My father-in-law celebrated his birthday today with us at Szmania’s. I only hope that I can be half as feisty, and in half as good a shape mentally and physically, when I’m an octogenarian-plus. (Yes, my in-laws are in town. A suspension of garden postings is in order, since my mother-in-law, a true pro, is here to straighten us out.)
Category: Family
Esta: back, without photos
Esta reports on her trip home to the family ancestral stomping grounds, where they visited Dave and Sally’s home at Betty’s Cove on Bear Creek, and came away with memories but no photos:
Through the entire expedition I’d been taking pictures like a madwoman, with my aunt joking about Pulitzer prizes. I had my Dad’s camera slung around my neck, and took rather painstaking care with focus and light, hunting for unique perspectives. From the cove we went to Antioch church, where my grandparents and many other relatives are buried. I took more pictures of the headstones, documenting dates and relations for future reference. Willie, Johnnie and Alice; distant cousins I hadn’t known existed, all dead before they reached 25. A Lunsford ancestor who died in the Spanish-American war. Obidiah and Polly O’Dell — I don’t have enough time for all the stories about them.
Yeah, lots of pictures. Too bad there wasn’t any film in the camera.
I talked to her late yesterday morning as she was driving home. She’s bringing back a stack of recipes from my grandmother’s collection. Apparently most of them are clipped rather than written down, since she mostly made up what she cooked, except for cake recipes. But we’re still hopeful to find some gems.
Our little cousin (once removed)
Our cousin Catherine’s son Johnathan has his own web page with a picture and a guest book. No blog, but it’s only a matter of time. 🙂
Esta: “I got in”
Big huge congrats to Esta are due:
…no sweat on the admissions. You’re in as of yesterday afternoon. A letter goes in the mail today.
My sister, the seminarian. I’m so proud (sniff).
It’s worth noting, now that we can’t jinx the admission, that she’s continuing in a long tradition of ministry on my mom’s side that goes at least as far back as Benedictus Brackbill, who was born in 1665. No pressure, kid. 🙂
A promising arrival: Johnathon Levengood
Add my voice to Esta’s congratulating my cousin Catherine and her husband Jeremy on the birth of their first child, a boy; and to my grandfather on becoming a great-grandfather (not that he wasn’t already. Ba-dum-pssh!). I’m definitely going to have to plan another East Coast sweep in June when I go out for the Sloan reunion so Lisa and I can meet little “Chonnie.”
Updated 3/5/2003: Okay, I got the name wrong (now corrected). It is in honor of my uncle, but it’s Johnathon, not John. And apparently they don’t want to use diminutives (which I can understand), so “Chonnie” is out. After this post.
Stop reading this page…
And go read how my sister almost got stranded, twice, on a trip to Kenya and how an amazing stranger rescued her. Not only is it an astonishing story, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen on her site.
Digging through Virginia
Esta breaks what was for me a five-year-old cone of silence and gives a peek inside her year as a professional contract archaeologist. Her job had her contracting to the state of Virginia, digging (per state law) at sites where the state planned to construct new public works to make sure that nothing of historical significance would be disturbed. A really cool job, right?
The constant traveling wore thin quickly, but the honeymoon would have lasted longer if not for the minimum wage, lack of decent benefits, creepy bosses and that thing about telling people their houses were going to be bulldozed.
Still, it taught her to swing a shovel. And gave her fantastic grist for the writing mill:
Rolling out of bed at 5 a.m. to get to the site on time and make the most of the sunlight. Living in longjohns, ripped jeans, flannel shirts, wool socks and beat-up boots. Staying covered in a poison ivy rash for nine months straight. Scraping deer ticks from my jeans with a trowel. The infamous black widow bite that didn’t kill me but made me wish it would. Eating lunch wherever we could, with preference given to rural gas stations that serve fried frogs legs and potato wedges, all-you-can-eat Mexican buffets that didn’t mind mud on their carpets, and diners with good pie.
Get well soon, Dad
A quick shout out to my father. As Esta reported, he went in for carpal tunnel surgery today. The preliminary news is that he came through the surgery well and is okay to travel. This is actually the second time he’s had surgery for the same condition, which gives me lots of confidence in the procedure… Carpal tunnel syndrome appears to be another one of those conditions that runs in the family. I have at various times felt stirrings of the distinctive pain, and Lisa has had fairly severe bouts with it at various times. Here’s best wishes that Dad’s surgery is a complete success and that he’ll be back to painless wrenching on the MG’s twin carburetors soon.
Presentses, my precious
Almost forgot. I gave Lisa a few presents this year to make up for a couple B-school Christmases without: an All-Clad 8 quart pot, a Cuisinart mini-prep, and a couple books on dogs to make up for the fact that we didn’t manage to get any puppies under the tree. We’re still working on finding a breeder for the Bichon Frise puppies she wants to get.
Emptier house
I just got back from taking my parents and sister to the airport. It feels weird not having a totally full house. Lisa’s folks will be here for another week, so we’ll be able to taper off slowly.
Now that our five-guest experiment is back to two, I can report it was mostly a success. One thing we figured out a few days in is that it’s a lot harder to get seven people moving in the morning than two or four. We had a long list of activities, but each morning by the time everyone ate breakfast and showered it was almost time for lunch.
We’re off to do a bit of after-Christmas shopping. Should be fun, he said grimly.
Vacation day 5: all here
Esta came in last night, so our family is all here now. Just in time; if I had to wait any longer to see The Two Towers, I would have been… extremely unhappy.
Esta gets better comments
I will say nothing more about how the conversations between me and the anti-Win Without War folks are going save to note that the fine art of the ad hominem attack is alive and well.
Esta seems to be luckier. Her post about same-sex marriages attracted a thoughtful and responsibly articulated opposing view, in her comments rather than in email so it could be easily publicly shared. And so she started a real dialogue. This just goes to show that her language skills are more advanced than mine, I suppose…
BTW, happy belated BlogBirthday® to Estaminet. When I lost a guest blogger over a year ago I gained a keiretsu. Not a bad tradeoff.
Payback will be hell
Good morning! Thirty years is far too short a time with all of you. As Bilbo Baggins once said, I feel I know less than half of you as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as I should.
And thanks to Esta for the technicolor reminder of my mortality. Never fear, dear, I’ve got September 20 circled in my calendar for a few years hence…
Found: history
Family history, to be exact. The unpacking has progressed to the point that I’ve found the box that had the pictures from my office and—more importantly—of my family. Pictures of the University, of the barn up the hill from my Grandmother Jarrett’s house, of the ancestral Brackbill farmhouse, of my Pop-pop and Grandma, my parents and my Aunt Marie. Plus some other odds and ends: a framed Glee Club poster that I designed, a signed Edward Gorey print, a framed photo of the Rotunda taken from the vicinity of my Lawn room door, an antique mirror. Plus some Legos, for some reason.
All this stuff has been in storage, not just since we moved from Boston, but from our move from Cambridge in the early spring of 2001. I’ve particularly missed having familiar images to hang in my office; not any more.
Esta’s ghost stories
Esta tells some outstanding ghost stories from her days in Colonial Williamsburg and philosophizes about why Halloween is so cool:
On Halloween we realize that everything we trouble ourselves about is as fragile and fleeting as water in a cupped palm, and rather than howling about it, in our inimitable human logic we put on face paint and howl with it. Tell me that ain’t cool.