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Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Monday, March 8, 2010

Time for Some Serious Irish-ness!!! On Being Irish



Are you Irish? During this time of year, a lot of folk consider themselves Irish, or want to be Irish, or wish they were Irish or want to live with the Irish (whatever THAT means...........)

Ahem...anyway, I've recently discovered that I'm just a tad more Irish than I ever thought I was.  My brother has done several years of research on our family ancestry and has come up with some interesting facts. I've gone a few steps further and researched a few facts that he chose not to and discovered some general fun little facts about my ancestry.

Prior to my brother's research, my family past was a bunch of scattered little tidbits that had little meaning, facts or background to support any of of the rumors and hearsays. My father had almost no information on his family since his own mother died when he was nine years old. His father was left needing to deal with a recently passed on wife, a dead infant and now five living children on his own. Apparently, he did the best that he could do in a crisis situation and fostered out his children to what he considered a safe environment for them.

My father was taken to a dairy farm near El Centro, California where his mother and sister passed away, and fostered in by his aunt and her current husband there. As for the girls, (my father's sisters), he took them back to Oklahoma and Texas to family there and had aunts and cousins care for them.

I'm not so sure that my father ever really knew that the woman that took him in and cared for him was his aunt. He seldom spoke of her and never referred to her as his aunt. It was only after my brother did research did I find that this was actually a family member.

This bit if information only serves to support the idea that we knew so little about our family. As a result, I believe my father made up stories to give himself a "place" of importance in his life. He had always told us kids that we were Irish...for the most part, and our relatives lived in County Cork, Ireland. His mother was Pennsylvania Dutch and Cherokee Indian. His father was Irish and Cherokee.

That couldn't have been further from the truth.

On my mother's side, she also knew very little about her heritage other than that her parents came from Manchester, England, emigrated to Canada a few years after the turn of the century. My aunt was born in Canada. Then, they continued from Canada to southern California here in the U.S. where my mother was born. My grandfather died before I was born, but my grandmother lived in Los Angeles, on  Flower St. for years in an old turn of the century mansion that had been converted to apts along with a bunch of other mansions in the area before they were torn down. We used to travel by bus to Los Angeles then take a short tram called "Angels Flight" to the downtown neighborhood. The rest of the way, we would walk up a steep hill until we got to "grandma's house".




My grandma used to give me all kinds of costume jewelry that she no longer wore. Much of it was cheaply made from the turn of the century. Old-fashioned and beautiful! It was quite Victorian appearing and I still have many of those pieces even though many of them are in sad shape with pieces missing, clasps broken or otherwise un-wearable. My grandma never really spoke much about her life prior to coming to the U.S. to anyone, which gives me the idea that her life was not pleasant prior to that. She married a man who was many years her senior and apparently sickly. He died at a fairly young age, apparently of tuberculosis. Yet, it strikes me odd that my mother had many tests for TB exposure and never tested positive for being exposed to it. Questions, questions...

Now that both sides of my family are in place with little information about their past, we only hear stories and hearsays about our ancestry. My grandmother stated a few times that she thought she had some German blood, but seldom spoke about it. Our researched family history does not support that claim.

So, all these years, I always thought I was some weird conglomeration of Irish, English, Dutch, Cherokee Indian and a "spot" of German.

The only thing true about the above sentence was that I was Irish and English. I have no idea where the rest came from!

We discovered that on my dad's side of the family that we are Scottish, Irish and Welsh; and given some of the names that pop up in the family history, some Viking explorers and plunderers made their way into the mix.

On my mom's side, we were primarily English for hundreds of years, with some Scottish entering into the picture now and again. I haven't had the chance to explore all the family names that have entered into the picture from as far back as Queen Elizabeth anyway.

For what I DO know is that my family on my dad's side comes from a peninsula in Scotland (the Kintyre peninsula) and that my family name means "son of the carpenter". This area is part of the kingdom of Dalriada from as far back as the 5th century A.D. Dalriada apparently was on both the Irish and Scottish side and is, more or less, modern day Argyleshire. My family heritage has some interesting stories about sailing to the Kintyre peninsula and coming across the Scottish Campbell clan. They wanted to settle on Campbell territory, so the Campbells decided that was OK but that my clan had to pay rent, so to speak, by presenting their clan with a snowball every Spring from the Scottish Highlands. That they did for years and apparently were very close in loyalty to one another over the centuries. In my clan's tartan, there is a small white thread that goes through that supposedly represents that "snowball".


Fun story! Is it true? I'm really not sure. But, it is probably a bit more true than us being Cherokee Indian!

Now, the Kintyre peninsula is in modern day Scotland, a long piece of land that lies just north of Ireland and about as close to Ireland as you can get; but the kingdom of Dalriada (or Dalridia and a whole of other ways to spell it) was also in northern Ireland. It appears that my family seems more bent on the Irish end of this area rather than the Scottish end. No matter though. They seemed to have crossed back and forth pretty freely. So, am I Scottish, or am Irish? I think it is a nice comglomeration of the two, since the Irish (AKA Scotti in ancient times) and Scots seem to wander back and forth. Our family seems to have a lot of "Pict" heritage based on the location of where they came from on my dad's side of the family.

Except for an occasional Scottish name showing up, my mother's side of the family was mainly from the north central part of Britian; Lancashire, Derbyshire, York and a few other areas. This area was controlled in early times by a tribe called the Brigantes, who also had holdings in Ireland. It is interesting to note that there are several ancient settlements named Brigantium around Europe: there was also a tribe called the Brigantes from what is modern day Betanzos, Spain falling within an area referred to as Celtic Gallaecia. Also, there is the Brigantii from the Alps from settlements bearing the name Brigantium now known as Bregenz and Briançonople and a few other names.    

I think if I go back far enough, I can probably trace my heritage to Noah to landed his ark probably somewhere in Turkey a very long time ago.

Nevertheless, tracing family history is very interesting and I learn a lot about my own mannerisms and traits that really do seem to go back for generations. Amazing how strong those ties are whether we wish to admit or not.

Based on my family history, I think I can claim a bit more Irish heritage than I originally thought. No, I don't speak Gaelic and am very poor at imitating an "Irish" accent. I was born in the U.S. which makes me a "United Statesian" as are my children. Because of my kid's dad, they also claim Spanish and quite possibly a bit of Italian blood (based on HIS heritage).




We are just crazy mixed up family!

How about yours?


Wednesday, November 25, 2009

A Non-Traditional Thanksgiving

We a re a busy family full of working adults and social butterfly teenagers. Neither hubby or I have "regular" Monday-Friday daytime jobs at "normal" times, so our schedule "rocks". Maybe I should call it "rocky" instead!

Anyway, we often work holidays and weekends; and sometimes we don't even get the same weekends off. It requires a lot of planning and working at keep our family/marriage alive and well.

Usually, on a holiday, we try to ensure that at least ONE of us adults are home and arranging some sort of traditional holiday festivity, but it isn't going to happen this Thanksgiving. We BOTH work. He works the night shift and I work the 12 hour day shift. So, hubby will be home but needing to get a little sleep, and I will be just gone!

The solution? Who said Thanksgiving has to be on Thursday? Not happening this year, at least for us. Instead, we will be having our Thanksgiving on Friday instead. It doesn't give me much time to prepare a "Thanksgiving" feast though. So, my plan is to purchase my goodies today and prepare most of the stuff today. Then, on Friday I can just pop in the oven and enjoy without killing myself.

Every year we go through this issue of "what are we going to have for Thanksgiving?". Why? Well, I have a finicky family. Hubby hates turkey, daughter hates ham. We have grown tired of cornish game hens. No one likes lamb but me. Everyone hates pork except me. What to do, what to do......hmmmm. I have not yet come up with a menu for Friday, but here are my thoughts for the main at least. Tell me what YOU think:

Lasagne




Chicken and seafood kabobs




Chicken pie




I am leaning toward the kabobs. They are so much fun to make and eat, don't take long to cook. I can marinate the meat all day Thursday, so they will be just fantastic by Friday.

Are you asking for a recipe? No, I don't have one; at least on paper anyway. I'm one of those 'fly by the seat of my pants' cooks. It's all up here in my head. I take an idea and run with it and seldom write anything down! Drives most folks nuts. I can give you a basic run down of what my plan is though, IF I still decide on the kabob thing.

Skewers, I have metal skewers but still prefer wooden ones that have been soaked in water prior to cooking.
The meat will marinate in some sort of sauce I have yet to create, still no idea yet which direction I want to go. It depends on what I find on sale at the grocery store. I'm thinking some sort of lemon pepper type thing, but nothing is set in stone. Maybe more of a spicy caribbean lime/rum thing?
When I make the marinade, I will put the strips of meat in it and let it savor up overnight.
Veggies? Well, of course, what's a kabob without fresh veggies! onion, peppers, tomatos, with just a little brushing of oil and herbs.
Must have a bed of rice, not sure what kind yet...you got it, whatever I find on sale at the grocery store is what will go in.
A little squeeze of lime at the end of the cooking and yum!
Tossed salad along with it and of course some little appetizers.
What to drink? No thoughts yet.
Dessert? I would like to have at least ONE traditional thing, so pumpkin pie for sure. Then, maybe another lighter dessert.
After dinner, I have a sweet port wine and want to add some dark chocolate nibbles to go with it.

OK, so there are a my thoughts so far. I am thinking of my menu as I write this blog. It's my best method of organizing thoughts.

Does it sound good?


I'll let you know how it all turns out next week :)

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

In Remembrance....



I have spoken a lot about our chihuahuas recently, but I have never mentioned this guy. There is a reason for that. It has been difficult for me to write about him.

His name was Zico, named by my husband after a Brazilian soccer player (futbol for the rest of the world not in the U.S.)

We lived in eastern Washington when we got Zico. He was a mix of lhasa apso and some sort of terrier that jumped the fence. He was desperately needing a good home. We gave him one. He was a tiny little ball of fur when we first got him..the runt of the litter. He melted our hearts immediately and became the love of all our lives.

Zico was a small dog, but with a big dog bark. He used his bark generously in all situations...even some that we would've preferred left silent. He was the barking doorbell in our home. He warned when the phone rang. He warned us when there was any strange goings on in the home or outside the home that shouldn't happen. He was small, but a wonderful guard dog.

He had a few other idiosyncracies that caused some problems. He was a very poor traveler and didn't tolerate car rides at all. Everytime he got in a car, he threw up. We concluded that he simply just became carsick and so we avoided car trips with him. That was tough because he really wanted so much to be with us when we went anywhere too.

Zico hated strangers. He loved his immediate family but anyone he did not consider family was not very welcome. We had the same babysitter for almost 10 years and he never really warmed up to her. She simply wasn't family. By the end of his life, she only had gained the status of "barely tolerated" in his mind.

It was last summer that we knew that Zico was not doing well. He had gained weight, poor energy,and simply "looked unwell". We were so strapped for money at the time until late this winter that we could not afford to take him to the vet. But I knew what was wrong with him and I also knew that the only thing a vet could offer was to put him to sleep. None of us could bear to part with him and he seemed to want to be with us so much.

We coddled him and cared for him until the last. He had lived with us thirteen years and his time was close. One night, he seemed to want to be very close to me all evening. On the way to bed, he walked with me to my bedroom. I sat down and looked at him and he watched me for a moment. Then, he plopped down right in front of me, laid on his side, turned his head to look at me....and died. I held him very close and cried for a few minutes before wrapping him up in a blanket and placing him in our cool garage until morning. My husband had already left for work, my son was sleeping and my daughter was staying the night with friends when this happened, and it was two days before Christmas.

Zico was a very special family dog. Losing him really was like losing a part of our family. We all loved him dearly.

We had made a myspace site about him before he died and it still exists.
http://www.myspace.com/zico_the_dog

We created a myspace in rememberance of him and I wrote one little blog...written as if it were Zico writing it, as follows:


I now reside in heaven

I'm Zico, and my family made this site about me. They didn't make it for me, they made it about me. They tried hard to understand everything I was thinking and tried to put those thoughts into this site. They didn't get it all right, but the gist of it is mostly true.

I love my family. They have always loved me and taken care of me. However, in the last few weeks of my life, it became too hard to take care of me. They considered ending my life artificially at the vets to ease my suffering, but they couldn't let go. I understand that. I didn't want to let them go either. As hard as it was for me, I wanted to stay with them every minute and be with them.

Today was the last day of my life here on earth. I knew it was coming. I felt the need to be so close to my family all day, but I knew it was time.

It was about 10:45pm and dad had just left for work like he usually does. Mom was getting ready to go to bed. I had to follow her into the bedroom because I didn't want to be alone. She went into the bathroom and sat down and watched me while I came in the bathroom door. She saw me, bent down to pet me behind my ears like she always does. I've always loved that and she knew it. I was tired, so very tired and I laid down. Suddenly, I felt something very odd, turned on my side to look at her...and saw her face one last time.

It was a really strange sensation, I could hear her voice and feel her hand on me, but then everything just sort of faded away and the next thing I know I am in the best place ever. I'm no longer sick. I can run around and be a young dog again. That's the best part. I miss my family but something tells me I'll see them again.

I love all of you and will never forget you!!!! Don't cry though, because I really am doing well and in a better place now. Be happy for me, please!



Love,

Zico