Bunnies and Swingers

Easter came early at our house this year. Without telling the kids, when they woke up Sunday morning, they each had a note from the Easter Bunny explaining that their baskets and eggs had been hidden. What was actually quite astonishing was that they woke up early, saw the notes, and quietly watched t.v. for about an hour before waking us up to ask if they could begin their hunt.

I think they both know who the Easter Bunny is, but not a word was spoken and I'm pretty sure everyone just enjoyed the fact that knowing the facts didn't ruin the tradition.

We also celebrated at my in-laws. Ever since my husband and I have been dating, we have spent many a Sunday at his parents' house. Over the years the family has grown and things have always seemed to change. As the grandkids (or more specifically the grandsons) are getting older, they are trying to navigate their way around being together at a time when the age difference is more evident and finding common interests is more difficult.

But at the end of the day (literally and figuratively) the four grandkids managed to find a common ground. It was that of the swingset in the backyard...the one that their Grandma and Grandpa bought for them. The one that has four swings in a row. It is the perfect place to be close enough to your family, yet far enough away that you can talk and laugh and swing. A place where you can be cousins and friends and kids for one more Sunday.

The Mind of the Youth

I know I've mentioned it several times before, but I really enjoy my morning walks. I love putting my headphones on and being alone with my thoughts.

It occurred to me today that I would do the same thing all the time in college. Walk around campus by myself with my headphones on, lost in thought. The only thing is, I can't imagine what it was I was thinking about back then. I don't recall having this sense of accomplishment when I was done walking like I do now. Like I've got so many things figured out.

It reminds me of a major criticism of a lot of the young contestants on American Idol. They sing songs that they don't really understand because they haven't had the life experiences that the songs sing about. Their performances are robotic and unfeeling because they can't relate to the lyrics.

There is a world of difference between what I was thinking about as an 18 year old college co-ed and what I think about now, as a 43 year old wife and mother. Nothing illustrates my point better than what happened in our house this week.

We are planning for a trip to NY next month. My husband, who is not a fan of live theater, does have three plays that he loves; Jesus Christ Superstar, Fiddler on the Roof, and West Side Story. There is a revival of West Side Story on Broadway and my husband would really like to see it. Since he got my daughter hooked on the video of Fiddler on the Roof, he thought it would be a good idea to watch West Side Story with her and get her amped for seeing it in New York. In concept he was right on. It had all the elements that would appeal to her...a great story, beautiful music, and dancing.

But we encountered a problem that we did not foresee. It goes back to trying, as an adult, to think like a child would. All of a sudden, during the rumble scene, she got really upset and didn't want to watch the movie anymore. She no longer liked it. My son couldn't understand what the big deal was, after all, only two people got killed (a whole separate issue.)

After a bit of talking about it, we think we found out what the actual problem was. She just couldn't wrap her brain around the fact that Maria would love Tony more than her brother, Bernardo. When Bernardo died, I think she felt bad for Maria because she couldn't imagine what that would be like for her to lose her brother.

My husband tried to explain that some day, she would meet someone, fall in love, and feel the same way Maria did. But it all goes back to what you know and what your life experiences have taught you so far. In my daughter's case, her life experience is that she loves her brother above all else and for now, that's as it should be.

Family Tree

I started listening to my grandpa's tapes again. I forget how great they are. I love getting a little history lesson in the context of my grandfather's entire life. About a year and a half ago, I decided to start doing the same thing with my family. I video taped some interviews with my parents which were a combination of questions they answered and stories they recalled.

In addition, I decided to compile a family photo album for both my family and my husband's which had current pictures as well as those of our ancestors. Working on these books made me want more information on where our families came from, so I joined ancestry.com. If you have any interest in genealogy, you must check out this website. You can join for free on a trial basis and if you're like me, you will get hooked.

I would spend days tracing back and searching through databases to connect the dots. The biggest mystery was my father-in-law's father. He died when my father-in-law was only eight so as you can imagine, my father-in-law's recollection of his father's family history was very vague. There was no documentation of when and where he was born so I was searching for that information. One of the most exciting discoveries I found was his draft registration card. It finally revealed for me his birthdate, which wasn't even on record at the cemetery where he is buried.

My husband's grandfather's draft registration.
I knew for sure it was him because it confirms that he had no right arm.

Ancestry.com has all sorts of military, census, and immigration records. You can create your own family tree and also see other family trees that have been completed by people who share your geneaology.

Once I finished my project, I canceled my subscription to ancestry.com. A couple of weeks later, I got an e-mail from someone wanting to know if my great-grandfather and her great-grandfather were brothers. Indeed they were and she was able to pass on some pictures and also fill in some blanks for me.

My great-grandfather is second from the left in the
bottom row. He is my son's namesake. My great-great-grandparents,
pictured in the middle, each had an identical twin
and their twins also married each other.

For the most part I've put that information away, but the other day my sister-in-law e-mailed me that she was watching a show on PBS about family history. It's another in a series by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. called Faces of America in which they use DNA to help people (mostly celebrities) find out where they come from and who they are related to.

What is really amazing about these shows is how strange connections are made. For instance, it revealed that actress Meryl Streep and director Mike Nichols come from the same descendants. They are good friends who have made four movies together and never knew they were related.

Another interesting coincidence was revealed on Oprah. She did a show featuring Lisa Kudrow's new series Who Do You Think You Are? It's another genealogy show, which is based on one she saw in England, where celebrities go in search of where they come from. Emmitt Smith, hall of fame football player, found out that he descends from a slave who was raped by her slave owner. When he went to a genealogy center to find more information they pulled the book of deeds which had his family's information. It was one of a series of books which took up shelves upon shelves. It was volume #22 which caught Emmitt's attention because that had been the number he wore on his jersey since college. He couldn't believe that of all the books and all the numbers, that his family's history was in volume 22.

I think a big part of my history is the story of the immigrants and what they did to come to America to create a better life for their families. In my case, it's a generation or two removed so it's easy to forget the significance and importance. I have a sister-in-law who immigrated to the United States from Hong Kong when she was only eleven. She made me realize how fortunate I've been to be able to document my family history, and that includes my recent family history. I have large boxes full of artwork and writings and other momentos from my kids stored safely in the basement. She told me that when she came to America, they couldn't bring much so she had to leave many of those things behind in Hong Kong.

She suggested that we take our kids to Ellis Island when we are in New York next month. I've never been there. I'd never even thought about going there, but now, it seems like the perfect thing to do.

Yellow Tulips

yellow tulip painting by my brother-in-law...
one for each member of my family

I just got my first tulips this year...a sure sign that spring is coming. They were yellow tulips no less, the ones that remind me of my grandpa. When he and my grandma moved back to Wisconsin they lived in senior apartments. My grandpa planted yellow tulips outside by their back porch and he was looking forward to his first spring back in Wisconsin to see them come up. He never made it to the next spring, but life goes on and the tulips bloomed without him.

He always told me I was his favorite and I believed him. And when I was alone with him, it was true. My mom once told me that you get out of a relationship what you put into it and that was never more true than my relationship with my grandpa. When I was in college we would write letters to each other and at the time I don't know if I realized how important they were to me. But they obviously meant a lot, because to this day, I still have them.

I'm most happy for the time I spent with them once they moved back to Wisconsin. I was out of school and working and got to spend time with them as an adult. I would go once a week for dinner and do their laundry and mine. We would talk about all kinds of things or just sit around and watch t.v. together. I feel so fortunate to have had that time with them.

My grandpa was a lot of things, among them was a great storyteller. In order to document his life, my brother had my grandpa make audio tapes telling all his stories. Every so often I pull them out. I love to hear his voice and be taken back to his den in Kenosha, or their screened porch in Florida, or their kitchen table at their apartment in Clement Manor. There was nothing better than hearing him start laughing so hard at a memory that he almost couldn't finish telling the story.

It's been a while since I've heard his voice so I guess I'll go look for those tapes and spend a little time with my grandpa.

Another Year Older

Yesterday marked another birthday. Ugh. I'm not thrilled about getting older, but recently I was talking to my friend about her twelve-year-old son and realized how grateful I am that I grew up when I did. I'm sure all generations feel that way so I don't suppose I'm any different in that respect.

I'm so happy that my high school and college years were not documented on a phone or youtube or facebook. I'm so happy that what is documented are letters I received from my dad and grandparents that were sent through the U.S. Postal system...not e-mail or text.

So since it's my birthday, I'm going to indulge in a bit of nostalgia and share some letters I received in college. Some of which are from my nineteenth birthday in 1986 at which time it became legal for me to drink in the state of Wisconsin (which meant I no longer needed my sister's state ID.)

How great are these? My dad did morse code in the Navy so he's always been a great typist. I would get these letters in college and I could picture him sitting at the typewriter at the reception desk or the one in the cubicle right next to it typing on these pages from a National Premium notepad. The note for my birthday came with these breathalyzers that they were trying to sell. You would blow into a balloon and then put it over this plastic tube that had colored sand crystals in it. It came with a chart that had a color code and the crystals would change color depending on how drunk you were. I'm sure you can see all the inherent problems with this system and the ones he sent me for my nineteenth birthday must have been sitting in a damp warehouse for a long time and the sand crystals were defective.

Normally my grandpa would send typed letters which were great because they had all kinds of unfixed typo's. This was particularly special because it was mostly from my grandma and it was handwritten. It also explains the origin of my name (which I've never liked, but I won't hold it against my grandma...her name was Atha Minerva so I consider myself pretty lucky.)