Tapped by Max
My buddy Max over at Christians, Writers and Queers, Oh My has kindly “tapped” me, laying upon my wee feathered shoulders the responsibility to reveal five things about myself that you may not know.
I did one of these some time back, but I’m game. The supply of things most people don’t know about me are endless. Here goes:
1. I can say “May the road rise to meet your face” in Irish.
2. My maternal great-grandparents were Fins who immigrated to Saskatchewan, Canada as young adults. Great-grandpa was murdered in a gunfight rather young; great-grandma, left with three children, never remarried and lived well into her 90s. She terrorized her family for the rest of her life. Mom recalls great-grandma growing irritated with her and her sister when, at the tender ages of five and seven, they were visiting her on the wheat farm. She told them to go spend the night with the neighbors, who lived the next farm over. So Mom and my aunt set out across a vast wheat field in their jammies, pillows under their arms, in the dark. They didn’t know the neighbors, but they were too scared to disobey Grandma. So they just walked and walked toward the light of the distant farmhouse, hanging on to each other all the way. Fortunately, when they got there, the neighbors welcomed them in, Mom grew up just fine and here I am.
3. I have volksmarched 5 kilometers across a frosty moor (stopping frequently for shots of schnaps for warmth, fuel and courage) to a huge kohl-und-pinkel dinner held at the naval academy in Bremerhaven, Germany. There, surrounded by a crowd of lit crazy people who spoke a language I could only understand every third or fourth word of, I ate, drank, sang, danced, perspired and laughed myself sick. Cute sailors.
4. I hate to fly. I’m seriously phobic, but ships take too long. When I flew back from Germany the last time, I talked the doc into prescribing tranquilizers for the 19-hour journey, which he did. It was a lovely, relaxing flight, I’m told. I have no memory of it.
5. My paternal ancestors were English, Irish, and if family legend is to be believed, Cherokee. “Ahah!” you say. “They must have been from Oklahoma! Everyone from Oklahoma claims a little Cherokee in their background!” You’d be right, but if you saw a photo of my grandfather, which was taken in the 40s, you’d believe it too. He looked very much like those old sepia photos of Indians taken in the late 1800s and early 1900s. My sister looks just like him, except she’s prettier.