Feeling Useless

My first thoughts this morning were of my friend and colleague, Katie. I have known Katie for several years and just over two years ago I joined the real estate office she was already with.

Everyone likes Katie. You never know what she's going to say, often a little off-color but always funny. Her humor is at no one's expense except maybe her own.

Those of us who work with Katie know that her family has been going through some rough times. Her husband lost a big job a few years ago after 30+ years with the same company. Despite efforts to find another job, in this economy it's been a struggle. He's gotten close a few times but each time the opportunity vanished.

In the meantime, Katie's real estate business saw a big dip like the rest of us. She's a great realtor and plugs along regardless. I'm happy to say that 2010 was probably her best year in a few and Gary has been doing some consulting work so it seemed things were looking up for them.

Two nights ago Katie got a call from California telling her that Gary collapsed and died. He was there on business, couldn't get a flight home due to weather and had been on the golf course when it happened.

I got a call early yesterday morning from another friend on vacation in Florida. The minute I heard Janice's voice I knew something was seriously wrong. When she told me that Katie's husband had died suddenly, I was stunned. We talked a few more minutes but soon had nothing more to say. What could I do? How could I help? I felt totally useless.

All through the day Katie and her two sons were on my mind. I went to her Facebook page and saw that she had posted a message saying she had lost her best friend in the whole world. Friends and family all over posted condolences and offers of support and help, and I added my message. Useless as it seemed.

Although I wasn't surprised to see all the postings, it still amazes me that we are all using Facebook to reach out to each other in good times and bad. I'm not one who believes this means we have lost personal touch, at least not within my generation. In the coming days and weeks I'm sure many of those people will be reaching out to her physically and personally. But I still felt powerless and useless.

This morning as soon as I woke I thought of Katie. As I lay there listening to my own husband still breathing the soft sound of sleep, my eyes filled with tears. I slid my foot back to touch him. I thought about what it would be like if he wasn't there for that touch.

Then I got up, came downstairs, started the coffee and began pulling things out of my kitchen cabinets. Before Paul got up I had a batch of brownies and a cake in the oven. After an appointment this morning I'm going to stop by the supermarket and get the makings for a big pan of chili and bring it all to Katie's family.

Suddenly I don't feel quite so useless.

Postscript: Katie was really pleased when I showed up with my care package. And it made me feel good, too. Such a simple thing to do, to feed someone. My mother called and asked what I was doing. I told her and she said “That’s what we used to do before we got so uppity.” I thought that was very poignant somehow.

A Soldier's Thanksgiving

As I worked on the sweet potato casserole to bring to Pam's this afternoon, I listened to the television in the background. A broadcast from an American Army base in Afghanistan caught my attention.

Lester Holt was interviewing soldiers and stopped to talk to two men who turned out to be brothers from Maine. Lester asked what was going on in their house back in Maine. They hesitated a little then answered Dad's probably asleep being tired after his early morning hunt, Mom's working in the kitchen and Gram's on her way down.

Those words just hit me right in the heart and tears started. You see, my husband Paul hasn't come home yet from his morning hunt, we called my beloved grandmother Gram, and my whole family is from Maine.

Unless we have a loved one serving overseas most of us are not even touched by the wars going. Please stop and give thanks today and say a prayer for these brave men and women who are so far from home and their families.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Unofficial End of Summer

I am really sorry to see summer end this year. We have had such wonderful weather. Yes, it's been hot and there's been a lot of sweating going on but that is so much better than all the rain we got last summer.

Although I admit I'm going to miss this gorgeous weather the one thing I do look forward to at the end of the season is our annual family trip to New Hampshire. Four years in a row we have taken the family for Labor Day weekend. This year we had six adults, five kids and four dogs. It's a big house and you can imagine it gets pretty crazy, but we all love it and look forward to it all year.

Today I am going to feature Pam of Pam's Perspectives who just happens to be my stepdaughter and who wrote a fabulous post about the weekend. So I'm going to be lazy and just send you over there for a visit. Please take the time to stop by her post Labor Day Tradition. She's got some great photos of the weekend.

Happy Fall everyone!

Where Does the Time Go

Can you stand another "kid goes to college" story?

Our oldest granddaughter, Katie, left for college yesterday. That sweet, little dark-haired girl her grandfather thought looked like a papoose (I suppose that's not PC) when she was born. No longer that little baby that Paul and I flew to Phoenix to see when she was just a week old. It just doesn't seem that long ago. Of course, everyone says that.

Over the last few years Katie has been spending time at our house. At first she would call and ask, "Can I come this weekend? Will you pick me up Friday, Grandpa?" She would stay one or two nights every few weeks. The grandkids can never get enough of Paul, and I knew he was the big draw back then. I didn't mind, I was just happy to know that she wanted to stay with us. It felt very special.

When she got her driver's license she started driving herself here. Same question "Can I come this weekend?" Our spare bedroom was always set up and it became her room; as in "Grandma, there are some clothes on my bed." That made me smile. We gave her a key to the house.

Paul and I have five grandchildren and there's nothing that makes me happier then seeing them in my house enjoying themselves and acting like they belong here. Because they do.

These are not grandchildren born of my children. They are the children of Paul's son and daughter, my stepdaughter and stepson. As much as I love Pam and Paul, they aren't my children. But the grandchildren.....they are mine. Well, mine and those of five other grandparents. As Pam said one time, you can never have too many grandparents.

When Katie graduated from high school a couple months ago I nearly missed it. When I stressed about it, a friend said " You see her every weekend," as in "What's the big deal?" And I replied "You don't understand. These are as close to my own children as it will get. I couldn't miss her graduation."

When Katie began driving up here on her own, she was 17. About that time she seemed to be spending as much time with me as she did with her grandfather. She'd keep me company in the kitchen or we'd do a little shopping together, and I began to see a change in Katie. She was becoming an adult.

I am often amazed by how insightful and thoughtful both Katie and her sister Madeleine, who is 15, are. During one stay Katie set up my iTunes on my computer. I was struggling with it. Suddenly I've become the grandparent who needs one of the kids to handle something technical. Never thought that would happen but I kind of like it.

Katie stayed one night this week; two nights before she was leaving for school. I didn't expect her to have time this week since she was so busy getting ready to leave, saying goodbye to friends and doing everything else she needed to do. I was really pleased when she said she was coming Tuesday.

The three of us had dinner and just watched television. It was a very normal visit. But I kept thinking that the next time Katie comes to stay (who knows how soon that will be) she will be home from college.

So tell me, where did the time go?

Summertime and the Eatin' is Easy

Summertime…..The season for reruns and 4th of July parades, fireworks, picnics, and New England Clambakes.

This post was actually written last August after Paul and I went to a good old-fashioned clambake in his hometown. This is an annual event put on by a local fire department, and we were there again last weekend. Clambakes this good are a big deal in this part of the woods and tickets sell out quickly. In fact, you sort of have to know someone who has tickets to even get them.

We sat at a table of 26 near and distant relatives; some who traveled from several states away. This year Pam, Geoff, Katie and Madeleine came with us and Katie and Madeleine got to meet some distant (literally and figuratively) cousins they have never seen.

Here ya' go.....


There were over 750 people (not all relatives!) together for a traditional outing held every August. I took pictures of the ‘bake’ as it’s called for those of you who don’t have a clue as to what I’m talking about.

Here’s a picture of the bake when it's just about ready to be uncovered and served. Usually there’s a Bakemaster in charge. He's helped throughout the day by a couple dozen people. A multi-stage process, everything has to be done right or you've got a very expensive disaster and lots of unhappy people.

What you’re looking at is a concrete pad where early in the day they layed down a layer of round stones. You can dig a pit in the sand if you have the room but this is an established location for clambakes. Over the stones they spread a layer of logs which they burn down until they get the stones red hot so they can be used to radiate heat during the cooking process. At the right time, they pull the logs off and cover the stones with a thick layer of seaweed which was probably brought in that morning and soaked with seawater.

Over the seaweed are layers of wooden baskets filled with the ingredients of the bake: sweet potatoes, white potatoes, peeled onions, bags of seasoned white fish, hot dogs, bock wurst, chourico & linquica (Portuguese-style sausage), stuffing, fresh corn on the cob still in the husks and soft-shell clams or what we call steamers.

Then the entire mound is covered with canvas that has been drenched in sea water to seal in the heat and prevent the canvas from burning. The food is allowed to steam for several hours. It takes an experienced Bakemaster to get all the combinations of food, heat, seaweed & timing just right. For a bake this size you’re talking thousands of dollars worth of food and it’s not something you can stick back in the oven or back on the grill if it’s not quite done.

Here's last weekend's bake being uncovered.

The food is served right from the baskets and we dig in!

As you can see this is 'finger food' and the clean up can get messy........

....so I never travel to a clambake without my trusty Wet Ones.

A Broken Circle Reconnected

I have a new first cousin. Her name is Carol, and she was born June 16. That would be June 16, 1946.

When Carol was sixteen days old, her mother, my aunt, my mother's only sister, arranged for her to be adopted. My aunt already had one baby daughter, Betty, born one year earlier almost to the day. In between the births of her daughters, her husband left. Twenty years old, single and faced with raising two babies alone, she felt the best thing to do would be to give Carol up to be raised by someone who would be able to give her what she needed. That's our assumption, my aunt would never talk about it.

She eventually married again and had another two children, two sons. In the 60 years after Carol was born and until her death five years ago, my aunt steadfastly refused to discuss her. My mother was 13 when Carol was born. She saw her only once and knew she had been adopted by a woman she knew only as "Mrs. C." Shortly after Carol was born, Mrs. C moved. My mother never saw them again. Until a week ago.

Although I was close and spent lots of time in my aunt's house growing up, it wasn't until I was an adult that my mother told me about Carol. Or she told me as much as she knew about her, which wasn't much. Betty found out about her eventually, too, and talked about finding her sister. But all we had was that last name. No first name for Mrs. C, nothing. A few years ago, Betty's daughter did find some of their biological father's family but he had died and the family knew nothing about Carol either.

I've done a lot of genealogical research on the family over the years and have tried but never had any luck finding Carol. A long time ago I put a query out on a genealogy online bulletin board asking if anyone knew Carol "C" born 6/16/46. I never received a response.

Recently Betty called me again saying she really wanted to find Carol. This time I started going through records on Ancestry.com. Sure enough, within 5 minutes I had found an obituary of a man who died two years ago whose wife's name was Carol with the maiden name "C." He was about the age she would be and they lived in the same town that my aunt was living in all those years ago. Could it be? Could it be that Mrs. C and Carol were living right there in town all along?

A little more research and I had an address for Carol. I gave Betty the information and she sat down to write a letter. What should she say? Suppose Carol didn't know she was adopted? Suppose she did and didn't want a connection to her biological family? Betty sent the letter and it came back.....Addressee Unknown. A dead end.

I went back to the computer and found several people with her married name in the same little town. Before I had a chance to start making some random calls, Betty's husband called me and said, "I think we've found her." He had beat me to the random calling and found a relative of Carol's late husband who said she'd remarried and moved to another state. They had her cell number.

It was Carol, our Carol. She knew she had been adopted. Her birth date was right, and she had discovered her father's last name years ago. Her adoptive mother, who died 30 years ago, would never discuss her birth either. Carol wanted to know more but with nothing except a last name to go on, she could never find more.

Now here we were. Her family. She was excited to learn that she had a sister, two half brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins and an aunt. Several times she told us that she grew up happy and well loved but had always wanted to know more.

We sent her family photos and she sent some of her. Her resemblance to my aunt, her mother, is astonishing. If there ever was any doubt about who she is, once we saw her, it was gone. One of the grand kids looked at a photo of Carol and her husband and asked, "who's the man with Nana?"

Last week Betty, her husband, Bob, Mom and I traveled to meet Carol. After 64 years (almost to the day), several phone calls and a few emails, Carol had her family and Betty had her sister.

We All Deserve Privacy

Have you ever watched the news on TV and seen one of those situations where a reporter puts a microphone in the face of a victim? It usually happens after some horrible crime either at the scene when emotions are most raw or outside of a courthouse when the reporter asks some ridiculous question like How do you feel about your mother, brother, sister, father being beaten, stabbed, killed, run over?

When I see that I usually think What a ghoul that reporter must be or Why does the family even respond. Then I think, The reporter is just doing her job, she's there to get people to watch her station/read her newspaper or The poor family, they are trapped and feel they have to answer.

I found out yesterday that neither has to happen. Two years ago a very high-profile murder happened locally. A young man killed both of his parents and disposed of their bludgeoned bodies on their property. They were not discovered for two weeks. Very gruesome.

Although the story was covered by the local media when it happened, it was interesting that there were no interviews with the immediate family. There was an extensive newspaper article but it was written from only the details of the police reports. There were interviews with former neighbors but nothing from the family, a large and local one.

Two days ago, almost two years after the murders of his parents, the son was finally brought to trial. On the first day there were no media present in the courtroom.

On the second day, which was supposed to involve jury selection, there was a large contingent of reporters from newspapers and television, videographers and photographers. In the spectators' section of the courtroom sat twenty members of the couple's family, filling up more than half of the benches. It appeared that the media had been placed in a position which made photographing or videoing the family difficult. The click and whir of the cameras was audible but they were all pointed at the lawyers and defendant, not the family.

Soon after the proceedings of the second day began, they came to an end when the defendant changed his plea of not guilty to guilty of all charges. Later it was learned that after the first day of the trial which included the viewing of one of the first taped interviews of the son after his parents were reported missing but before they were found, he decided to change his pleas to guilty and save putting himself through the ordeal of the trial.

With that change, the family was spared the ordeal as well. The trial came to an end, the murderer was escorted out and the family silently and solemnly filed out of the courtroom to an unknown location in the courthouse.

The reporters began falling all over themselves to get out of the courtroom no doubt to be the first to post their reports and be the first to get into the family's faces. Although the reporters milled around in the halls of the courthouse and stayed posted at both exits of the massive building, the family never appeared and the reporters finally gave up and left without their pictures or statements. The family's privacy would be preserved.

The story hit the airwaves immediately but with no photos or statements from the family. The public would have to be satisfied with statements on the courthouse steps from the Attorney General and head of the State Police.

On the evening news at the end of the report of the day's events, the reporter said "The family declined to be interviwed or photographed."

Bravo for them. I wish them peace.

What Business of Yours Is it Anyway?

Recently I was helping a friend who is nearing retirement put together information to file for Social Security benefits. Although I don't know any more about it than he does I have a few more computer skills, and it seemed that doing it online was going to streamline the process.

That turned out to be wrong. He eventually called the local office of the Social Security Administration and after a long time on hold he spoke to a woman who interviewed him and sent forms through snail mail. I guess they figure if you're 65 years old you can't use a computer. While that may be true of many, it's not true of all, and they should make it a little easier to do this online if that's your choice. But that's just the beginning of what I learned that ticked me off about the government.

She asked about marriages, divorces, children, etc. Had he ever been divorced. Yes. Was he married to his former spouse for more than ten years. No.

Apparently if you were married for ten years of longer, your former spouse may be eligible to collect Social Security benefits based on your earnings record when he/she reaches retirement age. This is if you earned more and he/she is not married to someone else at the time. That does not diminish the amount of benefits you collect, however.

While going over the documents he got by snail mail, he began to question whether they had been married more than ten years. The marriage ended over 30 years ago. Who remembers these things, he said. If he was a woman, you know he would remember the time, day and date of the divorce but men aren't wired that way.

After much searching and aggravation he came up with the Petition for Divorce. They had divorced after 11 years of marriage. Obviously the people at SSA would have to be notified.

As I looked over his shoulder at this one legal sheet of yellowed paper that had been folded into quarters, the information obviously typewritten, I noticed that she was granted the divorce on grounds of "extreme cruelty." Having known this friend for a few years and knowing that he could never have been guilty of "extreme cruelty" in any situation, never mind against a woman he shared children with, I was shocked by this.

What is that about? I asked. He said that was the only grounds under which you could get a divorce back then. There was no dissolution of marriage as a result of irreconcilable differences even if the divorce was amicable and consensual. When I was divorced several years after they were, it was on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Very neat and clean. No one accusing anyone of "cruelty."

To make it worse, the last line of the details of the Petition of Divorce dealing with child custody, child support, house, etc., said that he...."be permanently enjoined from molesting, annoying or interfering with her." That seemed especially nasty language considering the decision to divorce was mutual.

Talk about extreme cruelty. The courts should have no business in determining who does and who doesn't divorce anyway, especially when it's something both parties agree to.

Quality of Character

There's been a lot said over the last week about quality and content of blogs. Hopefully we have all agreed that quality and content mean different things to different people. I don't need to go over what those of us at WOW hope to see our tribe and WOW become.

What I want to share are my thoughts about another kind of quality.....quality of character. And remember, I never promised not to write about family occasionally, so here we go.

Pam wrote a very interesting post about her daughter Katie the other day. For anyone who hasn't caught on, Pam and I are related. Katie is Paul's and my granddaughter.

Throughout high school, Katie has been involved in several organizations geared towards business and preparing students for a career in business, and she has done well. I'm not going to rewrite Pam's post but I want to tell you about a fundraiser Paul and I attended last week to raise money for water filters in Cambodia. The fundraiser was held at Katie's high school, and she was responsible for its planning and presentation. Although admittedly a little biased, I cannot say enough about how well done this event was.

The event which was attended by about 150 people involved a catered meal, entertainment, raffles and a presentation about the program and organization that provides the water filters. Katie also emceed the event. Did I mention that Katie is 17 years old?

She often spends the weekend with Paul and me. There's not much that makes us happier than to have her call and ask, "Can I come stay this weekend?" Last December we were invited to a friend's house for a holiday party on one of those weekends. Katie came with us. As we introduced her to several people, all adults, she said hello, reached out and shook their hands. When was the last time you saw that?

Let me tell you, Katie is not a nerd (whatever that is, but you get my drift). She's a normal teenager with friends, goes to proms, dances and parties and who has gone through her own teen angst. But she is becoming a very interesting young woman.

At the party she sat with us in a group of adults and contributed to the conversation. She's usually quiet, not one of those kids who needs to be the center of attention, but she spoke when she had something to add to the conversation. She was involved, not one of those sullen teens who sits in the corner plugged into their iPod and texting.

So what was my point here? Even though I'd like to say Katie is one in a million (to us she is) I'm really saying hopefully she's not. I have met several of her friends, and they all seem to have similar talents and quality of character.

So despite being known to think or say "Kids these days!" I am feeling a little more encouraged that if these are the young people who are going to be in charge in the future, maybe we'll be okay after all.

Was It THAT Obvious We Didn't Belong?

Last week Paul and I attended a seminar about Social Security. Invited by our financial guy, Paul isn't that far from retirement so it made sense that we learn a bit more about the benefits, plus I was very excited about the location of the meeting.

The seminar was held at a very, very exclusive private club located in a gorgeous building on the historical East Side of Providence. One of those clubs where you must have the right pedigree and buckets of old, moldy money to join. Where women are probably still only allowed to be auxiliary members through their husbands.

Founded nearly 150 years ago, this organization is in what I am sure was originally a private residence. Renovated and added to over the years but without ruining the wonderful details, the club consists of several dining rooms, reading rooms, lounges, function and meeting rooms, a gym (in the basement) and even rooms where members can stay overnight if they have one brandy too many with the old chaps. Pip, pip, cheerio and all that.

Filled with antiques, this building is so beautiful that I could just walk around looking at the mill work, decor and artwork for hours. (I'd like to didn't say I did) I have no idea who had the connections for the use of this facility for the seminar but I was thrilled to be going there again. I have been to several functions there including holiday parties and private lunches and breakfasts. The owners of the real estate company I worked for when I first started in the business are both members. After parting ways with that agency, I never thought I'd ever see the inside of the club again.

During my previous visits to the club I think I managed to remain cool, calm and collected enough not to stick out like the bumpkin I am. Although I am certain that there are members past and present who share my last name, I'm also certain that my branch of the family came from a tree on the other side of the tracks. Having said that I am in no way ashamed of my family as you can tell from my genealogical search I wrote about. Besides, no one has any choice in where or to whom they are born.

So with as much decorum and gentility as we could muster, Paul and I entered the lobby of the club. Before we even hung up our coats and approached the reception area, at least two men standing nearby almost shouted...."to the left of the staircase, go to the end of the hall." We hadn't even had a chance to ask where the meeting was being held. Rather than making us feel uncomfortable, I found their 'assistance' rather comical. Paul and I looked at each other and shared one of those knowing smiles.

So as my title asks Was it that obvious we didn't belong there?! I guess I'll have to be more careful about the straw sticking out of my clothes next time.

We Are Family

Four of the last five weekends our oldest granddaughter Katie has stayed with us. She has an open invitation and Paul and I always enjoy having her here. At 17 she drives herself to our house but before she had her license she would call and Paul would pick her up. Her sister Madeleine has come along a couple times but even at 15 she is more of a homebody and likes to have her mother close by.

We never do anything all that special. We usually eat at home, have gone to the movies a couple times, and one Saturday she came along with me to show a few houses but mostly she's just here. She's helpful, more than she is at home I venture to say, without being asked.

I remember spending time with my grandparents when I was a kid. I have great memories of the special time when my grandmother would fuss over me a little but mostly I was just there, too. I hope we are making memories like that for Katie. She'll be starting college this fall so I know these visits will be over soon.

Katie is the oldest of our five grandchildren. Five that Paul and I are Grandpa Duck and Grama Sandy to. Katie and Madeleine belong to my stepdaughter Pam and her husband Geoff. My stepson Paul and his wife Martha have three; Travis, 14, Julia, 12 and Alex, 8. They all live close by which is great. Travis has stayed once but no regular sleepovers. That seems like more of a girl thing anyway.

Paul and I have what I call a blended family, and I am so proud of us. I love to talk about how the family has evolved and grown and how well everyone gets along and enjoy each other's company.

When we got together his son was 20 and still living at home. Pam was 22 and had just finished college. The summer after college she spent working and living on Cape Cod. Within 6 months of starting our relationship Paul and I were under contract to buy our own home and were each selling our individual houses.

When we moved, Paul came with us. Within a couple months, Pam came to live with us, too, and stayed a few months until she got married. So I went from being single, living in my own house with my cat and dog to an instant family of four, and I had only met the kids a couple times before the move. I'm sure it was a big adjustment for them, too, although I don't ever remember any difficult moments.

In nearly 25 years we have gone on to become a family that includes great-grandparents, grandparents, and in-laws of all variations. Notice I don't attach 'step' to any of the grandparents, you can never have too many grandparents. I do say stepmother when it comes to Pam and Paul, Jr. because they have a mother, and you only get one of those, but we have special bonds and relationships.

They have always been wonderful about sharing their kids with my parents, and the grandkids have been a bright spot in my parents', especially my Mom's, lives. Pam and Paul's mother lives nearby, and she has always been very gracious about sharing her children with me and my parents as well. I have always given her the respect her role deserves, never tried to 'mother' her children and I think that is key.

Here is the crux of my thoughts about our family. You can do it if you want to. I love to talk about us and how well we all get along. There was that day when my husband came home and there at his kitchen table sat his daughter, wife, ex-wife and ex-mother-in-law. I remember he just made a funny noise, shook his head and kept walking. How many families could have such a moment?

When the kids both got married, everyone was involved. There was never any question of who sits where, keep that one away from that one, who doesn't speak to whom, etc. Holidays are fine, too. Christmas Eve is usually the immediate family at our house with the kids, grandkids and my mother. Pam and Geoff traditionally host Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day dinners which works well because she can have both of her parents there along with Geoff's parents, siblings and their families. It becomes one big very well blended and noisy group. We all genuinely enjoy each other's company.

When I hear people talk about how fractured their families have become after divorce I feel badly and love to tell our story as an inspiration of what you can do if you try. I know every family is different and every divorce is different. But the fact that children need their family, all of it, doesn't vary. When you share children you have a bond for life, like it or not; do it well or not. But if you don't find a way to get along, the kids will suffer and you may miss some wonderful moments.

Can We Get Back to Being Just Plain Americans?

Don't get excited, this isn't a political blog; not now, not ever. It's not that I don't have political opinions. I've got opinions on most everything, just ask Paul, but that's not where I'm going with this. I will tell you, though, I am a proud American. Not much gets me more choked up and teary than hearing our national anthem or seeing Americans in uniform.

As an amateur genealogist, I am always curious about another person's heritage. Not because I need to "label" them, I just often find it fascinating because I've always thought my ancestry was pretty boring. Of course that was before I made my Pilgrim connection. But I'm about as much of a WASP as you can get, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, a heritage I don't find very interesting.

But this idea of being hyphenated Americans is starting to get on my nerves. I am so sick of hearing people add the nationality of their ancestors to American, especially since it puts American in second position.

If you are a naturalized citizen, maybe that's a little different, but if you were born here, I don't care if your father, grandfather or great-grandmother was born on Mars.....you are NOT a Martian-American. YOU ARE AN AMERICAN!

I'm not suggesting that we forget where we or our families came from. Please don't ever forget your heritage. Families should remember their culture, their cuisine, their religion, their language. Please teach it to your children, your grandchildren. Be proud of your ancestry but do you really have to tag it onto the nationality you really are?

Paul and I spent two weeks in Portugal a couple years ago. On our way home when going through the Lisbon airport, one of the immigration officials asked for my passport. She immediately recognized that my last name, my married name, was Portuguese. Paul's grandparents were born in the Azores, a group of islands about 900 miles off the coast of Portugal.

When I got married almost 25 years ago, I probably should have kept my maiden name, it fit me a whole lot better than my married name does. As a six-foot redhead, no one would ever mistake me for being of Portuguese descent.

So when the immigration lady looked at my passport, obviously recognizing the origin of the name, she asked "Do you know anyone who is Portuguese?" I smiled, pointed at Paul and said, "Like him?" She glanced at his passport and gave me a withering look that seemed to ask, 'are you stupid?' then said "he was born in Massachusetts." In other words, "he's not Portuguese, he's American."

After that, I realized that in other countries, no matter where your parents, grandparents or any other ancestors were born, if you were born here, you are an American. So why can't we Americans seem to get that message?

A Tale of Two Families

In December of 1954, just a few days after Christmas, in a little town called Warren, two 12-year-old cousins headed out behind the house of one of them looking for some rabbits to shoot.

As they made their way across the field, one tripped, his shotgun went off and struck his cousin in the abdomen. In what can only be imagined as absolute panic, he ran back to the house and got the boy's father. The father went to his son, brought him back and laid him on the sofa to wait for the ambulance. On route to the hospital, the boy died.

That boy was my husband's brother, Frankie, the oldest of five sons. Along with Paul, who was 9 years old at the time, there were three younger brothers; 8, 7 and 16 months. I have seen many photos of Frankie, but I think there is only one with Paul's father and all five of his sons. Sadly, I've never seen any of all five with their mother. She was probably the one behind the camera and with five boys, I doubt she had much time to sit down with all of them at any one time.

How this tragedy affected Paul's family doesn't need to be explained. As with any mother who loses a child, Frankie's death ripped a hole in his mother's heart that never healed. During the eulogy for his mother, Paul referred to the time right after Frankie's death when they wondered whether their mother would ever return to them from the place her grief had taken her.

I met the lady who would become my mother-in-law more than 30 years later. The woman I knew had an inquisitive mind, a warm smile and quick laugh. There were photos of Frankie and all her boys around her house. Even all those years later, she spoke about him occasionally; usually relating a funny story. Raising five sons on a farm made for lots of funny stories.

But what happened to the cousin whose shotgun misfired? Nothing legally, it was obviously an accident, but I can only imagine that he and his family were profoundly affected, too. Part of a family of Portuguese immigrants who settled in Warren in the late 1800's, soon after the accident, his parents moved their four children to another state.

Yesterday after the funeral of another elderly family member, I met Paul's cousin Joe, the other 12-year-old boy from that day long ago. A nice man, a retired college professor, he impressed me as being a quiet, gentle man. Over the years, Paul has seen him a few times when they were in the area for family gatherings like the funeral, but the accident was never discussed. At times it must have been something like the elephant in the room.

Later, when we talked about Joe, Paul said he wishes he could have a conversation with him to find out exactly what happened that day. I was just lost in thought imagining how two innocent boys and their families were forever changed that awful day in 1954.

On Being a Pilgrim.....Almost

I began searching my genealogy at the age of 20, much earlier than most start looking at their family tree. My grandfather always repeated family history and when I showed an interest, he gave me one of those books with blank family trees and pages where you can write in your own family information.

This was long before everyone had access to the Internet and all the genealogical information available there now. Back then, and now to some extent, you still had to visit Town Halls, join genealogical associations that shared information and tramp through cemeteries looking for ancestors. I picked away at it over the years. I was in no rush. I figured I had a lifetime to search and they certainly weren't going anywhere since they were already dead.

My grandparents' knowledge only went back a couple generations and most of that, especially when it got interesting, was pretty speculative. Like my grandmother telling me that there was an American Indian woman in her family. I've traced most of her line back to 1635, no Indians in sight. We had one who was killed by Indians but I don't think she even knew of that. I did find one woman who was supposedly Creole and came from some island in the Caribbean. If that's true, she probably adds a little "color" to my ancestry in more ways than one.

The most important and exciting discovery I have made to date is that I am a direct descendant of Rev. John Robinson, Pastor to the Pilgrims. Yes, those Pilgrims.

For years I had been stuck at my great, great, great grandfather Joseph Robinson despite my best efforts to trace his lineage. A few years ago after putting a query on a genealogy bulletin board I was contacted by a woman, also a Robinson descendant, who sent me my full Robinson lineage back to John Robinson born 1552 in England. His son, also John, a minister, left England and settled in Holland in 1609 with a group of English Puritans, some of whom would later become The Pilgrims.

In 1620, you will remember, 102 set sail on the Mayflower for the New World. Reverend Robinson, however, stayed behind with the rest of his congregation with intentions to join them at a later time in what they thought would be Virginia. Unfortunately he never made it to the New World. He died during a plague in Holland in 1625.

Isaac Robinson, son of Reverend Robinson and his wife Bridget White, was born in Holland, in 1610. In 1631, at the age of 21, Isaac sailed to America on the ship, Lion.

By his first wife, Margaret Hanford, Isaac had five children; he had four more children by his second wife, Mary Faunce. Isaac’s son Peter had 15 children and his grandson fathered 12, so the Robinson influence was well established in America.

Fast forward 336 years from when the Mayflower actually landed in Massachusetts Bay Colony, and you'll find me, a ninth-generation Robinson born on this side of the Atlantic.

Where was I going with this? Oh, yeah, I'm a Pilgrim.......almost.

Get It While You Can

I started researching my family tree at the age of 20, much younger than most get bitten by the genealogy bug. I don't know what the big draw was to find out where I'd come from but my interest was piqued by my paternal grandfather. He often spoke of Mother, my great grandmother. Great Grammie died when I was 4. Lots of people never know grandparents, so I was very fortunate to have known a great grandparent. She lived on the first floor of the same house we lived in, and I remember her.

One particularly strong memory I have was when my grandfather was bringing me home from the hospital after having my tonsils removed. It was raining and he had me wrapped in a blanket on his shoulder. Great Grammie met us on the doorstep. I distinctly remember their exchange about me. She must have died soon after that.

I just finished a six-week class about real estate title searching, sort of another kind of genealogy. Most probably know that when a piece of real estate is sold or transferred, a search of the title is done by a title examiner or attorney. This search is almost always done in person but many municipalities now have their land evidence records online.

The first thing I did when I found these records were available online was to look at the various recordings of documents associated with the house I grew up in. I was never certain when the house was built but it looks like it was in the 1850's. I do know that it had been owned by my family since about 1905. My father was the fourth generation to own the house. He sold it in 1996 before I had the chance to be the fifth.

As I went through document after document of mortgages, liens, and deeds for the property, I became a bit melancholy seeing signatures of my grandparents and my father, all gone. Then I came upon a reference to a Nora B. Lewis. It had to be my great grandmother.

But Great Grammie's name wasn't Lewis! I know her maiden name did begin with a "B" but I have a copy of her death certificate, and she had my great grandfather's last name. The only conclusion I can draw is that after my great grandfather's death in 1926, she must have remarried, but I don't know where or to whom.

I went to my mother and she didn't know the answer. Although these are her inlaws, my mother has been part of that family since she was 16 so it seems she would have heard something. My grandparents, my father and my aunt are all gone. I have no one to go to for an answer. I could probably do some research and try to find an answer but it's not going to be easy as she lived in at least four states over the course of her life.

I think I have a couple first cousins once removed still alive but I'm not sure. Finding them is going to be a challenge but I'm going to try.

I sure do wish I had talked more to my grandparents when they were here.


Photo courtesy of Google Images

It's Crunch Time at Adopt-a-Family

I hope everyone had a peaceful Thanksgiving! I know we did. We spent a wonderful day with family. It was pretty relaxing for Paul and I since Pam did most of the work.

Pam is amazing in so many ways but to watch her host a party or family dinner is like watching no one else I know. When we got home last night my kitchen was messier after cooking some dessert and a vegetable to contribute than hers was after feeding people for 8 hours! Pam's organizational skills are second to none. Although I noticed that she isn't putting little sticky notes in the serving dishes anymore. I kind of miss that.

Thank you Pam, Geoff, Katie & Madeleine for a very enjoyable family day.

Now that Turkey Day is behind us, we are in the last two weeks of preparation for the week when all the hard work done by so many people who participate in Adopt-a-Family comes together. That is the week when 150 volunteers work in various shifts over 12-hour days to make it all happen. When they handle 4,000 to 5,000 bags and boxes of gifts and dozens of bicycles brought to us by our generous donors. Those gifts and bikes are then put into the hands of needy families of nearly 2000 children.

Unfortunately right now it looks like we may have to turn some families away. We've got 11 more days to match donors with families and we are ever hopeful that we will be able to help 100% of eligible families who ask.

Time will tell. You know I'll keep you posted!

Image from Google Images

Happy Birthday, Grampa

Today would have been my grandfather's 100th birthday. The date never comes and goes without me remembering his birthday but today is especially poignant. He has been gone nearly 13 years but some amazing memories remain.

My father's parents, he and my grandmother were everything grandparents are supposed to be. Parents to two (I wrote about their daughter, my aunt here) and grandparents to four, they provided love and comfort and always a safe haven and a sympathetic ear. The only thing my grandparents loved more than each other was family, and they were unconditional with their love for all of us. Not to say they didn't have their own fights. We used to call them Mrs. Cat and Mr. Dog.

Though never rich, they always had a buck when any of us needed it. They gave out many "loans" that I'm certain were never repaid. They provided some part of down payments for all of our first homes.

My grandfather was the son of what we humorously referred to as a non-pastorized Methodist minister. He had a church in Maine but never attended seminary school. My grandparents met in high school. Grampa was a member of the Class of 1929 of Harmony High School, and she was Class of 1930. Graduating from high school in rural Maine back then was a rarity and a huge accomplishment. Married in 1930, they had two children born during the worst of the Great Depression but I'm not sure how much of an impact it had on them since Maine, especially the interior, is pretty much always in a depression.

Some time around 1936 they moved south to Rhode Island, eventually settling in a house that his mother owned although the details of that move are lost to time. My father and I both grew up in that house.

In the 1940's they started a laundry and called it Laundromagic. A name I love to this day and can still picture painted on the front window in its fancy script. People dropped off laundry and paid by the pound to have it washed, dried and folded. My grandparents worked there side by side 5 1/2 days a week from six in the morning to sometimes ten at night. The laundry was my first and only daycare center since my mother worked there, and my father drove the truck that picked up and delivered laundry and dry cleaning. Even though it was during my first five years, certain memories are so vivid in detail.

In business together for 30+ years, he was a dreamer and she kept him grounded. In the late 50's my grandfather bought a used Buick. Attached to the Buick came an 18' Shasta travel trailer, and we became a camping family. My grandparents, my parents and I traveled the East Coast as much as week-long vacations allowed.

Within a couple years my grandfather got a gleam in his eye and a dream to own a campground. At 55 years old, unfathomable to me that he was only two years older than I am now, he and my grandmother took a mortgage on the laundry. For $3500 they bought 75 acres of virgin land on top of a hill in Connecticut and Sterling Highlands was born.

Grampa was the epitome of a Jack of All Trades. While living in that 18' trailer, within a year, he had cut a road, dug a well, brought in electric lines, put up a building with restrooms and showers for men and women, developed 30+ campsites and had a 60' pool installed. The only thing he and my father didn't do themselves was the pool.

They eventually sold Laundromagic but the first couple years the campground was open they kept 'day jobs,' she a waitress in the off-season and he a full-time machinist. Eventually developed to include 100+ sites, only when Sterling Highlands became a success did they devote all their time to it. And I mean all their time; they worked seven days a week. When I look back with my adult eyes I realize how hard they worked. Always a gregarious man, my grandfather was like a pied piper to dozens of kids who summered there, and he became "Gramps" to them all. At his funeral a man came up to me, said the usual "do you know who I am?" and then pointed to Grampa and said "that man taught me how to drive." He was one of the kids who had grown up at Sterling.

From age 5 to 17 I spent every summer running barefoot in those woods of Connecticut. I know that's where my love of the outdoors was fostered. It was a wonderful place to grow up, and it kept me close to Grammie and Grampa. In 1978 they reluctantly sold The Highlands. Almost 70 years old but still going strong, it was time to get out. In yet another travel trailer they hit the road and spent winters in Florida until their first great-granddaughter was born. Not wanting to miss anything, they stuck close to home after that.

A man of many talents, Grampa also was a writer. He kept a journal for many years and had stories published in camping magazines. He also had an amazing gift for crocheting and knitting. He developed his own patterns and made dozens of tablecloths, bedspreads, and doilies.

In 1997, after 67 years of marriage, Grampa died. Although he wasn't well in his last years, his mind stayed sharp, and he knew all of us to the end. I look back on that with such love and appreciation because although she didn't pass away until three years later, Grammie left us mentally soon after he died. Maybe because she just couldn't adjust to life without her partner of 70 years. But it meant everything to me that Grampa knew me right to the end.

So today as I recall sweet memories of my grandfather, I say Happy Birthday, Grampa, you were the best.

Morning Thoughts

I woke early this morning thinking about the arrival of November. It's just next week. I can't believe this year has gone so quickly.

I have very mixed emotions about the months of November and December. On one hand they bring the holidays which are fun and hectic. Pam and Geoff host Thanksgiving Dinner. Christmas Eve is always here at our house. It's a crazy few hours that I totally enjoy.

And, of course, all the work with Adopt-A-Family culminates with Distribution Week in December. It's an exciting, exhausting, satisfying, emotional week which I am so happy to see come and go.

But what I really woke thinking about this morning was that November 14th is the 8th anniversary of my father's death. Who decided to call that an "anniversary?" It's eight years since he died. Eight years since that Wednesday morning when at 9 a.m. as I sat eating my breakfast my mother called screaming unintelligible words, and I knew exactly what had happened. It's not a moment you ever forget.

I had been to the gym that morning so I had to shower and then just threw on some clothes. Somehow I ended up in a bright yellow sweatshirt which I looked at as I sat in the undertaker's office that afternoon wondering What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't thinking about my wardrobe as I dressed that morning, only of getting to my mother.

As I made the 30 minute drive to what was now my mother's condo, I kept saying This is too far, this is too far. I knew we'd have to move her closer as soon as possible. There was a police officer and a neighbor with her when I arrived. Dad had gone to sleep Tuesday night and never woke. Mom had a restless night so she had gone into the guest room sometime during the night. She woke at 6:30 and peeked in to see him still sleeping. She did again at 7:30 with the same result. At 9:00 when she went in again, she knew.

Paul was hunting in Canada that week with his cousin. We had cell phones back then but there was no service where he was. The hunting camp didn't have a telephone. I called Carolyn, his cousin's wife, to ask for help in reaching them. She called the local police who went to the camp and put a "Call Home" sign on the door. I remember standing in my mother's driveway that afternoon screaming into my phone "I need you! Come home!" They drove straight through and got home late that night.

By then I had already been to the funeral home and made all the decisions, alone. My mother was with me but in body only that day. I had never really discussed with my parents what their wishes were regarding their funerals. The wife of one of Paul's longtime friends is a funeral director so we went to Liz and she was a great help, but the decisions still had to be made and I did it basically alone. During that time I was fine and kept my composure as long as I had my mother to comfort. When I was alone, it was a different story.

My father was only 68. My parents were together for 52 years. Retired for a little more than 3 years, my folks were on their third RV. They traveled for 2-3 months at a time and had visited 45 of the lower 48 states. They had not made it to the West Coast yet. He still had places to go and things to see, but I am so thankful for the time they had.

That morning all that came to an end for my mother, and she entered a new chapter in her life. We had the funeral that weekend. In less than three weeks we were under contract to buy a condo 5 minutes away from us. Thankfully her condo sold quickly, too, and soon she was close. She was still driving and actually adjusted to her new life pretty well. But she was lonely.

In less than three years we sold that place, and she moved into an apartment in a retirement community also nearby. Again she adjusted pretty well. It wasn't quite like her own home but she's resilient, and I'm lucky that she is still somewhat independent.

Early last year she started talking about John, another resident in her complex. They had met through their cardplaying group. One day last summer I answered the door and there stood Mom with John. They were out for a Sunday ride, and she had directed him to my house without telling him where they were going. John stood in my doorway looking like a deer in the headlights. He was that concerned about meeting me. It was cute.

Last fall they moved into a bigger apartment together. They were so happy. He had 4 children also nearby who were very attentive. They had lost their mother a couple years earlier, and they were totally accepting of my mother. Christmas Eve Mom and John were here with us and the rest of our family got to meet him. Christmas Day they had dinner with John's youngest daughter. Sometime in the night the day after Christmas, John woke, sat up, had a heart attack and died.

This time when my mother made the call it wasn't to me but to John's son. She called me in the morning with a simple "I lost my friend last night." For her it was almost as painful as losing my father. They had three short months together and he was gone. It was horrible watching my mother go through this again.

So as I laid there this morning thinking about my father and how much I miss him sometimes, I couldn't help but think of my mother and how hard these next few weeks are going to be for her. Life just isn't fair sometimes.

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me?

Today is Paul's birthday! Isn't he handsome? I think he is, and I probably don't tell him often enough. And I don't tell him often enough how much I love him and how glad I am that we are together and what a great life I think we have.

Paul is an honest, hardworking man. A very experienced outdoorsman who has literally hunted from Africa to the Artic Circle, he is also a man who appreciates his home. He was a good son to his mother which I think is an indication of how a man will treat a wife. An extremely serious man, he's not always the easiest person to live with but I'm no box of chocolates to live with either so I guess we've found a balance in there somewhere. Never demanding, I could feed him a cheese sandwich for dinner and he wouldn't complain.

My husband is a rather unique person in this day and age. He says he was born about 200 years too late and he's probably right. He's not exactly a 21st century man but in most ways I think that's a good thing. He has rather old-fashioned values and can seem pretty crusty on the outside but I can tell you he can be very soft on the inside.

Like most fathers, he loves his children dearly but maybe they didn't always think so because he could be tough on them. I think that was his way of teaching them to be individuals and to stand on their own. He's done a good job of that, they are both amazing and successful people. He's a wonderful grandfather to our five grandchildren. They adore him; can't get enough of him.

Tammy has asked how Paul and I met and suggested I blog about it....it is a rather nice story, a love story of sorts....and Tammy says everyone likes a love story so I guess today would be a good day to tell. Hang in here with me, it's long.

I have known Paul for 37 years! Amazing to realize that. When I was a junior in high school I had an afternoon job in the office of a paper company filing, preparing mailings, answering phones, etc. A few months into the job I remember when Frank, one of the warehouse men brought his son in to the office to introduce him when he began working there. You guessed it, the son was Paul. When I tell you I remember that day, remember where he stood in the office when he said hello to everyone, I am not kidding.

Paul started out working in the warehouse and by the first summer was working the inside sales desk. That summer I worked full-time so we were in fairly close proximity.

Was he a flirt!! Okay, full disclosure here....I'm was a 16-year-old kid with a steady boyfriend and Paul was a 27-year-old married man with two kids, ages 7 & 9 (hi, Pam). Don't be jumping to conclusions yet; nothing went on. BUT every Friday afternoon Paul would say "What are you doing tonight, Sandy, what time should I pick you up?" Of course, he wasn't serious, he just liked to make me giggle and blush.....both of which I did really well.

So we worked together for several months, until I graduated and started college. I don't remember too many specific conversations but I remember that Paul was the first man who talked to me like an adult even though I wasn't quite. The age difference was huge at that point but we still had things to talk about. I guess I must have talked about Paul at home because my father was not pleased that a man so many years older was paying attention to me.

I graduated, left Central Paper, married my high school sweetheart and started my life. But sometime down the road I called Central Paper to see about buying some special envelopes for the company I was working for. Guess who was still working there and now an outside sales rep? If I tell you that this was all coincidence, will you believe me? Don't, it wasn't.

So Paul made a sales call to my office and guess what? He'd never forgotten about me either. When I was in high school I collected business cards (I know, dork) and he knew it then. In the ensuing years....he had kept a file card box of business cards he collected along the way for me! Be still, my heart.

So I bought 1500 envelopes I didn't need and he made regular sales calls for a while to say hello. Also in the ensuing years he had divorced. So now I'm married and he's single. Still the age difference but less of an issue now. So still just flirting and nothing more. I was married.

Fast forward a few more years (I know this is long) and my marriage came to an end. One day on a lunch break I was walking downtown and who is coming toward me? I recognized him immediately but didn't expect he would know me. It had been 9 years since we last saw each other.

As he got along side me I said Paul......and he claims he said my name, too, but I still don't think he knew it was me. We stopped and chatted. So, there we are 14 years later and no one is married. He asked me out right on the spot. I said no....but gave him my telephone number. He called me two days later, we went out that Friday and the rest, as they say, is history!

We bought a house together about 6 months later. We talked about getting married but I said no. I knew I was there for the duration but just didn't ever want to go through another divorce and the only way to ensure that was to never marry.

Six months after moving into our house, we did get married. His daughter was engaged and I thought I might be more comfortable being more than Dad's Girlfriend, so we set a date. In the meantime, Pam postponed her wedding. We got married anyway and then Pam and Geoff were married a few months later. I was right, it was so much nicer being the bride's stepmother rather than Dad's live-in girlfriend.

So here we are, 22 years later and I can't imagine another life. With Paul came two talented, loving children, Pam & Paul, Jr., the 7- & 9-year olds I'd heard about years earlier. They both married good people from nice families and now we have five fabulous grandchildren to whom I am 'Grama Sandy.' A family I would never have had without Paul.

As Pam said in her Father's Day post, Paul is someone who lives life to the fullest, and I am so happy to be part of that. So if he asks "will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64," my answer is YES! Happy Birthday, Darling.

Nurture vs. Nature

Have you been following the story about John Barnes of Michigan who thinks he's actually Steven Damman the little boy who was abducted in 1955 at the age of 2? A real-life Cold Case, it's a fascinating story about a toddler who was taken from outside a store in Long Island and never found. More than 50 years later John Barnes, who says he never felt like he belonged to his family, tracked down the sister of the little Damman boy and had a DNA test done. The results of that test say they 'could' be siblings. The police file has now been reopened and the FBI is involved and doing their own DNA testing. The results, which supposedly will have the definitive answer of who's who, won't be done for a couple months. I can't wait to hear the end of this story.

I have always been fascinated by genetics. Not the actual science but just what I can observe in people. Maybe this comes from the fact that I have no siblings or biological children of my own. I have 6 first cousins but only one (our mothers were full sisters) that I think I look like. I love it when I have the chance to see children of people I knew as children and have the opportunity to watch their kids to see not just physical resemblances but mannerisms that remind me of their parents.

I recently had the chance to spend the afternoon with the half-sister of a long-time friend of mine. I had not seen D since she was about 17 and she's now 37. I've known her half-brother since we were in 6th grade but they did not grow up together. They never spent much time together, and I don't believe they've even seen each other in over 25 years.

I found D on Facebook and was thrilled when she accepted my Friend request. I wasn't sure she would remember me. We exchanged a few emails and then got together for lunch. While we visited and chatted for a few hours I was stunned when I saw mannerisms and expressions that were just like her brother! A couple times it was so distinctive that I was a little distracted from the conversation, and I wonder whether she wondered what I was staring at! I never told her what I was thinking but maybe I will send her a link to this post and see what she has to say.

As I said, genetics is a fascinating subject for me, and it really makes me think about what is in that red stuff coursing through our veins.


Image from Google Images