Genealogy, Travel Lectures and Snow Angels

I’ve been bored without something on my calendar to do this past week except for that trip to the grocery store Tuesday and that was just a made-up excuse to get out of the house. My desktop computer is working again and you’d think that would keep me occupied and it did for a half a day before I got caught up. One of the things I did was I posted something on Facebook I’ve wanted to do for a long time, a family history paper I ran across that my husband wrote back in 5^th or 6^th grade. It’s written in pencil and shows a teacher’s corrections written in red. His nieces and nephews and great-nieces and nephews have probably seen the ancestral chart one of his brother’s made, but Don’s homework assignment included occupations and moves ancestors made since the first one came over from Ireland as a barrel maker. I didn’t want that information to get lost with me and I’m guessing a few of my Facebook contacts on his side of the family will preserve it beyond my grave.

There always seems to be one person in each generation who takes up the genealogy gauntlet.  On the other hand, there are always the people who couldn’t care less and will throw important family documents away. Case in point: When one of my aunts died and her kids were cleaning out her house none of my cousins wanted the 1800’s immigration paper, Italian Army discharge papers, naturalization paper, coal miner’s license and  other documents that all belonged to my grandfather so they asked my dad if he wanted them. We went right over to pick them up, plus we got a small wicker suitcase that my grandfather carried all his earthly possessions in when he came to America.  What a gold mine for genealogy research and I had the Italian papers translated. Fast forward twenty years, I created a blog to post those papers and the research that followed. I’ve since gotten messages from people searching the same family tree (my grandfather’s brothers came over in the same time frame) and I got one message from a grandchild of one of the very cousins who didn’t want those papers. She had stumbled upon my blog while looking for her roots. We were both shocked to learn of our close connection. I love that story.

All week long I’ve been stalking the school bus, looking to catch a pair of teenaged sisters that live down the street and do it in such a way that no one called the police to report my weird behavior. Thursday I made contact. Operation Snow Removal 2014/15 is now a done deal. They seemed genuinely happy to have the job of shoveling my snow this winter and one sister had her arm in a sling last year so I’m sure I got a little sympathy when I explained why I need the help. Now, if they just show up all winter and don’t burn out I’ll be one happy widow lady. Never mind that I’ll to have to learn to accept hearing the word “totally” in every sentence these girls speak and not act like someone is raking their fingernails over a blackboard. I’m totally fricking happy to make that concession. They can totally say “totally” as often as the like and I will totally resist saying it back in a coy way that borders on making fun of the young’uns.

Friday I went to a lecture given by a travel agency and a guide that organizes trips for senior citizens. This slide show/lecture was on South America. Not that I want to go there but what a paradise for nature lovers and fans of lost civilizations. I know the guide fairly well---she facilitates the day trips I take through the senior hall---and if I ever do travel abroad, I’d go with her. I keep trying to get her to plan some trips around the states but even after escorting over fifty trips aboard she still isn’t interested in traveling the USA. I don’t get that. I guess because I grew up in the “See the USA in your Chevrolet” era (remember Dinah Shore singing that commercial?) that idea is firmly imprinted on my DNA just like “Anytime is a good time for Coca Cola” and “Fight tooth decay, stop bad breath all day with Colgate Dental Cream” has thoroughly brainwashed me into decades of brand loyalty.

Besides that, in this era of a terrorist around every corner and Ebola on every plane coming to America (I’d use an eye-rolling icon here if I had one) I’m not exactly inspired to fly. The last time I did it many decades ago I cried on take-off and landing both, thinking it would be the last sight I’d ever see and in between the stewardess tried to disfigure me with hot coffee poured down my chest. Yes, I graduated with honors from the School of Scary Cats which means you’ll never see sky diving on my Bucket List. Still, Nantucket, Cape Cod and New Orleans are on my Bucket List so there could be one or two trips in my future before I kick that proverbial bucket. ©

New Years Eve: a Time to Remember, a Time to Begin Anew

New Years Eve and Day comes with many traditions that vary in scope from family to family. I’ve always been grateful my New Years Days didn’t include the tradition of having a bunch of armchair jocks sitting in front of the TV set. I would have hated being a ‘football widow wife’ like my neighbor whose house is party center every time there is a game playing anywhere in the world of professional sports. Growing up, my parents and 2-3 other couples had a New Years Day tradition that involved watching television. They were very rare back then so it was a real treat to be invited over to view its tiny screen no matter what was on the scheduled lineup. But after a huge brunch that included us kids, they shipped everyone under seventeen off to the roller skating rink for the afternoon so the adults could crowd around that black and white TV set.

By the time I started college we still didn’t own a TV set and skating had faded out of my life, but fast forward 25 years to when Don and I found our selves at an adult roller skating party. He could literally skate circles around me while I had lost the skill and my confidence. It didn’t help much that he teased me, saying I skated like a refrigerator on a dolly, “Pick up your feet and glide!” How could I? I was sure I was going to fall, break a hip and end up in a nursing home before I even started menopause.

Parties---I’d been to my share of New Year’s Eve parties in the ‘60s before I met Don and in the next few years afterward. But Don didn’t like going places on New Years Eve because, he said, the service was always bad and the places were so crowded. And since he owned a snow plow service, we often spent the night on snowy parking lots. One memorable night after a storm had ended and the landscape was sparkling white and beautiful one of the other snowplow drivers got out of his truck at midnight and made a snow angel in the headlight beams of his truck. Before long all five of us had parked our trucks in a circle and we all made snow angels, laughing at our silliness. We’d never done it before---or since---but it was magically that night to get in touch with the child in each of us.

Now that I’m a widow, there is something positive to be said for not having to mourn the loss of a holiday tradition that rang in the New Year in style and mayhem that included champagne and fancy dresses. Watching Dick Clark and the crystal ball dropping at Time Squares on TV was about as festive as we got over they years. But I do have a tradition that I’ve followed faithfully on New Years Eve or day for over a half a century. (Wow, I’m old!) I get my old diaries out and read random pages. This got started at a New Years Eve slumber party when I was barely into the teens. We played a game called ‘diary roulette’ which was a variation on spin-the-bottle. A date was called out, the bottle was spun and where ever it pointed when it stopped that person had to read whatever was written on the corresponding date in her diary. I remember spinning a few tall tales on the spot, not wanting to share the words actually written in my diary.

New Years Day is a time to make resolutions and many of my old diaries include a list resolutions and/or grandiose introductions the way only a youthful pen could write. I was going to make a resolution list this year, too, until this morning when I picked up an idea from another widow’s blog. For her second year of widowhood she had used a one word mantra instead of making resolutions---brave---and for the coming year she’ll use ‘believe’. The idea is to pick a word that expresses your intention for the coming year, like an inspiration to apply to your life. I used a four-word mantra during my caregiver days and it really helped me through a lot of tough stuff so I fell in love with the idea of picking one word to inspire me throughout the coming year. Therefore, I am declaring that my word for 2013 will be ‘courage.’ If you read my last blog, a Widow’s Letter to Myself, you’ll understand why I am embracing this word (and the Cowardly Lion) as my 2013 inspiration and mantra. I even found a ‘courage’ charm and a Cowardly Lion charm to wear on a chain. I love eBay. You can find anything there.

It doesn’t matter if you follow the same tradition each New Years Eve or you start a new one. It doesn’t matter if you laugh or cry at midnight. What matters is it’s a time for acknowledging the power of starting anew, of making promises to your self. Call those promises resolutions or a ‘word for the year’ but whatever you call it I hope we all have a better 2013 than the year we’re leaving behind. ©