November 3, 2020

Yesterday's blog dealt with the elections and endorsements (the elections part of which is happening today). Today's blog deals with yesterday, the feast of All Souls. It is also known as the Day Of The Dead in certain Spanish cultures. I don't know if the souls actually return to earth on this day, but Catholic tradition observes this time as a way to honor all the souls, those who've lived in the past, ancestors, the forgotten, etc.

I didn't have money on Sunday to honor all the departed I wanted to for the All Souls Day Mass, so I'll honor them here, in addition to my mother Patricia Faith Clarke (1942-91), who will have been passed 29 years as of this Thursday, November 5.

Donald G. Clarke (1935-95). The upcoming December 27 will have marked 25 years since his passing. I don't have anywhere near enough time or space to detail my feelings on my father here. I wonder how he would react to me being a published writer and music producer, although I can't make money off of either.

Sally Bowling (1943-2017). I didn't know until recently that she was my half-aunt, but she still is my full Godmother. She had health problems for most of the time I knew her, but she was always fun to be around. She even liked some of my music (even though she never knew that the "Memories" song was about her and my Godfather, her husband).

Larry Bowling (1941-2014). My Godfather never got to listen to my music. But he was one of 2 relatives who got me into coin collecting. When I lived in Pennsylvania at the end of 2003, I got him into attending Mass again. I didn't know until then that he was a huge fan of choir music, and it's hard to hear choir music now without thinking of him.

Rodger Barnhart (1938-2017). If it wasn't for Uncle Rodger, my parents would have never been introduced to each other. Uncle Rodger was stationed in the same unit as my father during Vietnam. My last memories of him were of the drive from Chambersburg to the Amtrak station in Harrisburg. I didn't know until then that he liked any type of electronic or chillout music. He never got to hear any of my music, but some of my recent music (especially the Therapy song) was inspired by that trip, and I got the idea for the Tribulation song right after his passing.

Hazel Stokes Clarke (1911-95). She was the only grandmother I remembered, as my other grandmother (Grace Fogal Faith) died shortly after my birth. Grandma Hazel was very eccentric. My 2015 trip to her hometown of Toronto filled in some blanks on her life (born at home, raised in an apartment above a fish and chips shop, her father's ruinous lawsuit against his brother that led to the loss of his business and emigration to Detroit). When I first got my DNA test, I wasn't sure if I was related to her. Now, a good chunk of my DNA matches (and nearly all the ones from the UK, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand) are from her branch of the family tree. Grandma Hazel also got me into coin collecting. If she were still alive, I don't know who she would be more disappointed in- me, my sister, or my estranged niece Allie.

George F. Clarke (1908-81). As he died when I was elementary school, I didn't know much about him when he died. I know his health was why my family left Colorado Springs after my father's retirement from the Air Force. I didn't know until well after he died who his parents were, his sales career, his closeness to his mother (who died before my father was born), his military career during WW2, or that he actually was suffering from ALS at the time of his death. Probably the one thing I remember most about him is a song he always sang to my grandmother. I have no idea if he wrote it himself or appropriated it from Vaudeville or Tin Pan Alley.
You'll take Grace with a bulldog face
But I'll take Hazel
You'll take Rose with a turned up nose
But I'll take Hazel
She's the kind of smarty
Who breaks up every party
Don't take Hazel, don't take Hazel
I'll take her myself, by gosh!

Richard J Faith (1915-95). The grandfather I remember most, and the soul on here most likely to still be in Purgatory after 25 years. He was good at building stuff and electrical work. I didn't know until after he died that he was into boating. I found out years after he died that he should have been a Mateer instead of a Faith (as his parents never married, and his father was drafted into WW1 shortly after his birth). My DNA test results show relation to quite a few Mateers at 3rd Cousin level and above. He was not above taking advantage of family, including coercing me to drive him to drive from Chambersburg to the bus station in Louisville, KY, when I had plans to go from Chambersburg to NYC (the opposite direction). He left his tickets to head back in my car, and it took a lot of searching in Midtown to find a FedEx to send off the tickets. About 4 years later, I ended up moving to NYC on a permanent basis. Supposedly he cheated on my grandmother Grace, but DNA tests on one of my Godmother's daughters prove that my grandmother got back at him, and he was forced to raise a daughter that wasn't his. As I am Catholic, I don't believe in Karma. But my mother, Godmother, and other aunts and uncles managed to survive their time with him.

September 13, 2015

As far as the residence and job, nothing has changed since April. But almost everything else has changed. I now am making enough money to afford such niceties as DNA testing and vacations. The fact that I am getting paid vacations helps too. I found out I probably am a nicer person when I'm not in New York and not around this culture. And after my vacation which ended 10 days ago, I could survive outside the United States (and probably thrive, if not for international immigration requirements).

In May, I took an autosomal DNA test sponsored by Ancestry.com. It showed I was primarily of Western European (i.e. German, Dutch, French) and Irish origin. I had so little British/English DNA in my sample that it made me question whether the woman I knew as my grandmother Hazel (who was born 104 years ago in Toronto to Worcestershire native parents) actually was my biological grandmother. I later found a Worcestershire DNA match on Ancestry that could only have been related to me through my grandmother's family. For most of the matches that showed up on there (and GEDMatch and the free version of FamilyTreeDNA), I have no idea how I'm related to these people. And the autosomal DNA test never showed me where exactly my Clarke ancestors originated. I have since ordered a more expensive Y-DNA test that should reveal where the Clarke family came from and hopefully find other Clarkes. As far as I know, I'm the last one. My parents are long gone, and my estranged sister is technically a Johnson (of the Tennessee Springer-esque branch). In June, after she threatened to have me arrested over calling a welfare check on her (which resulted in her institutionalization for being suicidal), I cut her off completely.

I figured out how to get vacation time from my job, and used the money I was saving for a car towards my first extended international vacation. To Ireland. In a lot of ways, Ireland is similar to the US. They speak English (with accents just as hard to follow as Americans from the rural South or Northern Appalachia). They listen to the same music that Americans do. They have HD and satellite television, internet, wi-fi, malls, buskers, nice cars, western style housing, and a more advanced bus and railway network. But cars are driven on the left side of the road. The currency is in euros, with anything smaller than 5 euros ($5.50 US) in coins instead of paper money. And the locals are super nice and polite- to the point that they would be easy pickings for con artists and evil-doers if they ever stepped foot in New York. I probably felt more at home in 5 days in Ireland (where I had never been before August 29) than I did in the last 10 years in America, even with the bilingual signs and instructions in Irish (a language I am far less familiar with than Spanish, or French, or Creole). But it would take a high paying job offer, a Mega Millions jackpot, or a marriage offer (from an Irish woman who could still tolerate me after several weeks) before I could ever think of renouncing my American citizenship and move there.

And wherever I end up, I can now claim to be a published writer. Not for my musings on the obscene state of New York and Washington politics, but for my songwriting and poetry abilities. Two of the lyrics to my songs (Ask and Piping Plovers) and 8 other original works were added to the Holy Apostles writers' workshop anthology that was published in June. I got to read some of my works at a public reading on June 25.

The workshop is starting up again on the 17th. However, I don't know if I can attend any of the workshops with my current work schedule.

March 4, 2006

It's Lenten time, folks.

Traditionally, Lent is the 40 days before Easter. Ash Wednesday starts Lent, and many church services symbolize this time of sacrifice and prayer by having ashes on their foreheads. Some think it is their religious duty to have those ashes. Surprisingly, it is not. For Catholics, Ash Wednesday isn't even a holy day of obligation (i.e. a day you have to go to Mass). Those ashes do symbolize death and sacrifice. The old symbolism involved sackcloth and ashes, now, an appropriate might involve the ashes created from the process of cremation. I can remark that 10 years ago this month, I saw how much life can be in a pile of ashes- when what was supposed to be a routine ash scattering off the Jacksonville Beach Pier turned into a spiritual experience involving me, my great-uncle Bill Stokes (who died 5 months after that incident), and my great-aunt Gladys Stokes.

My father's final wish was that his ashes would be scattered off the Jacksonville Beach fishing pier he frequented when he was growing up. One time in the 1940s, he was fishing and caught a baby hammerhead shark. We joked 50 years later that the hammerhead's relatives would be looking for him. In late March of 1996, I opened up the plastic box with his ashes. Instead of dropping into the ocean waters below, they flew out of the box like some spirit had been released. As I found out 6 months later during Bill Stokes's ash scattering in Plymouth, MI, this was not a normal occurance.

As far as I know, Gladys Stokes is still well and living outside Myrtle Beach, SC. I haven't heard from her in nearly 5 years due to an ugly family feud that ensued following the death of her oldest daughter (and my father's cousin) Pamala Stokes. I was one of 6 family members that bothered to show up for Pamala's funeral at Tower Hill Presbyterian Church in Red Bank, NJ, in August 2001. But Pamala had a lot of friends, and it was standing room only during her funeral service.

Since Ash Wednesday 2005, my friends have had their own losses to deal with. Jon Koza lost his grandmother a few months ago, and shortly afterwards, his fiancee Dara's grandmother also died. Last week, Diana Pensabene lost her father. Tyrone Griffith lost his 90 year old great-grandfather 5 months ago. Jon and I attended the wake- and despite the sorrow of losing Kinnard Sypher, his family and friends had a very spiritual and uplifting service. It is like Bill Stokes, Pamala Stokes, Mr. Sypher, Mr. Pensabene, and Mrs. Cohen that we will end up eventually. Many are still mourning. But Lent is here to remind us of our pending death, and our renewal in a new life.

And now that this composition is over, I have about an hour to get ready for my usher gig at this afternoon's 4:30PM Mass at St. Pancras Catholic Church in Glendale.