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I wore a bomber jacket for inspiration, of course.
I completed my Bachelor of Liberal Arts degree with a double major in History and Earth Science, and a minor in English. I was involved in Student Government (as both a senator and Commissioner of Campus Affairs), the History Honorary (served as its president my senior year), I had a radio show (inspired by Rush Limbaugh), I wrote editorials for the college newspaper (all extremely conservative and tearing up the left, which was easy as Clinton was running for president), I was in LINCS (leaders in college service), worked three jobs (medical secretary, campus receptionist and at Jo-Ann Fabrics) while always taking 18 credits. My goal was to be a college history professor, and I began my Master's degree in American History (with an emphasis on early American History) shortly after I married, oh, exactly 24 years ago this week. I never finished that degree as my husband was diagnosed with brain cancer. And we had a baby. And he died. BUT - this isn't about that (thank God! It's not fun talking about that.) This is about history...the one passion that continually inspired me that I've had throughout my life.
Howard Chandler Christy's war art has always inspired me:)
I can trace back my love of history to the writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I read Little House in the Big Woods at age 7, and clearly recall struggling over the word "Charlotte." From that point on I read every book in the Lincoln Elementary School library on the past - eating up biographies and historical fiction, as well as history books written for elementary readers. When Prince Charles married Lady Di I was not quite ten, and that Christmas I was gifted two books on the wedding. Each contained a more recent history of the British Royal Family, with genealogies.
I was hooked.
Not only with royal history, but with genealogy. I interviewed all my grandparents, and carefully wrote out my very tiny chart. I knew only the names of my great grandparents, and one was missing: my dad's paternal grandfather. He had been illegitimate...and that also meant the last name I had technically wasn't even mine. We weren't related to any others with my maiden name; it was simply the last name of the man my great grandmother married after my grandfather was born (supposedly his real father died before he was born.) This was a bitter disappointment, as I greatly disliked being teased about my last name...and to have another would have been nice, not to mention the fact your paternal lineage was the most important. On the flip side, this did mean I was potentially descended from royalty.
You know, 'cause that Prince of Wales dude was a really busy guy:)
As my love of history grew, I figured becoming a history teacher was inevitable. There was only one problem: I hated teenagers.
Me at 19, holding Poor Richard. You can see my obsession with Arizona was also clearly defined by then.
Having just been a teenager, I had no tolerance for teenagers at any age. They were rude, bullying brutes, especially the females. With that in mind, and with an utter love of college, I decided I would get my PhD and teach history at the college level. Then fate intervened, and school ended and my career began.
My liberal arts degree came in very handy as I became a salesperson and quickly rose through the ranks as I knew how to write, give speeches and do all sorts of liberal arts stuff. My ability to persuade people to action was a skill I first honed in debate and in writing editorials, now I used it to pitch and sell. My desire to teach shone as I gave trainings, my ability to read metrics, data and analytics came from my days studying meteorology and climatology. I loved my career and the opportunities it gave my family; my love of history shone as I toured every brown sign historical site with them, instilling in all three children a mutual love of the past.
Colonial Williamsburg, 2007. We met Neil Armstrong later that day....!!
Manchild and I about a week before Pap died in 2001. This happy lad often reminds me of his late grandfather.
Since Pap, I've had no one to share my love of genealogy. When I insisted the family tromp over the graves in the old Alverton, Pennsylvania cemetery some years ago, my brother-in-law stumbled on Peter's grave. I remember running down the hill, knowing in my heart he had found his gr3grandfather's grave. The GAR marker confirmed it, and I choked back tears standing at the grave of his and the King's great-great-great grandfather, who had fought in the civil war. Both brothers stood before me, neither caring. It was "cool" they said, more wrapped up in when we might be getting lunch. As I stood at Peter and Amanda's final resting place, where generations had been buried after them, I wept, thinking of the hard life they had had in these hills of Pennsylvania. I imagined Peter's life after the war, working in the mines, and Amanda struggling to keep their family together. This was America - this was the backbone of the country we founded. My people weren't there yet...but the King's people were.
So were the Buckeye's....
Lately, I've been entranced by a new family tree. The Buckeye's maternal line is 100% pure buckeye...having settled in Ohio prior to 1800. With his permission granted to dig through his roots, those long stilled passions have been awoken to reclaim history...God, I love it so. His history is wrought with civil war AND Revolution soldiers...and on his trip to Ohio to see Mom for Mother's Day what does he do? Goes to visit a gravesite...of his Revolutionary War Captain gr5grandfather.
Where he found the obelisk tipped over possibly years before, and he uprighted it.
Bestill my little historian's heart....😍
Being content with what I have: living in the now, today.
Howard Chandler Christy's war art has always inspired me:)I can trace back my love of history to the writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I read Little House in the Big Woods at age 7, and clearly recall struggling over the word "Charlotte." From that point on I read every book in the Lincoln Elementary School library on the past - eating up biographies and historical fiction, as well as history books written for elementary readers. When Prince Charles married Lady Di I was not quite ten, and that Christmas I was gifted two books on the wedding. Each contained a more recent history of the British Royal Family, with genealogies.
I was hooked.
Not only with royal history, but with genealogy. I interviewed all my grandparents, and carefully wrote out my very tiny chart. I knew only the names of my great grandparents, and one was missing: my dad's paternal grandfather. He had been illegitimate...and that also meant the last name I had technically wasn't even mine. We weren't related to any others with my maiden name; it was simply the last name of the man my great grandmother married after my grandfather was born (supposedly his real father died before he was born.) This was a bitter disappointment, as I greatly disliked being teased about my last name...and to have another would have been nice, not to mention the fact your paternal lineage was the most important. On the flip side, this did mean I was potentially descended from royalty.
You know, 'cause that Prince of Wales dude was a really busy guy:)
As my love of history grew, I figured becoming a history teacher was inevitable. There was only one problem: I hated teenagers.
Me at 19, holding Poor Richard. You can see my obsession with Arizona was also clearly defined by then. Having just been a teenager, I had no tolerance for teenagers at any age. They were rude, bullying brutes, especially the females. With that in mind, and with an utter love of college, I decided I would get my PhD and teach history at the college level. Then fate intervened, and school ended and my career began.
My liberal arts degree came in very handy as I became a salesperson and quickly rose through the ranks as I knew how to write, give speeches and do all sorts of liberal arts stuff. My ability to persuade people to action was a skill I first honed in debate and in writing editorials, now I used it to pitch and sell. My desire to teach shone as I gave trainings, my ability to read metrics, data and analytics came from my days studying meteorology and climatology. I loved my career and the opportunities it gave my family; my love of history shone as I toured every brown sign historical site with them, instilling in all three children a mutual love of the past.
Colonial Williamsburg, 2007. We met Neil Armstrong later that day....!!
Life shifts and turns (as it often does) and when my sister committed suicide, a dear mentor suggested I find a hobby as a way to assuage my grief. It was then I committed to Ancestry.com, and started to collect cousins of my then husband, my late husband, and occasionally, myself. To my dismay, my lineage didn't extend back very far; my mother was only a second generation American on both sides of her family. My dad? At best, a third generation American; first if you considered the fact his father was most likely born in Canada. The King however? 13 generations in America...a fact he cared nothing for. As I collected over 3000 cousins for my children, I consoled myself that maybe someday they'd find interest in my hours of research. The King thought it silly...but his father had not. The few years before his death I would call him with my finds, he'd chuckle softly and let out a low whistle. "And here Duch thought she had the monopoly on American ancestors and it turns out my people were here first..." My father-in-law was a kindred spirit; he loved every new find, every new ancestor I uncovered.
Manchild and I about a week before Pap died in 2001. This happy lad often reminds me of his late grandfather.
Since Pap, I've had no one to share my love of genealogy. When I insisted the family tromp over the graves in the old Alverton, Pennsylvania cemetery some years ago, my brother-in-law stumbled on Peter's grave. I remember running down the hill, knowing in my heart he had found his gr3grandfather's grave. The GAR marker confirmed it, and I choked back tears standing at the grave of his and the King's great-great-great grandfather, who had fought in the civil war. Both brothers stood before me, neither caring. It was "cool" they said, more wrapped up in when we might be getting lunch. As I stood at Peter and Amanda's final resting place, where generations had been buried after them, I wept, thinking of the hard life they had had in these hills of Pennsylvania. I imagined Peter's life after the war, working in the mines, and Amanda struggling to keep their family together. This was America - this was the backbone of the country we founded. My people weren't there yet...but the King's people were.
So were the Buckeye's....
Lately, I've been entranced by a new family tree. The Buckeye's maternal line is 100% pure buckeye...having settled in Ohio prior to 1800. With his permission granted to dig through his roots, those long stilled passions have been awoken to reclaim history...God, I love it so. His history is wrought with civil war AND Revolution soldiers...and on his trip to Ohio to see Mom for Mother's Day what does he do? Goes to visit a gravesite...of his Revolutionary War Captain gr5grandfather.
Where he found the obelisk tipped over possibly years before, and he uprighted it. Bestill my little historian's heart....😍His acknowledgment and respect of history spoke volumes; as was the fact he shared his adventures with his 77 years old mother. As he sent pictures from a beautiful Midwestern spring day I was reminded of our shared Midwestern roots...and the fact we'd grown up only a few hours apart. Cedar Point had been both of our stomping grounds, he even suggested we may have once shared a ride without knowing it. As we chatted the next day about his cemetery pilgrimage and his garage-cleaning ventures (more brownie points; he cleaned his mom's garage as her gift) he mentioned again the papers his mom had given him about family history...and we made plans to meet for lunch after his flight home early the next day.
Because everyone has a lunch date the second they get home, right? 😎
Scooting up next to him at the bar, I commented on how gorgeous our Phoenix day was-so much like the Midwest he had just left. It was so good to see him, this man who had impressed me by lifting a several-hundred pound obelisk simply to show respect to an ancestor and fellow veteran. We had chatted a few minutes when I finally spied the manila folder in front of him--and I'm pretty sure it's safe to say I pounced on it when I realized what it was. He chuckled as I could not contain my glee as I poured over the papers-gasping in shock as I read "...family history from 1458!" He had waited to see my reaction in person; I'm certain I did not disappoint.
We eventually remembered to order lunch, and savored the beautiful spring weather by extending lunch with an obligatory dessert (which involved my beloved salted caramel sauce. Which I might have gotten everywhere. Oops.) Walking to his Jeep he reminded me he had brought me his father's old Webster's dictionary; it had been destined for Goodwill when he remembered my love of books. He had asked me if I'd like it; I think it took me all of two milliseconds to accept. I used to pour over one at my Grama's and I assured him I'd be delighted.
I was more than delighted...I was inspired.
As the afternoon slipped away, I couldn't imagine a more perfect moment than now. Newly wrapped up in each other, exploring history with the same passion. Just two weeks before, I had sat bored...until in casual conversation the Buckeye mentioned an ancestor of his had died at Gettysburg.
Killed in battle.
It's amazing what sparks dormant passion. Those little words kindled a blaze...in more ways than one. From just the name of that one ancestor (and his permission) I created a tree...lovingly tracing out the branches in hopes it might be appreciated. To have it passionately loved as I loved it, even though it wasn't my people?
My goodness, the other things it has sparked.
Last night I couldn't tear myself away from the 2000 page dictionary, after lugging it out to the orchard's rocking chair. As the evening cooled and the light faded, I retreated indoors to pour myself an icy mug of milk to enjoy with some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. That the Buckeye's mom had made, which he had brought me from Ohio. Sitting in my overstuffed armchair, the dictionary in my lap as I perused the maps and facts in the back, I thought back on that night, just two weeks before.
Literally I was stuck on these pages for over an hour!!!
Now. My delight is in the right now. How can one be bored, with massive ten pound dictionaries, soft chocolate chip cookies and cold milk in hand? A year ago I was traveling, racing to Ohio (of all places) to join the Knight's family as his father slipped from this life. As I caught up with my sisters after years apart (we marveled how it didn't seem so due to modern social media) and I told them my newly formed dreams for Ride, the "hot guy" I had just started to date and the interview I had in the following week...I see now I was only looking towards what the future held. Looking back a year later, I appreciate now more than then how precious those days were; how bittersweet the memories even as we made them. Even then, rushing each day to see one more friend, get in one more memory... You see, as a historian with an incredible memory for detail, I knew I'd look back fondly on those days. Now I see I missed half of the memory, by not slowing down to fully appreciate them as they happened.
The Buckeye is actually in this photo....right over my shoulder and wearing scarlet and grey. Please note this was the 1/1/16 Ohio State/Notre Dame game....and I don't like either team so I wore Maize & Blue instead;)
We didn't meet the first time we connected (I stored him in my phone as "another dang buckeye"...Flyboy was the first) and we both conceded that had we met then, it likely would have been a disaster. Who we are now, and how we look at things has changed considerably since...it's interesting as I continue this sabbatical of faith to see how nuanced and orchestrated these days are. My prayer has been for my eyes to be opened to what I need to change in me...habits to be made, habits to be broken. As I floss a bit more, and regularly cook, make my bed and clean I am delighted by the happy stability these little things bring...as are my visiting children. At the same time, while slowing down drove me crazy at first, it was then I realized rushing had brought me tremendous grief over the years, and many missed opportunities.
The light was so perfect behind the sunflower; I know I didn't do it justice as some might, but I still love it.
Right now, there is a battle going on all around me that should terrify my soul. Work issues, but primarily the wait for an offer on my home had me griped just weeks ago...when prayer led me to trust God to jump out of a plane. The joy of that day, and the complete lack of fear has stayed with me as a real example of trusting in God and relaxing in His hands.
Being content with what I have: living in the now, today.What a wonderful way to live...as I'm enjoying it, savoring it. Even sweeter still? That someone else is enjoying it with me.
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