I’m too tired to write something this afternoon because my eyes are tired. Partly its from watching the PBS series Finding Your Roots and listening to Henry Louis Gates reveal very troubled family histories of refugees which made me cry. Partly my eyes are suffering from the pool where the chlorine sometimes affects my sinuses. And partly its because I’m a bit older and everything affects me more.
One of the gals at the pool this morning said “Don’t go there’ when I said “Sometimes we don’t get better.” I asked her if she had ever heard of denial.
I’ve continued to research Mom’s family tree and discovered many interesting facts, some of which have stirred memory bubbles. Before their deaths, Aunt Audry and her cousin Elaine had given me reams of paper copies of various vital records they acquired in Michigan, and Cousin Ankie sent much information from the Netherlands. I went through part of the material this morning seeking verification for the marriage of a fourth great-grandather who had 3 or 4 wives. My quest: to match a third great-grandfather with his own mother. Death, divorce, remarriage, with immigration thrown into the mix and after a while I’ve got eye strain.
Our Benedictine friend, Brother Dunstan, visits us every Sunday afternoon. David cheers up enormously when Dunstan stops by. Last Sunday, Clare our five-pound Pom decided perhaps Dunstan was a friend and rather than spend the hour he is here barking at him, she allowed him to stroke her. (The photos are crap because my phone is old and our living room is dark, hence David’s Happy Lights which he burns all winter.)