Today is my grandmother’s birthday.  She’d have been 22.  Well, 88 years but only 22 real birthdays.  She was always young for her age.  I took Sun, who is named after my grandmother, to her grave last weekend for them to meet.

All this family research thing started up again as a result of that visit to her grave.  One of the big mysteries in the family is who her birth parents were.

One story is that her adopted parents went to north Louisiana to pick her up.  Another is that she went through a local adoption agency.  I know both of these are false.

Her father’s probate proceedings aver that he had no children and never adopted anyone.  Thus, as suspected, my grandmother was “handed off” to be raised by a relative or family friend without an official adoption—not at all uncommon for the 1920s.

My grandfather suspects that her adopted father is her birth father—that he had an affair with her birth mother.  I put his theory at 50/50 odds.  It would explain why there was no formal adoption as well as the affidavit in his succession—his wife would have kept his secret from his doting daughter, my grandmother, and not told the truth about him having fathered a child.

But it could just as easily be that they had a friend who found herself “in the family way.”  Except.  It is inconsistent with why, on her deathbed, my great-grandmother refused to tell my grandmother the truth saying, “I promised your father I’d never tell.”  That statement, to me, gives credence to my grandfather’s theory.

The best clue I have is her actual birthday, February 29, 1920.  And the names of the witnesses to her baptism, one is my grandfather’s “prime suspect” of who he thinks the birth mother is.

The wrinkle?  I need to wait 12 more years to search the birth records.  In Louisiana, they are private for 100 years.  Oh, the agony.

This mystery was the impetus to me doing genealogy work.  And it still nags at me; I continue to pick at this mystery hoping to solve it before those 100 years run.  I promised myself I’d find the answer before my grandmother died.  I failed in this promise.

But it never really matter to my grandmother anyway.  She always knew love, unconditional and endless, from her very real parents. 

Here are the answers to yesterday’s truths and lies:

1. I cannot drive stick. This is TRUE. Years ago, several friends tried to teach me and a few telephone poles came close to getting hit. I am happy to drive standard.

2. I will not ski or snowboard or skydive. It is TRUE that I am deathly afraid of breaking a bone. I broke my right wrist a few years ago and eventually had to have a plate screwed into the bone. Uh, FYI, having a plate screwed into bone hurts far more than childbirth.

3. In high school, it is TRUE that no boy ever invited me to his class dance. I didn’t hang out with a lot of boys as a teenager and went to an all-girl high school. As a result, I dated very little in high school and was not invited nor attended one boy’s class dance.

4. That I have never dyed my hair is a LIE. Though it is true that my mother was responsible for many bad hair cuts and perms that I had, it did not scar me for life. I have dyed my hair as an adult but have not had a perm for over 20 years.

5. It is TRUE that I had a mad crush on Dudley Moore. Charlotte, I forgive you for saying, “Ewww.” I fell in love with Cuddly Dudley after seeing “Arthur,” a movie I stopped counting how many times I’ve seen at 24. How serious was my crush? I once took a picture of Dudley on TV (yes, I took a picture of my television) giving an interview, an interview I had recorded (and probably still have on tape somewhere). But wait; there’s more. He’s the reason I trudged to the library and did my first research project. I learned of his clubbed foot and his rough childhood; I learned of his many tall, blonde wives and lovers (and nonetheless believed that if we ever met he’d fall in love with me on the spot); I learned of his partnership with Peter Cook in the comedy revue and their famous sketch in Beyond the Fringe of the “One Legged Tarzan,” seen here (starting at 2:35):

What wasn’t to love?

6. It is a LIE that I am really good at math and can do it in my head in lightening speed. I cannot do math in my head. Cannot. Do. It. With a calculator or, better yet, an Excel spreadsheet, my math skills don’t suck (which is good since I AM a tax attorney/estate planner). It does seem, however, that I end up figuring the bill after dinners out but I am not sure why this is.

Not one of you got it right.

Katie and Greta recently tagged me for two different memes.  Neither meme really blew my skirt up.  So instead I will follow something Katie recently did on her blog (and it is similar in what Greta’s meme asked). 

I’m going to list 6 things—4 of them will be true, 2 will be false. I ask that you leave me a comment telling me which two you think are false. Got it?  If you personally know me and thus the answer, please do not spoil the fun and give it away.  There will be no prize other than the esteem of the people.  Here goes:

1.  I cannot drive stick.  Several friends have tried to teach me; we were lucky to get out with our lives.

2.  I will not ski or snowboard or skydive.  I am deathly afraid of breaking a bone.

3.  In high school, no boy ever invited me to his class dance.  Not one.

4. I have never dyed my hair.  As a child, my mother had complete control over what was done with my hair and she wanted what was the easiest.  Thus, I had many [bad] perms as a kid.  All those chemicals turned me off ever wanting to dye my hair as an adult.

5.  I have a mad crush on Dudley Moore.  Shhh; we don’t talk about the fact that he is d.e.a.d.

6.  I am really good at math (part of being a tax attorney/estate planner).  I can do it in my head in lightening speed.  Friends love me to figure the bill after dinner.

So, think you know me?  Let’s find out.

Years ago, I spent copious hours doing genealogy research on my mother’s family. In all, it took five years. I spent countless hours in NOLA’s main library (their Louisiana Special Collections on the third floor is chuck full of great NOLA genealogy information), UNO’s library, courthouse archives, the Historic New Orleans Collection, and cemeteries throughout the city.

I went back five generations and ended up with a family tree that includes over 300 family members. My niece looked at the tree and exclaimed, “It’s a whole city of people!” My great- great- great-grandfather came from the Alsace region of what was then Germany (now France) in the 1840s. He came with nothing but the proverbial clothes on his back. Within a year of setting foot on NOLA soil, he was a landowner. That piece of land, I learned, is still in the family.

Along for his own research was Pete. He was digging to find more specific information about family members whereas at that time I was simply trying to find as many of us as I could. Pete also enjoyed reading old news pieces (my favorite being about a father who got tired of his daughter practicing the piano so he went downstairs and shot her dead).

After my grandmother died, my family pored over the sketchy research I had to date. That inspired me to wrap it all up. I made copies of all the death, marriage, birth certificates; death notices; census records; newspaper clippings; Judgments of Possession and other probate pleadings; real estate transactions; old letters; and photographs. It filled a three-inch binder.

My grandfather was very pleased with all my hard work and told me he read my book every day. I don’t think he still does, but I know it means an awful lot to him. He and I would meet with his cousins for me to give them a binder too. It’s been given to over 20 family members who live in various states in the country.

After I was done all my research, I took my grandfather to St. Vincent de Paul Cemetery No. 1 to “visit” his father and siblings. He hadn’t been there in years. His cousin and my sister joined us. Surprisingly, my grandfather looked at his family tomb (yes, it’s NOLA–it’s an above ground tomb) and announced that his siblings were NOT buried there. Well, where are they? I asked. He proceeded to tell us they were in a coping (click here for a picture of a coping) made of marble (not concrete). He went into great detail about the coping–he visited it regularly as a child with his mother. As a matter of fact, he said, they were buried on the other side–St. Vincent de Paul No. 2 (St. Vincent de Paul No. 1 and No. 2, together, are more commonly known as Soniat Cemetery).

I insisted that we walk over right then and there (it is literally right next door–it’s hard to realize that it’s two cemeteries; I looked at my notebook that I’d brought with me that had notes from the death notices and sure enough his siblings were in No. 2 and his father in No. 1). The four of us walked over to the very small cemetery and began to walk. In no time, my grandfather was certain we would not find it and quit walking. I begged him to keep looking; my sister urged him; his cousin pleaded, saying it was the least he could do after all my hard work. But my grandfather is a stubborn man and once he makes up his mind, that’s it.

So we left the cemetery. A few days later he called me and told me that he should have kept looking in that cemetery for his siblings. He surprised me by saying that if I was interested (if?) we could go back sometime. That was just under three years ago.

I talked to my grandfather today and told him I had visited my grandmother at her grave this past weekend. He’s going to visit her Friday–her birthday. I asked if he was still interested in going back to Soniat Cemetery with me. He said yes. So we are going next Tuesday. My aunt, his daughter, is joining us.

I had returned to the cemetery soon after that last visit with my grandfather taking into account his description of the grave. I could not locate it. I hold out little hope that it will be located next week. But so many things have been discovered well after I gave up hope on them that nothing will surprise me. The actual discovery of the grave, now that would excite me to no end. Wish us luck!

Bonerama is playing at Rock ‘n’ Bowl this Saturday night. Rock ‘n’ Bowl is a uniquely NOLA institution. The whole Mid-City area was badly damaged by Hurricane Katrina, and Rock ‘n’ Bowl clamored to re-open as fast as possible. It’s been re-opened for some time now and I haven’t yet been back. That’s going to change this weekend.

Yes, I am going out. At night. To listen to a band play. Live. Oh, to think about it gives me goosebumps. It is so reminiscent of my days following Big Sun. Ah, the good ole days!

If babies are welcome (and I think they are because first and foremost RnB is a bowling alley), Captain Sarcastic and Sun will be joining me. And I think Pete may come too. And I know Stacey will be there (being the good groupie/merch seller that she is). So in one week’s time I will have met at least two NOLA bloggers. So much for me being an anonymous blogger!

Wanna join us? You know you do! Come see an awesomely unique NOLA band at a most unique NOLA music venue. Show starts at 9:30 pm. Hope to see you there!

This weekend shaped up to be the kind I really like. We took Sun to Storyland in City Park yesterday. I don’t recall any special visit to Storyland as a child, but I remember always finding the place magical. It’s a place designed solely for children–a “fairytale theme park”–where kids can climb on things and run and scream and really enjoy being a kid. As an adult, the place isn’t as enchanting. But knowing Sun will soon find its magic and that that magic will cast its spell over her for years to come is still really exciting.

Then I watched some Oscar movies–”There Will Be Blood,” “Atonement,” and “Michael Clayton.” Add those to “Juno” and “No Country for Old Men” that I also recently saw and I have now seen all five movies nominated for best film. Did I mention I have an eight-month old? Do you know how impossible it is for me to watch a movie? And so watching three in two days is quite remarkable. Now I just need to figure a way to watch the Oscars.

We also returned to Angelo Brocato’s for gelato and had our Sunday brunch with friends (although I was cranky to have gotten to the restaurant and seated after our friends already had their food). But Amber won me over with her discussion of her fine jewelry.

But the highlight of my weekend was doing something I’ve never done before. I’ve tried now several times and failed. But not today. Today, I met a fellow blogger, Katie from Overflowing Brain. She posted about being nervous to meet me (!), about taking care about her appearance. And I was nervous, too (and took care about what I wore). It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a first date in over a decade and it unnerved me a bit.

I love Katie’s blog and I was worried that (a) she’d not like me in person as much as anonymously or (b) it’d be too weird to carry on a live conversation. What would we talk about? (”So, hi, Katie. Wanna show me your scar and I’ll show you Sun’s hemangioma?”)

Once we sat down and started to just, you know, talk, things were very fluid. There were no awkward silences or moments of regret (even with our disagreeing about “No Country for Old Men”). She’s really someone I like, even more so in person. And honestly, I didn’t think about the possibility of her spilling tea on me even once. I think I have a new, real friend.

The commercial properties along Airline Highway leading to NOLA were badly flooded in Katrina. One store, AMA Distributors (they sell pool tables, pinball machines and top quality poker chips), put up a plywood wall as they rebuilt their store. One day, this plywood wall got painted white. Then some sketches were drawn on this white fence. Then the sketches were painted and a beautiful mural emerged. Every time I’d pass it, I’d slow down and admire this NOLA-inspired mural. I loved it. It honored our music, our great chefs, our landmarks.

This mural was completed before I had a digital camera, and so I’d ask Captain Sarcastic over and over to go take its picture. He never did. Time passed, and I’d find myself taking Airline Highway just to pass this thing. It always made me feel good. My in-laws came to town and I took them to see it. My MIL snapped two pictures of it. I recently asked my MIL about those two pictures and she had not recalled even taking them but promised to look for them.

Then AMA Distributors reopened and the mural came down. I was so sad to see it go and was a touch pissed at CS for never having got its picture. I still pass that strip of Airline regularly and I miss the mural every time.

Yesterday, my MIL e-mailed me the pics; she had located them. This renewed my curiosity about the mural–who did it? what became of it? So yesterday afternoon, I called AMA Distributors to inquire about the mural; the call was disappointing but did give me a few leads. The woman who answered told me that all she remembered was that the artist’s name was Neville and that Frank Davis did a piece on it. I then e-mailed Frank Davis. He recalled doing the piece but did not know what had become of the mural.

Since then, I have been googling “Neville mural NOLA artist” in every possible combination to learn the identity of the artist. Then a weird thing happened.

CS and I went to the NOLA art market today at Palmer Park. The page Pete and I posted of the Fore!Kids fleur de lis came up (as did the new website for the streetcar art project). So when I got home, I clicked on my fleur de lis page and was admiring all those beautiful pieces of art. And then I saw it, a name. Larry Nevil. Nevil instead of Neville? Could it be? I googled Larry Nevil and found pieces of his art and it is unmistakable that the mural that I had so come to love was his work! All this time, I’ve been premiering a piece of his art on my own website while unwittingly admiring another! This year old mystery that I finally got serious about yesterday is today solved. It’s just too weird.

I am stunned. And delighted. I will call Mr. Nevil to learn what became of his lovely mural. In the meantime, enjoy the two quick snapshots of it (that do not do it justice) that my mother-in-law took of it:

Pete and I attended the Sponsor Party for YLC’s A Streetcar Named Inspire last night.  We were there in an “official capacity” for our StreetcarArt.com site.  We interviewed artists, previewed the sketches, and meet the YLC folks involved.  To read the official account of the evening, click here.

We also drank a little wine and enjoyed such tunes as “Moon River” and “What a Wonderful World” played by a three piece jazz ensemble.  It was hosted at the Capital One bank—the old Hibernia bank—you know, the one with all the beautiful marble and gigantic chandeliers.  I had no idea the bank lets out the actually bank for functions.  It was weird but cool.  I am a sucker for the sound of my heels clicking on marble.

It is always a treat now for me to be able to steal away to an adult function without a baby attached to my hip.  I missed the little bug, but I truly enjoyed myself.  Oh, and the art did not disappoint.  We here in NOLA are in for quite the treat when these streetcars start popping up.

I love the semicolon; it’s my all-time favorite punctuation mark.  My love for it stems from the first author to whom I ever really found myself truly devoted, John Irving.  In “The World According to Garp,” Irving sings the praises of “the good ole semicolon,” and my love for the semicolon was cinched from my first reading of “Garp” way back in college.

This past Tuesday, the New York Times heralded the semicolon.  I have learned that Kurt Vonnegut abhorred the semicolon (he called semicolons “hermaphrodite transvestites,” saying that they serve no purpose: “The only reason to use one is to show you’ve been to college.”).  I love Vonnegut but must attribute this loathing to his notorious pessimism.  I do love his quote in the article, though (“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life; old age is more like a semicolon.”).

So go read this delightful NYT piece and revel in a language that gives us the semicolon.  It makes me curious—what’s your favorite punctuation mark?

I am finally beginning to feel better. My headaches are less, the ringing in my ears is gone, and I have only been through about a fifth of a box of tissues today. And the upswing of having The Death is that I think I’ve lost a few pounds!! So to celebrate, we went out to dinner! Yay!

After dinner we went to the book store and bought Sun a couple of books–a Gossie book (I love that little gossling!) and Olivia (that pig is darn cute, too). Sun received a Gossie book from my sister some time ago and so I got a second one ’cause I liked the first so much. My friends that were recently in town with their 2 year old really liked Olivia, so we picked that one up too.

Nothing like a bout of The Death to make me appreciate good health and my job–you know, the one away from home. I have spent an awful lot of time in my house this past week, too sick to work or dine with friends or meet one new online friend (whose medical problems make my measly bout with The Death seem like a pleasant walk in the park).

I still have very little appetite and no taste for coffee–two sure signs I am not feeling all that well. However, I am very appreciative to be on the mend and have things in the near future in which to look forward.