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

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...

Kate

I think about my friend, Kate Struby, who died from this horrible disease in 2013. She lived here at Bailey Boushay House before I did. I reached out to Kate online through FaceBook because I loved her photograph with her head thrown back in laughter. I also loved her posts. I guess I just loved her spirit. I got to finally meet her one month before she died. I happened to be at the University of Washington Medical Center for my quarterly appointment when I saw her FaceBook post. She was awake and in the medical ICU. She was a mere few floors down. I would not be stopped. Relativeor no, I would meet my FaceBook friend. Thank God I did. I rolled into the room to find a beautiful, ethere.al woman flanked by two friends. Although it was an impromtu visit, she said she knew me immediately.I was in awe of her with her fiery spirit despite the ravages of our shared disease. She, unable to lift even a finger, lifted my spirit.

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...