You remember that my cousin Lyn and I are... hot on the family history trail? Well, Lyn is, I ran out of steam several years ago. Interested still but short on time, so Lyn is our expert. We're both intrigued by family history, or lack of it. The search began over 10 years ago, and to be perfectly honest, on the "Williams" side, we're not much further on than we were 10 years ago.
Recently, after having passions reignited via "Who Do You Think You Are?" US, it got me all fired up again to grab a shovel and start digging. Watching the stories of Tim McGraw, Rosie O'D, Rashida Jones, Edie Falco, Lionel Richie and Gwyneth Paltrow, Lyn and I got chatting last night, mainly about Mark Birch, our Great Grandfather, and as Lyn put it, if we hadn't seen his name on our Nanna's birth certificate, or visited his grave, we would seriously doubt that he ever existed.
Edie, Tim et al. all excitedly viewed records dating back to the 1700s and here we are hitting brick wall after brick wall on the hunt for our Great Grandfather. Something is amiss, somewhere.
My Nanna's birth certificate lists Mark as a "Corn Weigher" and her marriage certificate lists Mark as a "Corn Porter". With renewed vigour, I decided to go back to basics. Initially I imagined "corn" anything, to be completed in the countryside, fields as far as the eye could see. Logical yes? Apparently not, corn weighers weighed corn to be loaded onto a ship either on the dock, or on board the actual ship. This dock work must have lead to the entry on his death certificate, retired "steamship fireman". One job on the docks, must have lead to another.
I'll never give up and nor will Lyn, this family conundrum is as infuriating as hell. We'll get to the bottom of it eventually but I so wish I was famous so that "Who?" could instruct the experts on our behalf. I am longing for the ending of that particular story.
Sunday, 24 March 2013
108, Not Out
22nd March 2013 would have been my Auntie Phe's, (Phoebe Hannah's,) 108th birthday. I find that amazing. Auntie Phe actually checked out about 12 years ago, but she loved cricket. It will be 12 years next month I think, but time passes so quickly and I hadn't kept track of time in my head and so had to text my cousin Lyn, to double check how old she would have been, it will be Lyn's birthday tomorrow.
I remember 12 years ago pondering on all of the changes Auntie Phe must have borne witness to; the telephone arriving in homes for the first time in Liverpool, taxi cabs which weren't horse drawn, the end of the tram and the emergence of the bus, petrol driven, commercial aeroplanes, helicopters, Concord, television. She was born in 1905 and lived through two World Wars, I do remember asking her about family history but I'm sorry I didn't chat to her more about times gone by.
It was a long week in work. Lots of decisions about my future to be made, plus the day job.
It's Friday and it has snowed since 3am. It is now 7pm and the sky looks orange and it's still snowing. I'm so tired of the cold... and the beautiful, white stuff. Anyway, on the bright side, graze on my elbow is healing, bruises are fading, coccyx is recovering... slowly.
I remember 12 years ago pondering on all of the changes Auntie Phe must have borne witness to; the telephone arriving in homes for the first time in Liverpool, taxi cabs which weren't horse drawn, the end of the tram and the emergence of the bus, petrol driven, commercial aeroplanes, helicopters, Concord, television. She was born in 1905 and lived through two World Wars, I do remember asking her about family history but I'm sorry I didn't chat to her more about times gone by.
It was a long week in work. Lots of decisions about my future to be made, plus the day job.
It's Friday and it has snowed since 3am. It is now 7pm and the sky looks orange and it's still snowing. I'm so tired of the cold... and the beautiful, white stuff. Anyway, on the bright side, graze on my elbow is healing, bruises are fading, coccyx is recovering... slowly.
Friday, 22 March 2013
Chin Up
I love the TV Show, "Who Do You Think You Are?" It makes you think about your roots, not that I need a prompt but, life is so busy, I'm happy to have a reminder to think back.
Recently, I've started recording the US version and last week, I went on a journey with Rosie O'Donnell. You can't help but warm to Rosie, of course I knew of her, I've seen her work both as an actress and as a talk show host but I hadn't retained an opinion. Rosie has that, hard, New York, take me or leave me, but don't even think about messing with me, demeanour, but she is very easy to warm to.
As Rosie knew, she has strong Irish roots and she ended her journey, after a surprising detour via Canada, in Ireland. Rosie was told of the struggle and of the harshness of reality that was Ireland at that time. Her family had ended up in the workhouse, the last resort for families who couldn't support themselves. I had family members in such "houses" in Liverpool. Rosie rightly commented, while standing in what remained of one "house" that it reminded her of a concentration camp.
I love the stories which unfold in these episodes and I love the reminder that sometimes, no matter how bad you think things are, you know that you have to pull yourself up by your boot straps. Your ancestors overcame worse things and by virtue of DNA, you must have some of their gumption within you. Deep breath, chin up, move on.
Recently, I've started recording the US version and last week, I went on a journey with Rosie O'Donnell. You can't help but warm to Rosie, of course I knew of her, I've seen her work both as an actress and as a talk show host but I hadn't retained an opinion. Rosie has that, hard, New York, take me or leave me, but don't even think about messing with me, demeanour, but she is very easy to warm to.
As Rosie knew, she has strong Irish roots and she ended her journey, after a surprising detour via Canada, in Ireland. Rosie was told of the struggle and of the harshness of reality that was Ireland at that time. Her family had ended up in the workhouse, the last resort for families who couldn't support themselves. I had family members in such "houses" in Liverpool. Rosie rightly commented, while standing in what remained of one "house" that it reminded her of a concentration camp.
I love the stories which unfold in these episodes and I love the reminder that sometimes, no matter how bad you think things are, you know that you have to pull yourself up by your boot straps. Your ancestors overcame worse things and by virtue of DNA, you must have some of their gumption within you. Deep breath, chin up, move on.
Monday, 18 March 2013
One Step Beyond
I slept great last night. After years of surviving on next to no sleep, my body can't seem to get enough these days and I regularly and easily get eight or nine hours sleep most nights, this worries me.
I rose, had some toast with butter and blackcurrant jam then jogged, at a very sedate pace, for 50 minutes. iPod rocks at the moment, full of new and distracting stuff, Damien Rice, Kelly Clarkson, Adele, Rihanna.
Headed out for my usual coffee at Starbucks, it's still cold but the sun is actually shining which makes such a lovely change.
I read a little, wrote a little, enjoyed my coffee then head out to get milk and check my tyre pressure before heading home.
B called in for a tea and a chat after church, I carried on with my sorting and tidying then hit the shower. Which is where I slipped, fell backwards pulling the shower curtain off the rail, then the rail off it's fixings, landed on coccyx and bumped head, scraped elbow. This is were you think hmmm, could be dead in a heap, and no one would know.
I rose, had some toast with butter and blackcurrant jam then jogged, at a very sedate pace, for 50 minutes. iPod rocks at the moment, full of new and distracting stuff, Damien Rice, Kelly Clarkson, Adele, Rihanna.
Headed out for my usual coffee at Starbucks, it's still cold but the sun is actually shining which makes such a lovely change.
I read a little, wrote a little, enjoyed my coffee then head out to get milk and check my tyre pressure before heading home.
B called in for a tea and a chat after church, I carried on with my sorting and tidying then hit the shower. Which is where I slipped, fell backwards pulling the shower curtain off the rail, then the rail off it's fixings, landed on coccyx and bumped head, scraped elbow. This is were you think hmmm, could be dead in a heap, and no one would know.
Saturday, 16 March 2013
Dermatology
Thursday, I had my first ever dermatology appointment, at a not so local hospital. I'd asked J to come with me, months before. I finished work and was home for about 10 minutes when she arrived to pick me up for the journey. Found the hospital no problem but we couldn't find a parking space.
J drops me off at the main hospital door, I have about 15 minutes before my appointment but, so that I'm not panicking, I leave the car and let J go on to find a space. I look at the board, gosh it's complicated. I head off to the left and I'm frantically reading signs as I stride. I am supposed to be heading for the blue zone, outpatients one, I can see a sign for everything, but that.
A doctor is about 6 paces in front of me. He flashes a pass and walks thought double doors, I pass through behind, tailgating him, immediately see a sign for "mortuary," and quickly jump back through the automatic doors before they close. Pretty sure this is not where I'm supposed to be.
Handsome doctor approaches. I say "doctor", he has a stethoscope around his neck and great hair... so I'm assuming. I ask for directions, basically, I need to head back the way I've come, I went wrong from the word "go."
I've had a problem with my skin for over 20 years. Since puberty actually, I've tried everything, every wash and mask you can buy from Boots. I've had from the GP; antibiotics, gels, creams, lotions, potions, the pill, I've tried facials, nothing worked. Six months ago, my GP offered me a referral to a dermatologist, couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't offered this 15-20 years ago?
It's 50 minutes after my appointment time when I'm finally called to a much smaller waiting area... to wait for another 5 minutes. I finally get to see the doctor. She is very nice, looks tired, is of Eastern European decent and while her English is good, I have to clarify everything as her accent is so strong. I have to ask her to repeat most things or I repeat back to her to check my understanding. My last chance is a very strong drug, it's a very mild, chemotherapy, has lots of side effects and I don't want to miss anything just by being too polite to double check my understanding. The main thing is, I absolutely cannot get pregnant... from what I can gather.
After an embarrassing conversation about birth control, I was fine, doctor was embarrassed, she went on to say, "can you imagine having this conversation with a 15 year old... her Dad present?" I did my best to alleviate the tension.
I was asked to provide a variety of bodily fluids, I would need to provide about 10 samples over the course. It's a six month treatment and it felt like I was being asked to jump through hoops. The hospital is not local and it just seemed like, it was just too much. I got a bit tearful and I pushed the paperwork on the desk, back towards the doctor, rejecting the treatment. I've been left to cope with the situation for over 20 years, maybe I should just get on with it.
"You've waited this long... give it a chance." The doctor was nice and I felt defeated and too tired to argue. I was fed up, but already there, I may as well give it a chance.
"It'll just be five minutes, then you can go." Well, five minutes turned into just over two hours. To begin with, it took staff 10 minutes to take a water sample off me, then it took two staff, three tests, just to check that I wasn't pregnant. And so it went on. I left home at 2.45pm and got back at 6.50pm.
It's six months out of my life and I suppose I may as well give it a go, a last chance. After that, the world had better get used to me as I am.
J drops me off at the main hospital door, I have about 15 minutes before my appointment but, so that I'm not panicking, I leave the car and let J go on to find a space. I look at the board, gosh it's complicated. I head off to the left and I'm frantically reading signs as I stride. I am supposed to be heading for the blue zone, outpatients one, I can see a sign for everything, but that.
A doctor is about 6 paces in front of me. He flashes a pass and walks thought double doors, I pass through behind, tailgating him, immediately see a sign for "mortuary," and quickly jump back through the automatic doors before they close. Pretty sure this is not where I'm supposed to be.
Handsome doctor approaches. I say "doctor", he has a stethoscope around his neck and great hair... so I'm assuming. I ask for directions, basically, I need to head back the way I've come, I went wrong from the word "go."
I've had a problem with my skin for over 20 years. Since puberty actually, I've tried everything, every wash and mask you can buy from Boots. I've had from the GP; antibiotics, gels, creams, lotions, potions, the pill, I've tried facials, nothing worked. Six months ago, my GP offered me a referral to a dermatologist, couldn't help but wonder why I wasn't offered this 15-20 years ago?
It's 50 minutes after my appointment time when I'm finally called to a much smaller waiting area... to wait for another 5 minutes. I finally get to see the doctor. She is very nice, looks tired, is of Eastern European decent and while her English is good, I have to clarify everything as her accent is so strong. I have to ask her to repeat most things or I repeat back to her to check my understanding. My last chance is a very strong drug, it's a very mild, chemotherapy, has lots of side effects and I don't want to miss anything just by being too polite to double check my understanding. The main thing is, I absolutely cannot get pregnant... from what I can gather.
After an embarrassing conversation about birth control, I was fine, doctor was embarrassed, she went on to say, "can you imagine having this conversation with a 15 year old... her Dad present?" I did my best to alleviate the tension.
I was asked to provide a variety of bodily fluids, I would need to provide about 10 samples over the course. It's a six month treatment and it felt like I was being asked to jump through hoops. The hospital is not local and it just seemed like, it was just too much. I got a bit tearful and I pushed the paperwork on the desk, back towards the doctor, rejecting the treatment. I've been left to cope with the situation for over 20 years, maybe I should just get on with it.
"You've waited this long... give it a chance." The doctor was nice and I felt defeated and too tired to argue. I was fed up, but already there, I may as well give it a chance.
"It'll just be five minutes, then you can go." Well, five minutes turned into just over two hours. To begin with, it took staff 10 minutes to take a water sample off me, then it took two staff, three tests, just to check that I wasn't pregnant. And so it went on. I left home at 2.45pm and got back at 6.50pm.
It's six months out of my life and I suppose I may as well give it a go, a last chance. After that, the world had better get used to me as I am.
1%
So the next day, I felt positively scalped as I washed the head in the shower, of course, there is still tons of it but Louise did a great job shaping it up.
The weekend evaporated before I knew it and it was Monday... again. My body is lagging behind the positive healthy image that I'm carrying around with me at present in my head. I have stomach ache all the time, aches if I eat anything, aches if I don't.
I headed to the Doctor's on Monday for my blood pressure "discussion". Conversation went something like this; "so you did the 24 hour blood pressure monitoring test, your overall average was high, so we'll sort out some meds for you today."
"Right away?" I was stunned, I honestly thought I'd get another go, I failed my driving test first time around, and my history GCSE, well, I got a "D", how come I don't get another go this time?
I launched into my best negotiating tactics, it was a test, I was really anxious about taking it and I like to do well at tests so I put more pressure on myself, I was really conscious of it "going off" every 30 minutes while I was in work, I felt embarrassed, I was worried about failing. My doctor had a wry smile on her face by this point and she turned to the computer to scan my other test results. My other results were "excellent" and at this point, if she leaves it for a few months, I only have a 1% chance of developing heart disease, and so I won a reprieve.
I don't know if I've made this up or if I heard it somewhere, but in my head, once I'm on blood pressure meds, I'll be on them for life, which is why it's so important for me to try to get this under control naturally. I get to take the test again in May. If I fail in May, I'm on meds but hey, I passed my driving test second time around, and I got a "C" in my History second time around, it'll be fine.
The weekend evaporated before I knew it and it was Monday... again. My body is lagging behind the positive healthy image that I'm carrying around with me at present in my head. I have stomach ache all the time, aches if I eat anything, aches if I don't.
I headed to the Doctor's on Monday for my blood pressure "discussion". Conversation went something like this; "so you did the 24 hour blood pressure monitoring test, your overall average was high, so we'll sort out some meds for you today."
"Right away?" I was stunned, I honestly thought I'd get another go, I failed my driving test first time around, and my history GCSE, well, I got a "D", how come I don't get another go this time?
I launched into my best negotiating tactics, it was a test, I was really anxious about taking it and I like to do well at tests so I put more pressure on myself, I was really conscious of it "going off" every 30 minutes while I was in work, I felt embarrassed, I was worried about failing. My doctor had a wry smile on her face by this point and she turned to the computer to scan my other test results. My other results were "excellent" and at this point, if she leaves it for a few months, I only have a 1% chance of developing heart disease, and so I won a reprieve.
I don't know if I've made this up or if I heard it somewhere, but in my head, once I'm on blood pressure meds, I'll be on them for life, which is why it's so important for me to try to get this under control naturally. I get to take the test again in May. If I fail in May, I'm on meds but hey, I passed my driving test second time around, and I got a "C" in my History second time around, it'll be fine.
Fringe Benefits
Just need to recap on the dying embers of last Sunday, 4.50pm with a gun metal sky and sunshine bouncing off the trees and into my patio. I love this light, I've missed this light for six months.
Hi Col, how are you chick? Yes, it's another Sunday, these weeks are flying by. As I write, it's 3rd March. Actually, I started this yesterday. Week in work was like wading through a thick, pea soup. Didn't sleep great for the best part of the week. My HR person had a meeting with my old department on Tuesday, to see if I could get transferred back to the department from whence I came. Long story short, out of 14 people who had transferred to the department within a couple of months of the announcement to close, me arriving just 6 weeks before the announcement, anyway, 13 people can go back to their original departments and permanent jobs. Me? My managers want me back, but there are no permanent places, so I am the only one left without a permanent job. They have put me in a redundancy situation, and I can't, for the life of me work out how this is legal. I was both gutted and hormonal to boot, actually, I'm more hormonal than not hormonal at any given moment, any time of the month, and it's exhausting.
On Friday, after a few hours on a particularly tricky case, after a really long week, I announced to my manager, that I had lost the will to live. She departed on a long lunch, only to return two hours later with Krispy Kreme donuts. Some managers are worth their weight in gold. A ring shaped piece of sugary heaven lightened my load and helped me limp to the finish line that is Friday afternoon.
After a trip around the supermarket, I headed to the old town and called in at my hairdressers just to book an appointment, the lovely Louise fitted me in there and then but made me promise to tell everyone that Louise cuts most of my hair... but not my fringe, (which I hack at myself,) so, as promised, the fringe, is all my own work.
Hi Col, how are you chick? Yes, it's another Sunday, these weeks are flying by. As I write, it's 3rd March. Actually, I started this yesterday. Week in work was like wading through a thick, pea soup. Didn't sleep great for the best part of the week. My HR person had a meeting with my old department on Tuesday, to see if I could get transferred back to the department from whence I came. Long story short, out of 14 people who had transferred to the department within a couple of months of the announcement to close, me arriving just 6 weeks before the announcement, anyway, 13 people can go back to their original departments and permanent jobs. Me? My managers want me back, but there are no permanent places, so I am the only one left without a permanent job. They have put me in a redundancy situation, and I can't, for the life of me work out how this is legal. I was both gutted and hormonal to boot, actually, I'm more hormonal than not hormonal at any given moment, any time of the month, and it's exhausting.
On Friday, after a few hours on a particularly tricky case, after a really long week, I announced to my manager, that I had lost the will to live. She departed on a long lunch, only to return two hours later with Krispy Kreme donuts. Some managers are worth their weight in gold. A ring shaped piece of sugary heaven lightened my load and helped me limp to the finish line that is Friday afternoon.
After a trip around the supermarket, I headed to the old town and called in at my hairdressers just to book an appointment, the lovely Louise fitted me in there and then but made me promise to tell everyone that Louise cuts most of my hair... but not my fringe, (which I hack at myself,) so, as promised, the fringe, is all my own work.
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