Skip to main content

Heritage

We are French, Pennsylvania Dutch, German, Irish, and Cherokee Indian.

According to my full-blood related sister who did a little research on Ancestry.Com, our ancestors arrived on Ellis Island in the 1700's. We are related to a Daniel Danner who was a minister. At some point, he went to jail over a land dispute. No details that I can recall. And this lineage is from our paternal side. The surname, Holland figures in there somewhere or so I've heard.

I know naught of my paternal grandfather and little more of my paternal grandmother. I recall that she perished in a fire, leaving behind four children; my Uncle Herman, my Uncle John, my Aunt Daisy, and my father, David Lee Danner. I grew up not knowing this part of my family due to a divorce when I was 3 or 4 years old. I met my father when I was 15 years old.

I learned my father fought in the Viet Nam war aboard a patrol boat on the Mekong River. He retired out of the U.S. Navy moving to his home state. He was a deer hunter, a gensing gatherer, an outdoorsy guy. I never met my Uncle Herman and I was too young to remember my Uncle John. Aunt Daisy, I met briefly at a family picnic back when I was touring my newborn.

I never met my maternal great grandfather. My maternal great grandmother was a pistol, if my maternal grandmother is to be believed. I believe. I was very close to my grandmother as a child. Also, I was grandpa's girl. I idolized my maternal grandfather.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

Shards Cling To

I just met my new psychologist and I already like her. I would say that it is effortless to talk to her, but talking to anyone through an augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) device takes a great deal of effort. One must think about what to say and drill it down concisely and succinctly, Then attempt to type it out with your eyes on a wonderous, but infuriating machine, and hope you nail the 'Speak' button, and not the 'Cancel' button. You're praying that the device doesn't spontaneously, disengage the eye gaze, leaving you mute and helpless. You're also praying that the calibration holds and your eyes don't tire or dry out. Aside from all of that, she did not overwhelm me with rapid fire questions, nor invade my personal space, by insisting on reading while I'm writing, instead of allowing me to "speak". Those things are huge. Counseling somebody with my disabilities, present unique challenges. I have major physical deficit...