My team lost yesterday. What a roller coaster of emotion it was! I really thought that Bloom could win the game and in fact they went into the half leading the game. Unfortunately a few turnovers and a very bad call by the officials put the final score at 27-24 in favor of California University of PA. So now California goes on to the semi-finals to play Minnesota Duluth. I believe they will have a home game in western PA which is good because the weather in Duluth this time of year is mighty cold. Do I think Cal can beat Duluth--without a doubt. They certainly have the personnel and the will to get the job done. Having been to the semi's last year they know what it takes. It's about time another PSAC representative made it to Florence.
I am already looking forward to next season. It will be the last season for Danny Latorre as quarterback and with the two red shirt freshman running backs maturing, it should be a great season. I just wish I were a little closer to the action. Being 1500 miles away makes it difficult to make the game each Saturday and division II football doesn't generally make it to the networks. I've really enjoyed the last two weeks as the championship rounds have at least made it to a web cast sponsored by the NCAA and CBS. Visuals certainly make the game more interesting and exciting.
I'd like to offer my congratulations to the Huskies on another outstanding season. Danny Hale and his staff do a great job every year with their recruits. They are in contention almost every year with a very limited budget. I might also add that BU offers a fine academic education as well. From its beautiful small town location to the friendly people, from academics to sports teams it is truly one of the best that Division II has to offer.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Happy THANKSgiving
Wow, a month since my last post. I wish that were an indication of something really exciting that happened, but alas, I've just been busy with the business of life and work and family.
We're about to celebrate Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Since I was very little, this holiday has been the one most anticipated, even beyond a child's Christmas. Being an only child and having parents who did not believe in overindulgence, Christmas was mostly a religious holiday for me. And that's good, for those humble religious experiences helped mold me into a productive, moral, ethical adult.
Thanksgiving, though, was a different holiday, when everyone gathered at one family house or another to celebrate another year of family, friends, gifts of good health and good fortune. Dinner was a week long affair, with my mother preparing pies and cookies, homemade cranberries and rolls, turkey, sometimes ham, and tons of vegetables--yum--my favorite. The good silver came out in the weeks before and was lovingly polished, washed and restored to its shiny splendor. My grandma Jones' Noritake, purchased before WW II adorned my mother's mahogany table. Everything was special about this day, but the food and table were certainly the centerpiece. It didn't hurt that I loved to eat!
And who would join us? In the early days, it was both sets of grandparents, my favorite great Aunt Lizzie and her husband, Uncle George and my mother's sister Catherine and her family. As I grew older, the scene changed slightly and my father's two brothers, David and Harold and their families would also join us. Our small house would burst at the seams with people in every room, preparing, cooking, serving, cleaning up, discussing the good ol' days the whole time. I loved the crowd, the talk of things past, the attention--it was wonderful. I especially liked hearing the story of the first Thanksgiving, which my mother told, of Pilgrims who had struggled over the first winter and who had managed to plant and harvest and decided to have a celebration to give thanks for their good fortune. Who would know that 40 years later I would discover that I descended from one of those very Pilgrims of whom my mother often spoke. I still lament that neither she nor my dad were alive when I made my discovery. It would thrill them both to know that I was from the same hearty stock that first set foot in the new world in 1620.
Today I often share stories of that first Thanksgiving, called a harvest feast, with my students. There are so many good books that tell the story, but my favorite is still The First Thanksgiving by Alice Dalgleish. Written in 1954, it's a story I've heard many times, but it took on new meaning when I discovered that Stephen Hopkins, a central character in Dalgleish's book was my 11th great grandfather and that his eldest daughter, Constance, was my 10th great grandmother. In the last five years, I've read a lot of books about the first Thanksgiving and the Pilgrim journey, but two of the best are Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower and a relatively new book by Mayflower researcher, Caleb Johnson called Here Shall I Die Ashore Stephen Hopkins: Bermuda Castaway, Jamestown Survivor, and Mayflower Pilgrim.
Johnson, who is a Mayflower descendant, although not from Hopkins, has done an outstanding job presenting the life of this man named Stephen Hopkins. It was Johnson who first published information refuting previous beliefs that Stephen Hopkins was from Wortley, Gloucester County rather than from Hursley, Hampshire County. Stephen Hopkins was only forty when he landed at Plymouth in 1620, but already he had been shipwrecked in the Bermuda Triangle, mutinied, was sentenced to death, convinced the powers that be to set him free, spent time in the Jamestown colony, was written into Shakespeare's The Tempest (written about the shipwreck of the Sea Venture) as Stephano, and then took his entire family, wife Elizabeth, daughters Constance and Demaris and son Giles on board the Mayflower for the 66 day voyage to the new world, during which time his son, Oceanus was born. Once there Hopkins is a stalwart survivor. In fact, the Hopkins family was the only in tact family to survive the first winter. He was a strong influence in the formation of the new colony. Signer of the Mayflower Compact, Hopkins with his friend, Myles Standish, led exploratory parties and became an integral part of the negotiations with Massasoit. He also housed Squanto in his home. When he died at the age of 63 he left an extensive last will and testament in which not only his children, but also his cows are named.
Wow! I can hardly believe that this man, who lead this extraordinary life was my ancestor. One of the things I try to instill in my students is the importance of talking to their parents and grandparents while they have the opportunity; to ask questions of them, their childhoods, their loves and passions. It was those very questions that lit a fire in me and caused me to investigate my own ancestry. Each period that I research becomes so much more real to me because I know an ancestor lived through it and helped to make it happen. Gives me pause to wonder if someday, some granddaughter or grandson, several generations removed will be asking questions about me.
We're about to celebrate Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Since I was very little, this holiday has been the one most anticipated, even beyond a child's Christmas. Being an only child and having parents who did not believe in overindulgence, Christmas was mostly a religious holiday for me. And that's good, for those humble religious experiences helped mold me into a productive, moral, ethical adult.
Thanksgiving, though, was a different holiday, when everyone gathered at one family house or another to celebrate another year of family, friends, gifts of good health and good fortune. Dinner was a week long affair, with my mother preparing pies and cookies, homemade cranberries and rolls, turkey, sometimes ham, and tons of vegetables--yum--my favorite. The good silver came out in the weeks before and was lovingly polished, washed and restored to its shiny splendor. My grandma Jones' Noritake, purchased before WW II adorned my mother's mahogany table. Everything was special about this day, but the food and table were certainly the centerpiece. It didn't hurt that I loved to eat!
And who would join us? In the early days, it was both sets of grandparents, my favorite great Aunt Lizzie and her husband, Uncle George and my mother's sister Catherine and her family. As I grew older, the scene changed slightly and my father's two brothers, David and Harold and their families would also join us. Our small house would burst at the seams with people in every room, preparing, cooking, serving, cleaning up, discussing the good ol' days the whole time. I loved the crowd, the talk of things past, the attention--it was wonderful. I especially liked hearing the story of the first Thanksgiving, which my mother told, of Pilgrims who had struggled over the first winter and who had managed to plant and harvest and decided to have a celebration to give thanks for their good fortune. Who would know that 40 years later I would discover that I descended from one of those very Pilgrims of whom my mother often spoke. I still lament that neither she nor my dad were alive when I made my discovery. It would thrill them both to know that I was from the same hearty stock that first set foot in the new world in 1620.
Today I often share stories of that first Thanksgiving, called a harvest feast, with my students. There are so many good books that tell the story, but my favorite is still The First Thanksgiving by Alice Dalgleish. Written in 1954, it's a story I've heard many times, but it took on new meaning when I discovered that Stephen Hopkins, a central character in Dalgleish's book was my 11th great grandfather and that his eldest daughter, Constance, was my 10th great grandmother. In the last five years, I've read a lot of books about the first Thanksgiving and the Pilgrim journey, but two of the best are Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower and a relatively new book by Mayflower researcher, Caleb Johnson called Here Shall I Die Ashore Stephen Hopkins: Bermuda Castaway, Jamestown Survivor, and Mayflower Pilgrim.
Johnson, who is a Mayflower descendant, although not from Hopkins, has done an outstanding job presenting the life of this man named Stephen Hopkins. It was Johnson who first published information refuting previous beliefs that Stephen Hopkins was from Wortley, Gloucester County rather than from Hursley, Hampshire County. Stephen Hopkins was only forty when he landed at Plymouth in 1620, but already he had been shipwrecked in the Bermuda Triangle, mutinied, was sentenced to death, convinced the powers that be to set him free, spent time in the Jamestown colony, was written into Shakespeare's The Tempest (written about the shipwreck of the Sea Venture) as Stephano, and then took his entire family, wife Elizabeth, daughters Constance and Demaris and son Giles on board the Mayflower for the 66 day voyage to the new world, during which time his son, Oceanus was born. Once there Hopkins is a stalwart survivor. In fact, the Hopkins family was the only in tact family to survive the first winter. He was a strong influence in the formation of the new colony. Signer of the Mayflower Compact, Hopkins with his friend, Myles Standish, led exploratory parties and became an integral part of the negotiations with Massasoit. He also housed Squanto in his home. When he died at the age of 63 he left an extensive last will and testament in which not only his children, but also his cows are named.
Wow! I can hardly believe that this man, who lead this extraordinary life was my ancestor. One of the things I try to instill in my students is the importance of talking to their parents and grandparents while they have the opportunity; to ask questions of them, their childhoods, their loves and passions. It was those very questions that lit a fire in me and caused me to investigate my own ancestry. Each period that I research becomes so much more real to me because I know an ancestor lived through it and helped to make it happen. Gives me pause to wonder if someday, some granddaughter or grandson, several generations removed will be asking questions about me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)