My life right now: feeding a microwaved mix of canned food and sliced “deli-style” turkey to a cat that cycles through days of sneezing blood and mucus interspersed with days of just-plain gargled breathing; I type with my left hand on the keyboard while in the right arm cradling my little velveteen feline buddy as he falls asleep into the cat dream world of his, sawing branches with his snoring.
Thus, I am not alone.
I eat leftover popcorn and watch “The Giant Mechanical Man.”
I do not like deciding the fate of others but I go ahead anyway, stirring the pond’s waters and redirecting the pebbled waves I quietly dropped in my monklike meditation.
It — the mysterious two-letter word that commands attention at the beginning of this sentence — is no easier now to order the elimination of labeled beings we train ourselves to see as the Others, “them,” as it was the first time I let peer pressure push me to end the life of a being that could not live in the hustle and bustle of so-called modern society.
I is one letter less than it.
I am this artificial label for a relatively dense set of states of energy we sometimes say is a human being.
A head concussion in high school split my brain apart.
Ever since then, I have reconstructed the universe in small quantities and big ideas.
Something about my corpus callosum bothers me.
Gray matter matters, too.
I have stopped drinking alcoholic liquids/beverages.
I have dedicated at least one book each to my parents, my wife, Monica, Ann P., Maggie and who else? I have not finished the book I plan to dedicate to Jenn.
I can say what a book is not but can I truly, really say what a book is?
Twenty-one days since I last checked the Mars countdown calendar.
My next book to read: Sagittarius Rising.
On my mother’s side of the family, my uncles were the resident genealogists, including Uncle Ralph, and Uncle Gordon, B.A., M.A., and Ph.D., book author and former Dean of the Department of History at Valdosta State University. Uncle Ralph died and Uncle Gordon is in an assisted living facility so the family genealogist position fell to my cousin Janet. Then, Janet became a grandmother and decided to pass the torch to me. I wanted to complete the research on the family name, Teffeteller, which had sort of ended with this:
From “The history of Blount County, Tennessee and its people, 1795-1995,” pg. 352, article 1023 “Pioneer family fromDEFFITAHL toTEFFETELLER” In 1748, a young man named Johannes DEFFITHAL left southern Germany. He traveled to Rotterdam, Holland where he boarded a ship to America. The ship was the “Hampshire” and it docked in Philadelphia,PA. Due to “Americanization”, the immigrant’s name was translated into ” John DEVENDALL”. John later moved to MD and his name was changed again, this time to TIEFENTELLER. He died in 1775. That same year, his son Michael was married.
This year 1813 was very important for our family. This was the year Michael TIEFENTELLER moved to Blount Co. from Lincoln Co. NC. Michael was between 55 and 60 years old when he settled on the land along side Crooked Creek in the Hubbard Community. He had 13 children, but we only have record of three sons. Joseph, Jacob and Daniel, who came to TN with him.
Then I found more recent information online:
Posted By: Karen Vogt
Subject: Origins of the Diffendall’s/Deffendall’s
Post Date: January 30, 2005 at 12:03:39
Forum: Diffendall Family Genealogy Forum
Forum URL: http://genforum.genealogy.com/diffendall/
I recently ran across a Rotterdam, Netherlands record, unfortunately I was unable to copy it, that mentioned a Johann Tiefenthaler leaving for the U.S. at the same time and same ship and arriving in the same location as Johannes Divendall (other different spellings have been used for this last name.)
I believe these two to be the same person. I then checked for a Tiefenthaler in the southern part of Germany, particularly close to or on the Rhein River. Sure enough, I found one Johann Tieffenthaler, christened 25 Aug. 1718 in Bickensohl, Freiburg, Baden, Germany, father: Christoph Tiefenthaler who married Susanna Rieffler/Riessler on 9 Aug. 1707 in Bickensohl. This Johann has an older sister named Anna Barbara Tieffenthaler, christened 9 Dec. 1711 in Bickensohl. There are more Tieffenthaler’s in this region. Next, I checked for a Barbara Weise in Freiburg, Baden, Germany region. I found Barbara Wiss, christened 19 Feb. 1725 in Katholisch, Elzach, Baden, Germany. Her father is Joseph Wiss and mother is Agatha Maier b. 5 Feb. 1706 in Elzach. This I believe to be a very strong lead to our common ancestor, while I have found nothing on Hans Jorg Dievedal except that he was deported back to the Netherlands from England as a reject for American colonization in 1709 due to belonging to the wrong religion.
If anyone can help with this it would be greatly appreciated, you too Eric.
Karen Deffendall Vogt
Which led me here:
Megan’s paternal grandparents were Euel Massie Fox (the son of James Earl Fox and Nila Dell Warf) and Vivian Vier (the daughter of Shellie V. Vier and Maud F. Simerly). One of Euel’s ancestors, born in the 1700s, Capt. Peter Thompson, was born in Scotland. Megan has German ancestry through Vivian’s ancestor, Joseph Teffeteller (making Megan of at least 1/64th German descent). Megan also has very distant German ancestry from another of Vivian’s lines (through her Rainbolt and Grindstaff / Crantzdorf ancestors).
We humans are connected in more ways than one!
“I was tailor made to be a trailer maid”
“Novel naval navel”
“An astronaut and his pet rock collection”
“Ten easy steps to avoid death for less than 100 million dollars”
“My TV viewing diary for the last fifty years”
“A Messi divorce: the demise of a popular futbol player”
“The evolution of the selfie”
Striving For Efficiency
Undocumented love songs do appeal
To unrelenting robots at the job,
The automatic working people’s deal
About their heavy hearts’ (in stillness) throb.
You people! See your wasted VCRs!
Take comfort with the loved ones from the rain,
Wave pennants at the ballgame, and our cars
Shall eat the track. Replace oldtimer’s train
With progress’ routes, invented by the Old
Guard, so the New will build starcruiser ships —
The labored, never-ending future, cold
Beyond imagination — mindless trips.
The words we say, the plans we’ve made in haste,
Perspective bears their worthiness or waste.
[Published in Gallery 1985, a Walters State Community College publication, spring 1985]
The Farmer’s Almanac Guide to Shakespeare: A 1/2-Act Play
To be performed in a casual setting; the performer should wear an old hat, dirty overalls, and a wornout pair of boots and be holding a large book, preferably the works of Shakespeare.
Hi folks, I was gonna tell y’all about the weather and how my farm was doin’ and all that but this morning I picked up this stack of tall tales that’s been holdin’ up one end of my kitchen table ever since my daughter got kicked outta eighth grade for chewin’ tobacco.
The fellow in this here book says that old psychiatrists have gray beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes all yellowed-over, their gums are red from gnawin’ and that they lack their sanity, together with having weak legs, so they have to hang onto the toilet when they pee (kinda like some of them politicians after they’ve had a few sips of my moonshine…er, I mean cough medicine). I don’t mean to insult the bunch of you but that purty well describes the rest of us here today. But as I was sayin’, you can tell this fellow has a lot on his mind, and he uses some purty fancy words to say all what he’s got to say. I especially like this story, called…
The Good Ol’ Boy Hamlet
[The performer makes a sound, clearing the throat, thrusts the book out in an overdramatic fashion and then pulls the book in close as if the words are hard to see, bending down to study the page for a few seconds before saying the following paragraph slowly, as if getting used to reading out loud.]
I heard this speech once, but it was never acted; or if it was, not more’n once; it didn’t please a lot of folks; it was like fancy fish eggs to the people: but it was — as I reckon, and others, whose judgments in such matters are much smarter’n mine — an excellent speech, every sentence put together purty well and set down with as much modesty as a cunning politician.
[The performer stands up straight and holds the book back out, then loudly enunciates the following, overacting as much as possible.]
To seed or not to seed the fields: that is the question:
Whether this brain of mine can suffer
The Cadillacs and Pierce Arrows of winnin’ the lottery fortune,
Or take pesticides against a sea of boll weevils,
And by sprayin’ end them? To die: to sleep:
No more; and by sleep to say I end
The heartache and the thousand bumps to my butt
That a tractor’ll do to ya, it’s a sitiation
Definitely to be wished fer. To die, to sleep:
To sleep: perchance to dream : ah, there’s the rub of Ben Gay;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When I have taken off these dirty overalls,
Must give me pause: that’s the respect
That makes a calamity of this long life;
For who would bear the naggin’ and complainin’ of your spouse,
The government taxes, the businessman’s contempt for farmin’,
The pains of your ol’ sweetheart’s love, the delay of your farm loan approval,
The overbearin’ county commissioners and the free handouts
That lazy farmers whose crops fail take,
When I myself could quietly make
Out like a barefoot bandit? who would bear the burdens,
To grunt and sweat under this weary life,
But that the wonder of somethin’ after death,
The undiscovered country from whose boundaries
No traveller has returned, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we don’t know of?
Thus conscience does make Christians of us all;
And thus the natural-born worldly will
Is replaced with Jesus and his cast of angels,
And enterprises of great importance and in regards
to this moment our thoughts run to God
And lose the love for the world. — Listen now!
My fair wife! She calls me back to the dinner table for some vittles.
Well, folks, I’d best be going afore she up and feeds my supper to the hogs.
– 19 May 1995