The Visible Woman...January 21, 2004

Some days one is well-anchored in the twenty-first century. Other days one is caught in an eddy in the past somewhere.

Sometimes I feel like I'm hurtling into the future, unfettered by my past or my heritage or pretty much anything else, like world history. Other times the past is a bog and you can't escape from it. A mysterious dark bog with strange voices...a place you'd like to escape from almost, but can't..

A lot of things are triggering my fall into the morass today. Dad is going the rounds with the doctors which makes me think mortality. I have a friend in Christopher House and haven't visited in over a week and, well, you know. There's that. Mortality evidence makes you look back.

But, moreover, I think it's because my Aunt left a package of old letters, handwritten notes and pictures with me to look through. They belonged to a cousin of hers (and my dad's) who died without heirs. (Or at least no children.) There are some attempts at family history (born, married, children, died facts) written in pencil or pen in that old-fashioned way in the package and that inspires me to look up my Poindexter kin and I find a huge site dedicated to that clan with reunions and all that stuff. So I can track Mary Anna Poindexter, my great grandmother back and back and back until the name was Poingdestre or Poindestre and there were all these French-sounding given names (Jean, Phillipe, Pierre) but also Marthas and Katherines like they couldn't decide and old George was born on the Isle of Jersey in the channel islands in 1627 and he obviously made his name Poindexter when he went to Virginia. Which makes me think I should go there. To the Channel Islands...into my past.

This (unlabelled) picture I scanned today makes me think how sad people always looked in these old pictures. Moreover, there's something about the old gal that reminds me of myself.

Finally, all these flimsy clippings and pencil writings just make me ponder the fragility of the past and how quickly we forget things. Included is this unattributed note:

"The beginning of the Poindexters is colonial days. A Poindexter boy and a girl were sweethearts, the aristocrats wouldn't let them marry so they made it up to come to America (from England). So he came over---they shipped her over & sold her on block (to pay for passage). (This the couple had made up beforehand---so he bought her in---so that's how they got to marry.) They didn't see women for very long---that was way of paying passage. This was the first Poindexter to come to U.S.A. "

Now...it's probably not true or maybe it's some other line of Poindexters who weren't these island-dwelling Frenchies who saluted the queen of England for the last eight hundred years. But there it is, scribbled in pencil on some tiny note pad paper. The rest of the (blank) pad is in the sack, too. What other secrets should have been written there?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's not my own little long-lost family history. Maybe it's reading all this WWII stuff and thinking "how quickly we forget!" that has me sucked into the past.

And I kept forgetting to take my cell phone with me when I left the house...in a nod to the past, I guess. Of course, I was surfing the WEB for old, dead ancestors and the places they lived. Go, figure. Hypertext links between generations who lived almost four hundred years ago.

	into the past Some days one is well-anchored in the twenty-first century. Other days one is caught in an eddy in the past somewhere. Sometimes I feel like I'm hurtling into the future, unfettered by my past or my heritage or pretty much anything else, like world history. Other times the past is a bog and you can't escape from it. A mysterious dark bog with strange voices...a place you'd like to escape from almost, but can't.. A lot of things are triggering my fall into the morass today. Dad is going the rounds with the doctors which makes me think mortality. I have a friend in Christopher House and haven't visited in over a week and, well, you know. There's that. Mortality evidence makes you look back. But, moreover, I think it's because my Aunt left a package of old letters, handwritten notes and pictures with me to look through. They belonged to a cousin of hers (and my dad's) who died without heirs. (Or at least no children.) There are some attempts at family history (born, married, children, died facts) written in pencil or pen in that old-fashioned way in the package and that inspires me to look up my Poindexter kin and I find a huge site dedicated to that clan with reunions and all that stuff. So I can track Mary Anna Poindexter, my great grandmother back and back and back until the name was Poingdestre or Poindestre and there were all these French-sounding given names (Jean, Phillipe, Pierre) but also Marthas and Katherines like they couldn't decide and old George was born on the Isle of Jersey in the channel islands in 1627 and he obviously made his name Poindexter when he went to Virginia. Which makes me think I should go there. To the Channel Islands...into my past. This (unlabelled) picture I scanned today makes me think how sad people always looked in these old pictures. Moreover, there's something about the old gal that reminds me of myself. Finally, all these flimsy clippings and pencil writings just make me ponder the fragility of the past and how quickly we forget things. Included is this unattributed note: "The beginning of the Poindexters is colonial days. A Poindexter boy and a girl were sweethearts, the aristocrats wouldn't let them marry so they made it up to come to America (from England). So he came over---they shipped her over & sold her on block (to pay for passage). (This the couple had made up beforehand---so he bought her in---so that's how they got to marry.) They didn't see women for very long---that was way of paying passage. This was the first Poindexter to come to U.S.A. " Now...it's probably not true or maybe it's some other line of Poindexters who weren't these island-dwelling Frenchies who saluted the queen of England for the last eight hundred years. But there it is, scribbled in pencil on some tiny note pad paper. The rest of the (blank) pad is in the sack, too. What other secrets should have been written there? Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's not my own little long-lost family history. Maybe it's reading all this WWII stuff and thinking "how quickly we forget!" that has me sucked into the past. And I kept forgetting to take my cell phone with me when I left the house...in a nod to the past, I guess. Of course, I was surfing the WEB for old, dead ancestors and the places they lived. Go, figure. Hypertext links between generations who lived almost four hundred years ago.
I think it might be my great aunt Linda (for whom I'm named) or it might be her mother...I really think that's the case...it's Mary Anna Poindexter as an older woman because...see the resemblance? Or it is some entirely other person I'm not related to at all. Isn't it sad when old pictures, unlabelled, end up being just these eyes staring from the past in sepia tones.
JUST TYPING Sometimes the past reaches out. From old-fashioned script or a sepia photo. From a book picked up about another era, even published then. It reaches out and grabs your internal headlines. Usurping the current obituaries and gay marriage and the Iowa caucus.
		Food Diary. *breakfast* two cups of coffee *lunch* two bowls of salad (spinach, other greens, mozzarella, green onions, tomato, creamy dressing, one large slice smoked turkey) banana two clementines *snacks* hors d'ouevres...little piece of cheese, smoked salmon, etc. two glasses of wine dinner [Jeffrey's] vodka tonic glass of Syrah rabbit empanadas foie gras with apples Today I - was enjoying that foie gras and such thinking my ancestors might not have eaten so well...but who knows with that French connection...of course, the Channel Islands have been trying to be British for so long....
<diatribe> A personal opinion on 'protecting' marriage: marriage is a religious ceremony or a civil contract. The government has no right to control who can participate in the civil bits beyond making it equal for all...any two people ought to be able to file a joint return or be 'next of kin' in civil matters. (Or three or four people could have a special 'arrangement' if the government decides to recognize that number for legal matters for all citizens.) And religion is religion. I have a civil marriage. I'm not sure I deserve a tax break or the right to have someone designated for special inheritances or making decisions if I'm not competent. But any two people ought to get the same consideration from the government if my spouse and I do. For adult men and women all that is required is a stupid ceremony and the requirement to have only one arrangement at a time and to dissolve the first. If you want religious blessing, that's between you and your church. Have at it. How in the world did we get the government involved in this one? We talk about separating church and state and it would be great if we could do it. While we are at it, churches should pay taxes precisely because they are otherwise subsidized and some government wonk is deciding what is true religion. Don't even get me started on 'faith-based' charities and the government. Religion: fine...you should be free to do what you want if you don't harm others. Keep it out of government. </diatribe>		Time flies.... I got to water aerobics on time...actually I was early and I got some coffee first. Dad was late but I knew he'd be there. I didn't do any other exercise after water aerobics. I just had a shower, a steam, another shower. Then I went home and discussed my dad's recommended consultation about his 'mass' in the thorax. I made an appointment with the surgeon for a consultation and got him to try to get his cat scan and report sent to the guy. (Due to HIPA, I would have to fax a power of attorney to them before it would be OK for me to get these records sent from one place to another. I'm not sure I have the right kind of POA...I need to check.) I went to pay the property taxes on dad's house and I also picked up a form to get Dad a handicapped permit. I washed our new towels, made lists of things to do (futile, I know), exchanged a couple of e-mails, fixed up a PowerPoint for a meeting where FFP is speaking tonight.. I took yet another shower, packed up the laptop and went to this meeting with FFP. We socialized, set through the meeting and watched the Frost Bank tower light up afterword. Then we went to Jeffrey's and had food. In between all this I browsed the Poindexter stuff, Paris hotels and such.

		Reading. Newspapers. Best Essays of 2003 edited by Anne Fadiman. The Conquerers by Michael Beschloss.
		nothing
		Exercise one hour water aerobics
	. .	Physically feel good and strong but adrift mentally.
	It's a Tangled Web we weave...these days of our lives.	One year ago "Well, some days it feels insanely good, I have to say. I'll be picking out a good book to read or deciding that I can visit with my dad, have lunch with my husband and walk for an hour and a half and then exercise and read. All in one day that isn't a weekend. Other times, it feels a little tense deciding how to spend the time. Because chats, lunch, exercise and all that don't feel productive and they don't contribute to the bottom line or domestic success of the family." Two years ago "As SuRu and I say, 'we like to buy more stuff to organize our stuff.' I've tried to resist this lately."