Being in love is easy when you're young and infatuated. It's not so easy when you've spent a lifetime together raising children, learning about each other, and living through life's ups and downs.
Married on October 2, 1917, in Greene County, Tennessee, my grandparents, Isaac Lee and Reba Dunn Swanay spent almost 70 years together. Almost. My grandfather passed away in 1986 and grandmother in 1987, so they didn't quite make it to 70. But they came closer than most us ever will.
The first photo was taken at an unknown family gathering in November 1917, so they were still newlyweds. The second photo was taken at their 60th wedding anniversary party in October 1977.
They were dealt some hard knocks, but they stuck it out. You don't see that kind of commitment very often these days.
Will I make it to my 70th anniversary? Not likely, unless I live to be 110. But I'll give it my best shot.
Photographs:
Isaac Lee Swanay and Reba Dunn Swanay, Nov. 1917, Greene Co, TN. Copy of original photograph privately held by Elizabeth O'Neal, CA.
Isaac Lee Swanay and Reba Dunn Swanay, Oct. 1977, Rialto, Riverside Co, CA. Original image privately held by Elizabeth O'Neal, CA.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Young Love, Old Love
Friday, June 6, 2008
To Be 100% Irish
Growing up, “Irish,” to me, meant leprechauns, shamrocks, pots of gold… basically things that were “magically delicious.” Ireland was just some far-away place, full of strange, mystical things.
My maternal grandmother was fond of telling me – often, and with great gusto – that she was “100% Irish.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. Was she was related to leprechauns? Did we have a pot of gold somewhere? Was I 100% Irish, too?
What was so special about being 100% Irish?
There was definitely something special about this to my grandmother. Although her parents did not come from Ireland, she was certain that her grandparents – maternal and paternal – did.
She kept a pot of shamrocks in her yard and frequently told the story of how they came from a real, Irish, shamrock plant in Ireland. Someone (I’m sure she told me who, but for the life of me, I can’t remember) hand-carried this shamrock cutting to America and gave pieces of it to various members of her family. She was so proud that her 100% Irish shamrocks were thriving under her care.
My grandmother was never able to tell me why it was so important to her to have this connection with her Irish heritage. For some reason, being 100% Irish was of great consequence to her, despite the fact that she knew so little about her ancestors. I was not able to understand this connection until I became interested in genealogy.
Doing the math (which I know is much more complicated than this), I can estimate that I’m about 26% Irish, give or take. My maternal grandmother – as you know – was 100% Irish, and my maternal grandfather was French-Canadian, making my mother approximately 50% Irish. My father’s family had been in America since before the Mayflower, in some cases, and although his mother’s Dunns may have hailed from Ireland, we have no proof, and it was a looooong time ago. So I gave myself an extra 1%, just in case.
But 26% (give or take) is still a pretty substantial amount. To say that I’m “one-quarter Irish” may not be as meaningful as my grandmother’s statement that she was 100% Irish, but it still matters, right?
Yes, it does. And I’ll tell you why it matters to me.
Many times on this blog, I’ve bemoaned the fact that I have very little information about my mother’s ancestors. Fathers abandoned their families, and no one spoke of them ever again. Personal papers were destroyed. Family photos were found in boxes and (non-archival) albums, decaying and unlabeled. Personal history books were left empty or incomplete.
Most of my maternal ancestors are strangers to me.
But this much I know: They were Irish.
And knowing this, it’s almost like I can reach back in time and touch them through their “Irishness,” like a golden thread connecting generations. We may be strangers, but we share a common connection to Erin… the Emerald Isle. Someday I hope to visit Ireland – to take my daughter to stand on the soil where her ancestors – her father’s and mine – once lived.
I may never know who they were, but at least I know where they came from.
And in some instances, I know why they came to America:
There were those who came over during the Great Potato Famine of the mid 1800’s. Others came in the 1890’s and found work on the railroads. Still others migrated to the Midwest and became successful farmers and land owners.
These are some of the classic stories that we learned in high school American History… stories that meant nothing to me when I was in high school, as I doodled in my notebook and daydreamed of boys.
But now I know. I know that my own, Irish, ancestors were part of some important moments in history.
I can imagine them coming to America on big steamships, probably cramped into steerage, joyous at beginning a new life, but at the same time sad to be leaving Ireland… their homeland.
I can imagine them trying to learn strange, new American customs, yet trying to preserve some of their own culture and heritage.
I can imagine the souvenirs and heirlooms they brought with them from their homeland, which have since been lost to time and carelessness.
And when I look at my grandmother’s pot of shamrocks – which now lives in my own backyard following her death – I can almost feel what it’s like to be 100% Irish.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Wordless Wednesday: Great-Grandpa Dagle with Flowers
"Great-Grandpa Dagle with Flowers" (Digital Image. Original in possession of Elizabeth O'Neal. Date and location of photo unknown.)
About Wordless Wednesday.
Copyright © 2008 by Elizabeth O'Neal
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Celebrating Moms
Before I was a Mom
Before I was a Mom I made and ate hot meals.
I had unstained clothing.
I had quiet conversations on the phone.
Before I was a Mom I slept as late as I wanted.
And never worried about how late I got into bed.
I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.
Before I was Mom I cleaned my house each day.
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to lullabies.
Before I was a Mom I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.
Before I was a Mom I had never been puked on, pooped on, spit on, peed on, or pinched by tiny fingers.
Before I was a Mom I had complete control of my mind, my thoughts, my body and all my feelings.
I slept all night.
Before I was a Mom I never held down a screaming child so that doctors could do tests or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.
Before I was a Mom I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put it down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.
Before I was a Mom I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a Mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important.
Before I was a Mom I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was OK.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much...
...before I was a Mom.
~Author Unknown
____________________
Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers and mothers-to-be out there from our family to yours.
Photo of my mother, Judy Ann Dagle, and her mother, Mary McGraw Dagle, taken on Mother's Day, May 8, 1949. Original in possession of Elizabeth O'Neal.
Friday, May 9, 2008
How Much Your Mother Loves You
Photo of my mother, Judy Dagle Swanay, and me; September 1963. I was about 1 month old. (Original photo in possession of Elizabeth O'Neal)
"You'll never really know how much your mother loved you until you become a mother yourself."
My mother used to say this all the time. I never understood what it meant until I had my daughter.
Happy Birthday, Mimi
Today, May 9th, would have been my grandmother’s 91st birthday.
Mary Margaret "Maura" McGraw was born in Stanton, Nebraska, and was the daughter of Thomas McGraw and Elizabeth Marie Delaney.
She was the eldest of five children. Her siblings were:
- Thomas R. McGraw, born January 19, 1919, in Geneva, Nebraska; died February 26, 1984, in Tigard, Oregon.
- Robert McGraw, born August 18, 1924, in Nebraska; died August 13, 2000, in Lincoln, Nebraska.
- Myda G. McGraw, born December 23, 1927, in Keystone, Nebraska; died January 27, 2002, in Sioux City, Woodbury Co, Iowa.
- One sister who is still living.
On June 10, 1936, Mary married George Marvin Dagle in Elk Point, Nebraska. Marvin, as he was called, died on August 12, 1951, at the age of 39, in Tacoma, Washington, leaving Mary alone to raise their two young daughters, Sharon and Judy.Mary and the girls moved to California a few years after Marvin’s death. She eventually remarried, and had another daughter who is still living.
Mary worked at a variety of jobs to support her family; however, the one that I remember best is when she worked as a hostess and clubhouse supervisor at Leisure World in Laguna Hills (now Laguna Woods Village), California. She loved making the lives of the residents more pleasant, and they, in turn, loved her.
Mary died on February 24, 2004, in Hemet California. She is buried at Riverside National Cemetery in Riverside, California.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Wordless Wednesday: In Celebration of Mothers
Photo of my grandmother Reba Dunn Swanay (center), daughter Edna, and mother Sarah Jane Swatzel Dunn (right), c. 1918. Copy of original photograph in possession of Elizabeth O'Neal.
About Wordless Wednesday.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Hmmm... I Wonder How He'd Look in a Swimsuit?
On Sunday, I (virtually) attended another fun and productive Scanfest, hosted by Miriam at AnceStories: The Stories of My Ancestors.
There were about nine of us chatting and scanning (mostly chatting, I think), and the conversations ranged from dysfunctional scanners and scanner software, to joining the DAR/SAR, to lingerie, swimsuits, and pin-up gals.
Oh, and I confessed my long-standing crush on Microsoft-mogul Bill Gates.
Come on now, people... smart is sexy. That's why I married a rocket scientist.
[Moment of silent daydreaming here...]
Seriously, though, if you're tired of looking at those boxes and piles of photos-to-be-scanned, please consider joining the next Scanfest. Tune in to AnceStories for the date and time.
You never know what we'll talk about next!
____________________
For the record, I did not scan that super-cute photo of Bill, above.
But here's one that I DID scan (and no, I didn't crop it that way; it was already like that):
This one came from my cousin's photo album... the one I was working on for LAST month's Scanfest. My progress is slow, as you might have deduced.
What are they doing in that picture? Yeah, I wondered that myself. It looked like they were all sitting on a stage, so I figured that it must have been some kind of play or performance. And I thought I recognized my grandmother, Reba Dunn, way in the back, center.
I gently peeled the photo out of the album, and here's what I found on the back:
(I enlarged this shot, and adjusted the levels until it was more readable.)
So... yep, that was my grandmother, all right. She does indeed look pretty in that picture, being all of about 27 years old.
I can't help but wonder what sort of PTA performance it was. Were all the people on the stage students? Were some of them teachers? PTA members? There seems to be quite a difference in ages. And where are the men?
A quick Google of "Art's Photo Service" brought up nothing useful. But even if it had, I doubt if anyone would still be alive who might know what this photo was all about.
Are any of you familiar with PTA performances like this one? I'd love to hear about it, if you are!
