Etsy Donation 2017

Today my dad came home from a trip to his hometown. He brought something back – a few dozen photographs, some loose and some in an album. Going by the clothing of the subjects and the style of the prints, I feel comfortable saying that none of the photographs are less than a century old.

At first I felt nothing but excitement as I examined each image, admiring the details of clothing and landscape. In a lot of ways I think these older photographs in their shades of black and white and sepia were more consistently flattering to their subjects than our color, high-resolution images. I laughed over the image of two teenage girls sitting on a lawn, noticing how one had her hand splayed over her face so the photographer wouldn’t see it – some things don’t change! I chuckled and smiled at the one of a solid little fellow not more than three or four, wearing a big hat, tiny feet poking out from under baggy denim overalls, and carrying a book under his arm.

Then I started to lay the loose images out on the table one by one. I started to hunt for physical resemblances to the family members I know on my dad’s side. I found myself looking each image in the eyes and studying their faces one by one.

I will be the first to admit that I have an active imagination. I know I romanticize.

As I sat and looked at the photographs laid out on the table, I suddenly felt like some of them were looking at me. Not in a creepy the-eyes-of-the-portrait-follow-me kind of way. I felt a combined sense of anticipation and resigned patience coming from those faces of unknown, long-gone relatives.

You see, most of the photographs are unlabeled.

A few have first names and what might be a partial date, but that’s it, and figuring that out depends on deciphering generations-old handwriting in German.

There is a spirited-looking young woman with dark hair named Luisa. There is a slightly sullen-looking young man named Willy in an army uniform with close-cropped hair. There is a teenage boy named Franz with severely parted and combed-down hair giving the distinct impression of a youth in between boy and man, wearing a proper grown-up suit for the first time. There is a middle-aged man in a mid-19th-century military uniform that is definitely European, and on the back is written in clear, beautiful script, “Karl Spangenberg.”

But most are unlabeled. There are older couples, young families, children, infants, teenagers, and a picture of a young couple in which the wife looks so young that I want to ease the ring off her finger, put her hair back in plaits, and send her back to high school.

When I look at them there is a feeling like someone holding their breath. I desperately want to give them back their names and place them on the right branches of the family tree, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t know of anyone old enough and present enough to be able to identify them, and I was never good at tracing subtle family resemblances.

So they are there, waiting and watching, half-resigned to an eternity of silent anonymity. And I look back at them, wishing I could at least call them by name.

#alamw15 and the Regularly Scheduled Travel Flip-Out

28 Wednesday Jan 2015

Posted by E in Archives and Libraries, Personal

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

ALA, ALA Midwinter, alamw15, chicago, i might be crazy, stress and anxiety, travel

I’m heading to the ALA Midwinter Meeting in Chicago. I’m going for a number of grown-up-sounding reasons, like networking and professional development, but I’m mainly going because it’s fun and it’s invigorating and it reminds me why I’m still fighting for a surprisingly elusive place in this profession.

But that’s not why I’m writing this post. I’m writing this post because I have to get up in six hours and I can’t make my brain shut up enough to let me sleep. I’m hoping that writing will calm it down for a bit.

Being the somewhat literal person I am, I’m always a little puzzled by people who claim to love traveling. I tend to like being in the place I’ve traveled TO, but the process of getting there isn’t one I find fun. There are too many details and things to organize and double check and choose and arrange and double-check again. For instance, in a moment of somewhat irrational insomnia-inducing panic a few days ago, I may have called my Chicago hotel at 1am my time (3am in Chicago) to make sure they had my reservation still.

So yes. I have to be up soon, and the problem right now is that I feel totally prepared. I feel like I’ve got everything organized and packed and planned out.

And that’s worrying. Because it must mean I’ve forgotten something – and the more confident I feel about my preparations, the more I worry that the thing I’ve forgotten is something major.

Here is roughly how the twenty-four hours before traveling goes, when you’re me.

Ponder writing down a fifth to-do list.
Do something else instead, like watch a DVD or do something crafty.
Check in to flight.
Print necessary documents, like boarding pass, hotel and conference registration, etc.
Ponder getting suitcase up from basement.
Do something else instead, like watch a DVD or do something crafty.
Write to-do list.
Feeling virtuous. Do something to reward myself, like watch a DVD or do something crafty.
Surge of productive energy. Do a few things on to-do list.
Go in search of food, as it’s 1.30 and I’ve forgotten about lunch so far.
Get sidetracked (in this case, by a jigsaw puzzle).
Get lunch.
Run last-minute errands to library, bank, post office, etc.
Come home.
Do other productive small things on to-do list, like necessary emails.
Work on jigsaw puzzle.
Finish jigsaw puzzle.
Have dinner.
Get suitcase up from basement.
Pack suitcase.
Go to bed at reasonable hour, considering ridiculous wake-up time.
Lie awake, eyes closed, ALMOST relaxing enough to go to sleep.
Brain wakes back up. What have I forgotten?
Have I set my alarm?
What did I forget to pack?
What did I forget to put on my packing list?
Maybe my boarding pass has vanished. Perhaps I should check.
Start doing math on how much time I have left to sleep until I wake up.
Boarding pass probably hasn’t vanished. But maybe I should check anyway. Just in case. You never know.
Write ridiculous stressed-out late-night blog post.
Sleep? Hopefully?
What have I forgotten?

I’ll be a much more reasonable human being when I’m done with the actual traveling part.

Dear OkCupid Guys…

15 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by E in Personal

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Tags

comedy, dating, exasperation, hashtags, men, okcupid, online dating, personal, relationships, twitter, whimsy, women

I’ve been single for an embarrassingly long time. I’m not going to say how long, but I count it in years and I need more than one hand’s worth of fingers.

So about a year and a half ago, I joined OkCupid. I’d join something like Match.com, but I figured it was a good idea to test out this online dating thing for free, and also I’m not desperate enough to make online dating a necessary-expenditure budget line. Yet.

I’ve gone on a handful of first dates, I’ve gone on more than one date with a few people, and ended up dating one person for a few months. To those who would say that this contradicts my opening statement that I’ve been single for years, I’d just like to clarify that I define not-single as having had The Talk with one’s significant other in order to Define The Relationship. Specifically, the words boyfriend and girlfriend (or something along those lines) should enter common usage.

Anyway. Online dating is weird. On the one hand, I like it, because everyone understands the aim of the interactions. I’m kind of dense when it comes to such things – until the last year or so, my instinctive response to “Do you want to get a cup of coffee” would be to tell the guy that I don’t drink coffee. Not the point of the question.

I have a hard time telling when someone is interested in me. Usually I can only tell when the person gets interested to the point of making me uncomfortable, and that sends me running for the hills. I have nobody to blame for my single status other than myself, really.

The thing about online dating that made me nervous, though, is that one hears such horrifying stories of the creeps and pervy comments and all that.

Which leads me to a strange aspect of my experience.

I’ve had interactions that were odd, and a lot that left me distinctly underwhelmed, but none that were actually gross or creepy or pervy. I’m really not sure how to take this. A lot of me is relieved, of course, but it also has me wondering why I’ve been so lucky as to not experience that part of it. I have three theories.

1. Continuation of aforementioned cluelessness. Maybe I’m just not noticing. Though I think I would, based on some of the stories I’ve heard. Sounds pretty difficult to miss.

2. A lot of my friends, and my male friends in particular, STILL feel a need to “protect” me from bad language or dirty jokes. And to some extend I appreciate this, as excessive swearing is unappealing to me, but I’m no nun. I enjoy racy humor as much as the next person. But I think somehow I radiate a level of innocence that brings out a protective urge, I guess – I don’t tend to swear, and I don’t tell dirty jokes, so people don’t think I can take it. Maybe I’m doing that online, too.

3. Maybe I’m just not physically attractive enough to attract such attention, which is probably a good thing.

That said, I’m having fun using Twitter to comment on the encounters I do have. I call my intermittent series “Dear #okcupid guys,” and it’s kind of like Jon Stewart’s “come with me to Camera 3” thing. I amuse myself, at least!

I leave you with a selection (a.k.a. most of) my tweets from that series.

Dear #okcupid guys, the greeting “hi there” is really starting to get on my nerves. Be more creative.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) January 1, 2015

Im sick of #OKCupid… The Cupid that so many lonely people rely upon should at least be a #SlightlyBetterThanAverageCupid.

— bryan green (@GreeBry) December 26, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, here’s something to ponder – until we actually meet, your profile and your messages are your only chance to impress.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 27, 2014

dear @okcupid guys, here is an example of what NOT to write as your entire first message. “Hi. We have a good match percentage.”

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) November 7, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, today my 3.5yo niece asked when I’m getting married. So get it together. I’ve got a stubborn toddler expecting results.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 21, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, when you ask a question a) I already answered and b) my answer is the basis for our conversation, I delete your message.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 21, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PROOFREAD.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 19, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, you are not a 13 year old girl who is texting. Please spell out your words. Srsly.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 16, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, ending a single question with eleven question marks is excessive. I will delete your message.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 14, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, when curiosity is piqued, you’re expressing interest. When you are piqued, you’re annoyed. Proper word usage matters.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) December 6, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, the crotch shot is bad. the picture of you GRABBING your crotch is worse.

–Elspeth (@lunabrd) November 27, 2014

Dear #okcupid guys, if you live in a different country from me and your opening message is “hey there,” I’m not going to answer. Ever.

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) November 15, 2014

dear okcupid guys: messages of 10 words or less involving no questions do not make me want you. #onlinedating #thissucks

— Elspeth (@lunabrd) November 4, 2014

Who Do You Think You Are?

25 Thursday Dec 2014

Posted by E in Family, History

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

ancestry, ancestry.com, complications, family, family history, history, in brief, nerds, research, so cool, whimsy

When I was little, I went to an elementary school that was pretty diverse. It’s actually MORE diverse now – something like 20 languages represented – but it was pretty diverse when I went there.

Once a year, we had a special day called International Day. There were performances of music and dance from around the world, and parents representing different home cultures gave presentations to the classes on where they came from. I remember the Japanese and Indian parents always looked nicest in their outfits, but the Persian moms had the best treats. Students and staff were encouraged to wear outfits representing their heritage, from traditional ethnic costumes to the librarian’s dress made to look like she was wearing a giant Union Jack.

My brother and I didn’t have traditional outfits on hand, and it would have been hard to choose which of our ancestral branches to represent, so our mother made us t-shirts that looked roughly like this:

It was a cute t-shirt, a creative idea, and it got the point across – we are Northern European mutts.

As it turns out, it’s a bit more complicated.

This year for my birthday, my parents gave me six months’ access to ancestry.com. From what I’ve found so far, the t-shirt should have been modified a little…

Mom’s side should include: