Ancesters What we hope to learn about ourselves from learning about them.

  


What do I hope to learn?

      My first immediate response, is nothing.  That may well be my theory after I write this, but who knows? I don't usually bother to think before I write, so your guess may even be better than mine.

      I have joined, and unjoined and rejoined the ancestors site now, for the third time. They keep enticing me with emails.  "you have 33 possible clues to your family tree". They let you see them, but not to actually view the content. Tease you so they can get you to grease their palms. Well, if the internet had palms. I like figures of speech. I hate mathematical figures. Go figure.
 
     Previously, I only spent money on the US searches. That didn't get me very far. If you remember (LOL) my post about the roadshow, I mentioned that my families came from Russia and Poland and so the hopes of finding that much in the US were limited.

     This time, the special for 6 months of world wide information was, too much to pass by. I haven't started to look yet. I'm still finished with setting up Christmas. Also, the post before last will explain about the nice (or not so nice) Jewish woman doing Christmas.

      I am also a little worried about looking around the world. Hard as it may seem to you, I don't know Russian or Polish. I can't speak them and I surely can't read them. In my secret thought, that I just realized I have at this very moment, is that I am hoping they have some sort of translation program or I am screwed.

     I can read Hebrew, but not Yiddish. For those of you who don't know the difference I'll see if I do.

    I believe the alphabet is the same. I surely hope so. Even though I can "read" I'm not sure my skills are better than a third grader. The problem is that they are two different languages. Yiddish is actually more a combination of German and some Hebrew and who knows what else thrown into the mix. Ironic if you think about it. Heil, you know who.

   I can liken it to reading English and Spanish. Yes, I can read the words. And in Spanish I may even understand some of them.  However, I do not know the meaning of all the words. And in Yiddish, they don't have vowels so even if I try, I probably won't even be able to sound them out.

   The real question though, is why are we so curious about where we came from.  I've watched some of the episodes on TV where famous people are flown around the world, given translations and get to find out amazing stories. ( *AD) Yeah, like being famous isn't enough of a perk. You don't have to track it down yourself, pay for a translator and find out you come from a family of Russian peasants who, if you are lucky, were a healthy lot. Translate that into fat with curly, frizzy hair.

    Do most of us secretly believe we came from better than we are now which make us better now?  I know I don't. (*AD)  It does remind me of the search for past lives. I guess I haven't mentioned it yet.  My specialty before I stopped working, was doing past life regression therapy. It's really only psychotic people who believe they were (or still are) Cleopatra or Napoleon).

    During the regressions, most people were regular people like they are now. They usually want to understand why a relationship is so fraught with conflict or why they can't find their soul mate.
      In any case, I never met anyone who was famous in a previous life. Or this one for that matter.  (end of this digression about regression)

      Curiosity. Pocket Oxford Dictionary, 1927 edition defines curious as: Eager to learn, inquisitive, prying, puzzling, inviting, and the desire to know the details of something.  I definitely like details. Unfortunately I now have trouble remembering them.

      A curious child is every teachers dream. Generally, we are only curious about some things. Usually not geography, history, foreign languages or math. Unless of course it pertains to our favorite subject. Ourselves.  (or sex which you hope will pertain to yourself).

      The topic most people are most interested is, as was just stated,  you got it, ourselves.  I'll admit that caring about oneself is essential to survival. I do believe that our culture has taken it to an art form and not all art forms are pretty.

      I too, am a product of the culture I grew up in. I am interested in me. Fortunately I am also interested in other people and  society and even things that go bump in the night. Get your minds out of the gutter.

      It's as if, if I know my roots I'll find something to explain who I am. Why I am. I don't know why just being isn't enough. It never has been for me. Granted, I am curious about many things, which you will note as you read on, because my topics are, at least seem to me, to be smatterings of many topics. I try to tie them together with a theory, and unfortunately for you, my favorite theory that works for everything is in our DNA.

      I will do my  ancester searching and if I'm lucky I'll find out something I don't already know. Something that might help me on my road to self discovery although many people would ask me why I am bothering at this stage of my life.

      Kick back and relax. Chill.  Do the things you couldn't when you were working. Those appear to be difficult to my nature. Not that I don't kick back. The relaxing part is where I seem to go wrong. I'm always in a hurry. I ask myself, why the rush?  I always feel like there is something I have to finish. Or start. I tell myself that all I'm doing is rushing to my own funeral. It should slow me down  but  I can't keep it in mind long enough.

      I was just out, running errands and having lunch with a friend. I left so I could come home and do the things I left undone.

           I had to stop for gas and was lost in thought. I pulled in at a pump and realized it was the wrong side of the car.  For the last 9 years  the driver side was the side I needed. For the last 8 months it changed. I thought I was okay remembering where to go and haven't made that mistake in ages.  So, I swung the car around so I'd be on the side where the gas cap is, and hit the front end of my bumper on the rubber guard around the pump.
   I gassed up and figured I should look and see if I did any damage. It didn't sound so bad.


     WRONG!  It's a bloody mess. Okay. I can make myself feel better. My father was my first and only ancestor to drive a car. And I'm betting that no one in the family, on either side had enough money for a mule or horse or anything else that was driven.  So, considering that I come from a long line of non-drivers, I'm doing really ,really well.

      Did I already write a piece about denial? Or rationalization?   Those are good topics too.

I have an old photo of my mother's mother's family. It's on Pinterest and I can't find it on the computer. I'm sure I did it before my hard drive crashed and I can't figure out how to convert it.

The cherry on the top of my cake for today.  Oh well. I like cake. Or Brioche as the French say.
  

Mom's Dad

Dad, pantless and his parents

My mom and dad and my Grandma.