The Frozen Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

It is that time of year again my friends, the time when I begin to wonder what in the world my ancestors were thinking when they moved to Ohio.  Weather forecasts of highs in the teens really make me question the sanity of my ancestors.  (Obviously there is reason to question this sanity, living family members are a big enough clue that those people that came before us just really weren’t quite right.  I’ve been told I can be included in that argument, but keep in mind, I’m considered one of the “normal” ones.  Yeah, that’s a kind of interesting statement.)

What could have possessed my ancestors to think, “Ohio, now that’s the place to go!”?  Granted, according to history books Ohio was once a bit more of an interesting place.  It was once part of the frontier.  There was the excitement of living among, what were considered at the time, wild savages, plus you had the bonus of bears and mountain lions.  So, I guess if you like dangerous places then it would have been up your alley.  Later you had the canal run through the state, and many of my ancestors lived fairly close to it, which added to the idea of Ohio being a kind of happening place.  I think Ohio being a kind of happening place peaked during the canal days.  Still, what could have possessed them to think, “They’ve got some really frigid winters over there; it’s perfect for us!”?

Why is it that my ancestors didn’t decide that somewhere down South wasn’t their cup of tea?  OK, so the summers can be pretty hot and humid there, although news flash, so can Ohio summers.  At least the winters are mild.  Instead Ohio has hot, humid summers that make your clothes stick to your skin and then freezing winters that require you to bundle up in layers or you might get frost bite.  Although I have to admit, the cold does have one bonus.  If you find a bug bigger than your thumb in Ohio, you are not going to have people telling you, “Oh, it’s just a little bug.”  Find a bug running around that is bigger than some small breed dogs in Ohio and people will freak out.  Find one down South and it’s just another bug.  I imagine that my ancestors figured that Malaria not being a real problem in Ohio was also a bonus.

I would like to think that my ancestors also opposed the institution of slavery that was so ingrained down South.  I have no proof of this thought.  Some of my ancestors did fight for the Union during the US Civil War, but that doesn’t mean much.  Joining the fight wasn’t some sort of clear indication of ideals.  In fact, much to my surprise, I even found that one of my ancestors that had fought for the Union, his father’s family had owned a few slaves.  (Ah, West Virginia, where you have big chunks of the population that fought for the North, yet some owned slaves, go figure.)  And I have to admit, I was more surprised that I had ancestors that had the money to actually buy other people then the fact that they had done so.  (Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t like the idea, just surprised my meager farming forefathers were able to swing that.  We have a family tendency that when we say so-and-so got a new car, we are implying new to them.)

On distant ancestor, I do have an idea of why he decided to come to Ohio, or at least left where he was living.  (By the way, this is a story that entertained my grandfather because it was from his side of the family.  He had no knowledge of it, I’d found out about it on a history website, and told him.  He thought it was funny.)  My great-great-great-great-grandfather was Peter Markley.  He lived in Pennsylvania in an area that his family had lived in since before white men were actually legally allowed to settle there because of a treaty with Native Americans.  (As you can see, my family, not so good at listening.)  In the span of time that his father claimed land there, settled, and his children had grown up, settling had been allowed and a town grew.  So Peter Markley built a general store with his brother-in-law.  Indications were that the store did pretty well.  Of course back then store keepers would make trips to large cities, such as Philadelphia, to purchase goods to sell and bring them back on wagon.  During one of these trips Peter met another shopkeeper from Ohio.  They talked, and eventually both set off towards their homes, with the man from Ohio making arrangements for his supplies to be sent by wagon later.  Back in Ohio, the man’s goods never arrived, so he did what you would have had to do back then, set out to find out what happened.  So he goes back to the city, finds out that they’d been sent out, and he follows the trails the wagon would have taken.  Along the way he stops at an inn to have a meal and notices the girl working there has a hair comb just like the ones he’d bought for his store.  He asks her where she got it, and she explains that she got it from the general store in a town nearby.  The Ohio man goes to this general store and discovers his supplies sitting on the shelves.  Seems that Peter Markley hi-jacked the wagon and stole the supplies.  The theft came to light, he and his brother-in-law were facing their legal punishment, and Peter decided to pack his family up and quickly move to Ohio.  He lived out his remaining days on a farm in Ohio.  (His brother-in-law apparently didn’t get the idea to flee, but killed himself instead.)  Now, I can see why the idea to pack up and get out of town appealed to Peter.  In the early 1800’s you could escape legal trouble by just moving away, if it was really bad you just change your name.  (Mind you, Peter Markley didn’t even have to change his name.)  I do wonder, why Ohio if the guy you ripped off lives there?  True, it is a surprisingly good sized state.  Drive across it sometime, you feel like you just keep driving and driving.  (Honestly though, the fact that at least 60% of the drive will be going by orange barrels at 45-55 MPH does not help this sensation.)  Still, I would think that if you are fleeing legal trouble you wouldn’t select the state where the person wanting to pursue charges lives.  It is what he did though, and it seems to have worked out for him.  (I say seems because there is very little information on him.  Markleys not related to Peter tend to ignore him, and there really isn’t much info on him other than that one local historical society in Pennsylvania.)  Still, it doesn’t explain the large amount of ancestors that decided to move to Ohio.  Mind you, not all did.  A fair portion of my family also went to West Virginia.  Trust me; there are reasons to wonder about those ancestors also.

Turning Over a New Leaf

I am going to attempt to try to write something every day. I guess this is kind of inspired by my taking College Composition II this semester. I don't mind writing, so why not practice? And realistically, if I get good maybe I could become a writer.
I had a point, back when I was around 8, that I thought I could be a singer. That seemed like such a cool job. You go, sing some, and get fame and lots of money. I eventually realized that despite the fact that I sing constantly (mind you, kind of awkward when you're working in a retail store at a cash register and a customer asks if you're singing, especially when you didn't even realize you were singing along to bad Muzak, but in my defense, it is a mindless, monotonous job), but as I was saying, I sing constantly but realized I don't sing well. Now, I understand that doesn't mean anything. There are plenty of musicians with no real talent that still make plenty of money. I also realized fame can also be a bad thing. I have a tendency to go out and check the mail in pajama pants, and make up is worn maybe half a dozen times a year. I would be the bread and butter of worst dressed lists. (I can picture some gay fashion expert snickering over my wearing light blue, fuzzy Winnie the Pooh pajama pants with a bright orange, free Mazda t-shirt that belongs to my husband. Yes, I've worn that combo; in my defense, the pants didn't come with a shirt, and in the world of SAHM sometimes you just grab something so you have clothes on.) So I wouldn't do well in the invasion of privacy aspect.
Yet, writing you can make a lot of money and be well known, yet no one is really going to pay attention to you. You don't see James Patterson or Stephen King in magazines because they went to the airport in a t-shirt, flip flops, and an old baseball cap instead of wearing a suit worthy of the red carpet. No one cares. People are interested in what they write, not really what they look like. You can look like you've almost been beaten to death with the fugly stick and people will barely look at your book flap. Even big names, King, Patterson, most people won't really recognize them when they're out. Instead, most people are going to wonder why that jerk is getting any special treatment. Seriously, there are probably a few hundred older white guys that you could put in a Polo shirt or suit coat and have him squint and they could probably pass off claims of being Patterson if they brought along one of his books. (Stick with a paperback with a small black and white photo, the odds of pulling it off will be better!)
Professional writing also had the kind of location and hours I like, whenever and wherever. I like careers that you can do in your pajamas. I also like jobs that you can decide to do in the middle of the night when you can't sleep. Possibilities are endless.
Ok, I know I won't be a writer. I think I have the self control. I can force myself to write, college proves that. Sure, forcing myself to exercise doesn't go well, but that's different. I mean, I try to exercise inside and have four kids under my feet trying to "help", and any serious walk just isn't happening when the high temp outside is around 21 F. Sorry, nope!  So while I can't force myself to exercise or sometimes resist chocolate (not my fault if it is hormone related, that's my story and I'm sticking to it), I can force myself to write because of an obligation, but still.  My kids really listen, so I can't imagine anyone wanting to read what I have to say.  (Hence, the loud sound of crickets at this blog.  Trust me, its there.)
My two big obstacles in trying to write here daily will be remembering and ideas. I admit, if it isn't of a high importance or demanding my attention I am prone to forgetting. (Ask my cat how many times she has had to remind me to feed her. She'll be mad just thinking about it. She needs to realize some days I forget to eat, so it isn't personal.) Also, my life is pretty dull. Amazing how someone can have such a busy life yet also so uneventful, but I guess it happens.

Long Live the Queen

I should be the crowned queen of starting things and not following through.  Bets placed among friends on the ability of one of them to carry through with something should be paid with money that has my picture on it; I am that much the monarch of not following through.  I do it, a lot.  Let’s discuss some of my crowning lack of achievements.  I have an afghan that I started probably about 15 years ago that is the size of a large scarf.  There is the baby bib that I began to cross stitch when I found out that I was pregnant with my oldest child (now 12), but to my credit I did finish that just before the birth of my last child (and she’s almost 2.)  We won’t say much about the bib that I then started while pregnant with her that was a zombie one.  (Really, it would have been perfect for her, she loves to bite people.)  I have the things that I bought to make a quilt; that’s all safely in a bag in the closet and not really beyond the purchase point.  I enjoy scrapbooking, I really do love capturing memories in a creative way, but the most recent scrapbook page I’ve completed is for the birth of my 8 year old son.  And I managed to do it, and kind of offend him because of how long it took, right around the time the youngest child was born, so I’m still two kids behind.  My children’s baby books are all incomplete to varying degrees.  My youngest, often referred to as “the girl”, is going to be so offended when she discovers I got as far as putting in her name and when she was born.  (Sorry kiddo, sucks to be the youngest.)  Then there’s this blog, which the annual postings don’t quite count as following through.

I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, I guess.  I’m following through on some things.  I’m still married.  I mean, my husband is a goofball, kind of a perv sometimes (although, as he likes to point out, only a perv towards me so that’s a good thing), but I still love him and enjoy being with him.  Still doing the whole mother thing, sure sometimes fleeing to a beach and living under an assumed identity sounds like a good plan, but I stick around.  I guess it’s a combination of I love the little goofballs, they are kind of cute, and I’m looking forward to when they have kids that drive them nuts and I will laugh, and laugh, and laugh, possibly snort, and laugh some more.  I also continue on with college thing.  I take classes, stress out over said classes, and lament about how I feel like I’m never going to be done and then have panic attacks over the amount of debt I’ll have once I do.  (Eep, panic attack now just typing about it!!)

So perhaps I’m just not good at following through with hobbies or fun things.  Maybe I just have to have demanding things, things that will insist on me paying attention.  This does explain my inability to keep houseplants alive.