Never Give Up

This poster was taped to a cabinet door in my basement studio for years. It was my mantra. Perhaps my downfall. But I used the graphic to remind me that, no matter how hard life is, I am a survivor. A conqueror.

Fashion Trends During High School

By Susan Knight

Next question in my fill-in-the-blanks book: What were the fashion trends from your school days?

I believe I lived in THEEE most fashion trendiest time of ever—the 1960s-1970s. Bell-bottoms, hip-huggers, mini-skirts, platform shoes, midriffs, and the shortest short-shorts called "hot pants" made up the wardrobe of the hippie wannabes in my high school. The summer of love, you know? Woodstock?

Midriff and bell-bottoms

bell-bottoms made from jeans

Hot Pants and white boots.
I forgot about the white boots!

Before 1970, we all wore dresses and skirts to school, and the boys wore collared shirts and ties with nice slacks. I remember there were loops on the backs of the boys shirts and it was a “trend” for girls to pull on them and rip them off (don’t ask me why, but it was a sort of coup).

I remember being on a committee in 1970 to do away with the dress code. My boyfriend at the time was on the Student Council of my intermediate high school in tenth grade. I used to go to meetings with him and I remember voting and making posters—Down With the Dress Code!  We want to wear jeans!

Then, YAY! we were allowed to wear jeans! Only my mother wouldn’t let me wear jeans. I could wear nice slacks, corduroys—or skirts—no jeans. Alas, I never wore jeans during the rest of my high school days, even after it became an accepted “trend.” And don’t tell my kids (because they never read this blog, even though I set it up for them), but by the time they were in high school, I was on a committee to try to get the school board to write a policy for students to wear uniforms, even though that was another vow I made—I would never wear a uniform again. I guess it took old age and maturity to realize the stress release from not having to decide what to wear every day and having no competition in dress.

Ali MacGraw as Jennifer Cavalleri
wearing the famous 1970 cloche

"Love Story," a screenplay and novel written by Erich Segal in 1970, popularized the cloche hat when the movie aired that year. Every teenage girl who swooned over Ryan O'Neal wore a cloche. I learned to crochet, just so I could make and wear a cloche hat like Jennifer Cavalleri in the movie, played by Ali MacGraw.  I think I made some for friends, too. It helped keep my hair down, too.

Did you know, that movie started the trend of naming babies Jennifer that lasted more than thirty years?

I probably had a mini-skirt like this.
When we sat down, we were really
sitting on our butts. True story!

                                                      

                                                       Maxis and Midis--all good hippies wore these

By my senior year, in 1972, girls broke through the mini wall and came to school wearing maxi-skirts, then midi-skirts. Finally, it didn't matter what length your skirt was—maxi, midi, mini—it was all groovy. And it didn't matter if your hair was straight or curly—in fact a new trend was born—the Afro, worn by black and white alike.

And, BTW, I vowed never to wear mini-skirts, hip-huggers, platform shoes, or short-shorts ever again once I left the 70s behind. 

Doesn't this just scream sprained ankle?!?
I ran through an airport once in platform shoes.
It was like running on stilts. . .

I also vowed never to straighten my hair by wearing beer can rollers at night or by ironing it. Danger, Will Robinson!

My mom ironed my hair just one time,
but I'm pretty sure I didn't have a smile on my face.
After that, it was beer can rollers. Ugh!

thehairhalloffame.blogspot.com
I think this is a photo straight out of 1970.
My rollers were just like this. They were a gold color.
I slept on these "beer can rollers." How did I put up with that?
See why I vowed never to straighten my hair again?

Look girls! We could have been popular!

Why couldn’t someone have invented the straightening irons they have now back then? I could have had long, straight hair like all the popular girls. Oh, yes, if you had curly, frizzy hair, you were taboo—a pariah. I wore ponytails, braids, slicked my hair down severely,  and laboriously tried to straighten my hair all through high school, just so I wouldn’t be freakish. So sad.

Yep, that's me on the left with the slicked down hair pulled back
into a severe ponytail at the nape of my neck. Yeah, that's
where we wore ponytails in those days--at the nape of the neck.
My friends and I are also wearing mini-scooter skirts. Woo-HOO!

Heck, the blow dryer wasn’t even invented until I was a freshman in college—and all that did was make my hair frizzier—not straighter. Hot rollers were the thing when styles allowed hair to be curly again. But second degree burns were not groovy. In my senior year and after, layering became the standard and has been revived many times in the last forty-some years.

Oh, the things we used to do to be “cool.” Only “cool” wasn’t really a term used by the early 1970s. It came into the vernacular in the 1950s with beatniks, but bounced over the 1970s and ended up in the 1980s again. Cool in the late 1960s, early 1970s, was “neat” or “nifty” or “groovy” or “sharp” or “far out.”

In the late 1970s, I got a haircut called “The Savage” (pronounced like sah-vahghe—French-like). My girlfriend cut my hair in many layers all over, then I turned my head upside down and blew dry my curls, lifted my head up and shook the messy waves and scrunched. Voilá. I wore my hair like that for years. So easy. I remember telling my mom I didn’t even own a comb. She said, “Well, that’s obvious.” (sigh)

I have said many times, when I am resurrected, I want to look like when I was 25 and had the Savage, and I was thin and fit, and still had good eyesight, good hearing, and good teeth. Ha-ha!

What do you remember about the trends from high school days?

I'd enjoy reading your comments :_)

Twenty-Six Years Ago and Still Remembered

It's been a Dad Week. First Veterans Day, and November 14 marked the 26th Anniversary of my father's death. I wrote about it on my blog, Requisite Respite, on the 20th Anniversary in 2009. 
http://requisiterespite.blogspot.com/…/twenty-years-ago-tod…

Henry J. Tobelmann, Jr., October 1989, one month before he died at age 63
February 3, 1926-November 14, 1989
RIP, Dad

<link rel=“canonical href="<http://requisiterespite.blogspot.com/2009/11/twenty-years-ago-today.html>

My Dad, the Sailor Man: he's strong to the finish

In honor of Veterans Day a few days ago . . .

This photo was messed up and I tried to fix it with Adobe Photoshop years ago.

My dad joined the Navy in about 1945 when he was 19. The story goes that he didn't weigh enough to get into the service, so he ate banana splits for breakfast, lunch and dinner until he got up to 125 lbs. and could finally join up. He served in the Great Lakes Navy Camp at a desk job, I think, and never saw combat, but I am proud that he wanted to serve his country. By doing so, he was able to go to college on the GI bill--graduated from Villanova University with a degree in mechanical engineering. He also bought his parents a house in Coatesville on the GI bill in about 1950. They had lost their first house in New Orleans during the depression in the 1930s. He was probably able to buy his other houses that way, too. 
Thanks for serving, dad. Here's to you ♥

Fourth of July Family History Tradition

While rockets red glare lights the skies over this part of Utah on July 4, I always find myself writing some family history, so proud am I of my heritage.

But I will be spending time on another family history project this Fourth of July.

I found out recently that the website I built since the middle-1990s was taken down--MyFamily.com, owned by Ancestry.com. I cried, and I wanted to cut my heart out because it hurt so much throbbing inside my body. All the photographs. All the comments. All the neatly organized photo files of my siblings, grandparents, parents, cousins, trips, ancestors, family recipes, current family events--GONE.

I wasn't even informed, because the email I began the website with is not the email I have now, so they probably tried to notify me, but I didn't receive any notification. I learned, when I researched some more, that Ancestry.com only sent the website owners the photographs that were on the sites. They didn't save any data that went with them--no photo captions; no comments back and forth between relatives. I have all the photographs, but I don't have the captions that I got when I was avidly into family history with kissin' cousins. I have no idea how to reach a lot of them either.

There are a lot of grieving souls out there who counted on Ancestry.com to preserve their family history. We paid for those sites. I'm still mad at that company. I sent them most of the information they now have on my family. They are charging others for it. Anything they have on my ancestors, came from me. I had my whole family tree on there. They should pay me for the information!

But, enough said.

I didn't want another year or month to go by without trying to re-preserve all the information. A lot of my family history is on FamilySearch.org, but that website is so hard to maneuver. I even took a class in it, but the information went over my head and I got so confused. I guess, unless I'm working with it on a daily basis, I'm not going to learn it. And I don't have pictures on there.

So, I still have my Legacy genealogy program. I thought it was lost when my computer crashed, but, thank the Lord, I just downloaded the newest version and was able to whisk my data into it. Really, on my knees, thanking G-d. And I'm thanking the friend who fixed my computer. It's like it's brand new.

So, I am going to start a blog of our family history. Hopefully Google won't forsake it, or will have the kindness to give me some time to move it to another format, if that is ever needed--unlike Ancestry.com.

I will have a link on this blog. I'm working on it tonight.

The noise is dying down now, but we will have more over the whole month. Utah celebrates its founding on July 24th, so there are fireworks practically the whole month. They're not illegal here, and people down the street and around the whole neighborhood fire off the cannons and rockets and whatever they're called. It's a smoky mess out there! s.m.i.l.e.

Happy Independence Day!

What it Means to Me to Be an American

Each year I spend Independence Day feeling a great sense of gratitude to my ancestors, both direct and collateral (uncles, brothers, cousins), who fought in the Revolutionary War, and in the Civil War (both sides), and in WWI, and in WWII, or have been a member of the military during peace time, to uphold our freedom.

I am grateful we have so many freedoms in the United States. Have you read the Constitution or the Bill of Rights? I don't want to see any of those rights taken for granted, or slowly fade away into the sunset as if they aren't relevant anymore.

If you read history, you know, after two hundred years, the initial ideas of new countries, with their ethics, morals and standards, are questioned, tried, and put to unwanted tests. I believe we are on the cusp of that time, if not already crossed the threshold.

If you read history, or scripture, you know how that pans out, and you know what causes the demise.

When we get soft; when we forget what makes us great (humility, gratitude, service); and when man thinks he is better than God, or forsakes God's hand in our lives altogether, the downfall is imminent. Pride takes over when we think it was us, our very limited selves, who deserve all the credit. Pride goeth before a fall. Read the history of any great empire and tell me what you find. Greece. Rome. France. Spain. England. Has America hit that crossroads now? Are we so proud that we forget Who forged this country, and what this country stands for?

In years past, no matter the immigrant, they had hard times to prove themselves when they came to this great land, until the next group of world-weary travelers landed. They, also, had to prove themselves--and could, finding great opportunity here for those who worked hard.

The Puritans, the Catholics, the Huguenots, the Jews; the Germans, the Irish, the Chinese, the Italians--all had to put aside the notion that this country gave them everything--unearned. They had to prove they were worthy of the freedoms they sought. And prove it, they all did.

I am part of the great American melting pot. My ancestors are European--Bohemian, Moravian, Huguenot, Catholic; Germans, Swiss, Scots-Irish, English, French. Our blood mingled and blended with other blood until they could no longer say "I am German," or "I am English."

One word should describe us all--American. I am an American. I'm not European American. I know a lot of black people who do not consider themselves African American. They never lived in Africa. They always lived in America, and don't want to be set apart from the nation like that. I am a full-blooded American. I'm not immigrant, or first generation even, still struggling with the English language. Those who come to America, should take on this pride of country. If you live here, and you have taken the oath of citizenship, you are now an American, striving to do your part to build up this great nation. You are not Mexican-American, Cambodian-American, or Persian-American. If you live here and reap the benefits, you are just plain old American. Your oath is to this country now.

I know there are still more than 50 good people in our nation, that the angels might not destroy us. The time might come, and perhaps already is on the doorstep, when that number will dwindle due to lack of caring or action, and those of us who are God-fearing and still love our country and our constitution, will hearken back to what our country initially stood for--life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; one nation, under God; forged from Judaeo-Christian principles. Other principles are not like Judaeo-Christian principles. Think about it. It is ridiculous to think any other way will work, unless we want to be guided by fear and corruption, as in monarchies, dictatorships, or terrorists' groups and laws. If you moved here, and became a citizen, you are now part of that Judaeo-Christian culture. It was your choice.

Oh, God, please let freedom still be our cry--the real definition of freedom, as written in our Constitution and Bill of Rights. Please rain down your tender mercies on us so more will be for freedom than against it. Please don't ever let us forget what this country stands for. Let us always remember Thy hand in our creation. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior and Redeemer, I pray. Amen.

"The Sound of Music" on the Big Screen

Last week my friend, Kathy Ahrens, and I went to the movies and saw "The Sound of Music" on the big screen! I haven't seen it on the big screen since the first time I saw it when I was 11 years old.

My Girl Scout Troop rented a bus and we drove down to Philadelphia for the show. I remember I sat with Karen Kardos on the bus (how in the world did I remember that, except she was my best friend in 5th grade, so. . . it's all coming back to me). Mrs. Kardos was our Girl Scout Leader and my Mom was the Assistant Leader.

I also remember I felt sick and threw up--from nerves--before we left--very early in the morning. Why we had to leave very early in the morning, I don't know. Maybe we saw a special matinee of some sort.

I had no idea what the movie was about, but I fell in love with it from the first zoom of the camera over the Alps of Austria. The cinematography was so lovely. But, I wondered, is this a documentary of Europe or something?

Then, out of nowhere, this woman appears on a green meadow mountain and sings with the voice of an angel about the sound of music. I love music. I played the piano and loved to sing, though I hadn't found my voice yet. That was another year or so. Julie Andrews inspired me for a lifetime.

Then, when the nuns started singing, I thought, oh, THIS is why we're here. It's a story about nuns! Of course, we have to see a movie about nuns. We're Catholic!

But, we all know, it was so much more.

I've already posted about my love affair with  "The Sound of Music" and how much it means to me. You can read all about it HERE.

After the movie, in 1965, I couldn't stop singing those songs--forever! I got the album for Christmas or my birthday and played it threadbare. I got the song booklet and learned how to play all the songs. I never dreamed of saying I saw anything 50 years ago. Or even 40 years ago. But, here it is.

I was disappointed that none of my kids could go with me to see it last week. Hopefully they'll read my blog someday.

Thanks for reading!

By Susan Knight

I started this blog a few years ago because my daughter, Jewely, gave me one of those fill-in-the-blanks books. Instead of filling in the blanks, I chose to blog about it so all my kids could read my answers, easily, on-line—where they always seem to be. I figured my daughter gave me the book because she wanted to know about my life, but, bless her heart, I think she just knows I like to write and thought it would be a great gift for me. The reason I know this is because . . . she’s never visited my blog.

“What’s the name of it again?” she recently asked as I pouted and tried to make her feel guilty.

I’ve reached that age where I actually do like to write about myself. Not because I’m vain or self-serving, but because there are things I’ve done in my life that I really do want my children to know about. And not just the wonderful and great stuff, but the small and subtle things I’ve done.

For instance, in 1974 or thereabouts, I attended a John Denver concert in Philadelphia. The reason why it meant so much to me was because I had just returned from living in Boulder, Colorado for a year. I confess I wasn’t “into” John Denver before I went to Boulder, but almost everyone I met was there because of John Denver’s music.

Two of my best friends from high school indulged me and attended the concert with me. I was in my glory. It was (almost) heaven . . .

I’ve been playing the CD of this concert lately and singing merrily along, harmonizing at times, reminiscing always. I’m twenty-one again and at that concert when I play the CD. I re-live my fantastic year in Boulder where I climbed mountains, pondered my life, lived one with nature, a happy pauper. In a word, it was a year of adventure. In those days, as a youth, the big thing was to find yourself. Discovery. I found myself there.

I do so want my children to know how much this music means to me. I’m not sure if it’s just the music, but also the experiences I had, woven into the songs. Mountains, nature, splendor, stars, campfires, snow—all the things that excited my young heart. The thrill of climbing Green Mountain, then looking down and realizing how small the trees were—and the people weren’t seen at all. I wrote a song about it.

The Flatirons, Boulder, Colorado

I’m at the age when I want to leave something behind of me. I want to be sure my kids  really know who I am, even the small inklings. I am the sum of all the rich experiences I’ve had in my (very long) life. My memoirs are my legacy.

I only hope they’ll read about me one day . . .

 

All I Ask

From a Facebook post (MY COMMENTS):

Your Mother carried you inside of her womb for nine whole months, she felt sick for months with nausea (IT FELT LIKE I HAD THE FLU FOR 3 MONTHS), then she watched her feet swell and her skin stretch and tear (I PROUDLY HAD NO STRETCH MARKS WITH 4 PREGNANCIES).
She struggled to climb stairs, she got breathless quickly and even a simple task like putting her shoes on was a huge struggle for her (THANK GOODNESS VELCRO SNEAKERS CAME OUT THAT YEAR OF MY FIRST PREGNANCY. I COULD FASTEN THEM HANDS-FREE BY USING MY OTHER FOOT. YAY, VELCRO).
She suffered many sleepless nights (I FINALLY ENDED UP SLEEPING ON A RECLINER BECAUSE I COULDN'T SLEEP HORIZONTALLY) while you kicked and squirmed inside of her and. . . while you demanded that she scoffed junk (?? NOT SURE WHAT THIS MEANS, BUT I PROBABLY DID IT) at 3a.m., she then went through EXCRUCIATING PAIN to bring you into this world (I DID IT 4 TIMES).
She became your nurse, your chef, your maid, your chauffeur, your biggest fan, your teacher, your agony aunt and your best friend. She's struggled for you, cried over you, fought for you, put herself second for you, hoped the best for you and has driven herself insane with worry for you but never has she asked for anything in return because she loves you and did it all on love alone!
Most of us take our Mums for granted but there are people who have lost or have never even seen theirs.
If you have a loving Mother who did all of this for you, you are very lucky. Never devalue her worth because one day, you'll wish you hadn't!

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My "tummy" was twice as big as this graphic, though. Just sayin'.

Good portrayal.
I never thought I would have enough courage to be a mom. I hope I was a decent one. I hope my children are 100% better at being a parent than I was. I can honestly say, I was 100% better than mine.

I do ask for some consolations, though.

• Think about what you do. Reflect well your actions on your family. We are all bonded forever. I don't want that bond broken for any reason.
• Always remain true to the values, standards and faith that were painstakingly instilled in you.
• Remember who you are, or, rather, who you were when you were under my mom-tutelage.
• Strive to be 100% better than I was because I know I was 100% better than my own parents.
• Please show me respect. I have proven myself to deserve it (see above).
• Know that I love you and always will. I hope you will always love me, too.

That's all I ask.

The Sound of Music and Other Thoughts

There have been times lately when I have wanted to bare my soul to my children. I want them to know how I feel about things. Have I told them what I need to tell them?
My next pending birthday is a skip over another hill. This time I am definitely feeling old. Thirty was hard. Forty and fifty, not so hard. This one. . . this next one feels old to me.
However, I feel like I've lived a good life. I'm not afraid to die, though I might fear the manner if it involves pain.
Lately I've been thinking I need to get my life "in order." What would my kids do if I kicked the bucket? Would they know where to look for information about my life, my banking, my investments, my will, my advance directive?
Before my last surgery, I started to go over these things with my oldest son who took me to the hospital. He didn't want to talk about it. "Nothing's going to happen," he said and dismissed any talk about where to find anything.
My passwords, my email, my blogs--what will become of them if nobody knows about them?
I've told my kids about this blog, but do they ever come here?

Carrie Underwood, left, played Maria in a live stage production

of The Sound of Music. Julie Andrews, right, played Maria in

the 1965 movie.

Just the other night, I watched "The Sound of Music." It's one of my favorite movies and I thought, "Do my children know why I love this movie so much?" It's the quintessential Catholic movie about a nun and lots of children and music. I'm a former Catholic from a big family and went to Catholic school with nuns. I'm also a Musical geek and always get choked up, especially when I see a stage production. There was a live stage production of "The Sound of Music" on TV this month. My daughters and their husbands indulged me and watched it with me. They didn't like it as much as the movie. Well, nobody plays Maria better than Julie Andrews, granted. But to see a stage production always makes me happy and brings tears.
I think it's because I acted and sang on stage. I was a theater major in college. I love to sing and act on stage. Before my accident, I was toying with the idea of joining the local theater group. Maybe, if I can ever walk decently again, I'll go back to that thought.

I was 10 or 11 years old when I first saw "The Sound of Music" movie. I went with the Girl Scouts. Mrs. Kardos, our troop leader, took us. That morning, I was so nervous, because we were travelling "all the way" to Philadelphia to see it--a big deal--that I threw up. My mom gave me paregoric. I don't know why. It's for diarrhea. She told me it would help me not throw up anymore. I didn't, so the psychology worked, I guess.
I can't remember if we carpooled or rode a bus. I just remember being in the theater and watching the movie and being totally enthralled with the music and acting. One of my favorite child stars, Angela Cartwright, was in it. She played Brigitta in the move. She was Linda Williams on "The Danny Thomas Show." I loved that show. I loved her. I can't believe that movie was made almost 50 years ago.

After the movie, my next-door-neighbor, Susan McGhee, found her parents had the album of the Broadway musical with Mary Martin. We would go down to her basement and pretend to be the characters and lip sync to the songs. I was always Liesl and she was always Rolf (she was older and bigger). I danced on two couches that we made into the gazebo scene from the movie. It makes me smile to think of that.
There were more songs and different songs in the stage production, and one of my favorites, "I Have Confidence" was written for the movie. I had forgotten the other Broadway songs until I saw the live TV production this month.

I think I get so choked up watching muscials because I see myself in them. I could have been Liesl. Later, I could have been Maria. I had the music book and learned all the songs and played and sang them. I cry just thinking about it now.

I want my kids to know how much that movie means to me. I secretly want them to love it as much as I do.

The Price is Too High

August 31?

As in the end of August?

Wait a minute.

Didn’t I just plant my annuals?

Wasn’t it just the longest day of the year?

Didn’t I just blog about fireworks on the Fourth of July?

But what else did I do?

Ever since I moved to Utah, I vowed I would live in the present—be present to all around me. But, considering how quickly time flies, and not seeing much to show for its passing, I’m wondering if I might be flittering away my life, not filling my moments with memories as I should.

I used to have a tagline with my emails:

“What I do today is important

because I am paying a day of my life for it.

What I accomplish must be worthwhile

because the price is high.”

Author Unknown

 

I think Author Unknown is one of the most profound human beings that ever lived. This person has

made me realize that minutes and seconds are precious. Instead of spending time watching television,
how about a meaningful conversation with someone? A book in hand is worth more than playing two
video games. Pen a thank-you note, rather than an email.

I have to re-commit to make each day meaningful in some way. What must I do before I lay my head on my pillow that will help me feel fulfilled?

Family, friends, having meaningful conversations, appreciating nature, art, writing, reading, giving service, doing the best you can, leaving a place better than you found it. . .

What is important to you?

What is worth paying a day of your life for?

 

Pioneer Day

[There are photos if you scroll down. Click on the pictures to enlarge.]

Today is Pioneer Day in Utah.
We celebrate all those who walked, mostly with handcarts, across the plains, rivers and Rocky Mountains, to reach the "[This is the right] Place," the Great Salt Lake Valley, as seen in vision by Brigham Young.

Though I am a Mormon, and you are, too, my children, we don't come from this pioneer stock. I want you to know, though, we come from a long line of pioneers. I'll try to let you know who they are, according to my understanding.

Many years ago, about 1635, on a ship bound for Rhode Island, our ancestor, Richard Borden (your 9th gr-grandfather) emigrated from Headcorn, County Kent, England (about 40 miles SE of London),
with his wife, Joane Fowle, and their five children (at the time). They were part of the original settlers of Rhode Island, settling in Portsmouth thereafter. They had joined the Society of Friends (Quakers) in England, which led to their emigration. Their son, Matthew, was the first child born in Rhode Island. We descend from his eleventh child, Benjamin Borden.

Richard Borden was a surveyor and owned large tracts of land in both R.I. and Monmouth County, NJ. Others to descend from this couple were Gail Borden, inventor of condensed milk and founder of Borden Milk Company (remember Elsie the cow?). Gail, Texas was named after him. Lizzie Borden, who was charged, but acquitted, in killing her parents in 1892 was also a descendant. Two Borden sisters, Mary and Ann Borden, both married signers of the Declaration of Independence. Mary married Thomas McKean of Pennsylvania, though she died before he signed the document. They had six children together. Ann married Francis Hopkinson, delegate from New Jersey, and Benjamin Franklin's protege. She was left a widow with five children.

Benjamin Franklin mentored Francis H. and he was mentioned in Ben's will:
"The philosophical instruments I have in Philadelphia I give to my ingenious friend, Francis Hopkinson.  . . . I request my friends, Henry Hill, Esquire, John Jay, Esquire, Francis Hopkinson, Esquire, and Mr. Edward Duffield, of Benfield, in Philadelphia County, to be the executors of this my last will and testament; and I hereby nominate and appoint them for that purpose." (BTW, I discovered this information about Mary and Ann Borden on July 2, 2004, the real day of independence, according to John Adams. I couldn't believe it. I thought it was a typo, but I Googled it. It's true. Two sisters married two signers.)

Richard Borden's grandson, also named Benjamin, and our progenitor, owned tracts of land in Freehold, N.J. and 1,200 acres of land in Philadelphia, Pa. He was granted 3,143 acres in Orange County, Va., called "Borden's Manor." He was then issued a patent of land for 92,100 acres in Rockbridge County, called "Borden's Great Tract." He also owned tracts in Shenandoah and Botetourt counties in Virginia.

Lydia Borden (your 6th gr-grandmother), daughter of this Benjamin, born about 1728 in Monmouth County, New Jersey, married Hans Jakob Peck (or Beck), a Revoltuionary War hero--along with sons John and Adam). He emigrated from Ebingen, Wuerttemberg, Germany and reached the colony of Virginia about May, 1740. He renounced his German allegiance and became a Virginian in 1747. They settled in Fincastle, Va. 

There is a funny story about Lydia Borden and Jakob Peck told by their descendants.
The following story was handed down by Joseph A. Peck (1812-1886), great-grandson of Jacob I, and was recorded by his daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth Peck Hanby, of Rockwall, Texas: "While we lived in Washington County, Va., near Bristol, my father visited some of Adam Peck's descendents, who lived at Mossy Creek, Tennessee. ...They told some good stories of the Bordens and Pecks. One was that Jacob was very much in love with Lydia and very much afraid of Benjamin. It seems that the old gentleman hadn't noticed very closely and never suspected the attachment. So Jacob told Benjamin that he was in love with a girl and uncertain as to the consent of the girl's father, and it was against the law for a man to run away with a girl. The old gentleman said, 'There is no law against a girl running away with a man. Get your girl to run off with you.' A few nights later, Lydia, mounted on a powerful horse, called for her Jacob, took him up behind her, and away they went."
Their graves are in the Fincastle Presbyterian Church cemetery, along with other of our ancestors.
Click on the photos below to enlarge.

There is a Peck cabin still maintained as a residence in that town.

Peck House, Fincastle, Virginia

We have many ancestors from Fincastle who fought in the Revolutionary war. Click on this picture to see the names vividly.

A monument stands in the Fincastle Presbyterian Church Cemetery to honor those who fought in the Revolutionary War. 

Of those on the monument, Lewis Hickle, Jacob Peck and his son, John Peck, are our direct ancestors. The rest married in.



Archibald Washington Kessler

One ancestor you may have heard me talk about was Mary Catherine Peck, great-grandaughter of Jacob and Lydia Borden Peck. She married Archibald Washington Kessler and, with their families, became pioneers of "The Wilderness" of western Virginia. They were abolitionists and were driven from their homes in Fincastle.

The story goes, they ". . . feared for their safety. A barn had been burned and shots fired at the house. . . . In Rupert [now West Virginia], one wagon broke down. Leaving the women and children with a kindly family, the men traveled on to [Independence] Missouri. They found the towns rough with terrible living conditions. They were quickly convinced that this was not what they wanted. On the return trip, they went to visit Archie's sister in Summersville. The men were well pleased with conditions and the people in Nicholas Couty. While there, John [Peck] purchased a farm. He spent the rest of his life there."

Mary Catherine Peck Kessler is your 3rd great-grandmother. Your great-grandmother, Mary Lou Kessler, talked about her grandmother all the time and was very proud of her.


Mary Catherine Peck Kessler, seated, and her sister, Anna Eliza Peck Hamilton 

Martin Christopher Kessler, Archibald and Mary Catherine's son, married Lucy Richmond Boggs, and that is how we are related to the Boggs clans. 

Lucy Richmond Boggs Kessler

Martin Christopher Kessler, MD

Boggs, Smith, Cochran, James, Clendenin--they are all ancestral names from Virginia and West Virginia. These peoples' were very caught up in the Indian Wars. Francis Charles Boggs (sometimes Charles Francis Boggs) was an Indian Scout and Indian fighter. He was actually born in Chester County, PA--just like me! He married Mary Clendenin, granddaughter of Charles Clendenin, after whom Charleston, West Virginia is named (the capital).

F.C. Boggs and his brothers fought in the Battle of Point Pleasant in October 1774.

Artist's rendition of the Battle of Point Pleasant

In 1776, Francis Charles Boggs volunteered as a scout and Indian spy for a 12-month tour of duty under Captain Matthew Arbuckle. Scouts were experienced woodsmen, whose aim with a rifle meant certain death for its target. They could throw a knife with deadly skill. Francis Charles was stationed in Point Pleasant. In 1777, he volunteer for another 12-month tour.

Please read about the Battle of Point Pleasant, the Muddy River Massacre and the Clendenin Massacre in my genealogy program--or in the biography I wrote in 2003 about your great-grandmother Mary Lou Kessler. Or Google it to find out more interesting facts.

When I visited Point Pleasant in 2005, at the confluence of the Ohio and Kanawha rivers, I was able to see the state park (memorial) and learn that Teddy Roosevelt actually proclaimed the Battle of Point Pleasant to be the very first battle of the Revolutionary War. The savant there told me, if descended from anyone in that battle, you could file to be in the DAR.

The docent at the Point Pleasant Memorial Park told me I was lucky to see a paddle boat on the Kanawha River, right at the confluence of the Ohio River. She said they usually only come by once a month or less.

Click on the photo to read

During that same visit to West Virginia, I hooked up with one of our elderly cousins, James Lewis Ball, and he took me around to family homesteads and graveyards. One graveyard was completely in the woods on top of a hill. The stones were almost all covered by earth. Some newer ones were erected next to the old stones, which looked only like stones sticking out of the earth. I was speechless. I'd never seen anything like it. I don't think I'd ever be able to find it again.

New gravestone in honor of Francis Charles or Charles Francis Boggs. Lewis Ball told me whoever paid for it got to decide which name came first. Just in front of it is the old gravestone which just looks like a rock in the woods. The whole woods was filled with these "rocks."

This is a long post and I hope I haven't put you to sleep. Family history research was, at one time, my passion. I am still passionate about our family history, but I haven't done any research in quite awhile.

To end . . . I would like to consider myself a pioneer. I was the first in our family to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I even crossed the plains (in my minivan) and settled in the Salt Lake Valley, just as the Saints of old did.

Children, please visit all my notes in my Legacy program and you will find all of the ancestors I have gathered--many thousands--tens of thousands.

High School Activities

Today's question from my book:  In school, what extra-curricular activities did you participate in and why did you choose these activities?

Answer:
During high school, my life was music, except for that one year when I was a JV cheerleader in 10th grade. That was a mistake, I think, looking back on it. I actually left District Chorus competition because I was an alternate cheerleader and they called in all the alternates.

The famous Diana Robinson, who was a TV broadcaster in Philadelphia at the time (now in Chicago), volunteered to mentor our squad. She had been a cheerleader when she went to Scott. When she saw there was only one black girl on the squad she had a fit. The captain of the squad told her there were four girls on the alternate list--three black girls and one white girl--me! So, I got in by default. She couldn't very well turn me down.  :-}

I remember Mona Trace rushed into the music room one day after school, where I was rehearsing with Miss Wamsher, the music director at Scott Intermediate High School (9th and 10th grades). Mona said, "Susan, all the alternates are now cheerleaders! Come on! Practice is now!"

I looked at Mona, then looked at Miss Wamsher, dropped my music on the nearest desk and RAN to the gym with Mona. I was a cheerleader? I was a cheerleader!

Well, in hindsight, this was a great and hilarious calamity. I have, and had, no physicality for cheerleading. Unbeknownst to me at the time, but known quite well in the present, I was/am a klutz. I have rhythm, so I could dance well enough to do the back and forth stuff, sideline hand-clapping (Let's go, Raiders! Raiders, let's go! clap-clap), rooting (Go! Fight! Win!), etc., but beyond that, no. The joke was on the cheerleading squad when they recruited me. Or maybe I thought I pulled it off. I don't know.

Cheerleading in the early 1970s didn't involve gymnastics like today. Cartwheels and the occasional fake split was expected, nothing too hard for a normal, nimble person, which I was not. I remember one time I did a required cartwheel and landed on top of Nancy Jackson. Poor Nancy. She rubbed her head and looked at me. I'll never forget that look. She was a sweetheart and didn't hold it against me . . . I don't think.

Being a cheerleader that year made me attractive to a certain boy and a romance spawned that lasted off and on my entire sophomore year, with not a little angst, but it was my first real crush. He thought it was funny that I was a cheerleader, but knew nothing about the game of football. I still, to this day, do not know how it works.

For instance, one Saturday, he and I attended the varsity football game. We were walking along the sidelines, holding hands, when he told me we should go sit with his uncle at the 50-yard line. Well, he went one way, I went the other and we tugged in opposite directions. I looked at him, baffled, and asked, "Well, which end is it?"

Needless to say, he rolled on the ground laughing so hard. I was clueless as I stood there watching him. We never did go sit with his uncle. Oh, yeah, there was an assembly put on by the football team and one of them dressed like a cheerleader yelling, "Which end is the 50-yard line?" Uproarious laughter from the audience, most of whom didn't know it really happened--and I never told.

I didn't forsake music altogether in 10th grade. I still sang in the Bel Canto Choir, the Scott Singers and my guitar trio. Oh, how I loved singing--still do.

Yes, I got caught up in being a cheerleader, but went happily back to music exclusively in my junior year. I didn't even tryout for the varsity cheerleading squad. Music was my comfort zone. Cheerleading . . . not so much.

I'm not sure, but I don't think I have one picture of me in cheerleading. In 10th grade we weren't in the C.A.S.H. yearbook and I don't think we had a yearbook at Scott.

Oh, well. It would have been nice just to prove I was actually on the squad. Nobody who knows me now would believe it, otherwise.

s.m.i.l.e.
l.a.u.g.h.
g.u.f.f.a.w.

But I digress . . .
You can read of my musical pursuits in my May 1, 2011 blog post. I think I said it all there.

Happy Independence Day 2013!

By Susan Knight

Today is one of my favorite holidays--the Fourth of July. Right now, outside my window, I am bombarded with the sounds of fireworks, both private and public. Hearing all the joyful noise, I went outside, maneuvered myself from back yard to front yard to see the colors bursting in all directions. I think my favorite ones looked like giant Queen Anne's Lace flowers that fizzled with a sizzling sound.
I stood on my back patio and saw four shows, in the west, the south, then the southwest, then the northeast. I walked to my front sidewalk by the street and looked east and saw another show. To the west was the biggest show. Utah is one patriotic state, I must say.
Although it scares me that the common man can buy fireworks (and not civic officials, as in Penna.), I'm sure some of what I was watching was launched from the streets in surrounding neighborhoods. My neighbors a few doors up and across the street all gathered with lawn chairs to set off their own fire stuff. The whole outside smells like when cap guns were shot when I was a kid. Remember that smell?
My kids have all gone to a minor league baseball game that promised fireworks, so I'm sure they are in the midst of them as I am at this late hour of 10:30 p.m. They're coming back to my place for dessert that Nick has prepared. It's an Hawaiian slushy-type dessert called a Doley. As you can suspect, it's made with pineapple. Can't wait to try it. Zannah and Nick just returned on Sunday from a family reunion in Hawaii.
I'm so happy my kids come here to congregate. I hope it will always be so. I am enjoying my time with them because I don't know how long it will last. Most of them have a five-year plan. So, for five years, I will enjoy them and remember our times together.
I had the occasion, during and after our dinner of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs--totally American here!--to tell them about their ancestors.
One year, I think it was 2004, I was doing genealogy research during the July 4th holiday week. I think it was July 2nd. I was researching our Borden ancestors (Lizzie was fully exonerated, by the way), and found out our ancestor's nieces, Mary and Ann Borden, both married signers of the Declaration of Independence.
I couldn't believe it! I actually Googled them to make sure it just wasn't a family tale.
One of the Borden sisters married Thomas McKean, who was the last to sign the declaration, and who went on to be the governor of Pennsylvania; the other married Francis Hopkinson, Benjamin Franklin's protege' and who inherited all of Franklin's "philosophical instruments." One can only wonder what that means.
Our ancestor, Benjamin Lemaster, fought in the Revolutionary War alongside George Washington in all his campaigns. He was at Valley Forge. He crossed the Delaware River with him on Christmas Eve to invade sleeping Princeton. He fought in the Battle of Brandywine. He was with Washington in New York, too.

Another tale I told them was of their frontiersmen ancestors in the wilderness of West Virginia, while it was still part of Virginia. The Clendennins, the James', the Smiths and the Boggs' were all Indian fighters.
It seems the Indians, under a fierce chief named Cornstalk, massacred almost all of my Clendennin clan at a family reunion gathering. It was called the Muddy Creek Massacre. Luckily one of them survived it and lived to tell about it--and be our ancestor, making us who we are today. Read of the whole bloody event here.
Our direct ancestor, Charles Clendennin, is the namesake for Charleston, West Virginia, the capital city. I've been there and saw a huge boulder with a plaque on it proclaiming the site where the original fort sat, on the Kanawba River (pronounced Kan-AW).
I'm so glad I did my genealogy when I had the opportunity as a stay-at-home mom. I've also had the privilege of being part of family sealings in the temple for my ancestors. The last session had all four of my children present. That is a time that I cherish more than anything. I hope we can all go back to the temple together real soon.

It Can't Be True!? St. Cecilia's Church is Closed?

After all my blogs about St. Cecilia's and going to Catholic School, I just got word that the church had its last Mass last Sunday.

I was totally shocked. I had no idea.  I'm still flabbergasted. My brother John emailed me. He said parishoners are to go to Holy Rosary now.

I am a member of the "You Might Be From Coatesville If" Facebook page and I posted it on there and got several comments. I guess it's money and politics. There are a lot of eighty-year-olds who are mad about it, I'm sure. It's the only Catholic Church right in the heart of town. There are two or more on the West End and Holy Rosary is on the East End.  I don't know what those poor old people are going to do now.

My mom said it's in a bad part of town and it's not safe to go there. She also said the school moved to Route 82 outside of town and isn't a functioning school anymore.

Before I left for Utah, I drove all around Coatesville and made picture stops at St. Cecilia's, both church and school.  I hope they don't tear it down. It was built with some native green stone.

Oh, Coatesville...you were once a wonderful town to live in...to grow up in.  St. Cecilia's...it's where I was baptized, received my First Holy Communion, was confirmed. I was married there, and so were my parents.  My grandparents' and my father's funerals were there.

My dad was Treasurer of the Holy Name Society and used to count the money from the collection baskets after church. I used to go over to the rectory afterward to get a ride home with him.  I used to fold the church bulletins for Theresa Pahira in the rectory with Mona Trace and Nancy Antol after school on Fridays.

*sigh*

I'm glad I took those photos.

St. Cecilia's Church in background and rectory in foreground. 2010

This is the only one I can find. I'm going to have to do some digging in other places.

More About Catholic School in the 1960s

I've had several comments to my memories of Catholic School.  Some disagree with what I remember, but that's the definition of a 'memoir.'  I remember it one way and you remember it another.  I guess that's what a child's memory is, too.  I'd love to have your memories, though, to add to mine.

For Mary Nagy:
I have another picture from school.  It is a trip to Harrisburg in eighth grade.  There is Sister Francis Maureen, front and center.  We all loved her so much.

Center is Sister Francis Maureen flanked by a Senator and a Representative; second row, from left:  Mrs. Shank, me, Mary Nagy, Debbie Riley, Patrick Sellers; third row:  Mrs. Riley, Joanie Fuller, Jean Leofsky, Samuel Forese, Robert Derr, Mark Wolfe, John Lindenlauf, Sonny Gracia, Paul Phillips, my mom; fourth row: Laura Cahoe, Patty Hewczuk, Mona Trace, LuAnn Forese, Robert Persch, Danny McMichael, Thomas (Greg) Shank, Joey Atkinson.  I think a boy is missing.  I remember there were 12 boys and 9 girls in eighth grade.  21. Anybody know?  Joseph Nagy?  Did he go all through to 8th grade?

 The Sister Francis Maureen scandal might be spurious, and is completely conjecture.  I don't think anybody really knows.  But I'm sure we all thought it was because the other nuns were jealous of her because we loved her so much, and they made her life horrible, so she either asked to be transferred, or the other nuns asked for her to be transferred.  Of course, that's just the anger we had at the time coming out.  She was so good to us, and thought 'out of the box' for a nun. 
Mary, she changed my life, too.  She helped me 'see' things in a whole new light.  One day, during religion class, she was teaching about hell.  She just had one thought that she threw out.  Perhaps 'hell' is not a place of fire and brimstone.  What if it is a place where we cannot see the face of God ever for eternity?  Won't that be a terrible punishment?  I never looked at hell the same way, though both thoughts are scary.
I just noticed in the picture her pointer finger is pointing to the ground.  Or maybe it's the sign 'We're Number One!"  She was so proud of the boys on the basketball team.  Remember the Spartans?
This trip must have been taken place in the fall because she was gone by Christmas, right?  Or just after Christmas.  I remember the boys had a basketball game just after she left and they were determined to win 'for Sister Francis.'  They didn't.  We cried and the boys were dejected.
Mary, you are right.  My mom (and maybe someone else's mom, too) drove us down to Chester to her new inner city school.  I remember the graffiti on the walls outside and I remember my mom was scared to leave her car parked outside.  I remember Sister Francis just had the biggest smile on her face and she said she was happy there.  But we knew she couldn't be happy without us!  She had to be lying.  I remember she said she asked for the transfer.  But, again, we knew she was lying (or we thought she was). We all bawled our eyes out the whole time!!!  We wanted her back.  We didn't care if inner city kids needed her!  How could she leave us?!
Remember one time there was a fire drill and some of the boys went to Gibneys?  When the Mother Superior was checking to see if we are all back, I remember Sister went up to Joey Atkinson from behind and put her hands on his shoulders, shook him, and facetiously said, "Yes, we're all back, aren't we, Joseph?"  He looked up at her in surprise that she didn't rat him out.  I don't know if he ever had it in him to 'love' or even 'like' a nun, he seemed to always have so much anger in him, but I think at that moment he liked her very much.
Oh, Mary, you got a letter from her?  Where from?  Do you know where she might be?  I think Mona said Florida.  Do you know her 'real name?'  Wouldn't it be so great to get in touch with her again?
Yes, we heard she left the convent and even got married.  I think Mona got a letter from her, too.  I never did, but she gave me a special gift before she left (though I didn't know she was leaving at the time).  She gave me her art portfolio from college. (Who knew nuns went to college?  At that time I just thought they joined the convent and then taught school.)
She knew I was interested in painting and one week she let me bring my paint box and canvas and easel to school to work on during 'art' class on a Friday.  I remember my mom came, too, to help me.  That probably never happened before--or since.  But, she gave me her portfolio!  I still have it. 
That's another reason I think she was transferred, not of her own accord.  She told me, when she gave me the portfolio, that she would help me with my painting.  She said, after Christmas we would concentrate on it during art class.  I was shocked that she made me that promise, then left!
Here is a picture of the painting I did.

Haha...I remember that shirt. From the Sear Roebuck catalog, I think. Or Penneys catalog.

I haven't painted in oils since my first child was born (considered too toxic), but that was the first of many.  I was 13.  My brother Henry has a big collection of my paintings in his home in Florida.  I was flattered when I visited him and saw them all hanging.  He was proud of me.  I don't have that many, maybe two or three.  He must have at least a half-dozen or more.  My mom has some, too.  And I have some of hers.  She and I started painting at the same time. My grandmother, too!  She was 63, my mom was 33 and I was 13.

Now that there are non-toxic oil paints, maybe I'll sign up for a class--once my foot is healed.

Some more memories of school.  Cheerleading.  We were the second class to have a cheerleading squad.  Mona was the captain and I was the co-captain.  Me?  Uncoordinated me?  I remember my mom found the perfect gold short-sleeved cotton ribbed shirts for us in the Penneys catalog but Mona wanted us to wear those hot long-sleeved sweaters (with three buttons on the shoulder) from--the BonTon?  They were stylish, yes--but not cheerleading clothes!?  Anyway, Mona won, much to the chagrin of my mom.  They cost $20!  We did not have that kind of money.

I remember, one time, I had to practice a cartwheel and I went into the girls bathroom and cartwheeled right into the trash can!  I sprained my ankle and had to sit out the whole game.  I missed a week of school with my foot up and swollen.  (I've been thinking about that since I broke my ankle recently.) That might have been our last game of the season--of forever.

I would very much like to read other memories of our Catholic School.  Please tell others who were in our class, or our school, about this blog and have them visit and give comments. ♥