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[This is a duplicate post to the one entered at LorraineUnleashed.blogspot.com. Hope you enjoy it.]
I’m nearing the end of this reading of the Old Testament. Arrived in Zechariah this morning and was interested to see that (though not uncommon) it included a genealogy for Zechariah.
But what really caught my attention was that his grandfather, Iddo, was a prophet. I guess I had missed his name in previous readings, because upon looking him up just now I found several references. And some of them give more insight into things he did (if there was indeed only one prophet named Iddo...and somehow I can’t imagine too many parents bestowing that name on their sons).
He apparently lived at the time of Rehoboam. Because his writings are lost, we know virtually nothing of his life. Given that the lives of prophets, especially Old Testament ones, are not generally pleasant, we can make some assumptions along that line. But we know very little about his experiences, his relationships with God and his fellow men.
Is it that way for us? As we associate with friends and acquaintances, how much do we really know about them—about the internal struggles they’ve had, the triumphs they’ve achieved, the lessons they’ve learned? Are their books “missing” for us as well?
How about our own stories? Will there be anything available when our children really want to know more about us? If the past is any indication, that condition won’t arise until we’re gone and unable to make a record. So wouldn’t it be wise if we left them a little something...just in case?
My own personal history basically stalled at the point where I got married. My excuse is that things got too hectic after that. However, I know it’s important that I finish it. So I will add the recording of that forward record to the goal of organizing all my notes about already-dead people.
I would encourage anyone who may stumble across this writing to do the same. It doesn’t have to be long. Each of my grandmothers wrote about three pages. And one of my fondest dreams is to find a letter, no matter how long, written by my third great-grandfather just so I could see a snapshot of his mind on that one day.
Please let those who follow you know what your life was like. Let them see and understand your dreams and your devastations, your difficulties and your delights. It really will matter...someday.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Love hurts
Despite my seeming silence, there have been things going on in my head and heart which have led me to the above conclusion.
The main event was the birth of my second granddaughter early in February. As we stood outside the nursery window and watched that new little soul just a few minutes into her mortal experience, I realized that I was hurting—physically in pain. I wanted them to wrap her up; I wanted them to stop sticking her and putting chemicals in her eyes; I wanted to hold her but realized that that was not yet my place. And all along, something inside me was aching.
I don’t remember feeling that when my own children were born. But, of course, that was back in the days of Lamaze, so perhaps the other pain was so intense that I didn’t have time or opportunity to notice anything else.
Of course, I do remember all the of incidents of our own children suffering. This was brought back in a flood when my oldest granddaughter fell and hit her head while playing at our house. The outcome was OK; the interim, full of anxiety.
Then, as we tried to calm jangled nerves, all the other remembrances stood in line and waited for their proper acknowledgment: the fall this little girl’s mother took off the lawn tractor straight onto a concrete garage floor, the time she spilled very hot soup on her older sister’s leg, her brother’s glance toward us in the stands after he got hit with a particularly hard ball during a game, her second brother’s pain after a surgical procedure which my oldest daughter (who had had a similar procedure) forgot her own discomfort to try to soothe, our youngest daughter’s fall against a table which opened a gash through her eyebrow which required plastic surgery attention while she cried herself voiceless in a restraining cocoon. There they all were—and more—and the pain was only slightly diminished due to the passage of time.
Although I mourned the loss of children who never got born, I have so far been spared the loss of any whom I have birthed. And yet, for earlier generations, the death of a child was almost to be expected. It is still a sadly common occurrence in our modern world. Quite frankly, I don’t know how anyone survives that experience. Of all the pains, I think that one must be the most piercing.
My mother is among that number. I suspect her remembrance doesn’t occur only on my youngest sister’s birthday, as it often does for me.
And a friend once told me about one of her ancestors whose daughter died as the result of being thirsty on a very hot southern day and coming in to find some water in a vase that was holding some flowers...unfortunately, stems of oleander. As this mother lay on her death bed many years later, she was calling the name of that long-lost child.
So, on this Monday after Easter, as the everyday routine takes precedence, may I take just a moment to honor all those who have launched their fragile boats on the seas of parenthood, endured all the agonies of the journey, and reached the safe harbor of death with a positive balance of fortitude. We know the buffeting of the waves must have been daunting at times. Thank you for risking it.
And humble gratitude to One who made it possible to recover all losses through His unimaginable suffering on our behalf. May we never forget that sacrifice in one garden and the ultimate triumph in another. Happy Easter (never really late, I guess!).
The main event was the birth of my second granddaughter early in February. As we stood outside the nursery window and watched that new little soul just a few minutes into her mortal experience, I realized that I was hurting—physically in pain. I wanted them to wrap her up; I wanted them to stop sticking her and putting chemicals in her eyes; I wanted to hold her but realized that that was not yet my place. And all along, something inside me was aching.
I don’t remember feeling that when my own children were born. But, of course, that was back in the days of Lamaze, so perhaps the other pain was so intense that I didn’t have time or opportunity to notice anything else.
Of course, I do remember all the of incidents of our own children suffering. This was brought back in a flood when my oldest granddaughter fell and hit her head while playing at our house. The outcome was OK; the interim, full of anxiety.
Then, as we tried to calm jangled nerves, all the other remembrances stood in line and waited for their proper acknowledgment: the fall this little girl’s mother took off the lawn tractor straight onto a concrete garage floor, the time she spilled very hot soup on her older sister’s leg, her brother’s glance toward us in the stands after he got hit with a particularly hard ball during a game, her second brother’s pain after a surgical procedure which my oldest daughter (who had had a similar procedure) forgot her own discomfort to try to soothe, our youngest daughter’s fall against a table which opened a gash through her eyebrow which required plastic surgery attention while she cried herself voiceless in a restraining cocoon. There they all were—and more—and the pain was only slightly diminished due to the passage of time.
Although I mourned the loss of children who never got born, I have so far been spared the loss of any whom I have birthed. And yet, for earlier generations, the death of a child was almost to be expected. It is still a sadly common occurrence in our modern world. Quite frankly, I don’t know how anyone survives that experience. Of all the pains, I think that one must be the most piercing.
My mother is among that number. I suspect her remembrance doesn’t occur only on my youngest sister’s birthday, as it often does for me.
And a friend once told me about one of her ancestors whose daughter died as the result of being thirsty on a very hot southern day and coming in to find some water in a vase that was holding some flowers...unfortunately, stems of oleander. As this mother lay on her death bed many years later, she was calling the name of that long-lost child.
So, on this Monday after Easter, as the everyday routine takes precedence, may I take just a moment to honor all those who have launched their fragile boats on the seas of parenthood, endured all the agonies of the journey, and reached the safe harbor of death with a positive balance of fortitude. We know the buffeting of the waves must have been daunting at times. Thank you for risking it.
And humble gratitude to One who made it possible to recover all losses through His unimaginable suffering on our behalf. May we never forget that sacrifice in one garden and the ultimate triumph in another. Happy Easter (never really late, I guess!).
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Gratitude . . . and it isn't even Thanksgiving!
For the past few days, I’ve been pursuing some family lines, most of which are of dubious connection to my own main focus of research.
But I have become more and more impressed with the tremendous amount of information that has been posted to the Internet in various ways. What a delight to put a name in a search engine and have something relevant pop up in response! It wouldn’t have happened without the efforts of multitudes of very nice, giving people and organizations.
One interesting experience just has to be shared. When I first got online late in the summer of 1997, I thought, “Hey, I’ll just serialize some of my notes collection and post it to the SCOTT List.”
I felt a little embarrassed later when I realized that such a practice was somewhat “out of the ordinary” (to put the best possible light on it). I should have gotten the clue when several people wrote to the List asking just what all of this material was.
Earlier this week, I got to the point where I needed to look for the maiden name of Henry Monroe SCOTT’s wife, Emma J. So I typed the essentials into the Google search field and sent out my request.
Looking through the resulting list, I was very excited to see a direct hit. Then I started laughing when I realized that what I had found almost 13 years after the fact was an entry from that original group of postings. Kind of an “I’m my own grandpa” type of feeling! I’d had Henry Monroe and Emma J. in my old, retired notes all along. Just hadn’t thought to look there.
Perhaps the general message might be that no effort at recording data online is really wasted. Somewhere, somehow it will be of some use to someone!
Many thanks to all the contributors!
But I have become more and more impressed with the tremendous amount of information that has been posted to the Internet in various ways. What a delight to put a name in a search engine and have something relevant pop up in response! It wouldn’t have happened without the efforts of multitudes of very nice, giving people and organizations.
One interesting experience just has to be shared. When I first got online late in the summer of 1997, I thought, “Hey, I’ll just serialize some of my notes collection and post it to the SCOTT List.”
I felt a little embarrassed later when I realized that such a practice was somewhat “out of the ordinary” (to put the best possible light on it). I should have gotten the clue when several people wrote to the List asking just what all of this material was.
Earlier this week, I got to the point where I needed to look for the maiden name of Henry Monroe SCOTT’s wife, Emma J. So I typed the essentials into the Google search field and sent out my request.
Looking through the resulting list, I was very excited to see a direct hit. Then I started laughing when I realized that what I had found almost 13 years after the fact was an entry from that original group of postings. Kind of an “I’m my own grandpa” type of feeling! I’d had Henry Monroe and Emma J. in my old, retired notes all along. Just hadn’t thought to look there.
Perhaps the general message might be that no effort at recording data online is really wasted. Somewhere, somehow it will be of some use to someone!
Many thanks to all the contributors!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Ambivalence illustrated
Shoveling snow off the driveway (which meant that we actually got our car out late yesterday) and piling it right under my clotheslines (which means that I probably won’t be able to hang laundry outside until mid-May).
Sigh!
P.S. More snow due in tomorrow.
Double sigh!!!
Sigh!
P.S. More snow due in tomorrow.
Double sigh!!!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Snow days!
The world is white, almost all white. There are enough colored accents to mark where houses and trees and vehicles still exist. However, they are only punctuation to the long snowfall sentences we’ve been hearing the past couple of days.
To update you on my last entry, the baby (a healthy and beautiful little girl) was delivered safely and was enthusiastically welcomed before the roads became impassible.
A revised offer was accepted by the current homeowner of the home which our son is now closer to purchasing.
Two children are still residing comfortably away from home during the storm.
And one is here with us, having survived a harrowing trip down the notorious hill on her way home after visiting her sister, brother-in-law, and newborn niece in the hospital. Her heroic papa came to her rescue (which he gladly attributes to many years of driving experience and a lot of outside assistance).
But here we are, firmly and emphatically enclosed in our home for probably another couple of days. We are still fortunate to have power, a benefit many are currently lacking. And we have hours upon hours of empty time.
The power did go out last night for a while. We scurried around and got the oil lamps lit. And then we sat in the semi-light and wondered what to do. No television. No books. Barely enough visibility to continue my knitting. And scarcely any topics of discussion, especially after we determined all the ways in which we were not prepared for emergencies!
Perhaps we all need this type of downtime periodically. I do remember a similar two-week period while I was in France. A bad case of bronchitis had required that my companion and I remain inside. Winter had taken its toll on me, both physically and emotionally. Those two weeks were a good opportunity to review and regroup. The rest of my time in France was different because of those two weeks.
I keep thinking that a huge block of totally free time when I could work non-stop on my family history would be so-o-o-o desirable. Several years ago, I had about three months of such freedom. And, believe it or not, I didn’t get tired of working consistent eight- to ten-hour days while computerizing my notes.
So what would you do if you were housebound for two or three days? Then what would you do if the power went out? Even more serious, what would we all do if the power outage lasted for weeks...or forever. As dependent as we have become on electronic files, is it possible that we would one day be very grateful for a paper printout of our research?
Something to think about........when you have time.
To update you on my last entry, the baby (a healthy and beautiful little girl) was delivered safely and was enthusiastically welcomed before the roads became impassible.
A revised offer was accepted by the current homeowner of the home which our son is now closer to purchasing.
Two children are still residing comfortably away from home during the storm.
And one is here with us, having survived a harrowing trip down the notorious hill on her way home after visiting her sister, brother-in-law, and newborn niece in the hospital. Her heroic papa came to her rescue (which he gladly attributes to many years of driving experience and a lot of outside assistance).
But here we are, firmly and emphatically enclosed in our home for probably another couple of days. We are still fortunate to have power, a benefit many are currently lacking. And we have hours upon hours of empty time.
The power did go out last night for a while. We scurried around and got the oil lamps lit. And then we sat in the semi-light and wondered what to do. No television. No books. Barely enough visibility to continue my knitting. And scarcely any topics of discussion, especially after we determined all the ways in which we were not prepared for emergencies!
Perhaps we all need this type of downtime periodically. I do remember a similar two-week period while I was in France. A bad case of bronchitis had required that my companion and I remain inside. Winter had taken its toll on me, both physically and emotionally. Those two weeks were a good opportunity to review and regroup. The rest of my time in France was different because of those two weeks.
I keep thinking that a huge block of totally free time when I could work non-stop on my family history would be so-o-o-o desirable. Several years ago, I had about three months of such freedom. And, believe it or not, I didn’t get tired of working consistent eight- to ten-hour days while computerizing my notes.
So what would you do if you were housebound for two or three days? Then what would you do if the power went out? Even more serious, what would we all do if the power outage lasted for weeks...or forever. As dependent as we have become on electronic files, is it possible that we would one day be very grateful for a paper printout of our research?
Something to think about........when you have time.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
All the winds that blow
Today the sun is shining. The temperatures are moderate. At least the heat pump isn’t overheating trying to strain a few warm molecules out of the frigid air, as has been the case during the past few weeks. One would think that all was well.
However, the weather forecasters are tentatively telling us that all is not well. We are right in the line of fire of another significant snowstorm. It is due to arrive in the early hours of tomorrow (Friday) morning and continue until late Saturday night. By the time it stops snowing, they are saying that we could have an accumulation of 12 to 18 inches.
Now, for some of you in other areas of the country, this is not an unusual situation. But for those of us in the Central Atlantic region (where we have been known go a whole year without seeing a single snowflake), this is not typical.
And it’s not as if we don’t know what we’re in for. Just a few days before Christmas, we had a knee-deep snowfall. I’m sure the merchants were devastated as everything ground to an absolute halt for several very critical shopping days. There are still mounds of scooped snow from that storm piled up in parking lots all over town.
School and church have been canceled in the interim as subsequent smaller storms have rolled through. There is no doubt that this weekend’s event will repeat that pattern for yet another week.
But today the sun is shining. The air is relatively warm. The already-present snow is conveniently not on the roads throughout town. I’ll be able to get out today to run a couple of errands.
Tomorrow, though, early in the morning, probably about the same time as the snow starts falling, one of our daughters will journey to the hospital to deliver her second child. Their almost 20-month-old daughter will be traveling with her other grandparents to a town about 45 minutes to the north.
Meanwhile, one of our sons will be awaiting word on whether or not his offer on a house was accepted. The answer is due by 5:00 tomorrow night.
Another son will probably wind up being stranded at his security guard job until the effects of the storm are cleared. An older daughter will be trying to cover her sister’s employment duties during her hospitalization. Our youngest daughter will have to see if she can get to the airport whenever it is functioning.
As I contemplate the impact the next 48 hours will have on our family, I take comfort in the fact that generations before have faced other momentous circumstances. Wave after wave of challenge swept over them too. Still, they did whatever was necessary to preserve and protect the critical elements of their lives.
We will survive this storm, despite its predicted severity. We will be eager to welcome a new granddaughter and see what unique character she will contribute to our growing family. We will be concerned about the status of her older sister who is very attached to her mother. We will be anxious about our son’s imminent next step into adulthood. We will be praying for the safety of the others as they strive to meet their responsibilities.
Still, today the sun is still shining. Tomorrow it will go into hiding while Mother Nature tests our mettle. And then it will ultimately return and shed its warming rays on the multi-layered blanket of white. But, just like our predecessors, we will get through this and add several new experiences to our scrapbook of eternal memories.
May we brace ourselves and stand firm, even in the midst of the heaviest adversities that blow. The sun will always shine again.
However, the weather forecasters are tentatively telling us that all is not well. We are right in the line of fire of another significant snowstorm. It is due to arrive in the early hours of tomorrow (Friday) morning and continue until late Saturday night. By the time it stops snowing, they are saying that we could have an accumulation of 12 to 18 inches.
Now, for some of you in other areas of the country, this is not an unusual situation. But for those of us in the Central Atlantic region (where we have been known go a whole year without seeing a single snowflake), this is not typical.
And it’s not as if we don’t know what we’re in for. Just a few days before Christmas, we had a knee-deep snowfall. I’m sure the merchants were devastated as everything ground to an absolute halt for several very critical shopping days. There are still mounds of scooped snow from that storm piled up in parking lots all over town.
School and church have been canceled in the interim as subsequent smaller storms have rolled through. There is no doubt that this weekend’s event will repeat that pattern for yet another week.
But today the sun is shining. The air is relatively warm. The already-present snow is conveniently not on the roads throughout town. I’ll be able to get out today to run a couple of errands.
Tomorrow, though, early in the morning, probably about the same time as the snow starts falling, one of our daughters will journey to the hospital to deliver her second child. Their almost 20-month-old daughter will be traveling with her other grandparents to a town about 45 minutes to the north.
Meanwhile, one of our sons will be awaiting word on whether or not his offer on a house was accepted. The answer is due by 5:00 tomorrow night.
Another son will probably wind up being stranded at his security guard job until the effects of the storm are cleared. An older daughter will be trying to cover her sister’s employment duties during her hospitalization. Our youngest daughter will have to see if she can get to the airport whenever it is functioning.
As I contemplate the impact the next 48 hours will have on our family, I take comfort in the fact that generations before have faced other momentous circumstances. Wave after wave of challenge swept over them too. Still, they did whatever was necessary to preserve and protect the critical elements of their lives.
We will survive this storm, despite its predicted severity. We will be eager to welcome a new granddaughter and see what unique character she will contribute to our growing family. We will be concerned about the status of her older sister who is very attached to her mother. We will be anxious about our son’s imminent next step into adulthood. We will be praying for the safety of the others as they strive to meet their responsibilities.
Still, today the sun is still shining. Tomorrow it will go into hiding while Mother Nature tests our mettle. And then it will ultimately return and shed its warming rays on the multi-layered blanket of white. But, just like our predecessors, we will get through this and add several new experiences to our scrapbook of eternal memories.
May we brace ourselves and stand firm, even in the midst of the heaviest adversities that blow. The sun will always shine again.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Who's in charge here?
My dad was a horseman—not professionally, but as a result of being a farm kid who was lucky enough to have a horse. I went through the typical teenage girl stage of being infatuated with horses. As a result, I did a little riding as well.
One of the things Daddy taught me was that the horse has to know you’re the boss. And you let him know that by the way you sit in the saddle and hold the reins.
Well, the past couple of days, I’ve been trying to install a new, complicated, multi-function printer. It occurred to me several times that there’s no way to sit in your chair or hold your hand on the mouse that will let the printer know you’re in charge here.
Obviously, where technology is concerned, I AM NOT IN CONTROL. I am totally at the mercy of the install software and customer support and any friend I can cajole into holding my hand through the process. Heck, I’d even welcome an enemy under these circumstances!
There are some who relish this kind of a challenge. They thrive on learning new procedures. They love new technology. They can’t wait to get their hands on a new piece of equipment so they can see what it will do.
Me? My favorite printer so far is my old faithful HP4! I would give up a lot before I let that one go. It is simple and straightforward. Plug in the cords and let it run. And run it does, with no drama. It doesn’t require constant attention and coddling like all the inkjet printers I’ve owned so far. Now, if you want to talk about prima donnas! YIKES!
And most of the time, I’ll do anything to maintain the equipment status quo. Am I usually happy with the end results of an upgrade? Reluctantly, I must admit that I am. However, it’s the process of arriving at a new equilibrium that gets me every time!
So I would guess we’re 80% there. A few more tweaks and tests that need to be done. But so far, we’re still standing...or sitting, more accurately. At least, I’m not curled up in the middle of the office floor, retreating mentally into a non-electronic paradise (although I confess that doesn’t sound halfway bad right now!).
One of the things Daddy taught me was that the horse has to know you’re the boss. And you let him know that by the way you sit in the saddle and hold the reins.
Well, the past couple of days, I’ve been trying to install a new, complicated, multi-function printer. It occurred to me several times that there’s no way to sit in your chair or hold your hand on the mouse that will let the printer know you’re in charge here.
Obviously, where technology is concerned, I AM NOT IN CONTROL. I am totally at the mercy of the install software and customer support and any friend I can cajole into holding my hand through the process. Heck, I’d even welcome an enemy under these circumstances!
There are some who relish this kind of a challenge. They thrive on learning new procedures. They love new technology. They can’t wait to get their hands on a new piece of equipment so they can see what it will do.
Me? My favorite printer so far is my old faithful HP4! I would give up a lot before I let that one go. It is simple and straightforward. Plug in the cords and let it run. And run it does, with no drama. It doesn’t require constant attention and coddling like all the inkjet printers I’ve owned so far. Now, if you want to talk about prima donnas! YIKES!
And most of the time, I’ll do anything to maintain the equipment status quo. Am I usually happy with the end results of an upgrade? Reluctantly, I must admit that I am. However, it’s the process of arriving at a new equilibrium that gets me every time!
So I would guess we’re 80% there. A few more tweaks and tests that need to be done. But so far, we’re still standing...or sitting, more accurately. At least, I’m not curled up in the middle of the office floor, retreating mentally into a non-electronic paradise (although I confess that doesn’t sound halfway bad right now!).
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