In Search of ..... myself?

This post started out as a book review of two excellent books I read recently, but it has ended up with me staring at myself and asking questions I have successfully dodged for most of my life.  Before I get deep, the books I read:

These are two very excellent books, and I have my neighbor's son to thank for A Polish Son in the Motherland.  It was a thank you for having given him the entire ownership line for his parents' house. 

A Polish Son is the search of Leonard Kniffel for his Polish family, and as I read it, I felt there was a deeper search for identity: his grandmother's identity, yes, but more so his identity.  He lived the genealogist's dream, that of being able to go back to the "old country;" of seeing where his family came from and what influenced them; of being able to track family that may be left, with the help of his grandmother's surviving letters.  That is a long, awkward sentence that would make Henry James proud, but that is the book in a nutshell.  It is an intensely private story, yet it doesn't read like that. It is the work of a talented writer.  I suspect that those of Polish descent will be able to sympathize with his story in a way that I cannot, but more about that later.    

The glimpses of his life as a child piqued my curiosity, as he mentioned both the creek down the road from my house and the very road I live on.  Living as I do in "the Great Nothingness," to see my area in print was enough to make me say "Well, flying potatoes!"  For certainly, should I see flying potatoes I would no longer be surprised.  I suppose one would have to live here to understand how a place can exist and yet not exist.  At my house, we live by this line from The Hip's song "Fireworks,"  "... And believing in the country of me and you."   

All that said, once I had finished A Polish Son, I was curious if he had written anything about growing up out here.  That book is called Busia.  I felt that book was entirely too short, but that isn't a bad thing.  It really lays the groundwork for A Polish Son.  After reading the memories of growing up with his grandmother, his Busia (in Polish), one understands the love and the curiosity which caused him to go to Poland.  For certainly, it takes love to pack up and walk in footsteps almost a hundred years old, in a land where the language is not your first.

Then I asked myself, "Why isn't there ever anything written about us of German descent?"  

The next post deals with that question.

Michigan TOGA 2018

 I was a bad girl this year.  With all the stress in the family, I proceeded to forget the camera and that I could take pictures with my phone.  That said, I did get 2 pictures from the day before, when we packed the truck.

In the passenger seat, that was my 1874 Singer 12 riding shotgun, seatbelted in.  I hated to see her go, but I have too many machines for this stick-built trailer I live in.  

In the truck was a 1955 or so Necchi Supernova in a giant desk cabinet, the Singer 12, an Eldredge head (pony express), a German hand crank Atalanta, and the 1918 New Home hand crank I posted about just recently.  The New Home sold last minute, and so I came home this year with a record "no machines."  I did, however, come home with 3 sets of attachments (thank you, Sharon), needles for my Minnesotas (thank you Patience), and some fabric. 

In spite of the rain it was a pleasant day and fun to see the machines everyone brought to work on.  Lots of beautiful German hand cranks with perfect or nearly perfect decals, with a couple New Homes and a Singer 48 making an appearance.  I ended up not getting much work done as I sold the New Home I brought to work on, but that's OK.   

Our venue this year was in Charlotte at the Hen House quilt store, and it was a nice place to be.  

If I seem rather quiet about TOGA, it is only that things keep spiraling downward here and no matter what it's a hard thing to shake off.  However, for a few hours on Saturday the 21st, I forgot it all and got some good visits in, but not nearly enough!  One can never have too much TOGA.

Latest Project(s)

When the clouds gather and the wind shifts direction.... this is what my kitchen looks like.

Thanks to the upcoming Michigan TOGA, I'm working with a vengeance on sewing machines.  The idea was to get one ready to sell, but dang it, I'm getting attached to it, this lovely critter, a 1918 New Home with mismatched decals and botched up wiring.  It is now a hand crank.

But of course, I can't just work on one machine, right?  I mean, really, with the fruit production around here right now, this is not the time to get sucked into multiple machine-cleaning and restoring.  Therefore, this is my other project, an 1889-90 New Home.

It's not a very promising machine with heavy decal wear and rust, but I got it from my now-deceased "neighbor" Chuck, and let's just say, it's a tribute machine to him.  I've had it for long enough, and I guess it just had to hang around long enough for me to see its potential.  That and it has a decal set I had not seen before, what's left of the decals, anyway.  It came in a complete cabinet, with full set of attachments and all.  Can't wait to get to the cabinet.  As some of you may remember, part of the cabinet has been at my inlaws for a while now.....  Very soon it will come back here, and I'll be able to call Chuck's wife and say, "Come see your sewing machine...."

Fourth of July thoughts

Which way does this picture go? This way ----

---- or this way????

I thought of this picture when my neighbor, "The World's Best Neighbor" TM, was over the other night. She found out the hard way that she no longer has internet service. The tech was at her house to set up another service and told her she has no internet. That was news to her, as she has had it longer than we have, and she's had better connection speeds, too. She can't get it back, as the house next to her managed to grab it, and there's only enough signal for 2 out of 4 houses.  Oh, and dial up is now her only choice.  Yes, folks, in 2018....

Some of you reading this may remember me talking about the fun of living on a main road without any real choice for internet. ATT DSL is all that we have, other than going back to dial up.  ATT recently asked me to find another provider and leave them -- at $125 a month, I would think they would want to keep us -- and I informed them I would gladly leave if I had anything else available here. (We live on a main road, a main artery between Canada and Oakland County.)

"Oh." That was all the employee in Missouri had to say after telling me to take my business elsewhere.

There is this "trompe l'oeil" (fool the eye) in our society, like my picture above (taken in 1998), of two worlds. The news/social media/etc would have everyone believe that EVERYONE no longer uses cash, is connected 24/7/365, and lives in a perfect house with multiple bathrooms, marble and tile and spits money out like trees suck in carbon dioxide. EVERYONE lives in a manicured neighborhood where the houses are miniature compounds, with personal gyms, movie rooms, or whatever else floats your boat.

Then there is the real reality. The world where, in Michigan, laws were passed in 2014 that make it easier to throw customers off of landlines (and apparently DSL internet, which travels over said landlines.) It's called, "Michigan Public act 52 of 2014," people.   You know that real world -- the disgusting one where people turn their heads and look at their feet if one implies that it exists. The world where a poor college student with good grades can't get a scholarship because said student had to work to live to get through high school and couldn't play the required sports.  The one where a news reporter, who makes much more than $19 an hour, can imply the Detroit Police are overpaid if they make that.   The one where if a political candidate dares to show up in certain areas, he gets nervous quickly and disappears because he was scared to have us "northenders" talk to him. (To be fair, lately we have had some decent state representatives, even if this one is afraid of using my sledge hammer.)    

Strangely enough, this all fits in with today, the 4th of July. Just yesterday my 16 year old informed me that he does not believe America ever gave people a chance to succeed, because even a hundred years ago and more businesses still ran everything. I can't completely agree with him, and yet he is right. I know my family had chances here they never had in Prussia, but they also had agriculture open to them. They were farmers, and the businessmen hadn't taken that away yet as a profession. I remember well when I wanted to follow in my grandpa's footsteps and farm, and I remember him telling me that those days were gone. He was right. The day of the small farmer is gone.

Thomas Jefferson, who died 192 years ago today, was a visionary when he wrote to James Madison in 1787, "I think our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries as long as they are chiefly agricultural; and this will be as long as there shall be vacant lands in any part of America. When they get piled upon one another in large cities as in Europe, they will become corrupt as in Europe."

However, it is Benjamin Franklin who nailed it when he wrote,"Finally, there seem to be but three Ways for a Nation to acquire Wealth. The first is by War as the Romans did in plundering their conquered Neighbours. This is Robbery. The second by Commerce which is generally Cheating. The third by Agriculture the only honest Way; wherein Man receives a real Increase of the Seed thrown into the Ground, in a kind of continual Miracle wrought by the Hand of God in his favour, as a Reward for his innocent Life, and virtuous Industry."

By the way, the 2nd picture is the correct one.  That is Deer Creek.  I grew up playing around there.

From the Great Nothingness, Claraspet.