I have been a bit down, probably an association with the time of the year. Not only do I have kids and grandkids with birthdays, I have an old anniversary I’d like to forget. Yes, I do have a very nice (most of the time) husband today, but I have no happy family photos of the father of my children and me together with our offspring. Sadly, David is not the father of my children.

While reading this morning, I got stuck on the phrase ‘non sequiter’ and decided to look it up after misunderstanding it for many years. I know there was a cartoon called non sequitur somewhere but never quite knew the exact definition.

As usual, I became diverted by the dictionary and ended up with another non word: nonplussed. I am told by the dictionary nonplussed is misused today (by Americans) to the point the opposite definition has become the standard definition. Seems I was I was confused and agitated, or nonplussed, but now that I have read the dictionary entry, I have discovered as a North American who speaks English, if I am nonplussed, I am no longer confused and agitated.

This led me to think about one of my favorite topics, Latin phrases which is how I got into this infinite regression. I learned None is nine, which explains the Nones or prayers at nine in the monastery.

And as for non sequitur, darned if I know.    

The photo shows my oldest son, Richard, age about six months, who will be 50 tomorrow. Happy Birthday Richard. I pulled out the old photos to find some of Richard as a child for his son Jacob who is assembling a “family tree” as a school project.

Jacob has many relatives from all over the place. On his Mom’s side he is a mix of European and Mexican, on Richard’s side — Dutch, German, English and Polish. Jacob having a mind of his own on this subject has decided he is Hispanic, according to his Mom. This example begs the question: what does it mean to be Hispanic in the US?

The Census Bureau says you are what you say you are, so if Jacob says he is Hispanic, he is.

A few years back some folks of Italian descent decided they would be Hispanic. The court frowned on this decision. The Italians argued that for many years Italy and Spain were a single entity, so they must be Hispanic. The court said No. The concept of self-identification does not work everywhere.

What I know from studying the genealogy of my family, and history, is that nation-states did not exist much before the Industrial Age. For example, Germany and Italy were “combined” in the nineteenth century. Owing to WWII, my parents always stressed Great Grandma Anna came from Bavaria which she did. They thought if Anna was Bavarian she could have no connection to those awful Nazis. They were wrong. The Nazi party started in Munich which is in Bavaria. (see Where Ghosts Walked: Munich’s Road to the Third Reich by David C. Large)

As late as the late nineteenth century, the French government was trying to convince the peasants they were Frenchmen. (see Peasants into Frenchmen: the modernization of rural France, 1870-1914, by Eugen Weber). This didn’t work  well, as anyone who has traveled in the provinces of France knows.

So, my first point is that nationality is largely a social construct.

The second point is that with the Industrial Age came great waves of migration. Although many folks think immigrants only come or came to the US, guess what, they migrate from anywhere to everywhere. The story of the fifteenth century forward is mass migration, which really grew in the nineteenth century.

We all descended from a wide variety of individuals who come from goodness knows where, and our ancestors migrated all over the place, and almost no one I know has been able to keep up with the various flows of groups of people. The best you can do is identify Mom, Dad and grandparents. Don’t forget, go back 10 generations and you have a thousand ancestors. That’s 2 to the tenth power (try it on your calculator). That’s 2-4-8-16-32-64-128-256-512-1008)  So you must be whatever you think you are.

I wouldn’t know how old my dogs were, but for our vet, who keeps records of such things. And David tells me I am always adding a year on his age and forgetting our anniversary.  I remind him, I have been married before and had other anniversaries I am trying to forget. Some have selective memory, I have selective forgetfulness.

Keeping up with grandchildren is also a challenge. They keep graduating from this, that and the other, then they go on and get other degrees. Amelia graduated last year from the University of Virginia. She’s going to start a graduate program in the fall.

Graduation Day. Amelia in the center with her family.

Daughter Connie graduated from George Mason University three times since I retired (BA and two MAs). This summer, she is working on another degree in Latin. She told me I shouldn’t mention the program as it is small and she does not want it broadcast all over the web.

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All the hoopla over government spying makes me laugh. Yes, it could be a problem, but with Americans moving around the way they do and undertaking various activities in fits and starts, I wonder that anyone can keep up with anything. As one who worked with metadata for years as part of my job, one thing I am sure of, is that no one cares what I am getting up to. Mostly, I am getting older and forgetting things.

Marketing researchers have been tracking us for years. I know, did marketing research before I went to work for the government. After I went to work for the government, I worked with Census records, a very large file indeed.  Census employees are sworn to secrecy. All workers dealing with others personal information should be. Anyone who takes an oath and breaks it is dirty, rotten, lying bum — can’t think of enough bad names to call them. So, I won’t share what I know about personnel records and huge data sets, but tell you as Kevin Bacon did in Animal House…”remain calm.”

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The weather finally taking a turn for the better, David and I worked outside the past few days. My gardener John came over today to help clear out a pathway along the fence for Johnny (my dog) and relaid the stepping-stones in the middle bed. After the  vegetation grows back, I will post before and after photos.

Now John is off to get married and take a honeymoon to Venezuela. His to-be bride, a lawyer on K Street in DC, made all the arrangements. He says he just does what she tells him to do. Smart fellow.

John tells me the Smithsonian Zoo has offered him a job as head gardener. Grrrr they can’t have him. He says he likes what he does, working for a small landscaping company during the week, and doing odd garden jobs on weekends and holidays. That’s fine with me as he does great work.  Now, I am off to visit another garden center.