Nothing funny about feldspar

[Insert sheepish rationalizations here]

I bought a new iPhone last week, and I must say I’m very happy with it. However, you must understand that I almost never use the phone part, so the locally spotty AT&T network that frustrates many of my colleagues simply doesn’t affect me.

I also bought a lovely case for it (though I don’t like the screen protector, so that will be changed as soon as I get around to it).

I was finding it a little weird to have only one pocket gadget instead of two (cell phone and iPod Touch), so I bought also another gadget — a pico projector. More on this later, once I’ve had a chance to do more than just hook it up…

I’m a failure at podcasts.

There. I said it. Oh, no, not *making* podcasts, which I know better than to try — my speaking ability is not particularly clear or coherent; I mumble, stumble and have a goofy accent — but in *listening* to podcasts.

I’ve tried the ones based on NPR radio shows, you know, so I can listen to a show when *I* want to, instead of trying to remember when it’s being aired. However, I tend to be happy to run across a show while driving or cooking or whatever, and I don’t ever say “hey, don’t forget to listen Saturday at 6!” (I’m the same way with television, with the exception of the late, lamented BSG, and even then I merely pointed out the hour to the other denizens of the house.)

I’ve tried listening to shows I once liked when we lived in Pennsylvania, but that aren’t played here. Nope, not the same.

I’ve tried listening to shows by “podcasters” rather than just repackaged radio, and I thought for a while it would be interesting, like listening in on a conversation, or getting a small dose of history, or laughing at a few jokes. But it hasn’t worked out.

Perhaps I’m just picking the wrong ones (though one in particular came very highly recommended by friends), but like talk radio (or “morning show” chatter), this stuff is all just boring to me. I really prefer serendipity, I suppose. Filling up my iPod requires too much planning.

Hmm, now I’m wondering if there is a service that will send out a random podcast…

My father was divorced twice before he married my mother.

My father’s mother and father divorced when he was young.¹

My mother was divorced once before she married my father.

My mother’s mother and father may not have been married, but they broke up sometime after having children.

My mother’s mother and her second husband were married for 30 years when she died.

My mother and father were married for 48 years, until he died.

Plagioclase’s father was divorced once before he married Plagioclase’s mother.

Plagioclase’s mother and father were married for 44 years, until he died.

My sister is married to her first husband, and has been for 27 years.

Two of Plagioclase’s half-brothers are married to their first wives, and each has been married for over 50 years.

One of Plagioclase’s half-brothers is married to his second wife, and they have been married for over 30 years.

I have been married to my only husband (Plagioclase) for 21 years.

Why exactly is divorce bad?

1. I was not sure of this until I found a letter from the ’50s where my dad talks about finding and getting to know his father and brother.↩

I’ve been preoccupied lately with family and genealogy. I decided to make a little photo essay for My Sister’s Child’s wedding, but as I know it won’t be particularly appreciated until 20 years from now, I also decided to do a little family-tree research to give MSC something to add to when we’re all dead.

To aid this process, I’ve signed up for an account at ancestry.com (it’s free for 2 weeks) and started filling in the blanks on our family tree. It’s got lots of holes — my parents were more-or-less estranged from their families, moreso once my mother’s parents died.

Therefore, most of my “ancestor” boxes are filled with conjecture. Once past my parents, my confidence in my family tree assignment goes down rather dramatically. That’s ok, though — I’m working with data that is most me remembering little details that my parents told me over the years.

Details such as “My granddad was a vet,” which came from Dad. I always thought it was his mother’s father, but it turns out it was his father’s father. How do I know this? Well, my Dad was born before the 1930 census (the last one available to the public until 2012) and he has an unusual name. (Not his last name — that’s as common as candles — but his forenames.) I found him in the 1930 census, living near the town vet, who had his same last name. So that’s a big assumption, but I think it’s a reasonable one.

Anyway, following though that connection, and someone’s generous transcription of a bunch of tombstones in what seems to be a family cemetery, I learned the maiden name of Dad’s grandmother. So, my confidence level goes way down, until……..

So Dad’s grandmother’s father once reported to the US Census that he was born in Wales. Then at another Census he said his father was Spanish. Then on a third he reported that he was born in United States Of America…. Assuming I’ve been following the right person, this sounds just like something my Dad (or I) would do Perhaps we’re related after all.

I’ve been working on a rough draft of my lineage (why yes, it is related to the impending marriage of My Sister’s Child). I’ve signed up for a short subscription to Ancestry.com, and after 3 days of pretty intensive searching I’ve learned so many things that I should have already known — and in the meantime totally exhausted Ancestry.com’s utility for researching my family’s history.

That’s ok, though, I’ve also learned some things that I would never have known without travelling to remote parts of Ohio (as remote as Ohio gets, anyway).

For example, I’ve always been told that one of Dad’s grandfathers was a veterinarian, but I’d always assumed it was the one on his mother’s side. It’s not — it’s his dad’s father. I don’t know what happened to his father — did Frederick and Mildred Nellie get a divorce? Did Frederick die? All I know is that sometime between 1930 and 1934, Fred and Nellie ended their marriage, and Nellie married a different Fred (perhaps she had a thing for the name?).

Then, on Mom’s side — I knew she had 2 brothers, but I always assumed they’d been her mother’s children. Now, I’m thinking they’re half-brothers, and they’re her father’s sons. I wish I’d asked for clarification a long time ago…

It seemed so difficult, though, talking about this old history, about these old hurts. My parents were each estranged from their parents (with the exception of my mom and grandmother — but grandma died pretty young).

So I’m left with inference and a bit of guesswork and maybe just a few stories about people to whom I’m not related, and yet it doesn’t matter. I can weave a reasonably coherent tale about my mother’s and father’s antecedents that makes it appear that I come from a Very Long Line of Ohio Farmers. That’s cool, though. I hope My Sister’s Child with think so, too.