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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| Fun Fact Friday! On this day in 1454, Amerigo Vespucci was born in Florence, Italy...Matthias Ringmann, a German mapmaker, named the American continent in his honor. What unexpected places have your personal explorations led you to? For a time, I became an amateur sleuth seeking the genealogy of my family. My initial explorations were of the sort conducted seated on a chair in front of a computer. I followed the trail of my ancestors from Ireland and England to Canada. I discovered that my Irish paternal people first settled in the province of Quebec. This intrigued me because the relatives I did know from this side of my family had never mentioned this particular connection, and they too seemed surprised . It's not as if my family were French speakers either. I studied the language in school, and I understand enough to make myself understood. In a strange coincidence, the hubby and I had opted to tour southern Quebec during our honeymoon eons ago. The area fascinates me, and after my genealogical find, I realized it just may be a natural attraction. Anyway, one summer weekend, my spouse and I decided to partake of a spontaneous road trip. We live in Northern Ontario, and driving is something we do all the time, and a necessary means of travel. With our bags packed and the gas tank filled, we set off. Fate, or whatever steered us towards our country's capital city, Ottawa. We'd visited this place many times, but, hey, why not another tour of the area? Of course, during the drive, we talked, and I mentioned my latest research finds. It set the wheels in motion for our next discovery. Ottawa is a border city between Ontario and Quebec. We were already so close to the town that my ancestors had inhabited, and we were curious. Yes, we bypassed Ottawa in favour of Shawville, Quebec. So, unannounced and as strangers, we visited this hamlet. Our first impressions were of a quiet, well-kept area. At a local diner, we partook of a late breakfast, and sparked conversations with our fellow diners. Our first surprise was that no one spoke French, the official language of this belle province. This amused the patrons. We soon learned that there was also no Catholic church, This was not a typical Quebec village at all. Our new friends were a chatty, friendly, and forthcoming lot. When they heard of my family surname, they all were quick to offer assistance and first-hand accounts. Apparently, I'd discovered the best place to honour my heritage, and the name Brownlee. I was accepted no questions asked, and with no hesitation, or doubt whatsoever. That name was my calling card. I was given directions to the nearby homes of several living and breathing Brownlees. I was told to just go there and knock on the doors, I'd be welcomed. So, I did just that. I met a relative who was also an avid genealogy buff, and he ushered me into his home. It turned out that we had shared family tree information on-line. We chatted happily for hours. Next, we visited and strolled through the main street cemetery. We noted the headstones of the relatives I'd found via my searches. As we toured this site, an elderly woman left her adjacent home, and approached us. It turned out she was a Brownlee widow, and she too was only too happy to talk about her husband and his kin. Like the other helpful townspeople she urged us to visit the Anglican Church. Everything was meant to be that day. At the Church, we were greeted by the husband and wife ministers, and yes, they were Brownlees, too. We were treated to our very own tour of this historical church which featured beautiful stained-glass windows dedicated to my dead family. It was a Brownlee who spearheaded the building of this edifice. Again, we passed hours hearing Brownlee lore from people who would know. It became one of the best weekends of my life. Call it serendipity, or chance, or even fickle fate. I learned so much about my ancestors, and discovered a quaint town seemingly transported from England. My surname was all the passport I required. I'm convinced it had been waiting for me to discover it. |
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