The Crab Chronicles

My Family History

OK, my cousin Martha has outdone herself in tracing the history of my dad's maternal side, the Hendersons. I am sitting here in awe of her research skills.

Below, my father's mother, Cordelia Henderson Thompson. She is the daughter of James Lewis Henderson and Martha Beall. The Hendersons were originally from Virginia.

I am related to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Robert E. Lee, and Queen Elizabeth II. For someone like me who is a history buff, that's mind-blowing.

Below, Martha's email to me explaining it. [Martha's words are in blue. Links to other sites are underlined] The plus sign means married.

above, Augustine Warner II

Augustine Warner I + Mary Townley  (gateway ancestors, born in England)

Augustine Warner II + Mildred Reade [Mildred was the daughter of George Reade** & Elizabeth Martiau, daughter of Nicholas Martiau .. known as the first American Ancestor of George Washington, for whom the President was named. Nicholas, a Huguenot, went to England, naturalized, became an engineer, came to VA 1620 as representative of the Earl of Huntingdon and established Yorktown.]

 

Augustine II's sister Sarah married a cousin, Lawrence Townley and their daughter Alice m. Grymes .. down to R Lee. [This page explains it more thoroughly.]

 

**George Reade traces back to Edward III through his son John of Gaunt, his daughter Joan Beaufort + Ralph de Neville, Earl of Westmorland, plus the Percy Family, Earls then Dukes of Northumberland. 

 

Augustine Warner II [sometimes known as Jr.] had these children:

Children:
      Augustine Warner (1667 - 1687)
      Mildred Warner Washington (1671 - 1701)

      Mary Warner Smith
      Elizabeth Warner Lewis (1672 - 1720)

 

This is the good stuff, and hits all highlights of history Elizabeth Warner + John Lewis .. Her sister Mary was the grandmother of George Washington, her sister Mildred is the 7th great grandmother of Elizabeth II, Queen of England, thus our 1st cousin 8x removed, or 9th cousin

 

[Elizabeth Warner and John Lewis had a son, Charles]

Charles Lewis + Mary Howell

 [he had a son, Charles, Jr.]

Charles Lewis Jr + Mary Randolph [her sister Jane married Peter Jefferson, and they were parents of Thomas Jefferson]

 

Charles and Mary had a daughter, Elizabeth Lewis

 

Elizabeth Lewis + Bennett Henderson .. Eliz is 1st cousin to Thomas Jefferson, and 1st cousin, 2x removed of Geo Washington.  She is also related to Meriwether Lewis [of the explorers Lewis & Clark]

 

[One of the children of Elizabeth Lewis and Bennett Henderson was Hillsborough Henderson]

Hillsborough Henderson + Mary Price

-- they had a son, Francis Marion Henderson.

 

Francis Marion Henderson + Cassandra Beattie.

One of their sons was James Lewis Henderson

 

James Lewis Henderson married Martha Beall

   and so on ... to us [their child Cordelia is my grandmother]

 

There was much intermarriage between the Randolphs, Lewises and Jeffersons.

 

 

Fun, huh?  Ancestry got very interesting once I stopped with the confusing

Henderson background and went to Bennett's wife, Elizabeth Lewis, and hit

the jackpot.  You can join the DAR (many times over), the Colonial Dames,

the First Families of VA, etc., and Nicolas Martiau (pronounced Mar-Show) is

the first direct line Gateway ancestor.  The first relative on the 1st cuz side

was a man called George Percy, came on the first 3 ships to Jamestown in

1607.  He is a son of the 8th Earl of Northumberland, Henry Percy, and his

wife Catherine Neville, from the above mentioned de Neville/Beaufort line.

     The Earl resided in Alnwick Castle, where the Harry Potter movies were

shot!

 

The Inn at Warner Hall is the restored home of Augustine Warner, our ancestor. I'm thinking that's where we need to have a reunion sometime soon...

The Best Son Ever

I always hear parents complain about their teenagers and how awful they are -- and some teenagers really are awful -- but I have to distance myself from those folks now.

My teenager is AWESOME.

When I had to be transported by ambulance to the hospital last week, he followed in his car and stayed with me until after 11 p.m. He only went home then because I told him to go home and sleep; the nurses would take care of me. He was back the next morning before my surgery and stayed with me the entire time except when I was in the operating room. Around 9 that night I made him go home and sleep. The next morning he came and waited while I got checked out, and drove me home.

Sitting in a hospital is my idea of HELL. So not fun. Michael never complained. He was the only person there with me; no other family members or friends were available. He was an angel.

He has been doing ALL the grocery shopping for the family for weeks now, as I have just not felt good.

Since I went to the hospital, he has been making his grandmother's breakfast every.single.day -- and we're talking scrambled eggs, toast, coffee, and juice. No bowl of cereal for Granny. She eats at 8:30 a.m., too -- no sleeping late for him.

He's also done laundry, cleaned house, worked at the restaurant and done chores for neighbors [house-sitting chores].

He's given up fun times with friends, to be home taking care of us.

Tonight, Mother taught him how to make country fried steak our way, which is some trouble. That's because I needed to get a shower and that's still very tiring for me. I didn't have enough energy to shower AND cook. I have my first appointment tomorrow at the Pacemaker Clinic.

Michael was cheerful about it. He also had done all the grocery shopping this afternoon, and put away all the groceries.

He has walked Lola faithfully every day, too, because I haven't been able to walk her.

I thank God every day for my incredible son.

he fell asleep on my bed the other day and Lola stayed right with him -- she loves her boy

You Say Potato...

Well, I can now walk up the stairs in less than 5 minutes and not feel wiped out when I get to the top. That's progress.

I worked yesterday. Sitting at the computer in my pajamas is not exactly taxing, but I am still glad that I was able to do it. Didn't need a nap.

One nice outcome of having had pacemaker surgery is that I keep hearing from old friends I haven't heard from in a while. I am being more social than I have in a long time, which is a good thing. 

I was talking to an old friend last night, however, and said something and realized, the moment it was out of my mouth, that I shouldn't have said it. Basically I gave a semi-serious answer to a question asked completely in jest. Utter communication snafu. Very awkward. ACK.

That's where phone conversations are inferior to in-person conversations. You can't read someone's body language or facial expressions over the phone.

It's like this photo. My friend Lisa Amos [who is an amazingly talented photographer] took it. She lives in North Georgia. It's a very happy photo for her because she loves the outdoors and driving the tractor and bringing in the hay. And that's wonderful.

I look at all that hay and think "Mom and Michael would be sneezing their heads off!" -- so my perception is entirely different. I don't have seasonal allergies but I am very sympathetic.

Perception is not always the same as reality. Or perception is entirely subjective. Something like that.

Oh well.

 

Recuperation

Isn't that a weird word, "recuperation"? Sounds like some mysterious scientific process. It's not. It is frustrating, and at times boring.

I've done three things so far today: made breakfast for Mother and myself, taken a shower, and planted some zinnia seeds in pots. Each task was tiring. The shower was exhausting. I had to lie down for a while afterwards.

Michael helped me strip my bed. If I am clean I want the bed to be clean, of course.

My neighbor [the nurse] came over and re-bandaged my wound site. It got a little damp in the shower, despite my best efforts. Michael remembered the hospital folks saying a little dampness was no big deal but it mustn't get sopping wet.

I am reading a terrific book, All the Light We Cannot See. Awesome book. I highly recommend it.

The Wake-Up Call

My friend Maria came over last night and we had a good visit. We have been friends for about 16 years, since we both worked at the same law firm. I hadn't seen her in months. I sent her an email this morning:

Thanks so much for coming over last night. I had gotten pretty isolated in recent months, not going anywhere, just trying to summon the energy every day to do what I had to do to take care of Mother and Michael and Lola. I needed a reminder that I need my friends, too, and God gave me quite a jolting wake-up call with the trip to the hospital. Still feeling pretty weak but I have hope now that I can and will feel better, soon.

My neighbor came over this morning and helped me with wrapping Mother's legs, and took Lola on a short walk. She would've made breakfast, too, except I told her I could handle that. Such a lovely and caring person. So I made breakfast for Mother and myself, then I had to sit down for an hour to rest. That's frustrating.

I am pondering a lot of things, feeling really philosophical this morning. I think everything happens for a reason. Processing an experience like this heart issue is a big job. I used to always be in such a hurry. I am now trying to really notice and savor tiny things, like the bird songs drifting through my window, the velvety texture of Lola's ears, the scent of gardenias when I walk out my front door, and even how much I love hot tea with just a teaspooon of honey. Things I used to take utterly for granted. 

Isn't it ironic that now we have passed the half-century mark it's like waking up in a totally different life? The cliche is true, you cannot appreciate anything until you lose it, or almost lose it. I have had a sense for a while that death was nearby, and possibly my time was coming to an end, but of course the thought of leaving my little family, particularly Mother, Michael, and Lola, was nearly unbearable.

So God gave me another chance. I have been reprieved. I don't know for how long, but I am going to try hard and make my life more meaningful. I don't know how it will all work out. I am so grateful, though, to be surrounded by so many caring people.

XOXOXOX

Dee

I had put the blue throw over the loveseat in an attempt to not get dog hair all over Maria -- so Lola of course wanted to get up there with her! She tried to get in Maria's lap, and sniff her face for any errant crumbs...

My Pacemaker

Since I started this blog I have not gone more than a few days without blogging so I apologize regular readers, for not blogging sooner. It couldn't be helped.

This is an email I sent out to my close friends and family members yesterday, after getting out of the hospital:

Well, the past few days have been tumultuous. I got so weak Wed. I had to go to Northside Hospital. I literally couldn’t walk without thinking I was going to faint. When I got to the hospital they said my heart rate was down to 30 beats a minute. Normal is 60 or more. The issue was the electrical system in my heart was screwed up.

 

I had been feeling really weak and awful for several days but I had no idea what was going on. I have also felt woozy, off and on, for months, but attributed it to blood sugar issues and/or menopause issues. Turns out it was my heart all along. I had a bunch of tests done on my heart a few months ago but they didn't reveal this issue.

 

Although a pacemaker IS heart surgery I want to reassure you all of two things: 1) the cardiologist said after looking at the pre-op ultrasound “Your heart is STRONG, Dee.” 2) There are no blockages in my heart.

 

So the issues ALL stem from a faulty electrical issue. I don't know the right medical terminology.

 

They implanted a pacemaker yesterday.

 

Felt not bad yesterday afternoon, after it was all over, other than weak, right after surgery. I was starving. That’s the worst part of pre-op – not being able to eat or drink for hours. I slept pretty well last night but I let them give me some pain meds. They had my left arm in a sling to remind me not to use it. That made it very uncomfortable.

 

The wound is above my left breast. It feels like a bad muscle pull and aches, is really all. I cannot get it wet for two weeks. I cannot raise my left arm above my shoulder for a month, or lift anything over 10 lbs. with that hand, for 2-4 weeks.

 

Michael, age 18, was a champ. He stayed with me at the hospital the entire time except when I made him go home and sleep. He fixed Mother’s breakfast and lunch for her, walked Lola – he was so mature and just wonderful.

 

In the hospital, he was very helpful and sweet to me.

 

My friend Bronwyn came over and stayed with Mom Wednesday night and last night. She was wonderful.  Neighbors have been terrific as well. We are so blessed to live here.

 

As you might have guessed, I am home. Still feeling weak, and incision site aches, but overall I don’t feel too bad. I have followup appointments with the cardiologist and the pacemaker clinic in the next couple of weeks.

 

I posted on Facebook about my hospital stay and everyone has been supportive. Prayers always help. I am blessed with a lot of terrific friends, cousins, and neighbors.

 

I missed work yesterday and today but I expect I will be able to work next Tuesday. I am working from home, two part time jobs. I score essay tests for the Educational Testing Company and I help a small local publisher with various tasks. So glad to have these opportunities since my commute involves walking over to the computer, and I can work for hours wearing pajamas.

 

I think this heart issue was inherited, and from Mom’s side. She had to have a pacemaker a few years ago, but her issue was ventricular tachycardia, which is more complicated than my issue. At least we are very familiar with pacemakers now.

 

Prayers would be appreciated. I'm happy to be alive. Guess it wasn't my time yet to take the big dirt nap. 

Hope y'all are all doing well.

Dee

Misery Loves Comedy

The past few days have been miserable. I have some sort of virus. Really really feeling awful. Plus I've had guys here installing a new air conditioning system for the upstairs, which has caused Lola to bark loudly every 5 minutes. Plus I had to work yesterday -- thank goodness I work from home now. Also, we had big thunderstorms yesterday.

Also, Michael was in a foul mood.

I have not unloaded the dishwasher or done much in the kitchen for several days. I made a quick dinner last night and had to lie down afterwards, I was so exhausted. This thing has almost felt like the flu; feeling very weak and somewhat nauseated, plus a constant headache. Add menopause symptoms on top of that and you get some idea of how yucky I have felt.

I got through Monday without crying only because I kept looking at videos of a terrific comedian named Henry Cho. He has a clean act and he makes me laugh. He is also from Knoxville and I just love hearing him talk; makes me nostalgic for when I lived in Knoxville years ago. Check this out.

 

Remembering Sundays

I am old enough to remember when Sunday was a day that was very different from all the other days in the week, and not just because of church in the morning.

Of course, church was itself a ritual. My earliest memories involve my "Sunday clothes" -- an archaic concept nowadays because nobody dresses up for church any more, right? In the Episcopal high church of my early childhood, women and girls had to wear dresses and head coverings to church. Women always wore hats, and often gloves. I had white gloves and little purses, and every Easter there was an Easter Dress. Women were trussed up and made up and hair was teased up. In the 1960's a woman appearing in public without a girdle was really frowned upon. Watching my mom struggle into her girdle was enough to make me fear my future, because it was a very athletic endeavor.

The struggle over my Sunday head covering was omnipresent. I wore little hats, or sometimes a big hairbow would do, or in a pinch, Mom had lace doilies she would pin on both our heads.

In fact, for years, Mother carried in her purse a lace doily for her head and one for mine, in case we were somewhere and suddenly needed to duck into a church for some reason.

Lace Doily + bobby pin = respect for God

I must admit, I never understood why covering my hair was important. I can be quite respectful without that, but as a kid it was just what everybody DID.

That, plus patent leather Mary Jane's or saddle oxfords.

One of Dad's bosses attended the same church and he loved to pick me up and slop sugar on me -- how do you like that Southernism?! -- and the shoe polish always got on his good suits until he told Mother to quit polishing my shoes on Sunday.

Mother was under the added strain of not wearing makeup or eating, because you had to not eat before you took communion, in those days. I don't remember the reason. Of course, kids could eat. Perhaps that's why after church on Sunday most Episcopal churches have tables set up with coffee, tea, donuts or pastries, etc.

Perhaps it's also why sermons in our church tend to be pretty short. My Dad hated long sermons and when he was ushering, if the priest went on too long, in Dad's opinion, he'd look up to see Dad glaring at him and tapping his watch impatiently. I think Dad always got away with it because he always worked tirelessly for any church where he was a member. He was a mover and a shaker -- exactly the guy you wanted at your church, despite the watch tapping.

Sunday was also about staying home, because most stores and places were closed on Sundays, due to the blue laws. Forget buying anything alcoholic, anywhere. There was an expectation that Sunday was a day of rest.

However, there were a few things you could do. I remember Sundays in Atlanta going to the airport to watch the planes come in and out. That was considered a fun thing to do. Of course, the airport wasn't the parking nightmare filled with security that it is now. For a glimpse of how it used to be, check out 25 Amazing Photos of Atlanta Airport in 1956.

Another thing folks did, especially if they were in a small town, was to go eat at the hospital. If all other restaurants were closed, and/or there was a long line at Howard Johnson's, or you didn't feel like driving out to the highway to get a hot dog at Stuckey's, the hospital might be your only option. My parents didn't do it, that I recall, because they were picky and liked food with flavor, but a lot of folks thought nothing of eating at the hospital, just for fun.

I loved Howard Johnson's because they had a lot of different ice cream flavors. If I was good and ate my lunch, I could have ice cream for dessert. When I was in 4th grade a girl in my class at school invited all of us to a birthday party in a back room at Howard Johnson's, and my excitement was on the same level as if I'd been invited to the White House.

One of my most vivid memories of my grandmother involved a lunch at Howard Johnson's. Mamaw was sort of a fanatic about wanting coffee REALLY hot. After lunch she ordered a cup of coffee. The waiter brought it, and there was steam coming off of it. Mamaw looked at it and said "This coffee is COLD. Take it back." The waiter looked confused and said something indicating he wasn't going to take it back. He did not jump to do her bidding. Mamaw took the cup of coffee and dumped it in the water glass, and said "There, it's empty now. Bring me some HOT coffee."

I was about 7 years old and I remember that like it was yesterday. Mamaw demanded good service, and you did NOT want to cross her. My mother inherited that, a little bit -- I've seen her fuss at store employees, but always for something legitimate.

Sundays often involved my dad manning the grill.  That was often an unpleasant dining experience, as Dad rarely had lighter fluid and usually used charcoal doused with gasoline. He also liked to make flames shoot high into the sky, rending the meat into a charred and inedible mess. He would grill the meat, and Mom prepared everything else we ate, and cleaned up, but the grilling was done in the spirit of helping mom out by not making her cook.

By the same principle, Dad would usually make breakfasts on the weekends. Those meals were always tough sausage [usually links which were turned into building materials] and omelets which could be used as flotation devices. I marvel now at Dad's skill at taking edible food and making it "tough as whit leather."

After breakfast, Dad would retire to the bathroom with the Sunday paper and others would clean up, until time for church.

To be fair, nobody could fry fish like my dad. He could take the smallest fish and fry it beautifully, and then he would filet it and sit and feed me bits of fish that were tender and delicious. I once wrote about it in a poem; each morsel tasting of "Crisco and pond" was my best line.

In later years, Mom and Dad always went to Sam's on Saturdays because they offered free food, and Dad would stuff himself with free food samples in the store. Sometimes he'd go to Home Depot for the free hot dogs. By the time he got home he didn't want to eat for the rest of the day.

I loved Sundays, because after we were out of church, there was an entire afternoon to play and Dad was usually home. On Saturdays he was often not home, either because he was working, or hunting, or running errands. Sunday afternoons were his domain, though.

Sunday nights were usually glum. I would watch the Wide World of Disney and Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, and Dad would sulk because the weekend was over and he had to return to work the next day.

Sundays in the past. Funny how my memory gets stronger the older I get...

me and Dad in July 1990, in front of his grill, made for him by the guys who put in a pipeline near the house -- it's a piece of pipe

Images of Kazakhstan

When I started the adoption of my son back in 2006, I learned he was in Kazakhstan. I had barely ever heard of it, and knew absolutely nothing about it. I researched on the internet in vain, because there was so little. I couldn't find hardly any photos. I found a blog by another adoptive mom and that helped, a bit.

Another adoptive mom posted on Facebook last night that Andrew Zimmern's Travel Channel program Bizarre Foods was doing a program in Kazakhstan. I was thrilled. I have watched many episodes of Bizarre Foods, and although I can't always watched the gory parts, I am always fascinated.

In watching it, I was struck because so many memories of my time in that country came flooding back, and it was almost like time travel. I also love seeing the faces of Kazakh people because they remind me so much of Michael's face, even though he is about 97% Eastern European and about 3% Kazakh.

One interesting note: when I went to actually pick up my son and bring him to America, I landed in Astana and my driver met me and we went to Petropavlosk, about a 5 hour drive, but it turned into 8 because the roads were HORRIBLE, and my driver got lost. The flat nice roads you see in the program are an anomaly.

Later in the program he visits the Green Bazaar in Almaty, a place I've been also. I almost couldn't look around while I was there, because eating horsemeat is very common there and there were tables just piled high with meat of horses and other animals. I know it's unfair of me to be so squeamish, but I am, and I didn't handle it well. I found a little shop that sold chocolates and I waited there while Michael and the guide walked around the market. He had never seen such a huge place.

Kazakhs are meat eaters. It's part of the culture. Michael has eaten horse and consumed kumiss [fermented mare's milk] many times. Ironically, here in the USA he's not a big meat eater.

Warning: if you are at all squeamish, fast forward through the first few minutes, when a sheep is killed and eaten. It's enough to make me a vegetarian. I really have to fast forward through Zimmern's killing and eating animals.

 

One note: there is a commercial that keeps popping up in this video, which is so annoying. Sorry about that.

Update

There's not much to report but here is a quick update.

I am still waiting to hear back from air conditioning guy. Hopefully tomorrow. I am nervous about paying for it, and I hate to finance anything, but I can't get through the summer with no air conditioning up here.

The weather is hot but not as bad as it could be. Today's high was about 85. My room didn't really get uncomfortable until about 4ish. I sat with a box fan in front of me and the window open.

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I understand the movement to put a woman on the $20 bill and I totally agree with it. I was interested to see that in an unofficial contest folks voted to put Harriet Tubman on the twenty. I voted for Eleanor Roosevelt because she has always been a personal hero of mine.

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My gardens are going great guns. Lots of blooms on all the tomatoes and peppers, and some of the cucumbers. I have one little yellow squash in a pot, hoping it will escape the fate of the squash plants I always plant. I love love love yellow squash. I have some zucchinis for backup, though.