The Continuing Saga....

Unexpected family, as I wrote yesterday. Little did I know! Aine and I have been wearing out the keyboard on our computers, and our heads are spinning with information shared and to be shared. Not only on the Loper families, but...with the discovery of an O'Sullivan name in her photographs, we began to speak on that surname.

The wind was knocked out of us both, as she hunted through her notes. With a tiny smidgeon of information I'd given her on my former, late, father in law, she shot back an email with much information on him. Some was new to me, but the rest was true! Her great-grandmother was an O'Sullivan from my Patrick's location in Ireland, and she had a much younger brother in her 14 siblings, named Patrick. Parental names for both her and my subject are the same. Both her Patrick and mine arrived in the US in the same year. Can it be that they are one in the same family?! We now have a contact at work in Ireland on this.

I feel as if we've tumbled into the twilight zone! If this mystery unravels and connects my children to her on another level, I will be doubly blessed, in the meeting of Aine, as I've had so little to offer my kids on their paternal side. But God has granted me yet another blessing in life the meeting of Aine, whether or not Aine's O'Sullivan bunch lines up with ours.

If it does, I will also begin to believe the old adage...."It is a small world." Indeed!

Unexpected Family

For a good many years, I've been exploring my ancestral lines. A few months ago, I bought a 3month subscription to Ancestry.com, hoping to find some hidden bits that have thus far eluded me. I got more than I'd bargained for!

On that site, you can enter your own information, and the website will automatically give you hints on others who are searching the same family names. At times, you discover that there's no connection, but at other times you will get lucky and connect with someone who is searching and entering information on the same family line as yours. Such is the case with me. I've been corresponding for a few days, non-stop, with a woman who is, like me, a 12th generation member of the Loper family. Our line converges at the seventh generation, making us distant cousins.

What a delight she is! She's warm, friendly and willing to share all she knows about the family. I've been doing the same. Aine (pronounced Ahn-ya) and I have shared our other interests, both of us endulge in crafts, writing, gardening. We've compared notes about our husbands and their likes and their ancestries. These men are, as Aine says, 'cut from the same tartan cloth'. We look forward to a day when we will meet. In fact, they are going to East Hampton to look further into her predecessors lives, to see their stomping grounds. We have a trip planned for later than their visit, but all four of us are thinking how wonderful it would be for us all to be there together. In fact, they've even offered to share the rental which I helped set up for them there!

I don't know if our schedule will be worked out so that we can go during the time of their visit, but I believe we will meet face to face sometime, somewhere. Whether or not that comes to fruition, I've no doubt that we will continue with our email correspondence and develop this fabulous friendship we've begun.

Life brings its sorrows, no doubt, but oh...when it brings such joyous surprises, all else pales! I look forward to seeing how this all plays out.

Thoughts on Weather

When I woke this morning, with the ceiling fan and AC on, I thought, "it's hot!" No wonder...the local weather says we're heading into triple digit heat index, with temps of high 90's today. Oh, good. Another quiet day inside, doing our best to stay cool with the aid of mechanical helpers.

I signed on to Facebook, to discover that there were some heavy thunderstorms, and a possible tornado, in my old neighborhood. It appears, from the posted photos, that trees were down all over the area and I heard that some boats were over-turned and sunk. I'm not a huge fan of rocking, rolling weather. The idea of tornados scares me silly.

Living in the south, I've gotten used to tornado watches and warnings on tv. I've finally learned where they are on the map, in relation to where we reside. That's helped to relieve some of the fear I had when I first moved here. We rarely hear of a touch down close by, but have seen evidence of some pretty rough storms.

Unless it's completely impossible, when a thunderstorm is brewing, my husband spends hours on the front porch watching the skies. As the thunderheads build and billow off in the distant gray, he seems mesmarized. When the thunder rolls across the heavens, it's like music to him, and when the shows of lightening streak, he can be heard saying, "whoa!" with great excitment in his voice. As long as the viewing is from a very distant vantage point, I will sometimes sit with him. But if the rain is here, falling sideways from a dark and noisey sky overhead, you will definitely find me inside the house, talking myself out of the trepidation that fills my innards.

I happen to be happiest in temperatures that are evident in Spring and Fall, but because of the changes in temps, those seasons bring our fiercest storms. If there's anything I've learned about the weather, it's to be prepared for anything. Unlike much of life, there's not a single thing I can do to change any of it, so I just accept it and try to do something, instead, about the way I feel about it.

I've applied that theory to most things in life. Even though storms and fearful circumstances come , I know they they will pass sooner or later. I have to ride them out 'til they do, even if I hide my head in my pillow or scream out after each thunderous rumble. In the end, the calm does come.

It's always such a fun time when my grandchildren come to visit. This Summer, Kimberly and Rebecca have come, but just for a week and with their Mom. It's wonderful having them all, and different from when the girls come alone for longer time. I'm not complaining, mind you! Any time at all with my kids and theirs is special for us, and we try to cater to them so that they feel the same way.

This time, Amy planned to leave the girls here while she would go to Georgia for a few days to see some friends, but as it turned out, Kimberly decided to go with her Mom. Becca stayed behind. We had some routine chores to do yesterday, and Becca jumped right in to help fold clothes and pick up the guest room. She's a great little worker! When we were finished, Papa, Becca and I loaded the van and went over to the fishing spot so Becca could try her hand at catching a trout or a catfish.

It was a beautiful, but warm, day. We chose a spot on the stocked pond where Becca could cast and reel in her line without interfering with other fishing folk. Papa and I set up some folding chairs in the shade, and Becca picked a spot to stand. She wasn't ready to bait the hook, especially with the suggested bait...leeches. (I don't blame her!) Our hero...Papa....did the deed with those slimy black things, and Becca walked off to her special place to begin an earnest effort to catch her fish. We know there were fish in the pond, because we watched two men, over the course of the afternoon, catch one each.

She cast, she trolled, she reeled in, and cast the line again. She didn't have the patience to let the bobber lie still in the water, waiting for the fish 0to come to it. I think she just enjoyed the casting. (Lord knows she'd had plenty of practice, having drawn targets and whales on the cul de sac with sidewalk chalks, and casting the line out to those during the past few days.)

After a few hours, and a number of great pictures of "HuckleBecca Finn" in her straw hat, we decided it was time to head home for dinner. A disappointed ten year old didn't want to leave, but was very good about it. Even though her fish bucket was empty, she apparently had a good time, as she asked if we could do it again before she goes back to NY.

The interest in fishing has never lured me or for Mike, but the being together in the activity with a child is another story altogether. Fish or no fish, we had a 'whale' of a time, and made happy memories together. That's all that counts in the end.

Beach Parties

Growing up in East Hampton, a wonderful, small town surrounded by the ocean and the bays. we had plenty of beach time. As a child, we'd spend every Sunday when weather permitted at Sammis' Beach with my mother's sisters and families. We'd pack our lunches, something without mayonaisse, and take our towels and blankets, and off we'd go for afternoon with cousins. We'd chase minnows with our towels as nets, gripe about crabs that bit our toes, watch for jelly fish and dig for sand crabs. There was a wood 'bath house' there in those days, with little stalls where you could change your clothes. The walls didn't reach the slanted roof, but did touch the floor. I was always aware of that 'above the wall' space, and knew I had to watch for a curious boy cousin who'd shimmy up to peek over. There were also a few holes carved into the wall, where a 'peeping toms' eye might be seen, and poked at with a finger, if necessary.

When I was a pre-teen, Daddy came into possession of a large wooden canoe. I think he bought it from Blue Bay Girl Scout Camp. He refurbished it, and it became a great addition to our weekend beach trips. Daddy, always the amateur inventor, managed to rig the vessel with a mast and sail...and a rudder, so that we could all 'sail' it. Another summer, he built a hand-operated paddlewheel for each side of the boat. I've got a very poor photograph of my brother trying to maneuver the 'ship', with little skill and lots of laughter. Whether we traveled by way of paddle, sail or paddlewheel, it was a terrific source of beach fun.

Then we grew up to be teenagers. Sometimes some of the cousins would skip the family outing and opt for spending time with our friends at the ocean beaches. At other times, we'd take friends to our gathering at the bay. Always, we enjoyed the sun, sand, and sea, no matter where we spent the time....unless we were complaining about green horseflies, sand fleas, or tormenting male cousins.

Some nights would find friends and family members jammed into the back of Dad's pick up truck, for a ride down the wooded dirt road through the dense trees at Old House Landing. We'd end up somewhere far down the beach from where my aunt's house stood high on a bluff. There'd be a bonfire, and a supper of hamburgers cooked on sandwich grills or hot dogs on sticks cut from a wild cherry tree. Toasted marshmallows and s'mores followed, and we'd stay around the fire until the mosquitos or fatigue drove us home.

I miss those parties and those days at the beach. Looking back on them, I wish there was the opportunity to give my grandchildren such precious memories. I suppose it has nothing to do with where or what we do, but who we do fun things with. I pray that our family events will cause my childrn and grandchildren to look back, as I do, with joy and a true sense of the love we've all shared.

When I was growing up, I was blessed to have three grandparents in two houses. My mother's father had passed away when I was not-quite-two years old, so I have no memories of him at all. They lived locally, so I knew them all quite well. There was a time when my parents moved our little family, due to Dad's job, away to a place about 2 hours away, by way of the old 2 lane, Montauk Hwy. We would travel the route at least once a month during those years, so that we could visit the families in East Hampton.

But, for the most part, I was well-aquainted with my grandparents and as a result, my memories are quite vivid of each of the three. My Mom's mother was subject to having small strokes, some with symptoms that went unnoticed, some that were more obvious, always seeming to attack the area of the brain that controlled her thought to speech. Since Gram was a quiet sort under normal circumstances, I guess I really didn't notice. Although I remember very little of her spoken word, I know there was communication with her as we played Chinese Checkers, Pachisi, and card games together. She is the one who taught me to embroider....even the tricky method of creating a french knot. (Well, tricky for a 9 or 10 year old).

My other grandparents lived on Cedar St. and I would often stay overnight with them. I have cherished memories of time with Grandpa as he delivered milk for G & T Dairy or being with him in his vegetable garden. I can see him now, dressed in a baggy pair of old, cut off trousers which exposed his colorless legs, socks with garters and ankle high, heavy black shoes. It appeared to me to be an odd outifit
for my grandfather to wear, as usually when I saw him he was well dressed in his milkman's uniform or neatly attired, complete with a necktie. He whistled the day long, and only once can I remember him ever singing a song..."Que Sera, Sera." He is said to have done a lot of solo singing at St Mary's Episcopal Church on Shelter Island when he was growing up there. An elderly cousin of my father's told me that his grandfather, who was my grandmother's brother, often talked of Grampa's beautiful voice as they all sat on the front porch of the house where Grandma was born, while he was 'courting' my Grandma.

Grandma wore house dresses and aprons, thick, high heeled black oxfords, except when she went to an event, which wasn't often. I can remember only one 'dress up' dress for her and it may have been the only one she owned, as she rarely went anywhere where she'd need to be 'fancy'. That dress was a navy blue one with white polka dots on it. I believe it was probably taffeta, as I remember that it 'swished'. Gram introduced me to Winnie the Pooh and the hundred acre woods, and often read to me from A.A.Milne's "Now We Are Six" . At other times I'd curl up on her lap, with my head on her breast, as she rocked me in her big, brown wicker rocking chair. Sometimes she'd read to me from a book she'd bound together with a shoelace, Sunday school pamphlets of Bible stories. I will always remember my favorite, a baby named Moses who was found by a princess, floating in a river in a basket.

Grandma would spend hours with me at the table, making paper dolls of cardboard, and she'd make the clothes which I'd color with her colored pencils. Sometimes we'd paint with her watercolor paintbox. Sometimes, after dinner, we'd stroll in what was then the 'nursery', where Boxwood Court and the road across from Palma Terrace were. Then we'd go back to the little house where Grandpa could be found in his worn leather, over-stuffed rocker, reading some book or another.

Grandparents are very special people to little ones. I've recently discovered that many other children loved my Grandfather. He was a nice man, always loved children and others, as well. Perhaps even before my Grandmother passed away when I was eleven, he may have developed the habit which went on long afterward. He'd pass candy to the neighborhood boys and girls, and they'd always line up at the door at the end of the day to get their share. I've met many on Facebook who have told me how they remember Grandpa Beebe and even some of the treats he doled out! One even told me that she wanted him to be her Grampa!
It's a blessing to know that those I hold so dear to me were well loved by others too.

With seven of my own grandchildren, six of whom I know very well and one of whom I've seen little in his sixteen years, I treasure every moment of my time with them. They love me unconditionally, as I love them. I ache for the time I've missed with my other grandson. Perhaps one day we will establish a real relationship, but we'll never get back the wasted years. We've both missed out, and for that I am sorrowful. Some things can't be helped or mended, no matter how one tries.

In the meantime, I will lay aside that sorrowful thought, and look forward to the week of July 3rd when three of my daughters, three husbands, one mother, one brother and six gorgeous young people that I am blessed to call grandkids join together in one place. Our house will be raucous with the sound of laughter, a few grumbling moments, and just plain noise of a family together. I can't wait!

'Life Savers'

Recently I read a blog from by a friend which speaks to the issue of saving things "in case someone needs it some day." It's been my mantra for many years. I'm a 'Life Saver' and I'll admit it.

I save bits of life, as it comes and goes. I am sentimental about things and find it difficult to get rid of some things that fall into the category of 'family history'. I suppose that could mean anything, couldn't it? But, being a family historian and searcher of ancestral stories etc, I find it interesting to add little things that work together to illustrate the story.

Ok. That's my newest excuse. I have, for years, kept things of importance to me. There are small boxes of baby clothes that my children wore. I've got the first pair of shoes each had, a few handmade items and one favorite outfit. For years I kept larger boxes of them, thinking my kids would want them some day. Of course, that was a pipe dream. What parent today wants to put Gap kids into funky old Oshkosh overalls or dumb looking plaid Healthtex pants that are at least 34 years old? What was I thinking? I've even saved a couple of things from two grandchildren who lived with us and rescued some handmade sweaters from a 'giveaway' box when their mother cleaned out.

I'm guilty of saving for life. Does it come from an upbringing of hearing my thrifty mother repeat a phrase that now graces my wall in the form of a sampler? "Use up, wear out, make do, do without?" If so, it seems that I've not adopted all of that word to the wise. I don't do without much. I'm a yard sale buff, though I do far less of that than I did when I lived in the land of the rich. Garage sales in this part of the country are priced much lower, but the goods available are no where near as good or as interesting to me as were those in my hometown. Still, I've plenty of opportunity to scour the thrift shops and antique places, and often come home with a 'gotta have' item.

My self-appointed analyst, my 3rd child, has determined that both my husband and I have compulsive obsessive traits. She says I'm some what of a compulsive shopper....with some validity, I'd say. She claims we're obsessive about keeping things....again, somewhat true. But, as I grow older, I become more and more willing to part with some of the stuff I've saved. There comes a time when even a hoarder must unload, or be subject to having one of her children call a tv show like "Get Organizeed" or "Hoarders". I have no interest in being on any tv show, thank you!