• The meaning of roots

    I’ve been doing a lot work on my family tree this week. I found a few new possible branches, but mostly I’ve been cleaning up, and there’s a lot of it left to do.

    I do most of my research online, and one set of data lives there. Another set, my master copy, lives on my hard drive, mirrored on a second, AND backed up to a remote server.

    Yes, I’m that paranoid.

    You may see my problem already, but if not I’ll explain. By keeping two separate databases (one online and another on my hard drive), I sometimes update one but not the other. Usually it’s the online database that’s neglected, but not always. You may ask why it’s necessary to keep a copy online at all, but it has it’s advantages. By sharing my info I help other folks, and occasionally I get a message from a distant cousin I never knew existed, offering pictures, stories, and information I didn’t have. I wouldn’t make any of those connections without belonging to the online community.

    So why have the database on my hard drive then? Simple. Trust. I trust me. I trust my backup scheme. I don’t trust a for-profit company with years of research. So I’m cleaning up this week, looking for data missing from either and resolving conflicts. It’s tedious work, but it’s a labor of love.

    But some ask why. I ask myself too. Why? I thought about it a lot today, often when I should’ve been doing something else. My mind is like that. There’s just no stopping it when it sets it’s mind to something. There are the obvious reasons: fascination with the history, interest in where I come from, and the occasional surprise (though sometimes I could do without… like finding out I may be a 10th cousin of the Bush twins – though at least it’s through Barbara’s family, so that’s at least something). It also fills a void created by living in a migratory society. I never lived near my grandparents or their siblings. My grandparents died when I was young and we rarely (if ever) visited the others. Maybe the world of the last century is one that exists only in my mind, but I envision neighborhoods filled with extended family. I see folks gathering for big holiday celebrations, sharing stories and their shared history.

    Living today, in Florida, severed from my roots in the northeast, I missed that sharing. I’ve tried to make up for it in the last few years, reaching out to family I’ve never met, or haven’t seen in thirty plus years. Mind you, I’m only thirty eight. Some haven’t returned my letters. Others reply but either don’t remember much due to age and disease, or are in the same boat I am. Some have been extremely helpful, but they’ve been rare.

    More than anything though, I think I’m still trying to find out who I am.

    And this is where I become a cliche: poor, middle class white man suffers identity crisis. Oh yeah, I can feel the pity flowing in.

    Maybe it’s cliche for good reason. Maybe you feel the same way at times. I often feel surprised to find myself where I am today. A piece of me still feels weird to be married with two kids. It seems so unlikely. I still feel like that shy kid in school who didn’t have any friends, let alone GIRL friends. Anther piece feels weird to be working a full time job, paying bills… being (relatively) responsible. The summer between six and seventh grade I drove with my father to Pennsylvania to visit his parents. It gave us a lot of time to talk, and I wanted to talk about responsibilities. I wanted to know why he didn’t feel overwhelmed by them all. I’m sure he had a great answer, and I didn’t hear any of it. I was too busy being a sixth grader, having a panic attack about the responsibilities I’d face as an adult. I have no idea how I got here from there.

    So I think (at least in part) I’ve been looking to my ancestors for my identity. But it occurs to me genealogy is good for many things, but not this. I am not my great-great grandfather. And let me get something straight right now: I’m definitely NOT my ninth cousin, once removed (dubya).

    No one is me but me. I’ve have to decide who I am on my own.

    —

    Good God, I can’t believe it’s after 3am already. I hope sleep claims me soon. I wonder if I’m the only person in the world who’s immune to the effects of prescription sleep aids. Damn you Ambien! You too Lunesta! I’m not one to call people out in (semi) public, but YOU two are worthless. You hear ME? WORTHLESS!

  • Gators in a close one

    I’m used to UF winning football games, but not by three points, and definitely not with less than 15 seconds left on the clock.

    I needed that like I need elective oral surgery.

    Why do we do this to ourselves? I tell people I’m not the biggest sports fan, that my life doesn’t wax and wane on the outcome of a game. I prefer to think of it as a half-truth rather than half-lie. Come to think of it, I can’t recall the last time someone said “half-lie.” Why is that? Don’t tell me everyone else is as delusional as I am. In either case, it used to be easy to read my tell – or hear it (down the street). It’s one of the first behaviors Cheryl modified after we got married.

    There’s no more shouting, unintentional spitting, or veins popping out of foreheads in the Kauffman household. No sir!

    Now I’m more subtle: fist clenching, teeth gnashing, back going rigid, head thrown back – kind of like I’m having a seizure.

    I suppose in a way it was good. Make that two ways: the Gators did win. Plus, it was nice to get the ‘ole ticker running again. Or was that sprinting?

  • Status

    It’s not as bad as it sounds, or will sound (if you can make any sense of it). This week I’ve been sick (again/still – pick your adverb) and between medications. I’ve been weening myself from caffeine, on doctor’s orders, and I’m suffering the consequences. My meds of choice for headache are no longer part of the arsenal – due to the caffeine, so I’m doubly screwed. The doctor who recommended I stop the caffeine (not all at once) said I should go see my primary about my headache medication, and like an idiot I didn’t rouse myself to do anything about it until it was too late. My primary’s office was closed for the week. Throw in a new medication that made things MUCH worse (the one and only time I took it), and the few days it’s taken to get back to where I was before, which wasn’t great to begin with, and you get a really bad week for ya. If memory serves, that’s the English approximation for the Russian word for “me.” Or maybe it’s “I.” Maybe it works as both. Dr. Mann would be so disappointed in me. Я не знаю!

    So don’t worry. I wrote this post last night, during a particularly dark mood. Today already feels like a better day. Autumn came in earnest this morning, with a little bit of cool air, and I love it.

    —

    I don’t mean to mislead you. I have none – status that is. I’m (probably wrongly) assuming you’ll think of the kind you’d equate to someone’s standing in the community. Heck, I’d be happy to be standing at all.

    I’ve been floating. It’s been a while now. I’ve tweeted a bit. I’ve punched the clock. Yeah, The Clock. I’ve seen a doctor. I’ve seen another. I’ve seen my mother.

    Yep, that kind of status.

    Cheryl wants me to see yet another – doctor that is. My doctor brought it up too. I asked the other, but she changed the subject. Damn psychiatrists.

    I think… no, I take that back. I haven’t been thinking. I’ve been hurting. That’s my status. How often do you see that on Facebook? Maybe you’ve seen it a lot. Hurt has a way of turning you inward. It’s hard to see others when you’re looking the wrong way. I keep waiting for a doctor to turn me around. I think… no, I know everything would be better if hurt went away, if I let myself look in the right direction.

    I’d just like to enjoy things again. This month has been birthday season in my family. Almost all if them come within a few weeks of right now. I’ve been MIA for most of it. I’ve been checked out, either physically, emotionally, or both. We celebrated mom’s birthday this week. It was the first time in a while I’ve been in the same room with my first family. Even that couldn’t pull me all the way back. I sat next to my sister, across from my wife and two adorable kids, just down from my parents, and the baby of the family at the other end with her family. I still wasn’t all there.

    I have flashes. Some days something throws a switch and I’m me again. The pain that visits behind my right temple, or behind my right ear, visits someone else. The dark cloud of depression that fills up my mind, crowding out nearly everyone and everything else, blows out to sea. The infectious invaders are beaten back by my immune system, sometimes with an assist from my MD. I feel good. I feel like I can make the people around me feel good. But it doesn’t last nearly long enough. It doesn’t happen nearly often enough.

    To be honest, things probably look a little worse than they really are right now. My doctor recommended (strongly) I give up my favorite drug: caffeine. I’m in the process of weening, and my body’s in the process of jonesing. Oh, and did I mention the nifty little sinus bug that’s got some game? Take your pick: caffeine withdrawal, sinus infection, my garden variety headache, or what the heck… may be a combination of all three.

    I’d give anything to someone with the power of the prescription pad right now. Or would I? Should I? Oncology. Immunology. Psychiatry. Dermatology. Ophthalmology. Otolaryngology. My plain ‘ole GP. Sleep Medicine (I tried to find an appropriate “-ology” and wikipedia failed me). More than one person suggesting neurology. An ominous comment from a friend about one of them in particular, and my wife wishing I’d pick another. Not enough or too much?

    I wish someone knew something. “You definitely look better.” A week goes by. “You definitely look worse.” For a couple years I’ve heard some variation of “I’d like to try….” I don’t blame anyone though. I know they’re really trying. I wish medical science knew more. I wish there was a little less error. I wish I wasn’t the trial. I wish I believed something else had an answer. A week between visits I lost more weight than I should have. My blood pressure dropped… a lot. (My heart rate is fine though.) They’re drawing more blood. My doctor is working on insurance approval for extensive scans. Go fish.

    I wish I could tell you about something else, but the last thing I need is trouble there.

    I wish I could stop wishing.