March 9, 2006. Our weather should be stormy today, or as my husband just said, a Shiite day rather than a Sunni day. Where does he get this humor? So much work around me, it’s depressing. Where to begin?

I faced a fear yesterday and feel some relief today. After seeing the mini-mansion Georgia lives in, I was intimidated about having her visit my humble abode. But when she called wanting to deliver the top I ordered at her party, without hesitation I told her to come on over. No sweeping, dusting, or picking up clutter was done before she got here. Just me in my natural habitat.

I’m sure she was taken aback, at least a little, but why pretend to be something I’m not. I’m blessed and comfortable to have what I have, to live where I live. We’re on the water, and yet we didn’t pay an exorbitant amount for our location, and that in itself has always been gratifying to me. I was able to retire at 52 after being employed for 30 years. We’ve stayed solvent since Mike’s stroke without the income he once had, so we’re in a better place than others who have had similar challenges.

Both of us are country girls, growing up in Pville. Her family had more money than mine, but then everybody had more than mine. I never aspired to be wealthy, else I would not have divorced Richard. Georgia has always been someone I admired, smart, athletic, industrious, still married to her high school sweetheart, and she’s related to a lot of the same people my children are related to, thanks to their dad; the one thing I remember envying in my childhood friends - their huge extended families. Everybody in Pville was related in someway to everybody else, except my family.

My only relatives lived in the same house I did. My mother, an only child, had about 80 first cousins in Newton County, but to hear her tell it, Mary Lou, a double first cousin, was the only one she knew or cared about. My father’s mother and only sister were in New Orleans, so those cousins were not close. His brother was hardly acknowledged, so we never really knew those cousins.

I wanted to feel connected, to be a member of the Pville families. The folks at the Baptist church were like family when I was growing up. They loved the preacher’s kids and accepted us without reservation. But there were stories, and secrets, and a history that they all knew and shared, but we didn't. After we grew up and moved away, there were no kin to keep us connected. People were friendly and polite when we visited, but that’s all we were - visitors. Blood really is thicker than water, and it hurt.

Genealogy appeals to me for that reason. Researching my ancestors, I feel less alienated. My siblings may not like each other, the first cousins are few and far between, but I come from good stock. Just because my parents were ashamed of much of their relations doesn’t mean they were worthless. The more I find out about them, the more I like them. I’m sorry we were not instilled with more respect for family members. The habit of quarrelling and judging and moving-away-from has been passed down to our children, and that saddens me. Hopefully, we can enjoy each other’s company when we get to heaven. I can’t wait to meet my father’s derelict dad and all the rest.

Part of our Episcopal liturgy has the line

For in the multitude of your saints
you have surrounded us with a
great cloud of witnesses...

My ancestors are in that body of saints, that great cloud of witnesses, and I love that image. Their redeemed souls are now equipped to love unconditionally. They support me and bless me; they accept me as I am, as one of the redeemed. I’m part of a very large, loving family and our reunion will be a happy one.