have Faith, but it does waiver. There is always a - but what if... I've always had trouble accepting things purely on Faith. Been burnt so many times when told to "trust me", or even "trust in your Faith, "Trust the church". Nearly always to be let down. I know that God answers all prayers, but the answer may not be what we request, or even one that we can discern. And I know that God doesn't answer all prayers.
But at least I do have Faith, imperfect as it is, imperfect as I am.
While most would think it wrong, the thing that keeps me anchored here are my cats, especially Ptera. Her exuberance, her lust for life, her complete adoration of me causes me to want to stay. I am incapable of causing her mental anguish. It is the most difficult thing to even gently reprove her for bad behavior. If I do touch her physically to let her know she behaved very badly, it is a gentle poke. We've teased her harder than such a poke. But she understands the displeasure, and will steer clear of us for a while until she recovers from her indignity at being corrected. Stern tone of voice elicits the same response. At least when she chooses to "hear" us. Spoiled brat.
Why Ptera? Sometimes I think that Smude found his way home through her. She certainly ended up in our yard as opposed to all the other choices. But she was feral, and it took several days to be able to capture her so she'd not suffer from the cold and rain and being outside. That first day inside she let the household know that I was hers. And she won my heart so quickly. I am almost frightened at how much I love that cat. I never thought I'd love a cat as deeply as I did Smudge, or at least this soon after his demise. It was nearly 20 years between Zade and Smudge. It has only been 5 between Smudge and Ptera. Zade kept me grounded all those years ago, then Smudge. Now Ptera.
Ptera is so innocent, so totally enraptured with us, especially me. She doesn't reject Kent, but he is the reason she runs and hides far more often than I. He terrifies her if he is wearing a hat. His entry into the house nearly always causes her to panic and run and hide, albeit not a far nor for as long as when she first entered our home. The person who tore her from her momma must have been a man wearing a hat... it had to have been traumatic for her. If her fear isn't related to being torn from her first home, then someone in a hat had to threaten her so severely that she can't forget it. But she found herself in our yard, and wriggled her cute little self into our lives. Kittens grow up to be adult cats and lose their kittenish looks and size. God granted me a great boon when Ptera turned out to be a mini-kitty. At nearly 2 years old she is the size of a 3/4 grown cat. She is such a petite thing, and will forever be part kitten because of her size. Maybe that is why I care so much for her. She will always be my kitten.
Breathing problems kept me from my bedroom for over 6 weeks, and I slept nightly in a recliner. Ptera might deign to sleep near me, even on the back of the chair, and very seldom, within arm's reach on the foot rest. Once in a while she'd curl up on me, but only for a few minutes. When I slept in the bedroom, she'd normally curl up in the small of my back, or the curve of my torso when she decided to sleep with me. It used to be that it was all the time, but in the past few months, it was few and far between. I sleep better with her curled up next to me. But in the chair, she would not curl up with me. I returned to the bedroom 5 weeks after the death of my father, and she returned with me, to either stretch out along my back, or to drape herself across my neck. And she has been more attentive since we've returned to the bedroom.
Are we addicted to one another? Perhaps. We do need one another, and I don't know who needs the other more. But leave her I cannot do. Ever. For any reason. She is what is keeping me sane, or at least able to maintain some semblance of sanity. Perhaps the only thing. I am a cat lover, and I do love the other 4 cats, but not like I love Ptera. I know they would all adjust without me, but Ptera may not. I am her world, the one port of safety in her world. I will suffer what I have to suffer to be here for Ptera's sake.
I do have Faith, but it does waiver. There is always a - but what if... I've always had trouble accepting things purely on Faith. Been burnt so many times when told to "trust me", or even "trust in your Faith, "Trust the church". Nearly always to be let down. I know that God answers all prayers, but the answer may not be what we request, or even one that we can discern. And I know that God doesn't answer all prayers.
But at least I do have Faith, imperfect as it is, imperfect as I am.
While most would think it wrong, the thing that keeps me anchored here are my cats, especially Ptera. Her exuberance, her lust for life, her complete adoration of me causes me to want to stay. I am incapable of causing her mental anguish. It is the most difficult thing to even gently reprove her for bad behavior. If I do touch her physically to let her know she behaved very badly, it is a gentle poke. We've teased her harder than such a poke. But she understands the displeasure, and will steer clear of us for a while until she recovers from her indignity at being corrected. Stern tone of voice elicits the same response. At least when she chooses to "hear" us. Spoiled brat.
Why Ptera? Sometimes I think that Smude found his way home through her. She certainly ended up in our yard as opposed to all the other choices. But she was feral, and it took several days to be able to capture her so she'd not suffer from the cold and rain and being outside. That first day inside she let the household know that I was hers. And she won my heart so quickly. I am almost frightened at how much I love that cat. I never thought I'd love a cat as deeply as I did Smudge, or at least this soon after his demise. It was nearly 20 years between Zade and Smudge. It has only been 5 between Smudge and Ptera. Zade kept me grounded all those years ago, then Smudge. Now Ptera.
Ptera is so innocent, so totally enraptured with us, especially me. She doesn't reject Kent, but he is the reason she runs and hides far more often than I. He terrifies her if he is wearing a hat. His entry into the house nearly always causes her to panic and run and hide, albeit not a far nor for as long as when she first entered our home. The person who tore her from her momma must have been a man wearing a hat... it had to have been traumatic for her. If her fear isn't related to being torn from her first home, then someone in a hat had to threaten her so severely that she can't forget it. But she found herself in our yard, and wriggled her cute little self into our lives. Kittens grow up to be adult cats and lose their kittenish looks and size. God granted me a great boon when Ptera turned out to be a mini-kitty. At nearly 2 years old she is the size of a 3/4 grown cat. She is such a petite thing, and will forever be part kitten because of her size. Maybe that is why I care so much for her. She will always be my kitten.
Breathing problems kept me from my bedroom for over 6 weeks, and I slept nightly in a recliner. Ptera might deign to sleep near me, even on the back of the chair, and very seldom, within arm's reach on the foot rest. Once in a while she'd curl up on me, but only for a few minutes. When I slept in the bedroom, she'd normally curl up in the small of my back, or the curve of my torso when she decided to sleep with me. It used to be that it was all the time, but in the past few months, it was few and far between. I sleep better with her curled up next to me. But in the chair, she would not curl up with me. I returned to the bedroom 5 weeks after the death of my father, and she returned with me, to either stretch out along my back, or to drape herself across my neck. And she has been more attentive since we've returned to the bedroom.
Are we addicted to one another? Perhaps. We do need one another, and I don't know who needs the other more. But leave her I cannot do. Ever. For any reason. She is what is keeping me sane, or at least able to maintain some semblance of sanity. Perhaps the only thing. I am a cat lover, and I do love the other 4 cats, but not like I love Ptera. I know they would all adjust without me, but Ptera may not. I am her world, the one port of safety in her world. I will suffer what I have to suffer to be here for Ptera's sake.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Riding Is Such A Waste Of Time!
I absolutely HATE riding in a car for a distance over a few minutes to an hour. There are days that even an hour seems like forever. I know that driving/riding is the only way to get from one point to another, but that does NOT mean that I have to like it. And believe me, I don't!!!!
It may be the result of the fact that I become nauseated if I try to read while in a moving vehicle. I can manage for a few minutes, such as for reading a map, but anything more than that is not pleasant. Therefore, as a child, I slept as a defense against the boredom of riding. And as a result I often fall asleep when riding to this day. I try not to, especially when the driver is relying on me to stay awake, but sometimes I just can't.
Yesterday, however, I managed to stay awake for over a 3.5 hour trip, both directions. When there are stops along the way for gas, a meal, a stretch, it certainly helps! Plus, there were 4 of us, driver included, so the converstation really never stopped. And I know that Molly appreciated the company and the converstation to help keep her alert.
It may be the result of the fact that I become nauseated if I try to read while in a moving vehicle. I can manage for a few minutes, such as for reading a map, but anything more than that is not pleasant. Therefore, as a child, I slept as a defense against the boredom of riding. And as a result I often fall asleep when riding to this day. I try not to, especially when the driver is relying on me to stay awake, but sometimes I just can't.
Yesterday, however, I managed to stay awake for over a 3.5 hour trip, both directions. When there are stops along the way for gas, a meal, a stretch, it certainly helps! Plus, there were 4 of us, driver included, so the converstation really never stopped. And I know that Molly appreciated the company and the converstation to help keep her alert.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
I am related to myself!
I am still working on my mother's family tree, and while I knew that at one point my father's family tree crossed my mother's family tree, I never realized that there was double link within Mom's family.
As I was able to go further and further back on my mother's side of the family, I located where the two families first intersected. At the juncture of the two lineages, Edward Starbuck is my 4th great grandfather. His wife, Damaris Worth, is my 4th great grandmother. From there, the two family lines diverged until 1938, when my father and mother married, bringing them back together. Which means that my brother is not only my brother, but my first cousin 3 times removed.
And then I found out that my 8th great grandfather, Tristram Coffin and his wife Dionis Stephens Coffin, were the parents to James Coffin and to Mary Coffin. Mary Coffin married Nathaniel Starbuck SR and their son, Nathaniel Starbuck JR married Dinah Coffin. James Coffin married Mary Severance and their daughter Dinah Coffin married
Nathaniel Starbuck. Therefore, Tristram's grandson James married Tristram's granddaughter by Mary. What a convoluted turn things took back then!!
Before going "Ewwwww!" let's remember something; I know the Starbucks and
Coffins were land owners back them; nice size holdings. Keeping the land in the family was important for the female descendants since the wife's property automatically, by law, became that of her husband. So remarrying back in to the family - or in the above case, families, kept the land within the families. They were separated by 2 generations, after all. And white population of Nantucket Island back then was dismally small.
Something I just learned the other day says that Nantucket Island was originally a part of New York colony, not Massachusetts. Hmmmm. Not that this has anything to do with family lineages. But it is an interesting piece of colonial history.
Isn't it interesting what doing family genealogy can reveal!
As I was able to go further and further back on my mother's side of the family, I located where the two families first intersected. At the juncture of the two lineages, Edward Starbuck is my 4th great grandfather. His wife, Damaris Worth, is my 4th great grandmother. From there, the two family lines diverged until 1938, when my father and mother married, bringing them back together. Which means that my brother is not only my brother, but my first cousin 3 times removed.
And then I found out that my 8th great grandfather, Tristram Coffin and his wife Dionis Stephens Coffin, were the parents to James Coffin and to Mary Coffin. Mary Coffin married Nathaniel Starbuck SR and their son, Nathaniel Starbuck JR married Dinah Coffin. James Coffin married Mary Severance and their daughter Dinah Coffin married
Nathaniel Starbuck. Therefore, Tristram's grandson James married Tristram's granddaughter by Mary. What a convoluted turn things took back then!!
Before going "Ewwwww!" let's remember something; I know the Starbucks and
Coffins were land owners back them; nice size holdings. Keeping the land in the family was important for the female descendants since the wife's property automatically, by law, became that of her husband. So remarrying back in to the family - or in the above case, families, kept the land within the families. They were separated by 2 generations, after all. And white population of Nantucket Island back then was dismally small.
Something I just learned the other day says that Nantucket Island was originally a part of New York colony, not Massachusetts. Hmmmm. Not that this has anything to do with family lineages. But it is an interesting piece of colonial history.
Isn't it interesting what doing family genealogy can reveal!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
On Geneology
My mother was not exactly forthcoming about her family's history; I do know that there were some bad feelings between some of the siblings, but I haven't yet learned who was involved, what happended, etc. She and her closest siblings are now all gone, and it is likely that I'll never know the entire story. I have some older cousins left who may be able to shed some light... But one of them has already said that she had no idea why our mothers kept the family history such a secret. It is fairly obvious that there is at least one skeleton in the closet. In the early 20th century this might have been the way to deal with it, but today, it almost makes me mad that there were family members that I never even knew about. Family members who could have told me sweet stories about my mother's childhood. Family members who could have introduced me to their own expanding families. I have first cousins who were adults when I was but a child.
However, I have been doing some geneology work on the Starbuck side of my family and have successfully linked to the Massachusetts Starbucks. I was close to accomplishing this in 2004, but was at least 1 generation away. As it turned out, I was 3 generations away. In Dec. 2011, I made some discoveries in the Starbucks which pulled it all together for proving to me that we were actually related to them. Mom had told Aunt Marilyn that she had plenty of relatives in Nantucket, but she provided no data to back it. I was sooo close in making the connection, and it wasn't until I went to the brother of one of direct ancestors that I was able to make that final connection. Old census records had bad information, stating that this one Starbuck ancestor was from North Carolina. Had that been true, then there was no link to Massachusetts. But I found one record listing a brother, and the brother listed the birthplace as Massachusetts, and he was younger than my ancestor. What I think has happened is that, because my family has a long lineage of farmers, the man was in the field when the census takers came. Knowing that their mom was from North Carolina, they assumed that their father was too, since he and their mother had wed there. Therefore, the story of him being from NC was perpetuated. There are too many Federal Census records with the same people listed for this not to be so.
I had heard the story that Mom was one of 10, comprised of His, Hers, and Ours, and that her sisters Anna and Beatrice were her only full siblings. Well, as it turns out there is some truth in the foregoing statements, but not the entire truth. Mom's father was married to another woman, and had 3 children by her. So that is the His Kids. He then married Mom's mother and they had 7 kids together. This means Mom had 7 full siblings and 3 half siblings. That gives the 10 kids. But there is no Hers kids, so that much of what I'd heard was wrong- or at least, it is wrong with what I've been able to find out so far. Stranger things have happened in geneology searches... I asked my brother about it, and he'd never heard that story. But he also had no clue that Mom had 9 siblings with 4 of them half-siblings).
We used to have Thanksgiving meals with some of Mom's relatives, but I always thought that Anna was her half sister. That part is false; Anna is her half-brother's wife, not Mom's half-sister. I'd also been told, or at least understood, that Mom's half-sister-in law Anna (wife of Earl) was older than Dad's mother. That doesn't seem to bear out as well. I don't know why we stopped going to Camden, or why we never had them to our house for holidays. Of course there were zero cousins and half-cousins my age; they were all several years older, so the visits were very boring to me. BORING!!! But I was probably 8 or 10 years old, so that was not exactly an outcome which should have been expected. After all, this half-brother was an adult when Mom was born...
I had started a trace on Mom's mother's side of the family, but hit a brick wall because I didn't know where her mother haled from lineage wise. I made an erroneous assumption that my brother and maternal cousins nearest me in age would be as ignorant as I was about the family, but in talking with them I have learned differently.
They have memories of Mom's parents and their elder cousins. Even after 60 some years after my mother's mother died, we are still finding out things about her that we didn't know. What a shame that I didn't get in to genealogy long before this; family members with knowledge are nearly non-existant, and so I try to gather as much data as I can, to be added to the family history. Even if I am unable to complete the job myself, there will be amble information for someone else to take up the challenge and finish the job.
Mercy, with birth records being what they are from the 1800s, it is a wonder that anyone can find out. There are alternate birth years, usually one or two years on either side of what I've already found, and that is to be expected. We have to rely on the memory of someone other than the ancestor in most cases. Birth dates were not so important even a hundred years ago, let alone two hundred or more. Sometimes a child would have no idea of when he/she was born simply because it didn't matter to the parents. It was, after all, the mother who imparted family history to her children, and with the fact that women often had 8 to 13 children, they didn't all have time to sit down and tell their offspring about the family. Survival was the name of the game. The present was what counted, not what went before. As for families being recorded in government records, well, if you didn't own property, you were a non-entity when it came to most records. Church records were the most common sources of family members, here in North America as well as in Europe. Were you fortunate enough to be from a well-to-do family, there would be housekeeping records and journals and letters, newspapers. Court houses and churches burn. State government building are destroyed by nature. Hospitals are damaged by storms, or merge with other hospitals, and records are lost or not considered relevant. I just found out that the 1890 Federal Census was burned, and there are but a few scraps left. Think of it - thousands and thousands of recorded lives no longer can be examined. The only way to find things from 1890 is to look at the state level census. Towns die and disappear and so do records of people living there. But so long as there is the internet, or whatever will someday replace it, the records of our lives won't be lost. I'm going all optimistic here and saying that we are not going to destroy ourselves, and that Dec. 21, 2012 is not going to be the end of the world -or at least the world as we know it. Our records will go on and on.
On thing which I have noticed is that not everyone maintains their online family records in the way that they should. A case in point is one family member I located who had multiple birth places, radically different birth dates, and multiple places of death. This person, according the family record I was purusing, was also married at least 4 times, a couple of times to different women at the same time. When these smoking guns were located, it required a significant amount of delving in to all these alternate records to locate which ones were relevant and which ones were not. What I assume happened was that they person researching her family tree found several people with the same first and last name in the same state. She added all records with no regard that there were at least 3 different people involved. She may have been in too big a hurry to realize that there were problems with all the information or was inexperienced enough not to know to really look at the data and figure out which sources were valid and which were irrelevant. I was able to locate my relative
in the midst of this chaos, and made certain that any incorrect records I had imported from this source were cleansed so that maybe someone else tracing down this family member might find the real deal. As good as Ancestry.com is when trying to find family members, people can and do enter invalid information which in turn sends those who come after looking up the wrong trees in the forest of family history.
We always want to connect to the past, and these electronic and digital records will continue to provide this connection. I don't and will not have any children who will carry on my side of the family. I'll just be the sibling of Eaton family member who has sent his genes forward - 3 generations worth now. But not being anyones direct ancestor is OK with me. I enjoy being the one who is taking up the challenge and linking all of us to our pasts.
However, I have been doing some geneology work on the Starbuck side of my family and have successfully linked to the Massachusetts Starbucks. I was close to accomplishing this in 2004, but was at least 1 generation away. As it turned out, I was 3 generations away. In Dec. 2011, I made some discoveries in the Starbucks which pulled it all together for proving to me that we were actually related to them. Mom had told Aunt Marilyn that she had plenty of relatives in Nantucket, but she provided no data to back it. I was sooo close in making the connection, and it wasn't until I went to the brother of one of direct ancestors that I was able to make that final connection. Old census records had bad information, stating that this one Starbuck ancestor was from North Carolina. Had that been true, then there was no link to Massachusetts. But I found one record listing a brother, and the brother listed the birthplace as Massachusetts, and he was younger than my ancestor. What I think has happened is that, because my family has a long lineage of farmers, the man was in the field when the census takers came. Knowing that their mom was from North Carolina, they assumed that their father was too, since he and their mother had wed there. Therefore, the story of him being from NC was perpetuated. There are too many Federal Census records with the same people listed for this not to be so.
I had heard the story that Mom was one of 10, comprised of His, Hers, and Ours, and that her sisters Anna and Beatrice were her only full siblings. Well, as it turns out there is some truth in the foregoing statements, but not the entire truth. Mom's father was married to another woman, and had 3 children by her. So that is the His Kids. He then married Mom's mother and they had 7 kids together. This means Mom had 7 full siblings and 3 half siblings. That gives the 10 kids. But there is no Hers kids, so that much of what I'd heard was wrong- or at least, it is wrong with what I've been able to find out so far. Stranger things have happened in geneology searches... I asked my brother about it, and he'd never heard that story. But he also had no clue that Mom had 9 siblings with 4 of them half-siblings).
We used to have Thanksgiving meals with some of Mom's relatives, but I always thought that Anna was her half sister. That part is false; Anna is her half-brother's wife, not Mom's half-sister. I'd also been told, or at least understood, that Mom's half-sister-in law Anna (wife of Earl) was older than Dad's mother. That doesn't seem to bear out as well. I don't know why we stopped going to Camden, or why we never had them to our house for holidays. Of course there were zero cousins and half-cousins my age; they were all several years older, so the visits were very boring to me. BORING!!! But I was probably 8 or 10 years old, so that was not exactly an outcome which should have been expected. After all, this half-brother was an adult when Mom was born...
I had started a trace on Mom's mother's side of the family, but hit a brick wall because I didn't know where her mother haled from lineage wise. I made an erroneous assumption that my brother and maternal cousins nearest me in age would be as ignorant as I was about the family, but in talking with them I have learned differently.
They have memories of Mom's parents and their elder cousins. Even after 60 some years after my mother's mother died, we are still finding out things about her that we didn't know. What a shame that I didn't get in to genealogy long before this; family members with knowledge are nearly non-existant, and so I try to gather as much data as I can, to be added to the family history. Even if I am unable to complete the job myself, there will be amble information for someone else to take up the challenge and finish the job.
Mercy, with birth records being what they are from the 1800s, it is a wonder that anyone can find out. There are alternate birth years, usually one or two years on either side of what I've already found, and that is to be expected. We have to rely on the memory of someone other than the ancestor in most cases. Birth dates were not so important even a hundred years ago, let alone two hundred or more. Sometimes a child would have no idea of when he/she was born simply because it didn't matter to the parents. It was, after all, the mother who imparted family history to her children, and with the fact that women often had 8 to 13 children, they didn't all have time to sit down and tell their offspring about the family. Survival was the name of the game. The present was what counted, not what went before. As for families being recorded in government records, well, if you didn't own property, you were a non-entity when it came to most records. Church records were the most common sources of family members, here in North America as well as in Europe. Were you fortunate enough to be from a well-to-do family, there would be housekeeping records and journals and letters, newspapers. Court houses and churches burn. State government building are destroyed by nature. Hospitals are damaged by storms, or merge with other hospitals, and records are lost or not considered relevant. I just found out that the 1890 Federal Census was burned, and there are but a few scraps left. Think of it - thousands and thousands of recorded lives no longer can be examined. The only way to find things from 1890 is to look at the state level census. Towns die and disappear and so do records of people living there. But so long as there is the internet, or whatever will someday replace it, the records of our lives won't be lost. I'm going all optimistic here and saying that we are not going to destroy ourselves, and that Dec. 21, 2012 is not going to be the end of the world -or at least the world as we know it. Our records will go on and on.
On thing which I have noticed is that not everyone maintains their online family records in the way that they should. A case in point is one family member I located who had multiple birth places, radically different birth dates, and multiple places of death. This person, according the family record I was purusing, was also married at least 4 times, a couple of times to different women at the same time. When these smoking guns were located, it required a significant amount of delving in to all these alternate records to locate which ones were relevant and which ones were not. What I assume happened was that they person researching her family tree found several people with the same first and last name in the same state. She added all records with no regard that there were at least 3 different people involved. She may have been in too big a hurry to realize that there were problems with all the information or was inexperienced enough not to know to really look at the data and figure out which sources were valid and which were irrelevant. I was able to locate my relative
in the midst of this chaos, and made certain that any incorrect records I had imported from this source were cleansed so that maybe someone else tracing down this family member might find the real deal. As good as Ancestry.com is when trying to find family members, people can and do enter invalid information which in turn sends those who come after looking up the wrong trees in the forest of family history.
We always want to connect to the past, and these electronic and digital records will continue to provide this connection. I don't and will not have any children who will carry on my side of the family. I'll just be the sibling of Eaton family member who has sent his genes forward - 3 generations worth now. But not being anyones direct ancestor is OK with me. I enjoy being the one who is taking up the challenge and linking all of us to our pasts.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Dad
DAD:
I never imagined that my first blog after the initial release of the blog for others to read would be such a painful one. You see, my dad died this past Monday, 2-20-2012, at age 95. The death was not unexpected; he'd survived a bowel resection 2 years ago, but started deteriorating from there. There were multiple episodes of hospitalization and nursing homes but he'd pull out of each one over these past two years. Except this final one. They released him from the nursing home back to the apartment on Sunday because they could not longer help him progress there, so he was placed in home hospice. The move back to the apt. was stressful on him, to say the least, but at least he was home in the apt. he shared with his wife of 29 years, Glory. The curtains of his bedroom were opened and he saw his greening rose brambles outside, and knew he was home. He knew that my brother and I were both there, with our spouses. I held his hand for quite a while, and fed him some orange sherbet. He loved orange sherbet. It was like feeding a baby bird as I spooned in small amounts...he had his mouth open for more before the previous spoonful was completely melted. I could almost here a "Cheep! Cheep! Cheep" in that bedroom!
Dad deteriorated overnight, after my brother and I had headed for our distant homes, and slipped into a coma on Monday. The home hospice nurse called us about his condition. I had to stop for gas for the truck en route back to Dad's, so that caused me a delay. Not wanting to be pulled over by the police on the interstate, I held to the speed limit. My brother arrived ahead of me since he lives nearer Dad. I was about 6 minutes away from Dad's when my brother told me to come straight in the patio door. And of course every delay that could happen in those six minutes did happen. The parking lot at the complex was very full and as I hurried towards the patio door of the apt. my brother was standing outside. When I crossed the drive into the grass he shook his head "no" and my legs suddenly went limp. Down I went to my knees as I started sobbing with the broken heart that possessed me in that awful moment. I had been calling out to God and to Dad to let me get there, to let me hold his hand one last time, but it didn't work out that way. I was close, so close. But he was gone.
After the first spate of crying subsided and I was able to take in the sight of him as he lay there in his bed, the one thing that I really noticed was that for the first time in months Dad's hands were warm. They had been so cold, and slightly purplish for so long. The same for his feet. Yet Dad swore that he was always too hot. The air conditioning in the apt. was turned on to help keep him cool. How odd that his hands were so warm to us immediately after he passed.
The world lost a great man when Dad died. He always put others ahead of him. He still gave up his seat and stood even when the person was younger than he was - and Dad had a balance problem that put him at risk for falls . Yet he'd give up his seat to another. He was a caring man, and he had the opportunity to be an attentive grandfather to his stepson's kids. He was always so busy with work when my brother and I were growing up. We knew that his hours were not ones he chose to work, but hours he had to work, that it was the nature of the job. I didn't notice it as much in grade school because of the early bedtime, but in junior high and high school Dad would be up out of the house before I got up to to to school, and he'd come home at night after I was in bed during the winter time. He did come home and eat supper with us but he had to go back to work afterwards. I knew the work was for other people, and that Dad was giving us a very comfortable lifestyle. Yet I did notice the lack of his presence oft times. And when my brother married and gave Mom and Dad two grandsons, Dad was still very busy. He didn't have the time to go to their ball games, mostly because of the distance involved to do so. But he was as active in their lives as he could be. Both nephews have great memories of his involvement in their lives. Dad retired a few years after Vaughn's kids were born, and therefore Dad had a lot
of time to spend with them. He relished the role of being their grandfather, a role that life's choices had somewhat robbed his of with his own son's kids; he had an opportunity not to miss out again, and he took it! It is not often that a man gets to lay grandfather to two different generations of grandkids.
If Dad had worked any less hard he would have been false to himself. He had a great work ethic, instilled in him by own parents, and passed that to his children. That work ethic provided us with a nice home, good food, and money left over to do things which we enjoyed. And he was generous to a fault. My brother told a story that I had never heard before; a woman was destitute and would be unable to buy any presents for her children, or to provide them with a holiday meal. All on his own Dad purchased relevant presents for that woman so that her children would not have a horrible Christmas. He had my brother deliver them so that the woman would not know who provided for her. This was done in a time when such generosity was not common. He ensured that those innocent children had a decent Christmas that year. It would not surprise me to find out that he did this more than once.
Dad was a loving man, and he loved my mother dearly. When cancer robbed us of her, I had to be the strong one and be there for Dad. I had to make sure that he was moving on with his life and wasn't left alone. We had a date every Tuesday to go out to a local restaurant for dinner. Those dates were good for both of us, and getting out in the public helped Dad heal. Half a year after Mom died, Dad decided to attend a singles group, and when he became active there I knew that I'd done my support job well; he was finally looking to the future instead of dwelling on the past. When Dad remarried a little over 2 years after Mom died, I was very happy for him because he found someone with whom to share his life, someone in good health and who would probably outlive him. The blending of the families was not always smooth, but Vaughn and his family treated Dad very well. Living minutes away from Dad, they were the ones who were there when Dad had to be taken to the hospital or emergency room. They were the ones who had to drive Glory back and forth to the hospital to visit Dad. Their proximity was important to him, and to Glory because my brother and I couldn't be there.
He was compassionate and devoted, strong and fair. He never complained no matter what was happening around him/to him.
He hated bothering the nurses and aides for things and therefore if he did ask, he really needed the service for which he was asking!
He was a kind man, a good man, and a loving husband and father. The near-loss of my mother some years before she finally passed frightened him, and it was not uncommon to see them holding hands when they were close to one another. Of course I had been much younger and may have missed seeing this some of the time, but I do know that they were more openly affectionate after we nearly lost Mom. And I know he treasured every hour with her that God granted her presence.
Dad was a gardener. Glory was the one who really involved him in it as they landscaped their home, and she gardened as long as her physical condition permitted her. Dad kept it up for a few more years, but each year he managed less and less, until it was time to sell their home and move in to an independent living retirement center. Even there he puttered around in the dirt outside their ground level apt., planting all sorts of flowers, and roses. He loved roses! He enjoyed the attention that they brought him. He had always been someone who talked easily with strangers and friends alike, and being outside the apt. brought him in to contact with many people. Last summer his physical strength was sorely taxed and he was not able to do very much at all in his small garden, and I know that he was terribly disappointed by it. Having to give it up was probably the beginning of the end for him, because he started going downhill rather rapidly thereafter.
Ironically, two weeks before his death, Dad made the comment to Glory and I that he had this feeling that he'd be feeling better come warmer weather, and he'd be back outside working in the yard. I was acutely aware of the fact that it was unlikely that he was going to leave the nursing home center alive, and it tore me apart to think that he wasn't going to be able to follow through. Glory and I looked at one another in shared pain. I managed to avert my eyes from Dad so he couldn't see the pain there, the pain of knowing that I was going to lose him probably before warm weather arrived.
Dad is not feeling any pain now, and if there is a garden in Heaven then he is most certainly working away in it. Maybe that was what he really trying to tell us - he'd be tending God's Heavenly garden in a few weeks! As it turned out, Dad did make it back to the apt., but he survived there for just over 24 hours. He was essentially but not totally bedridden. Perhaps it was the sight of his roses which allowed him let go of his tenuous grip on life. But even to the end, his gardening efforts were very important to him. He'd never had time to garden much until he retired...Now, he has all the time in God's Heaven to do so. I imagine that the flowers will be even more beautiful there now that he has shed his husk and gone Home to the Lord.
I'd bought him one of the Hallmark roses that opened and closed via a battery, and had given it to him so that he could have an ever lasting rose in his room. He kept having the home aides push the button so he could see it open, and close. I have that rose back with me now, and every time I see it I think of him, and of how he had Katie and Heather operate it for him. In the center of the rose was the message Love You Lots! Dad had that physical reminder of how much I loved him in his sight every day those last few weeks of his life.
The same day I gave him the rose was the day I started sitting on his bed, holding his hand. At one point me commented that it had been a long time since we'd held hands like that. And he was right; I had to have been a little girl well over 55 years ago. I made certain that every subsequent visit I sat there and held his hand for as long as it was comfortable for him to have it held, and take it up again a while later.
My dad was blessed with a long life. He was blessed by decent health for most of it. He was well blessed with many many friends, and couldn't go anywhere - even out of state - with running in to someone he knew. He had two wives who loved him, each in her own time of his life. He was married for a total of 74 years. He raised 2 children to be self-sufficient, and watched 4 grandchildren grow to adulthood and leave the nest. He met 7 of his nine great-grandchildren, and met the eldest of his two great-great-grandchildren. His own father passed at age 96, and his mother just shy of 99. Dad made the best of the time which was given him. We should all live our lives to this extent. And men should strive to be like him.
Gazing upon his stilled face, at peace at long last, I knew that Dad had not been racked with pain in his last few months of life. All of us had ample time to visit with him, to listen to his stories and tell a few of our own. We had given him implicit permission to let go of this life and journey into the next, where he would be reunited with his parents and the mother of his children. His family was with him at the end and didn't begrudge him his choice to go. Darrell said that he made a couple of sounds just before he ceased breathing, and I want to believe that he was greeting those who had gone before him, that he was welcoming path to the Light of our Lord's love, or perhaps, saying his final goodbye to all of us.
I never imagined that my first blog after the initial release of the blog for others to read would be such a painful one. You see, my dad died this past Monday, 2-20-2012, at age 95. The death was not unexpected; he'd survived a bowel resection 2 years ago, but started deteriorating from there. There were multiple episodes of hospitalization and nursing homes but he'd pull out of each one over these past two years. Except this final one. They released him from the nursing home back to the apartment on Sunday because they could not longer help him progress there, so he was placed in home hospice. The move back to the apt. was stressful on him, to say the least, but at least he was home in the apt. he shared with his wife of 29 years, Glory. The curtains of his bedroom were opened and he saw his greening rose brambles outside, and knew he was home. He knew that my brother and I were both there, with our spouses. I held his hand for quite a while, and fed him some orange sherbet. He loved orange sherbet. It was like feeding a baby bird as I spooned in small amounts...he had his mouth open for more before the previous spoonful was completely melted. I could almost here a "Cheep! Cheep! Cheep" in that bedroom!
Dad deteriorated overnight, after my brother and I had headed for our distant homes, and slipped into a coma on Monday. The home hospice nurse called us about his condition. I had to stop for gas for the truck en route back to Dad's, so that caused me a delay. Not wanting to be pulled over by the police on the interstate, I held to the speed limit. My brother arrived ahead of me since he lives nearer Dad. I was about 6 minutes away from Dad's when my brother told me to come straight in the patio door. And of course every delay that could happen in those six minutes did happen. The parking lot at the complex was very full and as I hurried towards the patio door of the apt. my brother was standing outside. When I crossed the drive into the grass he shook his head "no" and my legs suddenly went limp. Down I went to my knees as I started sobbing with the broken heart that possessed me in that awful moment. I had been calling out to God and to Dad to let me get there, to let me hold his hand one last time, but it didn't work out that way. I was close, so close. But he was gone.
After the first spate of crying subsided and I was able to take in the sight of him as he lay there in his bed, the one thing that I really noticed was that for the first time in months Dad's hands were warm. They had been so cold, and slightly purplish for so long. The same for his feet. Yet Dad swore that he was always too hot. The air conditioning in the apt. was turned on to help keep him cool. How odd that his hands were so warm to us immediately after he passed.
The world lost a great man when Dad died. He always put others ahead of him. He still gave up his seat and stood even when the person was younger than he was - and Dad had a balance problem that put him at risk for falls . Yet he'd give up his seat to another. He was a caring man, and he had the opportunity to be an attentive grandfather to his stepson's kids. He was always so busy with work when my brother and I were growing up. We knew that his hours were not ones he chose to work, but hours he had to work, that it was the nature of the job. I didn't notice it as much in grade school because of the early bedtime, but in junior high and high school Dad would be up out of the house before I got up to to to school, and he'd come home at night after I was in bed during the winter time. He did come home and eat supper with us but he had to go back to work afterwards. I knew the work was for other people, and that Dad was giving us a very comfortable lifestyle. Yet I did notice the lack of his presence oft times. And when my brother married and gave Mom and Dad two grandsons, Dad was still very busy. He didn't have the time to go to their ball games, mostly because of the distance involved to do so. But he was as active in their lives as he could be. Both nephews have great memories of his involvement in their lives. Dad retired a few years after Vaughn's kids were born, and therefore Dad had a lot
of time to spend with them. He relished the role of being their grandfather, a role that life's choices had somewhat robbed his of with his own son's kids; he had an opportunity not to miss out again, and he took it! It is not often that a man gets to lay grandfather to two different generations of grandkids.
If Dad had worked any less hard he would have been false to himself. He had a great work ethic, instilled in him by own parents, and passed that to his children. That work ethic provided us with a nice home, good food, and money left over to do things which we enjoyed. And he was generous to a fault. My brother told a story that I had never heard before; a woman was destitute and would be unable to buy any presents for her children, or to provide them with a holiday meal. All on his own Dad purchased relevant presents for that woman so that her children would not have a horrible Christmas. He had my brother deliver them so that the woman would not know who provided for her. This was done in a time when such generosity was not common. He ensured that those innocent children had a decent Christmas that year. It would not surprise me to find out that he did this more than once.
Dad was a loving man, and he loved my mother dearly. When cancer robbed us of her, I had to be the strong one and be there for Dad. I had to make sure that he was moving on with his life and wasn't left alone. We had a date every Tuesday to go out to a local restaurant for dinner. Those dates were good for both of us, and getting out in the public helped Dad heal. Half a year after Mom died, Dad decided to attend a singles group, and when he became active there I knew that I'd done my support job well; he was finally looking to the future instead of dwelling on the past. When Dad remarried a little over 2 years after Mom died, I was very happy for him because he found someone with whom to share his life, someone in good health and who would probably outlive him. The blending of the families was not always smooth, but Vaughn and his family treated Dad very well. Living minutes away from Dad, they were the ones who were there when Dad had to be taken to the hospital or emergency room. They were the ones who had to drive Glory back and forth to the hospital to visit Dad. Their proximity was important to him, and to Glory because my brother and I couldn't be there.
He was compassionate and devoted, strong and fair. He never complained no matter what was happening around him/to him.
He hated bothering the nurses and aides for things and therefore if he did ask, he really needed the service for which he was asking!
He was a kind man, a good man, and a loving husband and father. The near-loss of my mother some years before she finally passed frightened him, and it was not uncommon to see them holding hands when they were close to one another. Of course I had been much younger and may have missed seeing this some of the time, but I do know that they were more openly affectionate after we nearly lost Mom. And I know he treasured every hour with her that God granted her presence.
Dad was a gardener. Glory was the one who really involved him in it as they landscaped their home, and she gardened as long as her physical condition permitted her. Dad kept it up for a few more years, but each year he managed less and less, until it was time to sell their home and move in to an independent living retirement center. Even there he puttered around in the dirt outside their ground level apt., planting all sorts of flowers, and roses. He loved roses! He enjoyed the attention that they brought him. He had always been someone who talked easily with strangers and friends alike, and being outside the apt. brought him in to contact with many people. Last summer his physical strength was sorely taxed and he was not able to do very much at all in his small garden, and I know that he was terribly disappointed by it. Having to give it up was probably the beginning of the end for him, because he started going downhill rather rapidly thereafter.
Ironically, two weeks before his death, Dad made the comment to Glory and I that he had this feeling that he'd be feeling better come warmer weather, and he'd be back outside working in the yard. I was acutely aware of the fact that it was unlikely that he was going to leave the nursing home center alive, and it tore me apart to think that he wasn't going to be able to follow through. Glory and I looked at one another in shared pain. I managed to avert my eyes from Dad so he couldn't see the pain there, the pain of knowing that I was going to lose him probably before warm weather arrived.
Dad is not feeling any pain now, and if there is a garden in Heaven then he is most certainly working away in it. Maybe that was what he really trying to tell us - he'd be tending God's Heavenly garden in a few weeks! As it turned out, Dad did make it back to the apt., but he survived there for just over 24 hours. He was essentially but not totally bedridden. Perhaps it was the sight of his roses which allowed him let go of his tenuous grip on life. But even to the end, his gardening efforts were very important to him. He'd never had time to garden much until he retired...Now, he has all the time in God's Heaven to do so. I imagine that the flowers will be even more beautiful there now that he has shed his husk and gone Home to the Lord.
I'd bought him one of the Hallmark roses that opened and closed via a battery, and had given it to him so that he could have an ever lasting rose in his room. He kept having the home aides push the button so he could see it open, and close. I have that rose back with me now, and every time I see it I think of him, and of how he had Katie and Heather operate it for him. In the center of the rose was the message Love You Lots! Dad had that physical reminder of how much I loved him in his sight every day those last few weeks of his life.
The same day I gave him the rose was the day I started sitting on his bed, holding his hand. At one point me commented that it had been a long time since we'd held hands like that. And he was right; I had to have been a little girl well over 55 years ago. I made certain that every subsequent visit I sat there and held his hand for as long as it was comfortable for him to have it held, and take it up again a while later.
My dad was blessed with a long life. He was blessed by decent health for most of it. He was well blessed with many many friends, and couldn't go anywhere - even out of state - with running in to someone he knew. He had two wives who loved him, each in her own time of his life. He was married for a total of 74 years. He raised 2 children to be self-sufficient, and watched 4 grandchildren grow to adulthood and leave the nest. He met 7 of his nine great-grandchildren, and met the eldest of his two great-great-grandchildren. His own father passed at age 96, and his mother just shy of 99. Dad made the best of the time which was given him. We should all live our lives to this extent. And men should strive to be like him.
Gazing upon his stilled face, at peace at long last, I knew that Dad had not been racked with pain in his last few months of life. All of us had ample time to visit with him, to listen to his stories and tell a few of our own. We had given him implicit permission to let go of this life and journey into the next, where he would be reunited with his parents and the mother of his children. His family was with him at the end and didn't begrudge him his choice to go. Darrell said that he made a couple of sounds just before he ceased breathing, and I want to believe that he was greeting those who had gone before him, that he was welcoming path to the Light of our Lord's love, or perhaps, saying his final goodbye to all of us.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Going Public!
Initial Post - Going Public!
This blog will cover a variety of things, all relevant to me and many of them relevant to others in some manner. Some will be straight forward, others funny, and some will be sarcastic; I do speak Sarcasm fluently! It will cover my hobbies and other interests, past, present, and future. But most of all I hope to provide something worthy of your interest and worthy of being followed, and by the Grace of God, it will be so!
Writing comes very naturally to me, and I discovered my talent early in high school. I wasn't smart enough to focus my talents then, but college and life taught me to become more focused, and my personal style emerged.
The face of the blog may change as I try out the options and add pictures and things to make this a place you want to come to to entertained and educated. After all, I am a teacher at heart no matter what my line of work has been, going back to my high school years. I don't think that any of my old teachers would be surprised to find that out. I believe that I have something to say, and the only way to do this is to try out the blog. Who knows where this could lead?!
This blog is not going to be a timeline. There will be current events, world history, local history, personal history, and maybe even some ficticious delvings to see the reaction to those. I will be honest because I believe in facing reality, not in wearing "rainbow shades". I've weathered some severe tests and facing reality has gotten me through far better than burying my head in the sand ever did as a kid. I don't do things half-measure and try to face things head on, so expect some very passionate blogs if the topic warrants. I despise game playing, but life taught me how to become a player and win the game when forced to play it. And let me warn you - I am a bit of a bull-dog, and I don't like losing-but I do not stoop to dirty tricks. I rely on intelligence and skill to maneuver my way to a win, or at least a draw. Those traits are not endearing, but they do make life interesting!
So, welcome to My World - my thoughts, my desires, my prayers, my successes and even my failures. And I hope you will keep coming back.
This blog will cover a variety of things, all relevant to me and many of them relevant to others in some manner. Some will be straight forward, others funny, and some will be sarcastic; I do speak Sarcasm fluently! It will cover my hobbies and other interests, past, present, and future. But most of all I hope to provide something worthy of your interest and worthy of being followed, and by the Grace of God, it will be so!
Writing comes very naturally to me, and I discovered my talent early in high school. I wasn't smart enough to focus my talents then, but college and life taught me to become more focused, and my personal style emerged.
The face of the blog may change as I try out the options and add pictures and things to make this a place you want to come to to entertained and educated. After all, I am a teacher at heart no matter what my line of work has been, going back to my high school years. I don't think that any of my old teachers would be surprised to find that out. I believe that I have something to say, and the only way to do this is to try out the blog. Who knows where this could lead?!
This blog is not going to be a timeline. There will be current events, world history, local history, personal history, and maybe even some ficticious delvings to see the reaction to those. I will be honest because I believe in facing reality, not in wearing "rainbow shades". I've weathered some severe tests and facing reality has gotten me through far better than burying my head in the sand ever did as a kid. I don't do things half-measure and try to face things head on, so expect some very passionate blogs if the topic warrants. I despise game playing, but life taught me how to become a player and win the game when forced to play it. And let me warn you - I am a bit of a bull-dog, and I don't like losing-but I do not stoop to dirty tricks. I rely on intelligence and skill to maneuver my way to a win, or at least a draw. Those traits are not endearing, but they do make life interesting!
So, welcome to My World - my thoughts, my desires, my prayers, my successes and even my failures. And I hope you will keep coming back.
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