Here There Be Dragons

Areuse Gorge
Switzerland

The Alsace-Lorraine/Metz branch of my family tree (via my maternal grandmother) had its origins in Switzerland.  That's all I knew until a year ago when I came across an envelope filled with papers relating to the Metz Family Tree that my Great Aunt Edith sent me years ago.  I mean, Years Ago -Pre-Internet/World Wide Web. 30+ years ago. I remember glancing through then, but I must not have really have been thorough, because there was an article I overlooked. It was about a purported ancestor of mine, Sulpy Remond ---or as I like to think of him: The Dragonslayer. The Gerald Metz referred to in the article is a cousin. Here is more detailed account of the battle on page 12.

I tend to take things like this with a grain of salt- especially when genealogy is involved. It's such an inexact science and it's so easy to follow wrong leads which can lead the unwary genealogist to delusions of grandeur or some other genealogical terra incognita- places that cartographers used to label as Here There Be Dragons.  I saw a lot of those missteps as a fledgling librarian. It discouraged me from working on my own genealogy. I didn't want to become like the far too many of the genealogists I encountered at work- snarling at or blaming sweet, innocent young librarians when the ancestor they were seeking wasn't on the reel of the Soundex or Census Microfilm  they'd  specifically requested.  I didn't give too much thought to ancestors who lived in far-off lands.3/4 of my ancestry involves people who came to this country fairly recently in the great scheme of things. To do genealogy at the time, I'd have had to cross an ocean and travel to archives and research. I lacked both money and passion for the project. Besides, what could I possibly have in common with those dead ancestors?

I searched the faces of great uncles and aunts and great grandmothers I never met in few really old photographs my family had for any family resemblance and found none. At best, I found a glimpse of the family mischievousness in the slight smile and the eyes of a child who wasn't following the photographer's instructions and, thus, showing that there was a real person being photographed. His mother and his brother showed that blank, dead stare so prevalent in photographs of the time. James would grow up and go to sea as a sailor. He was the great uncle I'd heard about from childhood who was reportedly lost at sea. But, seeing him in that photograph made me feel a kinship.  I knew that look.  I'd seen it in my Grand-dad's and my mother's faces. I knew I was related to that child. Or when I looked at the photograph of my great grandmother, her husband (the formidable J.K.), and my two half-great uncles. Everyone in the photograph looked fierce, except Brian. He looked nonchalant and relaxed- not trying to be anyone but himself.  I could see the resemblance to my grandmother, his half sister. I met him when I was 6 years old- a big bear of a man who was genuinely happy to meet me (children can tell) but whose size and exuberance intimidated me.  I would love to reach back in time and counsel the little girl that I was- "It's okay.He's really related to us and we really are glad that he is." But, those long dead relatives from long ago?  What could I find out that could possibly be of interest to me?

And, yet- a Dragonslayer in the family! Hmmmmmm. The article - I have the longer

European Water Dragon

version in my possession- puzzled me. Was it an allegory with the river as the dragon or was it a shining legend on par with St. George? I asked a friend and former Genealogy librarian (who, also, has a lot more Swiss blood than I can claim). She shrugged it off saying the versions were basically the same thing. This exploded a Swiss stereotype for me- that of precision.  Dragonslayer, 14th Century Hydraulic Engineer.  Potato, po-tah-to. Really? No difference? Seriously?

Either way, this point remains- Dragonslayer or River Tamer, he was a hero. Not a monarch, or a great leader, or a captain of industry. Just someone who died removing a source of great danger and fear- making life much easier for many in his part of the world. That's a relative to be proud of! 

And then I consider the Dragon.  If there were dragons, I would have expected my ancestor through his heroic actions also chancing incurring the wrath of a Medieval Wildlife Protection Agency, not to mention the Environmental Protection Agency for burning the dragon's carcass. I think of the dragon, one of the last of a fast disappearing species of reptiles, protecting itself against the encroaching humans and operating only out of an instinct for survival. I feel a sense of loss, a sentiment that I doubt my ancestor would appreciate. Does the survival of one species depend on the annihilation of another? Isn't there a better way to handle this?  

"Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage.  Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."  ---Rainer Maria Rilke

Bird Is the Word, Part Two.

This summer, my church is offering a Sunday School class in The Artist's Way- based on the book by Julia Cameron. One of the features of this course of study is that you are encouraged to take at least one Artist's Date a week. At this writing, I am on Week 8 of the course and my first Artist's Date of the week was at my church- Painting with Dale- with Dale Child as our instructor.  The subject of our acrylic painting was Bird on a Branch.

The bird in question turned out to be a cardinal.  Very pretty bird- also known as redbirds in this neck of the woods. Also a very determined, "don't mess with me" sort of bird as confrontations and heated aerial battles in my backyard have revealed. The wise squirrel will let the cardinals and blue jays have their turn at the seed pile unmolested. Unfortunately, the neighborhood squirrels aren't known for their wisdom, courtesy, or adaptation to avian manners. Tweets, chirps, and chatter have been exchanged and the matter of who is the most entitled to the seed has yet to be settled.  (Hint to the squirrels in my 'hood- The label on the bag reads BIRD SEED. BIRD SEED. Get it?  No, I really didn't think you would.)

Cardinals aren't easy to draw.  It's the crest that gave me the greatest problems.  Their slanted high top fade. I wanted mine to look like a cardinal- not a kingfisher or a woodpecker re-imagined  in red.  I tried the old drawing shapes trick to form the bird, but it didn't seem to work for me.  I found a photo of a fluffed-out-against-the-cold cardinal that I liked and tried to draw that.  I had a bit more luck than I did with the shapes method. Audubon isn't rolling over in his grave in fits of jealousy, mind you. I sketched it out on my prepared canvas and hoped for the best. Keeping between the lines is not as easy to do with a paintbrush as it is with a marker or a crayon.  And the crest of my bird kept getting bigger as I attempted to indicate feathers on his noggin.  I decided my bird is a young bird. Perhaps, he will grow into his crest as he gets older.  Or he's just stylin' with his high top fade.

The Artist's Way teaches us that In order to do something well, we must first be willing to do something badly. When we accept this, we widen our options.  Part of me wanted my bird to look more cardinal-like.  But I know myself well.  I can rework and tweak a poem, a drawing, a story, or a painting into something uninteresting or pedestrian -- another lesson from The Artist's Way.  Art is never finished. It simply stops in interesting places. Letting go is a normal part of creativity.

Or as Rumi observed back in the 13th Century: "Fihi ma fihi".   It is what it is.

Bird Is The Word: Part One

Pentecost Birds

In preparation for Pentecost at my church this year, congregants were invited to help make 400 origami doves out of construction paper in a multitude of fiery hues- reds, shades of orange, and  shades of yellow. These would be displayed on a chandelier of sorts in the sanctuary on - June 8th (2014).


This is what they looked like - unstrung, as it were:

This was the brainchild of Kathy Stark, artist and fellow church member who has substantially "fired up" Riverside's Pentecost commemorations with awesome installations. There was a row of tables set up in the Bittinger Fellowship Hall. Those folding birds would start at the first  station - STEP 1- and continue to the next station and the next step until each bird was finished and could join the flocks forming in the basket. Once each bird folder had a bird done, they would circle back to the first station and start again. I managed to fold 21 of them.  Can you spot the ones I folded in the photos below? (Hint- the tails are slightly different.  Yes, there's one. There's another.  No, no- that's definitely not one of mine.)  

The Pentecost Birds in Flight

Sometime before Pentecost Sunday, they were joined by white doves which huddled together down the center of the "chandelier".  There they all turned and swayed in the air conditioned breezes for nearly a month and a half.  If my attention wandered during the service, I would watch the Pentecost Birds. The flock elegantly migrated together to the right, then to the left while each string of birds softly turned and swayed in their assigned vertical rows. They danced in time to the preludes, hymns, the anthems, the offertories, and the postludes or to the music only they could hear in their little paper heads.

From Pentecost Sunday on, there were signs that the "chandelier" wouldn't be a permanent fixture. Some in the congregation hoped that the birds would stay through the summer until Rally Day. But the Pentecost Birds clearly had ideas of their own.  They would shimmy down their wires and land on the backs of the birds beneath them, eventually crowding close together at the end of the wires. There they would sit in uncomfortable-looking clumps.  They looked like concert-goers crowding the entrance doors wanting to get in and get the "good seats".  The sexton reported that he would find birds that escaped their wires on the sanctuary floor. Yet, no matter how many slipped down and away, it seemed were more than enough of them left to dance above us through several Sundays.

And, then, last Sunday, they were gone.  Without a good-bye coo. Without a farewell flutter.

Symbolically, I suppose it was apropos. The Holy Spirit descended on Pentecost.  It didn't swirl decoratively above the heads of the faithful.  It wasn't content to dance on the wind forever.  The winds the Spirit danced on were the winds of change. And change doesn't and shouldn't linger in one place. Change is a word of action. In the case of Pentecost,  it sallies  forth and multiplies and spreads the Word.  

While I know the Pentecost Birds weren't Forever Birds, I'll still miss them and their soulful saltation.

Yeah...well...

How time flies whether you're having fun or not....

So, it's been over a year since I last blogged.  And -yikes- what an expensive first year!  They never covered this in those retirement seminars!

2013 was the first year I couldn't do my own taxes. Things became complicated after Mom died. The way she put together her trust involved monies I would get after her death. But these weren't insurance monies. Nope- it meant taxes. Big time. And, for the first time in my life, I paid taxes. I have never, ever written a check that large. And this year I learned:

1. Unless I go back to work, I will never be able to use IRA contributions as a way to lessen my taxes.
2. I will never, ever overpay my taxes through income tax deductions. My former employer via the Pension Office errs on the side of not taking out enough for employees, The days of the income tax refund are gone, baby, gone.
3. Health costs become a big part of deductions. So do charitable contributions,  If you don't have those, you pay a much higher tax bill.

2013 was the year I started addressing my home's infrastructure.  I hadn't been able to do that when I was care-taking and working full-time. So- exterior boards were replaced; my fence gate was replaced; the house was painted; the water damage from the roof leak was addressed. I thought I was making a good start. Then, then, then.....SURPRISE!  

The slab leak.

First, I blamed the cats. I'd taken them with me on vacation and I thought they were paying me back by wetting the carpet. Then, my neighbor knocked on my door. There was a puddle in her living room. Had I had any problems? Uhhhhhh.....  Her landlord's maintenance guy concluded that the leak was NOT on her side. He very kindly turned my water off and managed to turn it off permanently- as my plumber and I discovered later. Well, darn! I started looking for plumbers and renewed my digging out efforts.  

Three different plumbing companies came to give estimates.   

1. The first was not sympathetic about why my house was in such a state and he did not hide it.  Looked great from the outside. Inside- not so much. The first identified the problem as a slab leak- not the 70s-colored hot water heater going out in a flood of glory. Since the slab leak was under the stairs and tearing up the stairway wasn't a viable option, repiping the house was the only way to go. And- as part of the repiping, he proposed running a pipe outside and up the exterior of my back wall.  I'm not a plumber but that sounded wrong. He gave me an estimate which turned out to be the lowest.  
2. The second was a plumbing contractor recommended by a Facebook friend.  He silently went through out the house with me apologizing and explaining. He sent me an estimate that was over three times as much as the first guy. This was his winsome, yet effective, way of telling me that he did NOT want my business.
3. The third estimator was sympathetic.  Like the first, he explained what needed to be cleared and what needed to be moved. Unlike the first or second, he had been through the caretaking experience and understood. He said he would work with me. His estimate was higher than the first contractor's but I felt more secure with this guy. He got the job.

Clean up and decluttering are somehow trickier without access to water. My next door neighbor let me get water for toilet flushing from her hose. Another neighbor gave me keys to her house so I could take showers and wash my hair.  I spent a small fortune on bottled water.  I hired the men who replaced my decayed exterior boards and siding to help with the garage and it was whipped into -at least- good enough shape that the plumbers could get to the walls they needed to get too. I tackled the inside myself. It was a long process.  I had to get help at the last to move a large piece of furniture out of my kitchen. And weeks later, the work I did clearing things up was enough to get the repiping done. For extra measure, I had them install new toilets, replaced the harvest gold water heater, and replaced the garbage disposal unit which decided to die when the water returned.

The house is still a work in progress.  There's a lot to be done yet but I need to save to get them done. 

And- I made my will. Planning for a time when you're not around is a very sobering experience. Yes- another yikes-inducing chunk of change was involved.

Yes, 2013 was a very expensive year.  I do love understatements.

So- do I regret retiring when I did?  No. Having more money to work with would have helped, but retiring meant I had the time to handle these challenges. I would NEVER have been able to get time off work to deal with these challenges. I hadn't had a vacation since the mid-1990s. And I would have been even more exhausted by the staff shortages. And--- I wouldn't have been able to do what I needed to do for me. Like addressing health and well-being issues.  When you don't address your own infrastructure issues as they occur, you pay both monetarily and physically. I'd been flat out ignoring myself while I was a caretaker. I was warned not to do that. But- like many caretakers- I felt there was no time for the luxury of doctor's or dentist's appointment if it wasn't case of dire need. Being retired, gave me the time I needed to make a start on addressing my needs.  And- wow- did that addressing add to the health cost deductions for FY 2013.  

And- if I hadn't stopped working and retired when I did- I wouldn't have been able to take yoga lessons, take Tai Chi, taking a painting class, go on Lunch and Learn trips, join a choir at church, take Wednesday night classes at church like the cooking class, join the local historical society, fully experience One Spark, attend the theatre, do group meditation, or go to concerts.  I would have been sick, exhausted, angry, and resentful and feeling very undervalued. I saw that coming while I was still working because I was feeling those feelings. For me, it was a no-brainer. It was time to go. It really felt more like escaping than retiring.

Would I have done anything differently? Well, yeah! I learned a lot of crummy life lessons this past year and it hasn't been pretty. The phrase "It seemed like a good idea at the time" can be applied to this period in my life--- even more than I thought probable. 

Is retirement what I thought it would be? I hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about retirement. I was busy coping with life at the moment for the past decade or so. My plan was to keep working as long as I could past the 32 year mark and keep feeding that IRA. That wasn't - as it turned out- the best or most workable of all possible plans.  There's a Yiddish saying- Man plans. God laughs.  One of my favorite quotes is from the first Indiana Jones movie: Raiders of the Lost Ark: "I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."  That line resonates with me. I may not always like it but there are always something that happens that is way beyond my control.  That's what makes life aggravating; it's also what makes it interesting.