Oh so politically uncorrect!

Where I worship, St. Davids Episcopal Church Columbia, SC

The question I chose to answer today is so taboo these days that even bringing it up in certain places and circumstances could get you fired!  We have become so hyper-sensitive that to ask a person what race or religion they are is verboten.  You are welcome to take a stab at surmising, but to flat out ask is boorish at best and  actionable at worst.  So why did I choose to bring up such a touchy subject here?  I want it entered into the record.  This is supposed to be a personal history to be passed down to my descendants, so I set aside the silly moors of my society to deal in the facts.  Of course the political correctness that is so irksome to me is only the fallout of past discrimination and in an attempt to put a stop to it, we have over corrected and hopefully the time will come when openly asking about race and religion will not be seen as an attempt at singling someone out for negative treatment but rather a chance to celebrate our differences and share our similarities.  

So with no further ado, I will speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.   I am a WASP, a White Anglo Saxon Protestant.  I am the walking talking definition of a WASP, and me and my kind have been so for many generations, at least 9 that I know of for sure.  I have had my DNA tested as part part of the National Geographic Society genographic program and have traced my genetic lineage back to the cro magnon of Europe.  I share DNA with Oetzi the ice man found frozen for millennia in the alps.  Interestingly enough, I share the same Haplogroup with the Ashkenazi Jews of Europe and though I have yet to have the testing done, there is a strong statistical possibility that I am not only a WASP, but may be Jewish too!  They do seem mutually exclusive, I agree, but the genes don't lie and I harbor a small hope of being genetically linked at least, if not culturally linked to God's own chosen people.  Maybe one day I will fork over the money to find out for sure, until then I will just bask in the possibility.

What I do know for sure is that many of my ancestors were part of the reformation in Europe.  I have Huguenots, Pilgrims, Puritans, and German religious sects all present in my family tree.  But I also know that the lines were not so black and white for some of my ancestors.  My 9Great  grandfather Epke Banta was brought before the prosecutor  in Friesland and fined for having a Catholic Priest into his home to baptise his child.     Zealots are Zealots and intolerable no matter what they ascribe to or in whatever age you find them.   Epke was a protestant but apparently not protestant enough.  I think he and I would see eye to eye on the whole Church thing.  Protestant, Catholic...what does it matter if you are in a sincere and earnest relationship with your creator.  A Godly man or woman is a Godly man or woman regardless of what set of human ecclesiastical contrivances  they choose to adhere to.  I guess the political correctness was going on then just as it is today, it just keeps spiraling into ever broadening circles.  I suppose it is better today than it was back then, we can be Catholic or Protestant without having to fear for our lives and fortunes.  And things have even starting coming back full circle.  We protestants split from Rome because of the excesses, immorality and a departure from scripture that we saw in the Roman Church, and now protestants are returning to Rome, my own family included, for the very reasons their ancestors left over 9 generations ago.  Would they, our ancestors, be rolling over in their graves at the thought of their progeny returning to Rome?  I think not.  I think they would be proud of their descendants for doing just what they themselves did in leaving behind the "Church" in order to follow God.  So now my Mom and my sister have followed God to the Roman Church and I have chosen to stay in the mission field that is the Protestant Episcopal Church Of the United States.   So that is the answer to the question what is my race and religion.  I am white and hopefully Jewish, I am a dissapointed protestant with Catholic sympathies and if current science is correct you can add a dash of neanderthal to the whole thing, stick a fork in it and call it done.

The Boy

One of my most treasured possessions is a letter written by my grandfather to my grandmother 15 years shy of 100 years ago when their eldest son Uncle Clarence was just a baby.  They were apart because Granny had gone to care for her ill sister.  In the letter Papa asked how "the boy" was, and said that he missed him.  That struck a chord with me for some reason, that he would refer to his own baby son as "the boy"  so we latched on to the phrase and use it liberally when referring to our one and only child, now a grown man.  He has always been and will continue to be "The Boy" Today's question is all 
about the Boy.  It asks how many children we have and how old are they?  We have just the one, and feel lucky to have him.  Because of the chemotherapy I had at the tender age of 22 my fertility was in question.  One doctor told me I had nothing to worry about, but all the others seem a little surprised that we had a healthy normal pregnancy at all.  So majority rules and Zach is my official miracle baby, not that there is much of a baby left about him.  At 21 years old and almost through with his first 4 years of college he would not fit the bill as Anyone's little baby, except for mine of course.  

When he was little I used to look forward to the day when he was grown and I would not have to worry about him, and now that he is grown I realize that day is never going to come and even worse, I have all the worry and none of the control.  The good thing is that I see signs of hope all the time.  Just when I wonder if he will be OK he surprises me with a good decision, a bit of unexpected wisdom or a measure of maturity that I did not know he had.  He steps up a lot and has made us proud on countless occasions, so my worry is probably more from habit than anything because our boy is really quite the man.

25 years ago today

The question for today is what is your anniversary date, and how many years have ytou been married?  We were married on February 6th, 1988.  Twenty five years ago today I stood at the altar of St James Episcopal Church in Clovis NM and said " I do".   I could not have known then  all that I was agreeing to, but it was the single best decision I ever made.  Steve has seen me through two different cancers, countless neurotic meltdowns and an ongoing and inordinate love affair with carbohydrates.  In spite of all of my many failings he comes home every day more or less on time and says he is glad to be home.  He has escorted me around the world to see and do the most amazing things.  We have kissed in the shadow of the Eiffle tower,  swam under a rainbow in Hawaii and best and most astonishing of all brought our son into the world in a Dutch Hospital in Amersfoort, The Netherlands.  Who would have guessed that we would have had such a wonderful and surprising first 25 years?  I certainly did not, standing there at the altar all those years ago, but I did not need to.  I had Steve and that was  enough.   Now with retirement looming on the Horizon with as much and more uncertainty about the future as there ever was 25 years ago,  I do not  worry, because I have Steve and we both still do...

The Furney Family Circa 1900

The question is "What is your maiden name"  The answer of course is Furney.   I guess if I were getting married all over again,  I would seriously consider hyphenating my last name.  Back in the day, I wanted to take my husbands name and gladly did so thinking it helped solemnize  the bonds of marriage and maybe it did, but now I am of the mind that we can find a better way to do that, one that does not come at the price of the bride's birthright, her family name.  Why should she have to sacrifice that part of herself on the altar of Holy Matrimony?  No, I am all in favor of the hyphenated name, or at the very least lets revive the tradition of giving our children their mothers maiden name for a middle name so that it is not lost to the ages.  Since I had not thought of that when Zach was born, its a little late for me, but at least here I can document that I was and am a Furney.

The picture above is of three generations of Furneys.  I presume it was taken in Kansas in the early 1900's.    From left to right they are my great Aunt Cora Lee Furney, My Great Great Grandmother Sarah Darner Furney, my Grandfather Solomon Ray Furney, my great great grandfather Solomon Ritz Furney, on his lap perhaps Floy Hazel, behind him standing are my great grandparents Rosa Lee Hook and James William Furney.  James William is  resting his hands on who I believe is La Rena, and their eldest son Glenn stands on the far right.  I am not sure about the girls but that is a pretty good guess I think.

For years I knew nothing about my Furney family roots, not knowing where the name originated, how we came to be in America, none of that.  But with the advent of the internet I have been able to unearth some fascinating things tracing the Furney family back to 1690 in Fahrni Switzerland, the village we are all named for.  Apparently Christian Farney emigrated to Wachenheim Germany.  His son Johan Adam then moved from Germany to America sometime during the 1700's.  He died in Fredrick County Maryland.  His son Philip had a son named Fredrick Philip who moved to Ohio where he had a son named Daniel.   Daniel was the father of Solomon Ritz who moved to Kansas.  Interestingly enough, my Dad's brother Bob told me that the Furney family belonged to a protestant religious sect in Ohio, but that Solomon Ritz had a falling out with his Christian brethren and pulled up stakes and moved to Kansas, where he opened a saloon and made enough money to buy an entire section of land.  I do not state that as fact but as family lore.  It does have a lot going for it though, they did move to Kansas, and that is a fact, but as for all the other...I cannot say, but I like to think thats how it happend.

As good a time as any

South Carolina State Capital

The question for today is what is the name of your spouse.  I figured it was as good a time as any to explore the intricacies of Steve' name and lineage, it gets a little confusing...His name is Steven Edward Wachter.  He takes his middle name from his Dad, who was James Edward Wachter.  But before James Edward was a Wachter he was a Richardson.  His father was named James Edward Richardson, a man from New York City who was of Swedish descent so the family lore says.  He married Anna Bach and then in time little James Edward was born.  Sadly James Sr died  of pneumonia just a few months after his son was born.  Eventually Anna married Fred Wachter who promptly adopted his bride's son and gave him the name he carried the rest of his life and passed on to his children and many of their children.  So now the world has a whole branch of  Wachters who are true Wachters in all ways save genetic.  I think they are proud be be called the grand children of Fred Wachter, a man  they all loved well.  It does sadden me though that the Richardson line is all but lost.  For all we know James Richardson might have been a wonderful father and husband and would have been proud of his grandchildren, had he lived to know them.  So not meaning to diminish the gift of Fred Wachters life and name, I want to be sure to include James Edward Richardson in the discussion about the name of my spouse.

Mom and Daddy

The question is "What are your parents names?  My Mom is named LaWanda Bartley Furney.  She has no official middle name, though it has been suggested for years that her first name is La and her middle name is Wanda.  Back in the day she went by Wanda, most of my childhood I remember her friends calling her that.  But as we all grew up she transitioned back to LaWanda, and I think that is what she goes by with everyone today  that does not call her Mom or Oma, or Omar...a variant of Oma forced on us by spell check and auto correct features of the texing/tweeting age we live in.  We have always wondered why she was given no middle name.  All of her siblings have middle names, but not Mom, another indication that Granny un-apologetically did things her own way.

Daddy was named after his Grandparents. Or so I suspect.  His name was James Lee Furney and his dad's parents were named James William Furney and Rosa Lee Hook.  So it does not take a rocket scientist to do the math on that one.  Or does it?  Jamie is named Jamie Lee Furney, and I would have bet money that she was named after Daddy, but Mom says no, not really.  Hmmm ....something does not add up there.  She looks just like him, she was his first child, He was called James Lee, and she is called Jamie Lee... I think she was named after him if even on a subconscious level.  I am glad, its a good family name and it should go on.  That is why we named Zachary James the way we did.  It helped that both his grandfathers were named James.  So the tradition continues of naming people in our family in mercurially significant ways.  Lets see what the next few generations do with it!

Nevada, Rural Clark County, Nellis AFB

And the Question is...What state where you born in, What City? What Hospital?  I know the answers do not quite match up with the questions, and the picture does not match up at all but all will become clear.  I was not born in a city per se, but on an Air Force Base.  Nellis AFB hospital to be specific.  Nellis is near Las Vegas, but not in it, so whenever I have to fill out a form asking for my place of birth I must write "Rural Clark County, Nevada.  I like it.  It has an air of mystery to it.   And the  mystery deepens because if you were to search for records showing my father being stationed at Nellis you would come up empty handed for he was never stationed there, but rather at Creech AFB in Indian Springs, Nevada.  We left there when I was very young but I do still have some memories of the place.    I remember going to a restaurant out on the highway.  Why it sticks in my mind has something to do with my earliest encounters with pizza but even more to do with the empty pool that was on the property.  There is something forlorn about an empty pool, an empty pool in the desert even more so.  I remember it  even to this day.  I remember going with Jamie to our friend Sylvia's house to watch the forbidden Soap Opera Dark Shadows, and I remember "watering" the giant yuccas in the front yard from the top down, and feeling like a fool some years later when I learned that plants drink from their roots, not their leaves...I remember picnics at Mt Charleston. I remember riding in  the back of a neighbors station wagon on one such trip and coming face to face with the horror of the olive loaf...that was the first realization that there is no accounting for taste.  It was also at Indian Springs that I think I was exposed to nuclear radiation from all the testing that was done in the region.  It really should not have come as a surprise when less than 20 years later I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease, and 20 years after that, thyroid cancer.  What is surprising is that Mom and Jamie have managed to stay cancer free!