Posts Tagged ‘family’
Me and Alcohol
Long ago in my life, so long that it’s embarrassing to admit, I discovered I don’t care for alcohol one bit. There was a brief period where I figured I should learn to like it, seeing how it was such a large part of people’s lives and a pretty significant expectation in which to imbibe upon attaining legal drinking age. But my better sense overcame that idea, aided nicely by my ongoing dislike of the taste of alcohol in all its forms. Among the multiple reasons I’m grateful for that, the most significant is that it tends to be the number one drug of choice for people with depression, and I would have likely complicated my experience of seeking a remedy for that mental struggle –and more likely than not, made a bigger mess of things up to that point.
At the time I was making my decision to just do without alcohol entirely, I was struck by the presence of the drug in 100% of the conflicts and life-dramas I was witnessing. It also seemed to be present in every violent crime, auto death, and domestic dispute I was reading about in the paper or hearing of in the news. I figured I was improving my odds greatly by avoiding it altogether.
Still, it has never been far off. Nothing is more difficult for me than the role it plays in the lives of people close to me. How I have wished to just have them make the same decision I did and abstain entirely. It frustrates me that there is no definitive point clarifying that intangible transition from unimpaired to intoxicated. How much is too much? How long is too long? I’m afraid, as patient a man as I am, I have no patience for enduring the period of increased drinking, and the associated consequences, that must eventually build up to earning a justifiable intervention.
It all seems so unnecessary and entirely avoidable.
I suffer the fact that even though I am able to completely eliminate my intake of alcohol, I remain under the influence of its impact, through the experiences of people around me.
Manic Mix
Real or imagined, my mind is a manic mix of mayhem, most recently triggered by an ill-timed –as if there was ever a good time– high ankle sprain that occurred on Friday morning during my regular indoor soccer workout. We had been surprised with a forced relocation to the children’s gym due to some basketball special event requiring both wood courts. I didn’t adapt well to the plastic tile sport-court surface and turned my left ankle while desperately trying to maintain a defensive position between our goal and the attacking player, Ranses, who was expertly keeping ball possession and gaining ground, despite my efforts.
I was barely able to drive back home afterward and then decided I needed to take the day off work. However, later that day, we were headed to Mille Lacs Lake for the Hays family reunion weekend. That turned out to be a whirlwind of fun, food, laughter, and silliness. Unfortunately, I didn’t end up maximizing the focus of my treatment of the ankle and neglected to bring my cold packs or my bottle of ibuprofen, and even neglected to appropriately rest it. Getting out for some bocce ball, catch with a Foxtail and then football, and even going for a little walk, were all a little premature activity so soon after the sprain.
I don’t think the bowling on the Wii was all that harmful, but watching some of the X-game performances sure made me tense it up more that I wanted to. I think I hurt myself just watching others risk their limbs to the degree those athletes do. 
I did take advantage of the hydro-therapy available in the big lake when a small number of us walked over to play along the shore. While others were off exploring the Kathio State Park, I got in a little rock balancing while soaking my sprain in the cool waters of Mille Lacs.
The weekend seems to fly by before we even get around to spending quality time with everyone present, but I did get some good attention from Drew as he helped me take apart and rebuild the spherical jigsaw puzzle I brought along.
Yesterday, when we finally landed back home again, I worked on getting into a rhythm of regularly icing of my ankle, taking ibuprofen, and elevating my foot while resting. It gave me a chance to catch up a bit on the ‘virtual’ friends I’ve made in my online community, where I was sad to read of the difficulties one person was having with his recently diagnosed depression.
It has been on my mind since I first read about it last week and I have been struck by the level of influence it has had on my attention. The struggle this person describes in posts to our ‘walled’ community is incredibly familiar to me and I feel very sympathetic to their plight. I’m starting to notice that while they are struggling with things, it feels as if I am impacted as well, and I anxiously await news of a break in the suffering.
I think I’m ready to return to the routine of a work day. Unfortunately, it will not be entirely routine until I am able to return to my morning soccer matches with a fully healed ankle to get my head-clearing exercise. And what can you say to that but, “and how!”
Homemade Memories
Yesterday, for breakfast, I made toast out of some of Cyndie’s homemade bread. I’m noticing that I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic lately. Don’t know exactly why that is, but maybe the fact that next weekend is the Hays reunion –summertime version– has me thinking about family of origin.
Homemade toast, which is the way I recall us always referring to it, is something that I associate very strongly with my life in the years of growing up in the Hays family. While I’m on the subject of toast, if the bread wasn’t homemade, it was from a loaf of Hollywood Bread, and of course, we just called it Hollywood toast. I remember being almost as fond of Hollywood toast as Mom’s homemade, but they were very d
istinctly different.
Yesterday, after I cut the bread for toast, I returned the loaf to upright and discovered that had left quite an angle on what remained. I don’t know about the rest of my siblings, but that instantly brings the voice of my father in my mind.
“Who didn’t cut the bread straight?!”
I don’t clearly understand why his admonitions were so feared. Some kids worried that their father would strike them, but I feared my father would speak to me in a gruff tone of voice. I studiously practiced the art of cutting a loaf of bread squarely.
Last night for dinner, I had walleye. Next weekend, our reunion is up at Lake Mille Lacs. That is to say, I had for dinner, the fish that Dad was so fond of, and we are going up to the lake where Dad did his fishing. Ralph is very present in my mind lately.
Genealogic Gem
About that new relative that contacted me, which I made mention of in yesterday’s post… She shared a most interesting tidbit in subsequent email exchanges.
First, let me say that the whole reason I started investigating my family history was because I wanted to learn why the surname, “Hays,” in my family, is spelled without the “e” that people so commonly choose to insert when writing my name. “Hayes” is more often than not, the default spelling. The short answer to the question of why the two similar names have different spellings is most likely related to the place of origin. Spelling without the “e” aligns more with an Irish or Scottish source, while the spelling with the “e” identifies as more English. The root of the Irish name goes back to “Hay.” If the spelling had stayed at that, it would have simplified everything.
When I received the message through Ancestry.com a couple days ago, the very first thing I noticed was that the name of the ancestor in question appearing in the subject line was spelled, “Hayes.” It is like finger nails on a blackboard irritating. Of all places, in my own family tree!
I did a little quick research to clarify that the “Charles W. Hayes” being referred to, matched my data collected thus far. I found a record of the 1910 United States Federal Census in which Charles’ entire family, including his mother –my great, great-grandmother– were listed with the last name spelled, “Hayes.” Charles was definitely part of my family tree, but why in the heck the “e” in the spelling?
I queried my new contact and was more than intrigued at her response:
“Yes, according to my grandfather he and his brother John had a falling out when they were very young and grandfather added the e to his name. He and his brother never saw each other after that.”
I never would have guessed at something like this. Family drama aside, the discovery that family members were choosing to insert the “e” when I am on a quest to identify why we don’t spell it with an “e” just boggles my mind. Meanwhile, what could my great-grandfather and his brother have been at odds about that would lead to such animosity?
It’s enough to inspire a person toward genealogy research. It’s not all just about names. There are stories connected to all those people.
Brothers John Waters and Charles W. were the two who had a falling out.
Mission Accomplished
We celebrated Julian’s graduation in Chicago from the Illinois Institute of Technology in grand fashion over the weekend. The weather was wonderful and everything seemed to go just as planned and right on schedule. As I predicted, we ate more than we should, but each restaurant meal was its own celebration. Over the three days we accomplished a fine recognition of this education milestone. Cyndie’s parents said this was number 21 or 22 for graduation ceremonies they had attended for their children and grandchildren between high school, and the multitude of college degrees earned. My kids have 6 cousins on that side of the family, so if the grandparents live long enough, there will be plenty more high school and college graduations yet to attend.
Speak a Positive Message
I can’t think. My head hurts. It seems I have developed a cold. Where does thinking go when it disappears?
I find it particularly annoying to be sick with a cold during the spring or summer. It just doesn’t seem logical and it doesn’t feel fair. Is that one of the reasons our parents teach us that life isn’t fair?
Last night it struck me that something I have been trying to develop in myself related to my desire to strive for optimal health, is something that I didn’t have the benefit of witnessing within my family growing up. I want to send positive messages in my home with my words. There was a fair amount of sarcasm in my family that became a pattern I developed and executed all too well. Speaking positive messages did not come naturaly for me. It takes a fair amount of practice and a concerted dedication to enact changes in patterns that have been developed over the most impressionable years of a life.
I don’t recall ever specifically feeling any doubt that my family loved and supported me. That familial love was present in a way that I intuitively sensed and the nonverbal message of it provided plenty of comfort. But the verbal messages were coded. It was rarely as simple and clear as, “I love you” or “You are the best!”
Verbalizing positive messages to those with whom you live and work just may be the most dramatic positive influence you can create for the least amount of energy. Even when you are miserable and totally drained from having a cold, you can speak of love and appreciation. And the reward is doubled, because both the person speaking and the person hearing such a message are rewarded with positive, healthy energy.
I invite you to make an effort to listen to the words you speak and the messages you are sending to those closest to you this week. See if you become inspired to develop a more conscious pattern of verbalizing positive messages that will seed better feelings for both yourself and the people around you.
Considering Birth Order
Somewhat out of context, I find the topic of birth order on my mind of late. Like so many other things in life, when I begin to think on this in a more focused manner, it appears to take on a significance so great as to be all encompassing. It defines most everything about people and social habits and opinions and behaviors and reactions to situations. At the same time, when birth order is entirely disregarded and unacknowledged, it becomes a trivial anecdote in comparison to the dramatic realities that transpire throughout lives daily.
I am absolutely certain that my birth order of being the 6th of 7 births for my parents, and the 5th of 6 children to grow up together, has been prominent in defining the person and personality that is me. One aspect of my birth order is that I didn’t ever develop a close bond with my parents. It was a rather formal distance of respect for their authority and appreciation for their providing for me. Much of my direct contact and physical interaction came from siblings, as Mom and Dad were occupied with higher level details. When older siblings were off to school in my pre-school years, my memory of care-taker is a neighbor woman who no longer had young children at home. She worked for us doing cleaning and helping my mother.
Recently, I became aware again of my memory of times when I would notice that my parents rarely were present to watch my sports games in school or my choir performances. Seldom did I notice it as a lacking, because it seemed normal to me. But there were times when it engendered feelings of loneliness for their support and attention. Ultimately, at the time, I considered it more of a blessing than a curse as I was afforded quite a bit of autonomy compared to some of my friends. One incident in which my mother did agree to be a volunteer parent supervising one of my school events made a significant memory for both Mom and me. It was when I was in Middle School and for some reason that evades my memory, I was the student in charge of the inaugural event we named, “Friday Fun Night.” For the rest of her life, I heard her tell the story of how amazed she was at how responsible and capable she discovered me to be when she witnessed me order pizzas and direct the variety of events that were planned for the night.
As I think on it now, it comes to mind that it was indeed only some of my friends that had closer parental support and scrutiny. We were late members of the much ballyhooed Baby Boom. There were an incredible number of kids in my grade in school who had older siblings that were in the same class-years of school as my older brother and sisters. I guess most of the parents of that time of large families were stretched thin to the point of allowing the younger kids to fend more for themselves and rely on older siblings for support. For most of the gatherings of my gang of classmates that I remember, we had little, if any, interaction with parents.
The influence of birth order gives me new insight to consider for the multitude of families I’ve uncovered in my personal genealogy research that had large numbers of children. I will now make a point to note the birth order of my ancestors when filling out the details of the grand story of my family’s history.
No Scrubbies
Hardly a hitch on the great winter 2010 version of Hays reunion weekend in Wisconsin except for the flat tire that appeared for no apparent reason on Elysa’s car, and the unfortunate situation that occurred in the kitchen when it was discovered we had no scrubbies to execute the cleaning chore required. Let’s just say, we have no shortage of foodstuffs to sustain us during our local winter games. Not all the games required outdoor exercise… Ask Nick about his Peggle conquests.
If Judy were here, this might not have happened
Winter Reunion
Today we wake in the wonderland of winter at a place we call Wildwood with a subset of Hays relatives that have gathered for the weekend of snow fun and cabin, …oh, wait, that’s “cabin” in quotes to clarify that this fabulous place does not fit the literal definition of a cabin, …anyway, that was a weekend of cabin fun! Some family haven’t visited here in over a decade and other young ones have never been here before. To those of you in the family who were unable to make the trek into the woods of northwest Wisconsin, here are a few early snapshots to get you started:
(Judy, Marebare says “Hi, we miss you.” Tricia thinks that by saying so, she is just trying to poke you, as little sisters are wont to do…)
Remember where we are?
Playin' in the porch on Friday night
Little cereal to tide over till the main event!
Makings of the main event before they have risen
Evidence of not much new snow here lately
Relative Something 
