Yes, it's a new post...

It occurred to me today, just now really, that I haven’t devoted any time to writing about my own personal adventures lately--Hmph, lately, as if that were an accurate representation of the time that’s passed.

It’s a shame really. There’s been so much I could have said over the last year about what’s been going on in my little corner of the world.

I’ve watched friends divorce, watched a teenage girl I know descend into some really dark place in her life and learned that I was helpless to help her, grown apart from some friends while growing closer to others, struggled with “fibromyalgia that might not be fibromyalgia”, watched my oldest boy find the love of his life and start down the path to adulthood, and my youngest boy reach the dreaded age of pimply, over-emotional almost teenager who thinks he knows everything.

I’m still working on Grace’s story. I’ve done an unbelievable amount of research in order to place family members in the right place at the right time to weave them into her story.  My greatest fear is that I will offend someone with an inaccurate depiction of their ancestor. I’ve written, and re-written as I’ve uncovered new information, made multiple timelines, and looked at more census records than anyone ought to in their lifetime. I’m so sick of names like Elizabeth, James, George, Mary, and most of all William, as an unbelievable number of my ancestors bore those names. How the hell am I supposed to remember the difference between what Mary Jane did and what Mary Margaret did, or Mary Mae, Mary Elizabeth, or Mary frickin’ Sue? There’s William Thomas, William Jasper -- there are three of those – and William David, too; all with the same last name.  Hell, they’re actually all siblings. What the Sam Hill were these people thinking when they named their darn kids?

Why is it necessary to have 4 daughters named Mary and 3 sons named William? Well, I asked myself that question and then started searching for answers. Children were usually named for someone important to the family hierarchy. The important name was always given as a first name and followed by a middle name. The middle name was the chosen name to call the child. So, Mary frickin’ Sue was really just Sue.

 My name is Sue! How do you do!

Now, if you didn’t read that in Johnny Cash’s voice I am sorely disappointed in you and not sure we can maintain our relationship without some sort of amends being made. I gladly accept cash, gift cards, and peanut butter cookies. No chocolate, as I’m not sure, since you can’t sing “My Name Is Sue”, that you won’t pull some version of Minnie from The Help. And, if you tell me you don’t know about Minnie, we’re done. Sorry… *wink*

So, I guess I’m gonna try and see if I can get back in the swing of things. In case it’s not heartbreakingly obvious, I need a little break from Grace.

xoxo