The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Only Time Will Tell written @ 2:02 PM on August 14, 2003 Tuesday-Wednesday had been my first experience camping... sort of. Actually, those times when I was five or six and resolved to run away into the woods across the street from our house and found my own country had been my first experience. We had been a merry bunch of oats sown in what I suppose could be called as close as what we'll get to the wilderness before committing suicide over the vast numbers of bugs that tried to stage kamikaze ambushes, but for a full in-depth report on that as well as other events in the evening, no one sums it up better than Kat so give her a read. Over all, however, I had a good time and would definitely do it again; it seems I have sunk into the heart of my Earth sign at long last. During the course of the night, particularly after a few posse members became a little tipsy from the alcohol, Ashley pretty much confirmed what Jessica predicted would happen to me in my late twenties. They are two very gifted psychics so I don't doubt them, but I still don't believe in predestination. I believe God presents you with one series of choices, and once you choose, you move on to another series of choices, and so forth. God has pretty good idea how you'll choose, but the trick to living life is to pleasantly surprise the Creator. That's how I try to live my life. In any case, Ash and Jess both believe that I will finally fall in love with a guy around the age of twenty-seven, which, to me, was always a lovely and safe age to experiment with such matters. My angel has also periodically assured me of such events and that my life of solitary living would come to an end in due time at the rate I was going. "At the rate I was going," being the key phrase. I don't understand how someone who has had the dating history I've had-- or lack of history thereof-- could suddenly come to terms and meet someone right off the bat without having ventured forth on the dating battlefield in committment. To my ears, that sounds dangerous. "How old are you, Sam? Nineteen?" Ashley inquired. "You've got eight years to do whatever the hell you want and then you're going doooown." I don't know what scares me more: that it may just happen, or Ashley's blatant sexual innuendo that I don't know if she intended or not. The prospect of committment in a serious relationship always bothered me; it sounds, as Ash later added, too much like that song "Miss Independent" by Kelly Clarkson or whoever the hell that American Idol person-lady-thing-singer is. I guess it's okay if it happens; who am I to stifle the flow of life? But this is just for the record that it strikes me as too odd and I'll only believe it when I see it. This entire separation situation between my parents is creating some psychological damage for me, and makes dating and relationships appear even more bleak, an unnecessary complication. But, as they say, only time will tell. *** In news that strikes me as less apprehensive, I am busy preparing for my weekend trip to Pittsburgh. I pulled together my binders, combined my notes, found maps, made lists of churches and cemeteries to visit, and plotted my plan of attack at the Carnegie Library. Yes, friends, I am a true soldier fighting for my genealogy. And Mother is helping me. Of course, she's not at all looking forward to this trip-- she's only doing it because she felt bad that I haven't had much of a vacation this summer and had to miss out on the Rhode Island trip-- and the only pleasure she's going to get out of it is visiting Zanesville Pottery and China off the highway in the middle of bu-fu Ohio. My goal for Saturday is to hit the Carnegie Library and make copies of all the Pittsburgh City Directories from 1900-1940, and, if I'm lucky, 1890-1899. In these files, I hope to successfully track my elusive and devious great-grandfather, David Francis Reno, and discern his exact date of death so I may therefore... .... find his grave at Calvery Cemetery off of Hazelwood Avenue on Sunday. I once heard a story that my grandmother helped her husband find his father's grave, and my dad remembers Pap-Pap gesturing to a hill where David Francis Reno is buried. If I can find the grave on the hill, I can die a happy, fulfilled woman. In the family story, Grandma helped Pap-Pap clean the headstone, for it had been overgrown with weeds and ill-visited. My grandparents have been dead for a few years now (today actually marks the seven-year anniversary of my grandmother's death), and I suspect that no one has seen the grave in years. I cannot tell you how happy it would make me to find it and put the mystery of my great-grandfather to rest. It's also said that my great-great grandfather, Benjamin Minnis Reno, is also buried at Calvery. The funny thing is that my chances of finding his grave are greater than finding his son's. It's an old cemetery that was opened in the mid to late 1800s with thousands of stones; I will need almost all of Sunday to work. Sometime during the course of this trip, Mom and I are meeting up with my cousin Claudine, her husband Marc, and my little cousin Hannah. We're going out to dinner somewhere near Homestead Park, where there's another cemetery where my great-grandmother is said to be buried. She divorced David Francis sometime before the 1930 Census. Finding her stone would be most excellent, although my goal primarily rests in who's at Calvery. If I'm successful in my trip this weekend and get through what I call the 1920s Tangle in my tree, I can proceed even further back in time and piece my dad's family together. My angel has suggested that the Renos in my family may have been in America as long as the Revolutionary War era, so if I can get through the 1920s Tangle, I can proceed faster with that theory. Once more, only time will tell. *** Next Saturday I move back to college. I am extremely apprehensive about this semester. I'm sensing a crossroad here, the Tarot has suggested some tough choices and intense academic and personal turmoil ahead, and the only thing I know for sure is that sleep is going to be as elusive as a unicorn. I think I'm going to go shopping today and stock up on my aspirin. The longer I look at my class schedule, the more unlike my old self I feel. I think I need counseling. I should probably drop the photography class, but that only puts me further behind in my art degree. If I can get through this semester, I'll have made it through a tough period in my life. This is going to be a bad fall, but Dolan will help me. I'm getting good at identifying ghosts and "hearing" what Dolan is saying. I'm just afraid that with that little happy talent of mine combined with the saga of my parents, eighteen credits, art, theater, other small details in life, and the quest to work on some hobbies to keep me sane, I will have officially stretched myself too thin. Never thought I'd say that. Aye me... what have I done...
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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