Part One of “The Universe Is At It Again!”: Who Am I?

Who are you? Or better yet, who am I? That’s the quintessential question, isn’t it? And I think every one of us is searching for that elusive answer, despite how confident we might be.

Who am I, indeed? What makes me ME?

One of my biggest regrets is never preserving each of my four grandparents’ stories…their backgrounds, families, cultures, heritages, and what made each of them THEM.

Sure, I talked with them a bit when I was young, but I don’t remember much of anything because I never took the time to write anything down.

That part of my story, their individual stories comprised of their contributions to my genetic blueprint, is forever lost.

Huge regret.

HUGE.

I do recall being told over the years that my heritage includes Russian, English, German, and a tad bit of Irish.

Tad bit of Irish? With my connection to all things Ireland over the past 3 years, I longed for more than just a “tad” bit of Irish in my background.

So, last summer, I decided to see if I could find out exactly that that “tad” was comprised of.

Three weeks before I left for Dublin, I began researching my genealogy hoping to find an Irish connection, specifically through my Grandpa C. He never shared much of anything about his background or family, but I vaguely recall him saying there was Irish mixed in with his mostly English heritage.

Our local library offers free Ancestry access to anyone with a library card, so I spent a few summer afternoons playing detective as I tried to uncover at least one Irish link. The more I searched, the more discoveries about my family heritage I made, but with each click ahead I fell further behind on making a concrete Irish connection.

All in all, I ended up learning a lot, but I was unable to confirm or deny what it was that brought me to the library in the first place.

For starters, I found out pretty quickly that my supposed Russian heritage was perhaps incorrectly attributed.

Census from 1930

The line in my heritage through my father’s mother’s family provided very quick and solid information. Grandma C. always said that she was Russian, and she even knew how to speak it. However, I think she might have been mistaken. On every census and official document I could find on her family line, the home country of her parents, J and E, was different. The earliest I could find from the early 1900s listed Galicia (not the one in Spain) as their home country, and that changed over the years to Austria, Poland, and Russia.

Galicia was one of those recurring terms from last summer that guided me, and I wrote a separate entry about that here.

I unearthed more information about Grandma C.’s line, and my mother’s parents and their lines, but the line from my dad’s father gave me the least amount of data. All I found was Grandpa C.’s marriage certificate to Grandma C. (the one with parents from Galicia), which included both of their parent’s names, one entry in a census report from 1940, and his birth and death dates.

When he heard I was trying to learn about our family, my Uncle G (Dad’s brother) gave me a red binder filled with photos from Grandpa C.’s side and obituary clippings and memorial cards from many members of his family. I meticulously went through the album hoping to find a link to Ireland, but I came up with nothing. Most of the pictures didn’t have names, and the ones that did were people who both my Uncle and I had never met or really heard of before.

I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to confirm anything Irish in my heritage. Drats.

I traveled to Dublin in August, unsure of whether or not I had any legit ties to what has become one of my favorite places in the world. That trip changed my life in so many ways regardless of whether I’m truly Irish or not.

When I returned from my trip, the frenzy of back to school hit hard, and I abandoned my genealogy research for the time being. I instead focused on my novel, my writing, and my responsibilities. Another summer would be here, soon, with time for me to once again pursue learning about the origins of my heritage.

Stay tuned for Part Two tomorrow!

 

Thank You, Chicago Cubs…We Need You SO Much!

This year’s MLB playoff season was the best that I can remember. As the first games began, I wasn’t necessarily rooting for any specific teams, although I had a soft spot for two of them. One was the Cleveland Indians, in part because of Andrew Miller (since the Yankees traded him and Ardolis Chapman, I was hoping for a World Series Ring for one of them), and as an 80’s teen, in part because of the movie Major League.

The other team I was hoping would do well was the Chicago Cubs for a number of reasons. One was pitcher Jon Lester. If you know his story, you know how he survived Lymphoma only to come back less than two years later and pitch Game 7 of the 2007 World Series, which he won for the Red Sox. That alone is just amazing, and a true story of victory amid a terrible hand dealt by life. However, Jon Lester earned my utmost respect in 2014 when he appeared in Nike’s “Resp2ct” saying farewell to Derek Jeter. Lester, in his Red Sox uniform, was seen ready to pitch to Jeter, and Lester was the first one to tip his hat, which led to many other greats also tipping their hat in a show of respect and thanks to the Yankee Captain. Lester didn’t let his uniform or fandom define his loyalties.

Of course, the 108-year drought and the stories accompanying the Cubs history made each and every victory more amazing. The Indians, in their own right, were hoping to erase their own 68-year drought.

Unfortunately, my bedtime was not conducive to watching the games in their entirety, but I did my best to watch what I could before my eyelids went on strike.

If you are interested in reading a recap of the 2016 MLB Playoff Season, there are plenty of other sites to help you do that. These are some of my simple observations and reactions to the 2016 World Series, things that I will remember, and things that gave (and still give me) hope.

Seeing the individual stories of each team, each player, and fans from both sides hoping for a victory were a lesson in loyalty and in perseverance. From a man who drove to his father’s grave to listen to game 7, to the stories of fellow humans well into their golden years, each snippet of a glimpse into the lives of these people when combined is the true definition of loyalty. The anthems performed by John Vincent and the Cleveland Orchestra, alongside “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” sung by Bill Murray, Vince Vaughan, and Eddie Vedder unified us and brought us all together, regardless of stadium or team.

108 years versus 68 years is historic in its own right, but seeing individual feats of history during the series, especially in Game 7, was equally momentous. Corey Kluber’s amazing pitching in games 1 and 4 was a force to be reckoned with. Kluber broke a record in Game 1 with 8 strikeouts in the first 3 innings. Dexter Fowler hitting the first lead-off home run in Game 7 history…David Ross becoming the oldest MLB player to ever hit a home-run in the world series, and accomplishing this in his final MLB game ever…Game 7 with a tie, and a rain delay, and a 10-inning hit by Ben Zobrist, ultimately clinching it for the Cubs…the crowds outside of Wrigley waiting for that final out, then erupting with sheer joy as did the players…the class of the Indians fans and players who realized that even though victory wasn’t theirs this year, that they were witnessing history and demonstrating true sportsmanship…the raising of the W…I could go on, and on…

And after the Cubs victory, the tributes on the wall of Wrigley to those who couldn’t witness this historic moment?

How about the one that read, “We Did Not Suck.”? That one got me, especially considering my last blog post titled “Because You Are Good.”

The parade, the images of school late sign-ins with the reasons being CUBS or INDIANS, the skits on SNL…

All in all, the Chicago Cubs, along with the Cleveland Indians, have brought joy and good to the American public now, a diversion when we need it the most, during this awful time of animosity, judgment, and hatred caused by the election.

Thank you for bringing us that joy. Thank you.

Congratulations David Ross! Linked to the Chicago Tribune.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wave Is Here

I am happy to say that my pain and fatigue seem to be check, which makes each day better than the last. Here’s hoping that the “good day” streak continues…it will, because like I wrote in a previous post, my purpose is stronger than my pain, and I must believe that.

I’d like to share something else with you, something pretty extraordinary that I’ve alluded to in previous posts, but now it is most certain…

Imagine that you’ve lost something very special to you. It doesn’t matter if has sentimental or monetary value. When you realize you cannot find it, that it’s truly gone…that sick feeling in the pit of your gut begins to churn. It starts out small but gets worse by the second.  It feeds a frenzy of worry as you search for it, lifting up cushions, throwing clothes all over the place, making a colossal mess. As you retrace your steps, that sick feeling almost becomes unbearable. Part of you wants to vomit, while part of you wants to curl up in a ball and cry. You pray to Saint Anthony, hoping that it is returned to you, or to a higher power as you ask for help. Through the tears, you drop to the floor and admit defeat.

“It’s gone,” you say, crestfallen. “I’ll never have it again.”

If you imagine the above scenario with losing something physical, like a piece of jewelry or a $100 bill, you might consider posting a picture of your lost item on social media. Whether or not you find it again, life will almost certainly return to normal as you go about your days.

If it is a person you lose, it will undoubtedly be a longer grieving period. You might never recover from that absence in your life.

In my case, the thing I lost is very personal to me.

It’s my soul. Or at least, part of it.

There’s been a huge hole there for so long, a missing piece of the puzzle per se. My whole purpose in starting this blog was a way to “sea”k my soul so I could maybe find my focus, find my purpose, to fill that soul hole with what’s been eluding me for so long.

I’m sure you have sensed the longing in my posts over the past year and a half.

The best way I can sum up that feeling is to describe how I feel when I listen to the song “Encore” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Anthony Kiedis sings some very poignant lyrics, each line with a very personal meaning, almost like it was written just for me. The music is an escape, while simultaneously, a trap. It makes me look around curiously at what physically surrounds me on the external, and also go introspective and look at what is internal, what surrounds my soul.

When I listen to “Encore,” I think of times past for a fleeting second. I’m reassured I’m in the right place even though I am adrift and incomplete…”Hey, you’re fine…hold my hand…results are gonna vary now…”

At the end of the song, I feel a longing so large, but no idea what I am longing for. I am empty, yet content. I am safe and secure, while simultaneously uncertain and vulnerable.

One big, giant, bewildered, unfulfilling yet satisfying sigh…the best way to describe that feeling of longing.

Don’t get me wrong…there have been many extraordinary times in my life filled with adventures and laughter, accomplishment and happiness and wonder.

All the while, that hole is there just under the surface, surrounded by pieces from every single experience thus far on my life journey that fit together as one.

I prayed to St. Anthony in a feeble attempt to find what’s missing. He usually helps me when I’ve lost something, even though I’m not Catholic or overly religious, and when he does I am very quick to thank him. But when I asked him to come around so I could find the missing piece that would make my soul complete, his answer was an emphatic NOPE. “You are on your own,” he said.

I stare at a blank page when I have so much to get out, so many words and stories to share, so many lessons to teach, so many laughs to enjoy, all on top of the urgency to live this crazy and wonderful life…

Words.

Stories.

Lessons.

Laughter and Life.

I think I see something here.

I know I’ve improved over the past year on finding the right words, and more importantly, in getting those words out of my head and onto a screen or paper. And I know I have a few stories currently living rent free in my mind that need to be told…it’s time they start earning their keep.

my-soulJust like that, I finally know my purpose.

  • Writing
  • Teaching
  • Living

Instead of feeling bewildered, I am wrapped in a blanket of assurance and certainty.

Why did it take this long to figure it out? It’s so simple and obvious. Again, I am the chump who fought seeing the truth, when all along, it was right here on the surface.

The wave is here, and today, I rise.

Instead of “I think” and “I wish,” it’s now “I know” and “I will.”

I will write a book (or two or three). I will write for my blog. I will write for my assignments from my magazine publisher. I will teach my lessons, both in the classroom and through my writing. I will laugh while living every single moment of every day.

I will use my time more wisely as I pursue my purpose and calling while completing my mission from the universe.

Being OPEN actually brought me clarity. I waited so long for it, and here it is, unwavering and true. As I was determined to be OPEN, now I am resolute to be FOCUSED.

I am already transformed.

And SHE says, “It’s about time.”

Time to write, with a focus on my stories.

Time to teach, with a focus on my lessons.

Time to laugh.

And time to LIVE.

It’s finally time for my “Encore.”