Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.
Well, I’m glad I don’t hide who I am on this blog, or this would be more of a challenge. No doubt I e answered this before over the years, but here I go, in case anyone is at all interested.
Sue Ann means “graceful lily,” according to name books’ etymological declarations. I am pretty damned sure my parents didn’t look at my round and wobbly baby self and name me based on that.
The graceful lily herself.
No, after a couple of days of indecision, they named me after two of Dad’s sisters. Of course, as the Kendalls tended to do, they gave me their middle names. I’m glad. Bettye Doris is a mouthful. Bettye went by “Pug” all her life and Doris Ann went by both names, or either, randomly.
Suna came from an existentialist Japanese movie (and book by Kōbō Abe) that affected me deeply. It was called Woman in the Dunesor Suna no Onna (砂の女). Suna means something like grains of sand, which I metaphorically interpret to be like all the different facets of oneself. The idea of being fluid yet solid, like sand, stuck with me, and so when the time came to choose my own name, that stuck. Like sand on the beach.
I used to be quite the little gloomy existentialist intellectual in the olden days.
By the way, Suna is a given name in other cultures. The source I saw says it’s a female Turkish name meaning “duck.” The cute kind, I’m sure. Ah, upon further reading, it means beautiful and tall, like a drake. I guess since male ducks are prettier?
I saw a lot of ducks today, along with white pelicans, along the Cooper Lake dam.
Or it could be gold, from a Sanskrit word. In any case, a hint of my love for the name comes from the fact that it’s much less beautiful backward. Ha!
Humor.
I’ve driven that topic into the dirt (another sand reference?) so let’s move on. Today dawned cloudy and gusty. Hiking in that weather is not fun. I did try, and got a couple more plant photographs and bird sounds, but checking the forecast led us to head home sooner than planned.
Pretty gloomy. Note waves.
Rain is forecasted for tomorrow, and Lee didn’t want to take Seneca the motorhome on back roads in bad rain. So we visited the park office, where buying a magnet was quite difficult, then headed out.
This pretty stand of yuccas was one photo I was glad to get. The only ones I saw.
It’s an interesting drive from Cooper to Cameron if you avoid the interstate. There are lots of horse farms (yay) and lots of this kind of thing (ugh).
Proudly declaring to the world he’s Suna backwards.
It was good to be home and get caught up with things back home. It can rain all it wants to now!
What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?
As a Euro-American white person, I’ve been learning a lot about the negative aspects of my ancestors. There’s a lot to tell, and I’m pleased that it’s not being swept under the rug anymore. But there are things to treasure, things to puzzle over, and things to horrify you no matter where your ancestors originated. That’s because people are talented, complex, and often cruel. Everywhere and throughout history.
So, today I’ve been thinking of my ancestry and what parts I’m proud of.
Oh look, Harvest Moon. slightly bigger than last night.
Most of my ancestors on my paternal line came from England. The Kendall family is very old, but I’m most proud of how the first father and son to come over in the 1600s took their indentured servitude and used it to do very well once they were free. That’s the Early American Dream. Then they fought on the winning side of the War of Independence and headed south. Then they lost the next big war and ended up sharecroppers living right along with former enslaved people. I also like that those folks came here to be able to feed themselves, not to foist weird religious beliefs on others.
I wonder if any of them were fascinated by tiny hover flies?
Now, on my grandmother’s side there were some French Huguenots. They were among the many religious fanatics to come to the US to escape persecution and promote their cause. The other bunch on that side were Scots-Irish. Yep. Getting away from religious stuff. Well, that and famines. They all ended up nice, Appalachians, some who did well and some who didn’t. Typical American white immigrant story.
Maybe some were herbalists and inspired my love for wildflowers.
I do love the folk tales, wisdom, and pre-Christian spiritual traditions of Great Britain and Ireland. They tie me to a much more distant past. And yes, I realize those people could be cruel as well as kind, just like the Romans and all that.
I was fascinated by the sun on flowers this morning.
I’ve written a lot about my mom’s ancestors being brought to Florida from Menorca to be slaves on sugar cane or rice plantations. It’s a fascinating little tale, and I’m really proud of the Canova folks for escaping and hanging out with the Native Americans until they could come back and become prosperous business owners in St. Augustine. Those were some strong Mediterranean people.
Strong as a tie vine!
My maternal grandfather was Swedish. I like that his ancestors stayed together in the same villages for many generations. I’ve never experienced a community with such deep roots. Still, the Andersons finally headed out in the very early 1900s, again because they were hungry. Most of them went to Minnesota, but my grandfather was an adventurous guy. He left there to work on the Panama Canal as a surveyor and ended up in Florida, where I’m sure he seemed quite exotic on his fancy white horse. (Maybe he’s where my horse-loving genes came from.)
A horse and donkey I love.
I guess I’m proud that my ancestors took big risks and got through hardship. No doubt we’re all descendants of the people who survived the risks and danger long enough to reproduce, huh?
Back then, they didn’t even have bad county roads to travel on.
And when you look at what they went through, the persecution, the ignorance, the huge changes, you can get some perspective to use on today’s challenges. Humans have never had it easy, and never has there been a time or culture without suffering and joy. I’m sure you already knew that.
I just like the swoopy lines in this one. Those are starlings, also European immigrants.
In summary, I don’t think my heritage is better or worse than anyone else’s. I’d like to think I’ve learned from some of their mistakes, and can benefit from some of their contributions to the world.
Now let us ponder the shoe on a fence post. It’s always there if someone needs it!
Time for more of that honesty that people either like or have become tired of lately.
Sometimes life feels like an unpleasant amusement park ride. I hate Ferris wheels.
I’ve been dealing with some painful consequences of mental illness for the past few weeks, both my own and the issues of others. I wouldn’t wish some of the struggles I’ve seen on anyone. It’s particularly hard, because it seems to come from innate struggles (along with “nurture” problems, many of which stem from being raised by people whose mental illnesses caused them to inflict pain on those around them). And I got so down that I managed to forget what caused it until a friend reminded me there’s a name for what I deal with.
Somewhere among my mother’s maternal ancestors, some powerful genes that make life hard for those who inherited them got wedged firmly in the family line. I don’t know how far back it goes, or which part of my grandmother’s family passed the issues on to her and her siblings, but wow, it left a strong legacy.
Moonrise in the night. Like a light in a dark time.
I’m going to say this: I love my children, but I’m sorry that I passed on the tendency to have severe depression, bipolar, learning disabilities, and narcissism on to them. I am truly grateful that they are not extending this line forward, even though the good parts (intelligence, artistic gifts, and the ability to write well) won’t move forward to future generations, either. That’s difficult to say but seeing how my family inflict pain on each other and how deeply it affects the two of us plagued by RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) I just don’t want it to continue.
I don’t blame any member of my mother’s family for behaving how they do and making the choices they make. A combination of inherited instability and “abuse” (for lack of a better word) can make people do weird things to try to bring peace into their lives. My sister has cut off the rest of her biological family from her life. I do understand how, from her perspective, it’s what she needs to do, but I can still wish she’d gotten the help she needed and enabled the family who love her, warts and all, to be a part of her life.
The view from my Rapunzel Tower at sunset
On the other hand, those of us who have had to try to find ways to deal with how members of my mom’s family treated us are probably better off ending that pattern. My insane drive to not be rejected or abandoned has led me to try way too hard to please people who can’t be pleased, and that’s not helpful to any of us. Anyway, the struggle is real, and I’m back on track to managing my own issues better again, and I wish everyone else well as they deal with their issues.
I’d actually gotten pretty darn good at not blaming myself for every single thing people close to me say, do, or seem to do in my messed-up brain. I just slipped, and as I was trying to express this morning when talking to a therapist friend, you can intellectually know there will be setbacks in mental health recovery, but your limbic system still gets all out of whack. Repeat after me: other people’s actions are their responsibility.
There’s where I sit.
Dealing with all this while holed up in a tiny room like a short-haired Rapunzel in her tower is not ideal. But I can always find ways to cope. At least I can watch Amazon Prime without worrying Lee about using up all our bandwidth. So, I watched three nice movies yesterday and that helped a lot! I watched Air, 80 for Brady, and Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris. All movies with strong women who made me smile.
Nice random people!The other side of sunsetA tiny bird who flew very high
Plus, there’s always random people you meet, along with the sunrises, sunsets, birds, and bats. This Rapunzel really isn’t trapped in her tower at all.
When I finally get a day off, I can cram a lot of fun into it, that’s for sure, and yesterday I even stepped outside my comfort zone successfully, more than once. I’m so proud.
Announcement! Suna is proud!
One thing I’m happy with myself for doing is finding my own fun by myself. As Lee has gotten more and more into the Hermit Life, I’ve found myself slipping into it as well (and COVID helped form the habit of being solo). Since I wake up ridiculously early here, I usually have five hours or so to kill before Lee is able to do anything. I sit on the balcony, read, or knit, but I’m so used to getting up and doing a bunch of chores that I’ve taken to just leaving and finding stuff to do outside.
Pretty kites, and look, way out there is a BOAT! You don’t see many boats here.
Admittedly, some of the stuff I do involves fruity drinks and beach chairs, but I wander around, take pictures, and talk to folks. I swear I’m turning into my dad with all this talking to folks stuff. Not very hermit-like.
I got to have the first pineapple slice of the day.
When Lee was awake, he suggested we go take advantage of the free putt-putt golf we get as part of our stay. I think the hotel chain bought this sorta run-down course, since it’s right across from one of the properties and counts as an amenity. Here’s an admission. I had NEVER played putt-putt before, or any other golf-like activity.
A Chapter for My Memoirs
Backstory: In my horrible only year at Plantation Middle School, some person without much forethought had the great idea of having a bunch of young girls, many from backgrounds that didn’t include elitist sports like golf (back then, well-to-do white people played golf), learn the sport in physical education. Golf includes golf balls and golf clubs, both things that needed to be treated with respect. There were rules, like only swinging your club behind a certain line, not swinging without checking your surroundings, and not driving the ball while people were out retrieving their shots. Good rules. Who can guess what happened?
Golf has rules for good reasons. Photo by @Thaninee via Twenty20
Yep. I had finally hit my ball far enough to get an extra point (a thing I needed because PE was my worst class) and was about to pick it up when WHAM, one of the little darlings in class swung her club onto my head. I was so focused on getting my extra point that I simply went back to the teacher to report my success. She asked me what was on my gym outfit. That would be blood. I had to go to the nurse’s office, which was hard to do when you had no idea where that was in the crazy building and you were dripping. I was so angry that I smeared blood on the exterior wall of the school, quite an act of rebellion for the rule-follower I was at the time.
I can’t believe I found a picture of the wall. The school is now the home of the Patriots and being renovated. Much different demographics, too.
The nurse washed me up and called my mom to come get me. Mom was in the middle of her nervous breakdown from having to move away from Gainesville, so she was not happy to have to drive down Sunrise Boulevard (she didn’t like four-lane roads) to come get me. She looked at the hole in my head and declared something like it was just a flesh wound and took me home with no doctor visit or anything. Mom was frugal and didn’t want to waste health care dollars on us kids when she needed so much (thus, we had no trips to the dentist until our teens, my brother’s lazy eye was not addressed until too late to fix it, etc.).
My nightmare: a child with a giant golf club. Image by @Moondrop via Twenty20
The results were that I had headaches for years and sharp pains if I moved a certain way. I have avoided golf entirely. I wasn’t the only one permanently damaged by middle school golf. Another classmate had a chunk of her chin removed by someone who didn’t check her surroundings, and as far as I know, still has a nasty scar. I believe that was the end of the golf program at Plantation Middle School.
Back to Put-Putt
Anyway, Lee likes golf and used to be really good at mini-golf, so I agreed to go. I’m so glad I did. It was great fun, and I was nowhere near as horrible at it as I feared I would be. In fact, I was even under par on one hole, and made par on a couple more. The first hole was pretty bad, since I had to figure out how hard to hit the ball to make it do what I wanted it to do, but after that, I found it most amusing to see where the ball would go and what it would do.
Not too fancy but does the job.
I declare that I would do it again, perhaps at a nicer course. But, we got a lot of laughs out of the outing and it was great to see Lee actually enjoying an activity on a trip.
Lee having fun.
Off to Calabash
We decided we wanted some good seafood, so we motored off to North Carolina (barely) to the beautiful little town of Calabash, where we’d had a great meal last year. Once again, I knitted a lot. I am trying to get that baby blanket finished before that baby is born. We tried the restaurant next door to the one where we ate last year, and were not disappointed.
We were at the far left corner. Isn’t it pretty?
I got a huge amount of food in my platter, unlike the small serving we had in Murrell’s Inlet a couple of days ago. And it was fried so beautifully that my grandmother would have approved (the great connoisseur of Florida seafood). The oysters were immense and the scallops delicate and tender. The shrimp were local (from right next door!) and the fish was glorious.
See, even grackles can be pretty.
While the service was a little slow, I could not complain, since there was quite a show among the local bird population for me to enjoy. Grackles were mating and building nests, so they were in great form (and loud, being grackles).
Lady grackles unimpressed by display of male grackles
The seagulls were also in squabbling mode, so there was lots of action. Plus, there were pelicans zooming around and catching fish. They are so beautiful to me.
Bird action shots
After the meal, I went for a walk on the little boardwalk and boat docks, where I got to enjoy pelicans having some kind of bird party next to a party boat, which cracked me up (easily amused).
Pelican Party Time
I also realized why all the birds are so dang happy right there in Calabash. The water was literally teeming with little fish. No shore bird could go hungry with all those fishies everywhere they looked!
Future dinner for birds or people if they live long enough
While I was gone, Lee was paying the check, and since he was alone with our leftovers, the laughing gulls got bolder. He got a great shot of a laughing gull taking one of my shrimp.
Mine! Mine!
Once we got home, I needed to burn off that fried food, so I walked on the boardwalk until I got all my steps in, then decided to enjoy an Old Fashioned and knit a table at the upstairs bar (I had been outside until a loud family arrived). A lady said I shouldn’t be sitting alone and invited me to the bar to sit with them. I ended up talking to them and another couple for a long time. Lee even came down for a while.
And in talking to the staff, I discovered that Kevin the bartender is also a history professor who specialized in my very own ancestors in Florida! His family is also from north Florida with deep roots there. Who would have guessed? This condo has the best staff, that’s for sure.
Beautiful ending to a fun day, even if I overindulged.
I ended up meeting another couple and stayed too long and had three drinks, so I was not at my best when I got home. Lee said I was cuddly, so I must have been out of my mind, ha ha. It was worth it, though. I truly enjoy hearing the stories of all the people I run into and finding our commonalities without ruining things by getting into politics or religion. Granted, anyone I meet here fits certain criteria or they wouldn’t be here. Hilton sure does check your credit scores and incomes. But I’ve met people from many places and backgrounds, and that’s what I like and have missed so much the past few years.
While I’m still primarily doing outdoor things (we’ve been eating on patios), at least I’m no longer scared to talk to people. I’m back to having a nice balance of being alone and in peace and interacting with others.
This just POPPED into my head a few days ago. It’s not like I never thought about it before, since it was discussed a LOT in the 1980s among my grad school friends in linguistics and English. In Western society, the tradition for the past number of hundreds of years has been that women took the surname of their husbands upon marriage (you know, to show who they belonged to and who got to take all their property).
Somehow, we’ve always been freer with given names. I’m awfully disinclined to be Oflee, though. Image from @eliza_og via Twenty20.
Those of us who were in the feminist movement of the 1970s and 1980s got all worked up over this remnant of the patriarchal system we were trying to overcome. It was quite the hot topic, since for many of us, this tradition held sentimental attachments and symbolized “love” and “commitment” to them. Others didn’t want to feel like someone’s possession and didn’t want to change our names. Both sides have valid arguments.
Iceland also has women on their money, and guys with cool hats. Image from @SteveAllenPhoto via Twenty20.
It’s often been pointed out that, well, if you keep your birth name (maiden name, not a popular term among my friends at the time), you are simply keeping a patronymic from the previous generation. Yep, that was totally true, unless you happened to be from Iceland (like Björk Guðmundsdóttir) or using a Gaelic system (Máire Ní Bhriain).
As alternatives, people thought about new ways to symbolize with their names that they have formed a commitment to make a family unit. A lot of people hyphenated their last names or used both, which I’m sure you’re familiar with, as it’s quite common. Sometimes both partners do this; sometimes just one of them do. Hmm. Others just added the new one to their previous one. I actually bowed to pressure and was SueAnn Kendall Crain for two years. I never got comfortable with it.
See, I even have things published under that name.
Some of us (me since the Crain episode) just kept the names we were given. However, I’d hoped to give male children their father’s surname and female children mine. Only little dudes showed up, though, and their names match their dad’s Irish surname quite nicely, so I’m okay with it.
The most fun names to me are ones where people combine their sirnames (yuck yuck) to make new ones. I knew a few people who did that back in the 80s, then didn’t hear much of it until later. I LOVE some of the combinations people come up with!
Choose random syllables and have fun.
The option that bows the least to the patriarchy is where members of the family select a completely different name to symbolize their commitment. Why not? Genealogy students probably roll their eyes at this, but hey, at some point in history, that’s what everyone did. English people chose their occupation (Archer, Butcher, Tanner), where they came from (Kendal, in northern England), a personal characteristic (Whitehead), etc. Other European places made similar choices, while Gaelic folks stuck with their patronymic Mc- and O’ (son of) surnames (very few women continue to use the ní (daughter of) ones today). So if I wanted to be Suna Plantsinger, I could. Lee wouldn’t go for that.
Back to Combining Names
Where am I? I didn’t intend to write a history of surnames. I do believe one can look that all up on the googles. What I was trying to get to was how popular the idea of combining the last names of people who’ve formed family units is among my friends. I asked people this a couple days ago:
A fun question
At this time I have had 171 responses. I guess there was some interest. Most people simply took the beginning of one name and combined it with the end of the other. Some really came out like names that should stick!
My neighbors Faivre + Mitchell = Fitchell or Maivre (best was Faivritch)
Lozano + Harris = Lozarris or Harrizano
It got more creative when people took random syllables and moved them around, or surrounded one name with parts of another.
Brukends is one I like for me and Lee.
Here’s a story someone shared, which I hope is anonymous enough not to be invading their privacy:
We have friends named FredRICkson and PeTERson who got married. They took the middle syllable of each name (the core of who they are) and now are legally The Ricters which I love. They used a scrabble tile themed sign to announce it after the ceremony.
That was so creative!
There were two couples whose name ended up nearly the same as each of their existing surnames. I guess that was destiny!
Peterson + Jensen = Petersen, Jenson
None of this solves the problem of our names being reminders of not-too-distant times when women could not own property, vote, etc., and in fact WERE property. But, it shows that today we can have some fun with it. I’m thinking of a party game or something, where folks could vote on the best blended names.
You may know we have a grave on our property, with (as far as we can tell) just one person buried there, Heinrich Rentsch (1826-1888). I have tried to learn more about him, but my skills aren’t too great. I do know that we want to repair his headstone, which cattle knocked over in 2012.
My oldest photo of this. I know I wrote a lot about this once…but I sure can’t find it.
Look, I found a crawfish while waiting on Holly.
I was contacted by Holly Jentsch (names are sure similar around here), who is doing official research on cemeteries in the area. She’s working with the Milam County Historical Commission to GPS all graves/cemeteries in Milam County for the Texas Historical Commission Atlas as well as document the sites. She wanted to check out the site on our property. Of course, I said yes, but it took a while to get together, what with all the snow, family stuff, etc.
Yesterday was really windy, so it was a perfect day to stay outside and interact and not breathe on each other. Holly and I got a good look at the part of the headstone we are keeping by the RV, then hiked (along with Vlassic) to the fenced-in area where the rest of the stone is.
We had a great time talking as we walked around our pasture. Holly likes to walk, too, and it turned out we have a ridiculous amount of things in common, plus she lives next door to my friend, Donna. So, now I know who “the neighbor with all the dogs” is. Small counties are really small. Anyway, it sure was fun to talk to someone. It’s such a rare treat (especially since I haven’t even left the ranch since last week).
Here’s Holly getting a photo of the base of the headstone.
When we finally got to the old fence, Holly got excited, seeing depressions near the grave of Mr. Rentsch, because that could have meant she found his son, Otto, for whom there are no records. But no, those are the final resting spots of Rosie, Stella, and Brody. Sniff.
I hope to go out and look at other sites in the with Holly, when she gets permission. I find the history of settlers around here so interesting, and it’s well worth preserving!
History of Our Ranch’s Former Resident
When she got home, Holly was able to send me her findings. She is great at genealogical research, DNA, and all that fun stuff. It was sure fun to talk to a professional. Here’s what she sent:
Thank you so much for letting me come to visit you and Mr. Rentsch today. This is what I have found out so far about Mr. Rentsch. He was born in Dresden, Germany on 20 Jan 1826 and died in Milam County on 17 July 1888. In the 1870 and 1880 census he lived in Precinct 2, Comal County, Texas with his wife Johanna, son Otto and daughter Helena. His occupation was farmer and he owned property.
Johanna Rentsch was born in April 1830 possibly in Sachsen/Saxony and died 9 Nov 1908 in Galveston, Galveston County, Texas. After her husband’s death she was found in Dallas, Texas in 1889 and 1890, address r.322 Hord between Griffin, Magnolia. Her daughter Helena was living with her and working at Eureka Steam Laundry. In the 1900 Census she is living (renting) in Galveston on Avenue 0 1/2, a widow with only 1 of 2 children living. In the 1906 & 1908 Galveston city directory, Johanna was living in the Letitia Rosenberg home. She was buried in the Lakeview Cemetery, Galveston TX.
I have found nothing on the son Otto past him living with the family in the 1880 census but the fact that Mrs. Rentsch states in 1900 that she only has one living child, suggests he died between 1880 and 1900.
The daughter Helena married a Charles Molsburger, a dairy farmer in Galveston about 1896. It was his second marriage. Helena was born in Texas in Dec 1869. Mr. Molsburger had 3 children and may have been divorced. It would appear from the ages of the children in the 1900 Census that only 1 was born to Helena and Charles, Robert Mosburger in 1897. the Molsburger family lives in the part of Galveston that was wiped out by the 1900 Great Hurricane. It appears the whole family was wiped out on 8 Sept 1900 plus many of the extended Molsburger/Malzberger family.
Many thanks to Holly for all this information. Now that I have it blogged, maybe I won’t lose the facts!
We all want to know that, I guess. I did join Ancestry.com a long time ago to see where my ancestors came from and learn more. I wrote about some of my findings in 2018, and it was pretty interesting to some people other than me:
Ancestry did an update of their science, so my estimate changed. It actually makes a lot more sense now. Here’s the link to it. The main thing that changed is I’m a lot more Scots and English than I was before, and a lot less Irish. This makes sense, knowing my extra British Isles heritage on my dad’s side. There’s a lot of the Germany/Switzerland region, which is the part of my mom’s side you don’t hear much about from them. And I’m about a quarter Swedish, which they have down to the exact town my grandfather’s family lived in for centuries.
This is the current analysis
So, I’m a white person with all the rights and privileges granted thereto. Too bad I’m a woman, or I’d be running things, right? (Working hard to change all that!)
Here’s the 2018 estimate, where they didn’t separate Scotland out from Ireland, and where parts of France were in the UK search.
There were a few more details on ancestors that I enjoyed. The best one is that my second great-grandfather, William Greenberry Lafayette Butt, fought for the Union Army in the Civil War. Hey, at least I had one ancestor on the side that won (all these folks on my dad’s side settled in northeastern Tennessee and Western North Carolina). I’d assumed most were on the other side, or hiding somewhere.
That’s really all I had, just wanted to share that I’m happy to hail from Scotland way in the past. Anything north of Hadrian’s Wall makes me Celtic and happy.
Grr, my body is annoying me. I had to quit working on the Pope Residence the the family, because I started getting repetitive motion tingles all in my hand and wrist. I need my hands to work, so after an hour or so of it, I had to stop painting trim. I’d gotten a lot done, though, and was really enjoying myself.
Just a little of the trim Kathleen primed last night.
Last night, after I went home, Kathleen single-handedly primed all the trim in the two offices we’re working on and the hallway. She had noticed that the parts that had already been painted white looked different when over brown or light wood, so she got out the primer (I’d forgotten we had it!). So, by the time she got in this morning, it was ready for paint.
Textured bathroom. Still wet, so it is shiny.
Meanwhile, this morning Chris and Eaton got all the texturing done (a light coat), in a brief moment of less-than-100% humidity. Soon as it’s dry, they can put primer over it and then actually paint all the areas that aren’t brick. That sure feels like progress.
It looks like an actual room now.
By the time I got to the house to work (had to do all my writing chores first), I saw that Chris had also gotten a start on the flooring. Ooh, aah, that’s going to look great, though it’s pretty complex to install it right (many different patterns, which make it look more natural).
Opening from Lee’s side.
They’d taken a break on that to finish the opening between the two offices and to put the crown molding (which I painted!) in Lee’s office. It will need a little filling, but will look super when it’s done.
Opening from Kathleen’s side.She plans to paint her side brown.
Alfred Vrazel, from polkabeat.com
All of this was taking place during Alfred Vrazel’s polka show playing on KMIL. It’s the nation’s longest-running radio polka show, you know. I kept hearing harmony that didn’t sound like it was coming from the radio. Hmm.
It turned out to be Kathleen, whose Czech heritage was coming out in a big way. It was wonderful to hear her singing along to the songs of her childhood. Now, that’s a true Texan.
I bet you didn’t spend your day with painting and polkas, but I assure you, it was a good way to spend a few hours. Like Mr. Vrazel said, you can’t go away from 2.5 hours of Czech polkas and waltzes and not be a bit happier.
Things just hit you sometimes. Yesterday I was walking toward Rowdy the Rental Audi in the work parking garage, and I got a flashback of being a kid. I’d talked about missing my parents earlier in the day, which probably prompted the experience.
I suddenly felt the heavy weight of the humidity at my house in Gainesville, Florida, smelled the dark black earth, and heard the thump-thump of my dad, doing his favorite activity, known as “digging a hole.” If Dad was upset, frustrated, or just needed to get away from Mom’s antics for a while, he’d go out in the yard and dig. He used to joke that some of the camellias had been moved five or six times, for no good reason.
Today my friend Melanie Reed, who’s a native to these parts, went with me over to the Milam County Museum to do some research on projects we are working on. She’s looking into the history of two parks in town, while I was looking to learn more about the old church and home we own in Cameron.
Postcard mailed in 1912 showing the building that once stood where our church is now.
I did find a postcard that was a picture of the First Christian Church building as it looked in the early twentieth century. That one burned down.
We met with Charles King, the director of the museum, who brought us some books with old photographs of the county. I was surprised to see so many large churches and schools in what are now tiny hamlets, like Maysfield and Milano. Charles and Melanie told me Milano (where our Master Naturalist Meetings are held) once had a population of 10,000! Wow! It’s between 200-300 now, though it seems like I keep meeting people who live there.
Charles was kind enough to dig up a book and newspaper article about the people who built our house on Gillis St., the Pope family. I’ll use that for my writing about that house on the Hermit Haus blog.
The Hermits' Rest 