Skip to main content

History Lesson

I learned a bit about Danner ancestry. My sister, Dawn, is an avid genealogist, since joining Ancestry.com. During her visit today, she revealed that our great, great grandfather was a war hero, dying in the civil war; fighting and dying, from dysentary, after being wounded in battle. I was relieved to hear that he fought on the Union army's side, fighting for social justice and human rights, specifically the equality of black people, the abolishment of slavery.

She mentioned that she had poor grades in history due to lack of interest. She told me that always felt that history didn't pertain to her. Frankly, that's true for me as well. Memorizing dry dates was so disconnected from our lives, that their significance was lost on us. I felt cheated out of our heritage; she must also feel the loss. Somehow, our 92-year old uncle didn't impart the knowledge to our father.

The first Danner to land in America, did so in 1727, nearly 50 years before we became a country. He was a reverend in the Dutch presbyterian, or protestant, church. He came here for religious freedom, to start a church. William Penn deeded land to him to found and build the church. Now, I'm interested in history.

Uh oh, according to Wikipedia, William Penn died in 1718, and was a Quaker. Now, I must have her review her data, she was rattling off of memory. Hmmm...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.

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...