Author: Shelly

Letters to Esther

Uselessness and Tail Chasing

Shelly

Yes, I’ve been thoroughly useless. I spent the entire weekend trolling RootsWeb and World Connect and trying to make sense of what I was able to find out. I’m not a genealogist, by any stretch of the imagination. A lot of the thought processes involved are disturbingly like math story problems, so it doesn’t take long before I get brainache. There are about eleventy ways to go at establishing any given link, and unless you hit on the correct combination of parameters, you’ll come up with bupkis. And then, you can look at something twelfty times and on the twelfty-eleventh, the penny suddenly drops, and everything falls neatly into place. It’s frustrating as all hell, but when you stumble across an important key bit of information, it’s also rewarding.

I’ve spent several years, on and off, trying to pin down Esther’s family tree. I had a small amount of information from the letters themselves, and will likely have more as I go continue reading and transcribing them. However, there are huge gaps, especially on her father’s side. Odd that I should stumble upon her mother’s data, when so many women show up as Unknown in family genealogies. I think the saddest, though, is Esther’s paternal grandmother, who thus far is Unknown Unknown. She was someone, damnit, and deserves better than that. So, I spent the weekend trying to figure out who she could’ve been. A fool’s errand, that, as all I know is that she probably came from the Dayton, Ohio area and that she married an Unknown Munro who probably came from the Seekonk, Massachusetts area. They were probably married prior to March 1864 (their son’s birthday is 14 January 1865). I don’t know where they were married, but I’m guessing it was either near her family’s Dayton area home or in La Salle County, Ohio, where their son was born. That’s a lot of maybes. I feel like I’ve been chasing myself around and around in circles, because I keep running into the same false doors and brick walls.

All I can say is that I’m thankful that I don’t feel much of an urge to do this sort of research on my own family, because it’d be every bit as frustrating.

EEEEEP! And, just to show how fickle this whole process is, I justthisverysecond found, via an LDS records search, that Esther’s paternal grandparents were Warren C. Munro and Emma Pearson. I’m tellin’ ya’, this genealogy thing could drive a person to tears.

Crankypantsing, Pets

Good, um, Morning

Shelly

I’d really like to be sleeping in right now. I had fully intended to do so this ayem, and stayed up extra late onna counta that. So being wakened at 6am by a Beagle in full bay was not my idea of a good time. Not even close. He’s been trailing something in the woods behind me, and has been barking and baying for the last two hours. I am not amused.

I’ve been able to catch glimpses of him out my kitchen window, and I recognize him. He’s the same mostly white Beagle who was dumped here a few years ago. He attached himself to my landfolks’ pack o’ Bumpass hounds, but later took up residence at the Silver Mullet’s house. He nearly got hit by me last Fall as I drove past. Luckily, I’d seen movement in the tall grass and weeds by the side of the road, so I’d slowed way the hell down. He careened onto the road and ended up bouncing off my front tire, unhurt and, hopefully, a little better educated on the laws of physics.

Anyway, he’s having a grand time hunting on this gorgeous morning.

Crankypantsing, Photography

My Swiss Cheese Brain

Shelly

Happy, um, Friday. Or something. It’s clamid here–not exactly cold, but coldish, and grey and drizzley with what I’m pretty sure was a an occasional spittle of sleet. O ick.

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Despite–or rather, because of–the cloud cover, we had a nice little sunset last night.

I’d meant to spend the whole day at home, working on scanning, but I woke up at 3am and realized that I’d forgotten to take care of a very important errand. I ended up getting up relatively early, for a day-off, and going into Bloomington. Lemme tell ya’, that was about the last thing I wanted to spend the morning doing. I got my grocery shopping finished, though, so I should stop complaining. Except I’m not gonna, because I still forgot to pick up dish detergent, damnit! I’ve been out for over a month, and I keep forgetting to buy it. I remembered laundry detergent and camera batteries and lighters[1] and hand soap, sure, but not dish detergent. Hrmph. I’ve been substituting laundry detergent, which gets the job done, but it’s not as satisfyingly sudsy. Heck, I even remembered Kleenex and paper towels! And, no, a list wouldn’t be likely to help, because I’d have to actually take the list to the store with me. That’s the problem with lists, dontcha see?

Anyway, I’m back from errand running. Whew. I’m pet sitting for Ms. Lea’s menagerie this weekend, and I’m happy to report that the driveway ‘twixt here and there has been fixed! Yea, verily, ’tis true! She bought a metric buttload of gravel last week. Of course, the first time we have a big spring rain, the Chasm to Bism will inevitably re-open, but for now, it’s all nice and smooth and just darn peachy.

And, also, too, as well, a young adult bobtail cat turned up next door. I suspect some asshat dumped him, because he’s not at all shy. In fact, he’s heart-breakingly friendly. He’s obviously been someone’s pet. AND HE LOOKS JUST LIKE BASIL!!! But without the eeevilness. He even has a bitty Basil-sized nub. Ms. Lea has him locked in the bedroom, and will decide what to do with him when she returns. In the meantime, I get to go play with Basil’s Good Twin.

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[1] Disclaimer: I don’t smoke, but the electricity here has a bad habit of flaking out whenever it’s windy or really rainy. As in, when we’re having typical Spring-in-Indiana weather. When the electricity went out a few weeks ago, I had a hell of a time finding a working lighter so that I could light candles. I won’t mention how many times I’ve been to the store or gas station since then and I’ve forgotten to pick one up, but it was something on a par with how many times I’ve been to the store and forgotten dish detergent. My brain, it’s like a steel sieve, bay-BEE!

Letters to Esther

Lo Siento

Shelly

I ought to know when to leave well enough alone. I tried adding a search tool to the Letters to Esther site, and ended up temporarily breaking the front page. So, my apologies to anyone who tried to access it and was confronted with a broken and totally useless search page. Everything is back to normal now, whatever normal is. I’ll have a go at the search tool at a later date.

While I’m on the subject, everything that was on the old Esther blog has now been added to the new site. About half of those transcripts now have scans. This weekend, I’m hoping to finish scanning the stragglers. Then, I can start transcribing new material. Wheee! And, the About, Biography, Resources, and Notes sections are now functional. I’ll fill them out as I have time and come across material. Right now, the About and Resources sections are the most extensive.

I’ve also created a little envelope favicon which is very simple but kinda cute. It doesn’t work in IE, for some reason, but those of you who use Firefox or Opera should be able to see it. I’ll try to trouble-shoot the IE problem–it’s always an IE problem, it seems–as soon as I have time.

Now, if my patience holds out, I’m off to troll RootsWeb.

Crankypantsing

That’ll Learn Me

Shelly

I thought I’d have something moderately healthy for breakfast: poached egg on toast. I’m really picky about eggs, and will only eat them if they’re prepared Just Right. Poached eggs are one of my favorites, though. Mmmm

So, I started to make toast and cracked my egg into a bowl. I set the bowl on the stove and waited for the water to boil. When it began bubbling happily, I picked up the bowl and promptly dropped it. I’m a dork, you see, and didn’t stop to think that a ceramic bowl sitting rightthehellnextto a hot burner might get, oh, I dunno, a little warm maybe. Very warm, actually. I burned the hell out of my hand when I picked it up. The egg splattered all over the place when it fell. Half of it seems to have fallen into the burner pan, where it cooked to a crisp. The rest of it either coated the spice bottles next to the stove or ran down the front and sides of the stove-side cabinet.

I’m over the idea of poached eggs, so now I have to figure out what to do with cold toast. Maybe the birds will eat it? And I can’t even clean the burner pan–or cook anything else–until it cools off. Microwaving oatmeal would’ve been much safer.

So now I’m sitting here with an ice cube wrapped in a paper towel, typing whenever my hand gets too cold. I’m just glad that I managed to remember to buy paper towels, because I don’t even want to think of how else I would’ve cleaned up that unholy mess.

Can I go back to bed now?

Pets, Photography

Friday Cat Story

Shelly

Speaking of cats…

Pandora, my old cat, is a little strange. She’s lying under my feet, with a wadded up wash cloth between her front paws.

Sin

Pandora has two odd habits. First she compulsively washes anyone who pets her. I’m allergic to cat saliva, so whenever she sneaks in a stealth lick, I break out in red bumps. She also washes Rory. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he sometimes hunts her down and makes her wash his face and ears.

Second, she carries bits of paper and cloth around the house. I have no idea why she does it. During the night, she gets into the trash and the laundry hamper and digs out wash cloths, socks, and bits paper. Every morning, I wake up with a pile of her thievings outside my bedroom door. She doesn’t always bring them to me, though. Sometimes she sleeps on top of them. Sometimes she plays with them. And sometimes she just carries them around the house, trying to meow.[1] Because her mouth is stuffed full, what little sound there is comes out muffled and garbled. At that point, about all I can do is point and laugh. Luckily, she’s weird in many ways, and is one of those rare cats who enjoys being a clown. She’s totally okay with being pointed and laughed at.

I would worry that the fabric/paper fetish was a sign of an age related cognitive disorder, except she’s been doing it for more than ten years. The same with the compulsive people licking. They’re odd behaviors, but they’re normal for Pandora.

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1. Pandora has never been able to meow properly. Instead, she makes a little chirping noise or a whispered “mah.” When she was a kitten, my roommate had one of her littermates. The only way we were able to tell the kittens apart was that Pandora would open her mouth and no noise would come out. Luckily, Pan has an excellent sense of humor and doesn’t mind in the least being laughed at. I’ve known cats who were mortified when they were laughed at, but not Pan. She’s a ham.

Music

Stealing Fire

Shelly

This has turned into a beautiful day–warm and sunny with blazing blue sky.

On my way home, I listened to Stealing Fire. It occurred to me that the reason I love that album and Humans, in particular, is that they both speak to human potential, good and bad. Humans have an enormous capacity to cause harm; we’re our own worst enemies. We also have the capacity for greatness. In the end, it is the choices we make–the choices that make us human–that are at the core of his songs. Cockburn castigates us for our failures, but he also shines a light on our best potential.

Music

Something jewelled slips away

Shelly

It was 10F this morning, which relative to recent temperatures, was arse cold. The slush from yesterday’s thaw had frozen overnight, so I had a hell of a time getting my car out, because my tires were stuck in ice.

I ended up being just late enough for work that the sun was starting to rise as while I drove east to Bloomington. It started as a slight lightening, but by the time I got to town, there was a narrow band of deep orange hugging the horizon. As I was driving into Bloomington, Bruce Cockburn’s The Rose Above the Sky came on.

I’d always associated that song with sunsets, partly because of the imagery of the lyrics, and partly because the song–for me, at least–is simultaneously sad and uplifting. It makes a lovely sunrise soundtrack, as well.

I discovered Bruce Cockburn when I was in high school. I was babysitting one night, and after the kids had gone to bed, I had MTV playing while I studied. They were debuting the video for Madonna’s Like a Virgin, so it was playing nearly non-stop. Sandwiched between repeated airings of Madge’s décolletage was a video for If I Had a Rocket Launcher. I was hooked (on Bruce, not Madge’s breasts). The next day, I went to Stonehenge, the local hippie head shop & record store, and spent my babysitting money on Humans and Stealing Fire. I think I probably spent more time listening to those two albums than any others during the rest of my high school years.

It’s weird. I didn’t know anyone else who had even heard of Bruce Cockburn, much less anyone who listened to his music. So, while it was the 80s, and I was listening to the standard Velveeta fair, I was also listening to Bruce Cockburn. It was like a weird, secret influence that no one else in my group of friends knew about. They were listening to Depeche Mode and the Petshop Boys and I was listening to Canadian folk-y-ish music with decidedly spiritual overtones (I really don’t know where I’d place him genre-wise). I like Depeche Mode, mind you, but their music didn’t make me think or feel. Bruce’s did. And does.

I still don’t know anyone who listens to Bruce Cockburn, though I did have an odd Bruce encounter with complete strangers once. A coworker was going through my CDs at work, and commented that friends of hers were going to see Bruce play in Indianapolis. She gave me their phone number, and I called and asked if I could tag along. (Keep in mind that I am pathologically phone-phobic and I’m not too keen on hanging out with strangers.) They said sure, so I went to Indy with a couple of strange–in more ways than one–Canadians to see Bruce play. It was an absolutely amazing show. I recall him saying, between songs, that Canadians only sing about social issues and love. He does both, and does them well.