Neely Mansion on Christmas Day

Neely Mansion was built in 1894 outside of Auburn, Washington.

King for a Day

Usually Kellen calls his grandfather "Papa Jerry", but today he called him "King." I think my dad appreciated the upgrade.

Girls Get Out of the House on a Friday Night - Tacoma Version

First stop, we found the church where my great-grandparents Nels and Petra Johnsen were married in 1909. It used to be a Norwegian church, now...it's not.


Next, we went to one of my favorite neighborhoods for dinner at The Spar.




Then, we went for a short walk through Old Town. No, these aren't my great-grandparents. D.Q. likes fish...and apparently, men who catch them.



This is Job Carr hanging out at Tully's Coffee. He was one of the earliest settlers in Tacoma.



Then, there was sunset at Browns Point.



Some advice

A Couple of Norwegians

Jakob Mikal Kristoffersen born in 1849 in Sorfold, Nordland, Norway


Kellen born in 1991 in Washington State
Jakob's great, great, great grandson

Roots and Community

We've been interviewing candidates for an open position at my workplace. I was struck by the fact that a couple of the interviewees had graduated from college and moved to Western Washington. To a place where they didn't know anyone. I brought this up to a couple of my co-workers and they both mentioned that they had pretty much done the same thing after college. Wow, did I feel provincial.

I've lived in the same county since I was six years old. I went to elementary school in this area and graduated from college in this area. My husband has lived in this county since birth. My parents were born and raised in Western Washington. Their parents were all born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. Now my great-grandparents, that's where things diversify: four of them were born in Norway, one in New York, one in Illinois, one in Wisconsin and one in Canada.

I have roots here. Most of the time I think it is a great thing, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to move to a completely different area and start over from scratch. I imagine it must give someone a real feeling of confidence to be able to accomplish that. Maybe someday I'll find out for myself, but I don't think so.

I really enjoy helping to build community for Kellen. Lately the place he has felt the most comfortable (besides his bedroom) is our local health club. He and his dad have been heading over there a couple of times a week. They go to the jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, swimming pool...nothing too strenuous. Every time they go they see some of the same people. We never realized what a community "hang-out" the jacuzzi is. Many of the men there speak Korean, but Kellen doesn't care. He sits amongst them and simply enjoys their company. The last time there were there, Kellen was making some noises and Sweet Husband was quietly reminding him to keep his voice down. A big, tattooed guy spoke up, "No, it's ok man, let him." The jacuzzi guys are welcoming and accepting. Maybe there is something about the hot water, bubbles and swim trunks...some kind of relaxed, male-bonding ritual? Something to ponder.

I've heard that in order to find community it is important to visit the same places on a regular basis so people can get to know you. Go to the same Starbucks at the same time of day. Instead of always going through the drive-thru, sit at a table. Go to the gym and hop on a treadmill at the same time of day. Shop at the same stores and introduce yourself.

Is building community important to you? Are you intentional with your strategies? Please share, I'm curious.

Pals

This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandmother Verna Van Syckle and her neighbor Everett Austin. They look like a couple of grubby rascals. Cosmopolis, Washington, circa 1918

I am War...

note: This was written by my grandmother's brother in 1939

Yes, you know me; but there are grass and flowers covering the scarred fields where we met before. You daintily balance your tea cups, and relish your wine, and you talk small talk with your neighbors over back yard fences. You have replanted your groves, and the grain waves in the gentle winds. You work and play and dance, and trifling things amuse you. So you are prone to forget me. But you should not.

For I am War. Remember? I have called on you before. I have taken from your huts and your castles, your great buildings that gleam so magnificently in the sun. You came to me from your hills and your plains, and the secluded valleys where you felt so safe and secure. I demanded it. I took you from your firesides, the peace of your quiet lanes, the mills and factories, from the oceans and all the lands that you call home. And some I did not let return. Thousands, millions, did not return.

For I am War. I kill. I ravage and despoil. I am the waster of flesh and brains...and youth. For if I do not take you I will take your son. And I will leave only a stench on the battlefield. I do not care if he is brave or cowardly. I will sprawl his body by some tiny pool made by the rains. And the curly head you fondled and the smile that lifted your heart will be smeared with blood. Yes, it will be ghastly.

I will torture you with anguish and fear. I will rend your body until you wish death to ease the pain. I will tear the white throats of your children. On the pavements they will lie and gaze into the heavens with staring but not understanding eyes. I will leave your cities in shambles, and your peoples will strew the streets in death.

Your homes will be ruins, or gaping craters where they once stood. You will search in vain for those that lived there, for one small trace; and you will hope to God it cannot be found.

A whole generation of you will die. Or it will come back in torment, and scarred and broken, with faces hardened by agony and bitterness. And the memories torturous, the hatreds, the broken faiths, the spending of your substance, the losses that even God cannot replace...they will scourge you for generations and generations to come.

Yes, you will remember me. For I am War.

An editorial by Ed Van Syckle September 6, 1939

Marysville, Montana

Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic Church 1886
Methodist Episcopal Church of Marysville. Built in 1886. My great-grandparents who were both immigrants from Norway, were married here in 1895. Abandoned in 1939, the church was near the point of collapse when it was bought in 1967 by John and Margaret Hollow of Helena. In the years since, the family has lovingly restored the church and many of it's furnishings to their original simple grace.
My great-grandparents wedding picture, May 7, 1895

Magical Moment Monday

I've been tagged by Emily at Lovely and Amazing to talk about Magical Moments in my life.

My grandfather was the son of Norwegian immigrants. When we were little, he would jokingly call us "Little Swedes" whenever we were acting like rascals (which was all the time). I guess to a Norwegian, being called a Swede was supposed to be some kind of insult. My brother, sister and I knew it as simply a special name he called the grandchildren. My grandpa passed away when Kellen was about 7 years old or so. He was such a character, and I often miss him.

A few years ago, Kellen started calling me his "Swedish". I figured out, over time, that it was his way of pronouncing "Sweety". He meant to say that I was his Sweety. To me, it is magical when he calls me Swedish as it reminds me of my grandfather and it makes me smile.

Consider yourself tagged and tell me about magical moments in your life.

Lillie Emma

In 2000 Kellen was having a rough year in school with very little support from his classroom teacher. I was really stressed and not sleeping or eating well. It seems that when things are not going well with Kellen at school, it affects every aspect of my daily life.

Kellen's dad and I work really hard to build partnerships with Kellen's school staff, but once in awhile we run into a classroom teacher who just does not want to work with us. This was the way it was in 2000. At my wits end, I decided it was time to find a healthy distraction...other people might call this a "hobby". I've been interested in family history since I was a teen, but it took many years until I felt I had the time to dive in and get started. In 2000, it was time.

There are many free and low-cost genealogy resources on the Internet. The Internet has made genealogy incredibly easy and there is great software to help organize your finds.

One of the most surprising things I have discovered is that in 1908 my great-grandmother's sister had a baby girl with Down syndrome in Douglas County, Wisconsin. Lillie Emma Follis lived less then ten years and died in 1918. I found myself thinking about her alot. Did she have a heart defect like Kellen? Had her family ever met someone else with Down syndrome? What was life like in the early 1900's for a family raising a child with special needs at home?

Researching family history tends to transport me to another place and time. Sometimes that's just what I need.

note: I mailed the county for her death certificate and it turns out that she died of diptheria. If anyone lives near Iron River, Wisconsin, please let me know.