Category Archives: Life

Poet

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I self-identify as a Poet. I hear this goes well with Memoir and other non-fiction type forms. My problem with writing seems to be that I do not want to lose control of what I am doing and the fact that I wrote next to nothing in junior high, high school, and by testing out of college I also avoided a lot of the writing need there as well. If I am a writer, I am a writer who hasn’t written a whole hell of a lot. If I am a Poet, I am a Poet by birthright and by temperament. Perhaps I just need to let go?

Patriot Ancestors

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Allen Valentine
Allison Alexander
Bailey Carr
Callahan Edward
Cawood Berry
Cawood Stephen
Coombs John
Cornett Nathaniel
Cox Cary
Crow William
Davidson Daniel
Duff Shadrack
Gilbert Thomas
Gilbert Thomas
Hardy John
Haynes George
Haynes William
Hunseker Abraham
Isaacs Godfrey
Joyce Elijah
Joyce John
Lumpkin Dickerson
Lumpkin Dickerson
Shook Jacob
Tillman John
Turner William
Upton Robert
Ware Henry
Wilson James
Wilson Phillip
Wren George
Wren William

Hamlet

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To be, or not to be: that is the ques-
tion:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and, by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the
rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may
come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s con-
tumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
ls sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.

Moving

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Now that we are retired we are thinking about moving. The Caribbean is our first choice. There has to be a beautiful island down there that is affordable to live on. We will see.

I am going to get my PADI certs.

My Family

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By 1981, my mom and our cousin, Barb Riipi, had been making trips to the national archives in St Louis, MO for the last few years. My mom handed me a pile of papers: some were hand drawn pedigree charts, and some copied papers of information that they had found. She told me that John Lewis was my immigrant ancestor (not true), that he had given 5 sons to the American Revolution (not true), that he had killed to Irish lord in Ireland and had fled to America (mostly myth), and that we did not descend from anyone who had served in the American Revolution, at least not yet.

 

                I first discovered the Valley Manuscript written by Margaret Lynn, wife of John Lewis, but further enquiry shows this to be a hoax.

 

In 1996 I decided to get on the internet for the first time. One day I typed John Lewis into Infoseek and the second website down was a website dedicated to my 6th GG, John Lewis and his descendants. This website was run by Brenda Lewis, now Gervais. After a few days spending time on the discussion board, someone asked if it was possible to get a copy of The Family of John Lewis, Pioneer compiled by Irvin Frazier. Within the hour I had purchased a copy from a small bookstore in West Virginia and put all of the information on the John Lewis, Pioneer discussion board. Within 4 hours all of the copies had been bought from that store. 5 generations of my family are completely documented in that book. Now the book sells for upwards of $600.

 

                The book Kinfolks of William Parke and Synah Perry & Josiah Wilson and William Crow by Margie Ellis Howell is the best resource for our family from Miller to Lewis. It is available on familysearch.org under BOOKS just type in: Parke Perry Wilson Crow and you can find the book. Try Google as well.

 

 

Memoir Start

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Alcoholism remains a horrible disease that causes broken families and broken lives in every culture. Secrets are kept by every family, but alcohol is the worst drug because it is the most socially acceptable drug.

The house was filled with the debris of life, smelling of cigarettes and whisky and a dog. I played violin in an orchestra and played baseball every chance I got. Reading was the escape that kept my life important. Drunken nights of mother were the norm and I knew to keep my head down even in daylight.

Mom would drag me out of bed by my hair and proceed to slap me around and beat me to a pulp while telling me I was worthless and why I would never amount to anything. A 1/5 of Whiskey per night was the norm.

One night, the rage finally tipped my hand and I knocked my mother out cold and went to bed. Fear of consequences was the last thing on his mind.

The next morning, I got up and went out to see if my mother was still out cold in the living room, or if she was dead. Damn! She was not there and must have got up and gone to bed. She got up later that morning, didn’t say anything all day, and never hit me again. If I had known it was going to work I would have hit her when I was much younger. I would become somebody no matter what!

 

Next, or something else indeed.

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My last classes start next week and I will soon see what I want to do now or next or…whatever. I have been told I am a talented writer by several people so far. I used to be a gifted violinist when young and gave it all up for stupid, youthful ideas. The first time I thought I would like to be a writer was upon reading A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway at age 24. Ernie wrote a memoir about his days in Paris after the Great War aka World War I. I have read and re-read this book several times and I am just starting it again. I just read the memoir Glass Castles and I would like to write more than memoir allows. It seems that only a memoir is coming out of me at this time, but after the harangue of classes I will then take a good look at writing as a profession.

No one seems to think my ability to do family trees/genealogy should be rewarded so I will no longer expect that someday I will be paid for this kind of work. I was once a gifted musician and now I’m better than that at research and research jobs.

I am kind of scared at the idea of being a pro writer, but that is all I have left after all of my I wants and I needs are exhausted. I am looking forward to having my Certificate in Writing in my hot little hand.