It Might Be A Brick

My church is having a Palm Sunday bake sale and I decided to bake one of those pudding type cakes for a recipe I recently acquired.  Pudding cakes are not a regular thing for me.

The recipe was explicit, use the regular pudding mix and not the instant and I could have sworn that was what I picked off the grocery shelf.  I seem to remember that it might have been the only type in the flavor I needed.

Too late to back track since the egg mixture was already whipped up, I carried on.

If I had taken a moment to think, maybe if I added the pudding at the very last minute, I might prevent a possible disaster.  Time will tell.

 

Twenty minutes in the oven and it does look a little peculiar.

I think I will save for Easter dinner next weekend and maybe let the family members enjoy it?

Whatever, I have plenty of time to whip up the family cake for tomorrow.

Babs in the Kitchen - Why Don’t We Cook Cucumbers? *

Most of this morning was spent by this lazy and sometimes reluctant cook. 

I do my grocery shopping with very good intentions.  Sometimes, well quite frequently my plans change or fail.

A quick inventory of the fridge resulted in a cache of tired and wrinkled and not so gorgeous fresh vegetables.  A salvage operation was organized and the successful result is what I will call a dump soup.  A raid in the pantry gained a carton each of vegetable and chicken broth and 2 bay leaves, added to a sauté of garlic and chopped onion in the soup pot. More scavenging found a can of stewed tomatoes that was crushed and added then one slice of deli ham was launched to float around in the mix.  Dump #1.       

Next dump was diced carrots, celery and red pepper, and the final dump was the canned red and white beans found with the tomatoes, along with zucchini chunks and spinach.  While just a few leaves of the fresh basil looked anywhere near promising, my entire supply of fresh parsley was still in its original glory!  Chop, Chop!   A few grindings of black pepper and sea salt and for a little kick, a pinch of cayenne pepper.                 

Some of that hopeful celery was still left, so tuna salad appeared.  Was on a roll - then some egg salad was born.  Several lunches, ready to go.

Unfortunately, the English cucumber from Mexico or Canada didn’t pass muster.  I really tried.  It still looked a bit viable so it was peeled and sliced.  It was faking it as the inside was not the appetizing creamy white. And, it failed the taste test.  Too bad.  I am not sure if it could have been dumped.  I have only ever had cucumber in its uncooked state.  Does anyone cook it?

* This was an unpublished draft written who knows when but I still ask that question.

Stout Search

 Well, I seem to be on a roll, sometimes averaging two years between posts.  It is what it is.

The Covid19 pandemic is still with us but hopefully, with vaccinations, boosters and natural immunities, it will soon settle down and life can go back to some sort of normalcy.  I am so grateful that my family has been spared any serious illness.  

During these past few months, with lots of time and internet, I was hanging out on the genealogy websites, hunting for the elusive ancestral lands.  A few years ago, I learned I was descended from the Randall family, the tavern owners who gave Randallstown its name.  Not an incorporated town these days but it does have a bustling commercial area with shopping centers, churches and a post office.  Maybe not too much different from those days in the late 17th century.  And, I presently live less than five miles away.

My ancestor was Christopher Randall, who owned several properties in what at the time was Anne Arundel County but is now Baltimore and Howard counties in Maryland.  Internet is so wonderful, giving you access to so many records, like land grants.  Randall held a patent for a property called Stout Plantation.  My (casual) quest the past two years was to find Stout.  I wondered if it was at one time in my neighborhood.  

Like a lot of quests, I found more about other family and lands along the way.  Margaret, the sister of my ancestor Joanna Randall, married into the Thomas Browne family.  The Browne farm is now the home of the Howard County Conservancy.  One of the Randall properties, Good Fellowship, is now part of the farm.  Great place to visit, easy hiking.  I live about three miles away.

The Patapsco River appeared quite often in the boundary surveys of the old grants.  Good Fellowship mentions the 'great falls' of the river.  Anyone who has visited the McKeldin area of the Patapsco Valley State Park, has seen what is probably the only true rapids in the river.  Was this the great falls?  Well, my excitement waned when I learned that quite often falls in a river sometimes meant just rocks, not really rapids.  The Stout search continued.  I was so certain it was somewhere near home.

On occasion, I will travel to the Breadery, on Oella Avenue in Catonsville.  They sell frozen brick oven pizza that is made next door and some local craft beer, wine too.  Busy area here, walkers on the Trolley Trail often stop in for coffee and maybe a muffin.  I always pass the entrance to the Benjamin Banneker Historical Park and have never visited.  So, after my last pizza run, I did a quick drive through, literally just a ten minute visit.  Turning right after entering, there is an interpretative area,  an old house and apparently some trails leading down to the river.  The museum is on the left at the entrance and as I came down to make the turn, on a big rock was a plaque describing how the place became the Banneker farm, originally part of Stout, that at that time had passed out the Randall family.  So, another longer stop, with a visit to the museum and a hike will be in the future, when winter lets go.

Stout found.  And the craziest thing, just through the woods, you could likely walk to the old Phelps house on Nine Mile Hill, where my dad grew up.

Adventures in the with Kitchen with Babs

Social distancing has evolved into a stay at home directive, which is pretty much how I have lived my life the past two weeks and will continue to live until the curve flattens.
There is an abundance of time to read ebooks and even time to do tasks around the house. One of those jobs that I tackled last week was to clean out my freezer.  Today, I share what I did with a couple of discoveries.

In the very back of the freezer was a jar of homemade cranberry sauce.  Cranberry sauce is one of the easiest things to make, if you are a fan of the chunky kind.  I think I was the only one to enjoy it that past Thanksgiving.
There was also some leftover phyllo which I’m sure I used to make something but I have no memory of what it was.
What could I make, a cranberry tart or something?
The gauntlet was thrown down and I arose to the challenge of making that something.

First, this lazy baker took layers of that phyllo and slapped them into a buttered pie dish.
Next came the filling.  Languishing in the fruit drawer were three apples, getting soft in their old age.  Those three ancients were peeled and chunked and thrown together with some of that sweetened cranberry sauce, which had hints of cinnamon, and then all was dumped on top of that thin pastry.
Lastly, was the most labor intensive part of my endeavor.  Butter was cut into a spiced flour and sugar mix and crumbs were made to sprinkle on top of the fruity concoction.

I popped that dish into the oven and and very soon, was rewarded with the aroma of a creation that teased at the possibility of being something delicious.

How did it taste? It smelled heavenly but I have no idea since I haven’t tried it yet.  You can always ask later.
But, if it is a fail, I have ice cream in the freezer.

The Funny Spoon

Back around the holidays, maybe it was the past Thanksgiving, my family made a collective decision to do a family dinner about once a month.  The first one was on Valentines weekend, with a luscious spread of roasted beef tenderloin, Parmesan potatoes and steamed broccoli, along with a salad.
Dessert was a so-so apple cake but there was also something definitely enjoyed more, ice cream and cream soda floats.

Someone ended up with the funny spoon, which is really just a sugar spoon that is in the drawer with the teaspoons.  To be possessor of the funny spoon was always coveted.  I don’t know why.

It was a great afternoon of sharing food, conversation and card games.

The next family dinner, which I already had planned to be a very much less elaborate one of some family favorites was first delayed because of grandkids sports conflicts and now looks to be even more delayed because of pandemic.  Family get togethers are postponed indefinitely.

So, time will be spent with my self for company as I do the social distancing thing.  Lots of time to tackle the household back burner list along with the pile of books to be read.  And spring weather is here with more opportunities to enjoy the season’s beauty, if in silent solitude.

And to wonder, what was so special about that funny spoon.

Wrinkled Red Peppers

And just like that, nearly two years have passed since my last post.
So much for the attempt to share more reflections on life which right now, is thankfully, is in sort of a holding pattern not too much different from the past.  Meaning, I’m still just trying to keep up.

Recent adventures include travels to parts of this world previously unknown to me, like Greece, Malta and Sicily.  Journeys to new places are in the future.

The past years also brought some sadness with the loss of beloved family members and but also strengthened the love I have for my family and my extended family (Cousins are the best!) and friends.

And I have added choir member to my life resume; these new friends are so welcoming to this wanna be song artist.  Wonderfully lifts my spirit and soul.

Still learning and playing the folk harp, doing lessons and workshops that I love, when I can. Nearly fifteen years ago I made the leap into something new and have not regretted it ever.

And so, today’s reflection is like the wrinkled red pepper rescued from the vegetable drawer in the fridge and sautéed for my breakfast eggs.
I am finding each day is a chance to find a new blessing in my imperfect journey of life.

In the Kitchen Today

Tomorrow brings the feast of Saint Patrick, celebrated by many of Irish origins and those who have adopted the Irish custom of a corned beef and cabbage dinner. I have been to Ireland several times and have partaken of many meals in pubs, carveries and restaurants. I never saw corned beef and cabbage on the menu. Must be a U.S. of A. thing. I do remember my first dinner in Ireland, in Doolin, bacon and cabbage. Wonderful meal, the bacon being more like the Canadian style bacon, ham really, washed down with a genuine Guinness. Definitely pork and not beef. And a potatoes and cabbage combo was everywhere, but no corned beef. In fact, I always thought it was a Jewish deli thing.

I have been invited by a very good friend to a corned beef and cabbage dinner tonight. So, yesterday evening, I thought I would make something to complement the Irish tea that I am gifting to my hostess. I thought, Welsh Cakes, really cookies. Not Irish of course, but still Celtic, I think. The recipe looked quite simple.
Perhaps I should not have attempted anything so late in the day. Let's just say that it was a fail that has been relegated to my freezer for my own consumption when I am desperate. Maybe aging will improve them.

So, today I was up early and in the kitchen, mixing up my no fail cake. Not just any cake, but one my in laws call the Phelps cake. A cake that my mother always used to bake. I once asked my dad's sister, Aunt Nancy, about where the recipe came from and she said that her mother used to make it. So, maybe it's really a Beatty cake or even a Flanagan cake. Anyway, I like to think that it in fact may have Irish origins and so, is most appropriate to go with the maybe not so Irish corned beef dinner.

Something different I did today was to actually bake the cake at the proper temperature of 325 degrees Fahrenheit. I had always heard that ovens can vary by as much as 25 degrees, and darn if my oven wasn't in the plus range. 325 was actually 350! So, I tinkered with the setting, giving thanks that I had digital controls. 315 gave me my 325, or fairly close. Best looking cake to come out of my oven in a very long time! My recommendation, check your ovens with a simple little oven thermometer.

Years ago, my husband Steve gave me a Kitchen Aid mixer for Christmas. The heavy one. Much better than a vacuum cleaner. It has faithfully served me, whipping up cakes and frosting and kneading my popular Parkerhouse rolls that are always requested for holiday dinners. Long ago, I bought the meat grinder attachment and one day, I may attempt to make my own sausage, if I can find it. Meanwhile, I will continue the upper body work so I will never lose the power to lift the mixer from its cabinet. Second recommendation of the day, consider getting one if you haven't one already.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

 "To all the days, here and after,
  May they be filled with fond memories, happiness and laughter."

Slainte Mhaith!

The Name Game

By now, my followers have probably have deduced that I dabble a bit in genealogy.
I began during the early years of the World Wide Web, when there was just a fraction of today's information available on the internet.
Trips were made to the Maryland Historical Society in Baltimore, the Hall of Records in Annapolis, the Baltimore County Historical Society in  Cockeysville, and a couple of area LDS family research centers. Visiting the old buildings that housed some of these records was an added highlight.
In those early days, I learned a lot about Soundex, using microfilm readers and tackling the challenge of deciphering old handwriting.

Names back then, proved to be quite a challenge. I learned to never be surprised by the spelling of some of the old family surnames. The Irish O' was dropped, e's and a's transposed, letters added, letters left off, and so on. Sometimes, it was just what the census taker or immigrant official may have heard in trying to understand what was being said. Just as the ancestral newly immigrant families came to build new lives, so were some of their names reborn into a new life.

My ancestor Beatty, or Beattie/Baty/Bady/Betty, married a Demoss, which may harken back to the French then Dutch Dumas, (perhaps another dose of royal blood - was he really a comte?).
In the Beatty line, there were plenty Williams and James' and one had to exercise much care in keeping them in their proper place.
Flanagan could have more n's, or a vowel switched to i or e.
And Phelps could appear as the phonetic Felps or even Phillips, a totally different name.

And it wasn't just the last names. First names had their own issues!
I was at quite an advanced age (as a child!) when I learned that my father had another name. Of, course, he was Dad or Daddy to me. I had always heard him called Jesse and was surprised to learn that he was a Patrick, too.
The story goes that my great grandmother wanted him baptized Jesse but the priest said no, he had to have a saint's name, even though Jesse is a good biblical name.
And, that he was supposedly named after a good friend of Nanny Weber.
Jesse Boudinot does flow off the tongue quite smoothly although Patrick Boudinot is not without its own  charm.
Rarely, did I hear him called by Patrick though once, there was a phone call asking for Pat that sent me into a dither. Was it for my dad or my sister, Patricia, known as Trish and that someone didn't know she wasn't a Pat? And while we are talking about my sister, it's quite obvious Patricia Lee is named after our father. My other sister is Catherine Maureen, very close to our  mother's Irene Catherine. And then there is me, Barbara Susan and I don't know who I am named after.

Dad wasn't the only one of his family to have another name.
Leonard Passano carried on another fine family name but his moniker was Lolly, maybe so as not to be confused with his father, Leonard Passano known as Len. Uncle Lolly could wiggle his ears.
A distinguished Hugh Fidelis was transformed into Oots or Uncle Ootsie. Did someone in the family know Latin?
Sweet Aunt Sis wins most original first name, Felixena, proudly named after her McCurley great grandmother. It is easy to see why it was shortened to Sis as the name may have been a challenge for her young siblings.
Aunt Nancy was really Ann Rita, sharing not just the names her mother Ann and Ann's sister, Rita. She also carried on the legacy of beautiful women in the family.

Dad's two remaining brothers, William Calhoun and Harry Cornelius, also shared names of their ancestors but some how escaped the family's unusual naming habit.
William became a normal Bill, but a Bill with his own hill and Harry stayed Harry, unlike the first of that name who came into to the world as Adam Cornelius and left it as a Harry.

I wonder what other name gems will be uncovered as I dabble among the ancestral roots?

A definate goal

In my last post there was a word that passed the spell check but it was actually one misspelled by me and I was very much ready to edit the post. Curiosity stayed my hand when I looked up the mistake and learned its meaning. I decided that it could stay. Remember this.

There is a purposely misspelled word in today's title. I think it may be one of the most misspelt words in the English language. I have even seen teachers with advanced degrees do it a slight injustice.
I am sure that you have noticed it. But I will not let it overshadow the more important word.
Goal.

The new year is 51 days old and I now have a goal for 2017. My sister and I have entered a sprint triathlon again. We have begun training, starting with the swimming. Each visit to the pool for lap swimming, we are pushing each other to do more lengths. This is my strongest leg of the triathlon. I'm not extremely fast but I'm very comfortable in the water. We will also will be adding cycling to the training program and for me, the run is a walk since my jog is just about as fast as my walk. I suppose that the cycling part is my weakness. Maybe I will look for a spin class. Will definitely be doing some riding on the road before mid June.

We did this same event last year. Trish was in a different age group. We both medaled. Not terribly difficult since there aren't that many individuals in our age group competing. We were just happy to finish.The award was added bling. But still, a definitely nice reward.

This year, we are in the same age group. We are competing against each other. And that's okay because my goal is again, really just to finish. If I can better my time, that's an added plus. I am hopeful that my knee and my hip will cooperate and not complain so much during the training, and I can accomplish this goal. I am realistic, too. It could be a not so pretty finish for me. Either way, there is definitely a lovely and cold beer waiting to be enjoyed afterwards. This is even a better reward!

And now, what was that not so wrong word in the last post?
If you like, leave a comment for me if you definitely know what it is.

When a hundred is not what it seems

The first post of 2017 probably should be about the new year and any resolutions. I don't do resolutions. Quite pointless for me since they are usually forgotten or ignored. So, I generally just steer myself toward very generalized goals and just maybe, I find myself on a new path leading to good things like a healthy lifestyle and learning new things, etc, etc. Experience has taught me a lot and I just may not need a map for the coming year.

I like maps. And I can read a map fairly well. Usually. My sisters will tell you that I'm wrong since when we were in Ireland, we traveled for two hours but only covered barely an inch on the map. But I was driving then, and not looking at the map but looking at road signs. And now, I will never, ever, ever forget that there is a huge difference between the M4 and the N4. Still it was a lovely adventure driving through the spectacular Wicklow Mountains.

In its infancy, the Maryland colony was very different from the state of Maryland.  Parts of the state were still part of the Virginia colony and there were only four counties, St. Mary's, Charles, Anne Arundel and and Kent counties, in the mid 17th century. By around 1660, Baltimore County became its own entity and as the state's population increased, the number of counties grew too.

One of the more confusing things I encountered in the family research was hundreds, a descriptive term found in the tax lists and in the early land patents. One would assume that it meant something very important in a geographical sense. There are several possible origins. It appears about the time of the Roman rule over Britain. One meaning could be a hundred families in a certain area. Or maybe it meant that there could be found in the area, a hundred warriors or fighters to serve in an army. Whatever it's beginnings, the term found its place in the early counties, each hundred with a constable or sheriff and a justice of the peace. Information can be found at Rootsweb.com, should you be interested.

I live very close to Old Court Road where it begins its journey from the Patapsco River through Baltimore County, almost to Towson, the county seat. Local history tells me that in my neck of the woods, it was once an Indian trail. One of the oldest roads in the state, it originally was part of a road that led a traveler from Annapolis to Old Baltimore, which was sited on Bush river in Harford county.  From there, one could reach Philadelphia. The port of Old Baltimore eventually silted up and the new Baltimore sprouted and flourished at its present day spot in the Patapsco river basin.

It looks like I may be living in what was at one time the Upper Patapsco Hundred, since I am north of the river. Same hundred as my tavern owning ancestor. Lower Patapsco hundred was south of the river, and eastward was a different hundred altogether.

One can find copies of old maps all over the World Wide Web. A good collection resides at lib.umd.edu.
Looking at these old renderings of the colony with the Chesapeake bay and its tributaries, I am amazed how accurate they could be without the benefit of the satellite imagery that we have today. Not perfect, of course, like the one I saw with Delaware so shrunken as to be absolutely minuscule. Rather bizarre looking, really.

Old maps, even as late as 1877, sometimes bore the names of the landowners so you could easily see where the old homestead once stood. Quite useful for the amateur genealogist.

Some ask why this small obsession with the past and genealogy and family history. I could say that I like knowing where I'm from. But I think it is really quite simply just a love of history. And with that, whatever the early cartographers could teach me with their works of historical art.

Sowing the Quaker Oats

My first cousins number over forty. Quite a lot and with a big age range. Not too unexpected though, in this traditional and mostly Roman Catholic extended family.
And, it could have been even a greater number had not my parents been a pair of a "sisters that married brothers" foursome.
Family gatherings and reunions on both sides were always well populated.

In today's ramble, I am returning to one heavy limb of the ancestral family tree that I share together with my two sisters and twenty-nine of my many first cousins.
Disclaimer: this is by no means a scholarly treatise but rather, a casual sum of results from my bouncing around on the internet.

Born a Protestant, my ancestor Thomas Wynne most likely converted to Quakerism at the time he married his first wife, Martha Buttall. He embraced the Quaker faith with full enthusiasm, authoring pamphlets, being persecuted and even imprisoned, according to that fountain of global information, Wikipedia.
His daughter, Sidney Wynne married William Chew, also a Quaker.
William and Sidney Wynne's daughter, also Sydney, married Charles Pierpont the senior. Charles was a Quaker.
William and Sidney's daughter Ann married Christopher Randall, maybe not a Quaker.
Charles Pierpont, Jr., son of Charles and Sidney Chew, married Johanna Randall, daughter of Christopher Randall and Ann Chew.
So, Charles the second married his first cousin, Johanna!

Charles Pierpont number two was apparently expelled from the Quaker meeting. My guess is it could be because when he married Johanna, he may have married outside of the Quaker faith, which I learned was a big no-no. While Johanna's mother was born a Quaker, her father Christopher Randall may have had Anglican (Episcopalian) roots since a later Christopher, was a prominent member of St. Thomas, a chapel of ease in Garrison, an extension of St. Paul's parish of Baltimore, gleaned from an online source.
But, not to worry. Charles, jr., in a letter, asked for acceptance for himself and his family back into the Quaker fold. All was forgiven apparently, since some of his children's weddings were witnessed at meetings some years after the date of his expulsion. The Quakers kept some detailed records of their early meetings.

The Quaker tradition continues somewhat with the marriage of Charles and Johanna's daughter, Mary Pierpont to Felix McCurley of Baltimore. Felix was the son of Patrick McCurley and Sarah Webb. Sarah appears to have roots with the Fawn Grove Quaker meeting, near York, PA, (according to another website) but I'm not sure what Felix's affiliation was.
Felix and Sarah were parents of a second Felix whose daughter Felixena, married my Phelps great great grandfather. By the time of this union, the Quaker influence maybe had come to its definite end.

My Quaker forebears were quite prolific.
Thomas Wynne, Sidney's father, had nine children.
William Chew, son of Samuel, was one of eleven.
There was a bit of a dry spell when Anne Chew and the possible non-Quaker Christopher Randall were blessed with just three heirs.
Anne's sister Sidney and her husband Charles produced fourteen little Pierponts.
The family of their son Charles and his cousin Johanna numbered nine more Pierponts. Not a bad number considering that the Quaker Chews may have been shorted a few more descendants when these two first cousins united in marriage.
Their daughter Mary, together with Felix the first, were parents of eight.
My great-great-grandfather, William Clagett Phelps, was just one of two, possibly because his mother, Felixena had died at a young age but she was one of seven born to the second Felix and wife Ann Rebecca.

I am one of many, added to the tiers of second, third, fourth and more cousins, together with those mysterious 'times removed' people, all too numerous to count.
And, while the original Quakers may have been diluted over hundreds of years, their descendent family pot continues to bubble with a porridge of progeny.

Ear Worm

Years ago, my dad and Uncle Sam ventured into the entrepreneurial world and together had a Cities Service gas station. I don't remember too much about it. It was very close to home and we could walk to it. About the same time, we had a portable record player. Hi-Fi, it was. It may have come as some promotion at the gas station. I can't really remember but that gas station and the record player share the same page in my memory book.

There were a few LP records, too. One was the Beavers, a knock off of Alvin and the Chipmunks, maybe. And a collection of Spanish tunes, one in particular that is forever in my brain. Even while writing this I can bring it back to life along with the mental video of my feeble attempts at traditional Spanish dance. Later, Beatles albums were added to my list of favorites.

In high school, the family graduated to a stereo although the kind encased in a cabinet like a piece of furniture. No genuine equalizer but there were speakers and we could adjust the treble and bass levels. Add some headphones and I could be at the concert, listening to Carole King and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young as I lay on the living room floor.

All of those records, together with a few years of piano lessons (enough to learn to read music) and the grade school chorus and church choir were the beginnings of my formal introduction to music and song that wasn't a jump rope ditty or childhood game.

More than eleven years ago, after the death of my husband Steve, I embarked on a different musical journey, taking up the Celtic or folk harp. Why the harp? A woman (she is now a very good friend) played her small harp at Sunday mass and it was beautiful and different.

What began as something to keep me busy, evolved into much more. I was very lucky to find a gifted teacher not too far from my house. A new world of workshops and traditional music introduced me to many wonderful musicians of all ages, ranging from enthusiastic students to accomplished performers. I hopped on a musical bus ride that just keeps on going.

I believe there is no question that certain talents are natural gifts that not everyone shares. I don't consider myself a natural musician. I am getting better at learning by ear but it does not come easily to me. My sister, on the other hand, has a much better ear than me. In my father's family, there was his brother, Uncle Harry, who was said to always have a guitar in his hands and Aunt Nancy's granddaughter, Kelley, is gifted with a beautiful singing voice. On my mother's side, no musicians that I know of although cousin Mike, in Colorado, does a mean karaoke. I myself, still like to sing, though not too well and like many, it is usually a private concert in my car.

Even though music doesn't come naturally to me, I do believe that I am musical. Anyone who has seen me dancing to the oldies with my sisters can see there is at least some innate rhythm, probably my primitive DNA drumming it's way to the surface. Musicality is something we all share in this universe. Many people may not have been gifted with a musical talent, but the fact that they are camping out in a line to buy concert tickets is proof to me that music speaks to them, that they enjoy the melody, the lyrics and the beat. They are indeed, musical.

So, I am enjoying my bus journey with the harp, happy to be a wee bit musical and to dance and sometimes even sing out loud, to the beat of the ear worm, that tune stuck in my head.

Happy Thanksgiving

More than two weeks ago, in the wee morning of a Sunday, the hours in the day fell back to standard time. There are many who dislike the shortening days of the season but I like a brighter morning and I welcomed the time change.

With the lessening of daily sunshine comes the reminder that winter is soon is on the horizon.
But it's really difficult to think about being ready for cold weather and the coming holidays when we are enjoying an extended and beautiful Indian summer. There's is always a to-do list that needs attention and I find myself eager to tackle those jobs that have me outside and sometimes those more important indoor ones must wait.

And I don't feel guilty any more in leaving things undone, having learned that enjoying a walk with a friend is one of those chores on that to-do list.

I am thankful.

Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy Thanksgiving.

What's In A Name?

Hoping to unravel a little more of the ancestors ownership of land, this morning I found myself revisiting mdlandrec.net, Maryland's online land record search. This is great resource for anyone doing genealogy or if you are just interested in how your neighborhood came to be named.

Today, was a look at the Howard County records. Unlike Baltimore County, they do not have copies of the actual records online but they do provide information on where to find it. I think the county's Historical Society can access the database and you can also make a visit to the Maryland archives in Annapolis.

It's apparent that there was no system of addresses like street names, etc. yet in place. And, you could name your piece whatever you desired, it seems. I am sorry to say, I completely lost all sensibility while reading some names of the land parcels. Here is a sampling from the years 1670 to 1771. Actual names are in boldface.

Doughreaghan Manor, the manorial estate of Charles Carroll, seems to be at the top of the acquisition list, with 10,000 and 7,000 acres and Charles didn't stop there, acquiring other pieces of property, miniscule in comparison to the home place.

Some bore place names, memories of the old country, I think,  like Edinburgh, Caledonia (at 11638 acres, a joint effort of individuals to keep up with the Carrolls, perhaps) and even Lapland. The owners were a learned lot too, with To Be Or Not To Be, Terra Eacultabalis (my high school Latin fails me) and Grecian Siege. A bit of religion is thrown in with Ash Wednesday  and you prayed that your Mount Gilboa was a Mount Hope and definitely not a Mount Misery. Another one  has me thinking it could be an epitaph, I Have Been A Great While At Rest. The royals and nobles are remembered too, Good Will To His Lordship and Fredericksburgh.

Was there a story behind Find Out If You Can, Molly's Delight, Sally's Chance,  Robinson's Mistake or Dorsey's Advantage and Joshua's Loss? (Did someone gamble unwisely at cards?) Could there be a favored nephew remembered fondly with Unkle's Good Will? And then there is the amateur genealogist's dream, September 14, 1739 I Was Born John Hammond, Son Of John.

It was definitely a struggle back in the 1700's with Poor Man's Beginning at just 100 acres. Life could be full of Disappointment, Little Worth or even Worthless, with Poverty Discovered while dealing with Strife and much Hard Grubbing, and all was easily Lost By Neglect. It was a life that was Hard To Get And Dear Paid For, Costly  and Watts Left or What is Left  could be Anything at 56 acres which was certainly better than Something at 26 acres and Fire Tongs.

And you hoped to maybe have good neighbors if you lived at Ill Neighborhood, Neighbors Spite and Dunghill Ground Thicket, but it could be a wee bit uncomfortable if you lived at Pork Plenty If No Thieves and the farm next door was Chandlers Slaughter.

But not all was doom and gloom as you Look Sharp and the Dispute Ended with Peace or at least, Titt For Tatt  and you could be Content with five acres instead of seeking more Contentment with 350 acres, basking in the Silence of your Beautiful Croft and your Second Addition to Snowden's Cowpen.

In Conclusion, I can only say you are probably glad I have reached The Finish of today's rambling.  

Bear That In Mind, Part Two

My home is in the Granite area of Baltimore County. I have been here nearly thirty eight years.
Some people have not heard of it so I just tell them I am sort of southwest of Randallstown, very near the county line at the Patapsco River.

There is a road closure less than two miles from my house. Part of a retaining wall supporting a small section of Woodstock Road was washed away in the same storm that sent a devastating flood through Ellicott City in July. One detour route to Howard County has me traveling along Marriottsville road, crossing the Patapsco River further west. It is a rural and winding way through a quarry and past a gun club firing range. A section of the Patapsco River State Park, McKeldin area, is accessed from this road. There is a small but genuine rapid on the river here, maybe the only one, that is easy to get to.

Today's bear in mind thought has to do with a child of ancestors William Chew and Sidney Wynne. Daughter Ann, my 7th great grandmother, married a fellow by the name of Christopher Randall. Christopher and his brother Thomas apparently operated a tavern on what was then known as the Liberty turnpike, the beginnings of Randallstown, sometime in the early 1700s. Land deeds online indicate that he must have been prosperous since he acquired other parcels of land. One of special interest is "Good Fellowship", a land grant from Lord Baltimore, its patent even mentioning the falls of the Patapsco as a reference point in the survey. Has me wondering if the falls are the present day  rapids mentioned above. And if I may have hiked in his woods.

Woodstock is just across the bridge from Granite where there is a lovely old farm called Mount Pleasant, the home of "Patuxent Ranger" Thomas Browne and his descendants. It is now the Howard County Conservancy, an environmental education center. I have tramped through the farmland there. Acreage from "Good Fellowship" became part of Mount Pleasant. And I have learned how. Christopher's son Aquila was willed this land. Aquila married Margaret Browne, daughter of Thomas.

Unbelievable.
It seems I am spun from a spider's web of ancestral family relationships.
And, unbeknownst to me until just now, I returned to one of the cobwebs decades ago.

Bear That In Mind, Part One

Sometimes I wonder why my brain just doesn't implode. There are facts upon facts stored in there and even more useless trivia. It's a great day when I have that 'why did I walk in here' moment and can actually remember. And yet, I still enjoy learning even more new facts.

In the previous post I mentioned the phrase, bear that in mind. I first heard this used by Micky Nolan. Micky was our wonderful bus driver and tour guide during a visit to Ireland fifteen years ago. It was reminder to hang onto a nugget of information that would be explained later in his most Irish way. My knowledge of fairy trees is forever burned in my brain because of Micky.

I had also mentioned the land grant, Chews Resolution, the site of Avoca House, built by Arthur Pue. Online genealogy tells me that Arthur's mother was Mary Dorsey, the daughter of Caleb Dorsey, of Belmont. Having a prominent Howard County name, Dorsey, guaranteed success in finding these family members of old. So, we have a link between Avoca and Belmont.
Somewhere along the way, Caleb Dorsey became owner of Chews Resolution. When, why and how?

Caleb's son, Edward Dorsey, was married to Henrietta Maria Chew great great granddaughter of Colonel Samuel Chew, my 9th great grand papa, of Anne Arundel County fame. (More free facts from the internet genealogy.) Did Caleb buy it as a wedding gift for his son? Who knows?

What I do know now is that the builder of Avoca, Arthur, is possibly a cousin, somewhere between 3rd to 8th with probably just as many times removed, far away enough to make my head hurt.

And, I think I can safely say that Chews Resolution likely did stay in the family, or at least the cousin's family, if in a roundabout way.

More next time.

Don't call me Your Highness?

Because of the huge lapse of time in visiting my blogger, I had found myself in a state of total confusion. I had completely forgotten about starting fresh with a new blogspot name and everything. And now, nearly three years to the exact day of the new beginning, I think I have arrived at some sort of sense of what I am doing here. Thoughts on anything will be the theme, I think.

Last month, my sisters and I visited the Howard County decorator show house, Avoca, in the Ellicott City area. I did my homework and read about the house proir to seeing it and my interest was piqued. The house is sited on what was originally a 1695 land grant named Chews Resolution and Chews Vineyard. I have a Chew ancestor, my 9th great grandfather named Samuel.
Was this the family estate?

As it turned out, it wasn't his house since it was built in 1802. Papa Sam was born about 1630. I don't know if he ever lived in the area, known then as Elk Ridge. He apparently was a person of prominence in Anne Arundel County. Maidstone in present day Calvert County was his family seat. (The property in the 1695 land grant apparently changed hands and I believe it became part of Belmont, a lovely estate near Elkridge, MD, built by Caleb Dorsey. Bear this in mind.)

This tidbit of information sent me looking online for Papa Sam and his family. His father John was born in England and was a settler in the Jamestown colony. Samuel and his wife Ann Ayres of Virginia had eleven children and their son William was my 8th great grandfather. William was married to Sidney Wynne. And here it gets very interesting. Sidney was born in Wales. Her father was Thomas Wynne, personal physician to William Penn and like him, a Quaker. William and Sidney had eight children and their daughter Anne is my 7th great grandmother. (Bear this in mind, too.)

Thomas Wynne was apparently a direct lineal descendant of a prince of Wales with an unpronounceable name for my English tongue. In my blood flows the the DNA of royalty. No need to bow lower than the minute speck my DNA requires. I share this royal status with many millions of others, I'm sure.

In Training for Training

219 days until Triathlon!

I have four books to read, and numerous YouTube videos to watch. I have begun to accumulate gear, mostly for the swimming training. Air is in the bike tires and the helmet is ready. The running shoes are always on my feet.

Today, I was at the pool. The swim leg of the tri (getting the lingo down!) is 1/4 mile or 1320 feet. That translates to nearly 53 lengths of the pool. I managed about half that, not all freestyle. I probably could have done more, but it was early morning and my brain couldn't handle that much math until I got home to the computer.
While I was swimming, I tried to envision myself, streamlined body, gracefully gliding through the water. I am sure the reality was nowhere near my dream form! But, I think I may be swimming a bit better, except for the breathing on my right side. It tends to be wetter there than on the left side. Kicking seemed to go well, as well as the arm stroke (doing freestyle).
So, the swim assessment is, that I am confident I can be ready before June! And, I think you are allowed to swim the doggie paddle,too!

Rolling over 50K

First, I think I might need to clarify something. This blog is about whatever and a post will appear whenever I feel like writing something. There is more to life than just a triathlon!

Today is a special day. The odometer on my SUV turned 50,000 miles. I have had the vehicle for two and a half years now and I think that is a lot of driving.
Today is a special day also, because it is my birthday and my odometer is rolling over, too.
Today was a pretty smooth ride, just a few bumps, like the road construction, like the long doctor visit, like not getting everything on the list done.
There were some nice stops along the way, like the delightful visit from a neighbor and her baby grandson, or the spectacular sunset or the birthday dinner out with my grandsons and their parents.
Today was a good day, a mini lesson, teaching me patience for world around me, and for myself. Teaching me to enjoy the moments not on the list.
Sometimes I need days like this.

Trip of a Lfetime?

One of the challenges of being the advanced age that I have now attained is comfortably moving around. Anywhere. Physically. Mentally. Technically.
I have begun a new blog. My last one was from 2011. I posted the new blog in the old one. Sigh. Ok, my fix is to print the new blog. And retype here. Problem solved. Yes, I'm sure there is an easier way. But, I did it my way (apologies to Frank) and it worked.

Trip of a Lifetime?
Somehow, in the past few years, I zoomed from 50 to 60 in something like a nano second.
As I crawl even further over the hill and enter the dark side called 60+, I find myself wondering what that number really means, besides discount day at the store. There is longevity in my family. My father recently passed away in his 89th year, leaving behind myself and two sisters, and also his 90 year old sister and 94 year old brother. Some of those longevity genes are a part of me, too.
There is the saying that the 60's are now the new 40's. And there is the one that says, you gotta use it or lose it.
So, I am embarking on a new adventure, moving more to find what was lost and (also to lose what was found!) and hopefully, turn back the clock as I journey.
I have signed up to do a sprint triathlon.
The big event takes place June 15, 2014.
I am beginning training now.
Come along for the swim, the ride, the run, if you like!