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9:12 p.m. - 2002-07-18 It must be real. We must be moving. I feel strangely detached from this, like it's no big deal. I'll just throw some things in boxes and put them in the back of the car and drive the five minutes to Hickory Hill and then I'll repeat the process 4672 times and that will be that. Piece of cake really.* It's definately a case of denial - I keep hoping if I ignore the situation long enough, little elf-like beings will move everything for me while I sleep. Today I ignored the situation by working on my father's family history, trying to put a packet together to send my cousin. I thought this was something that had to be done when I suddenly realised that today had been my late grandmother's birthday.** I love my family history. What better way to ignore your present life than by mucking around with all your dead relatives? Did you know I come from at least five generations of medical botanists, and a publican***? Beer and herbs! What a fabulous family history! No wonder Bruce fell in love with me! I got much of the information I have from my second-cousin-once-removed, John, who lives in Australia. I met him through an English family history society. John is a retired Royal Air Force fighter pilot who spends every waking moment tracking down not just our dead relatives, but everyone who could even be possibly related to our dead relatives. He was thrilled to meet someone who was as weirdly obsessed with our ancestors, and we have actually become good friends. He has called me twice from Australia. The first time I talked to him it was a bit unnerving, as he sounds, quite honestly, like an aging Paul McCartney and I was transported back to my ten year old Beatlemaniac self. Also he used so many Britishisms that I know the meaning of, but don't use everyday so I had to keep mentally translating. Like "bloke" and "quid" and "keep your pecker up, dear" which John says instead of goodbye. We had a rambling conversation about Australia (did you know it takes five days to cross Australia by car? And that the most exciting part of the trip is watching wedge tailed eagles rip apart kangaroo carcasses?), metric conversion, how many liters are in a gallon, the fact that we both own Toyotas, and his wife, Betty's, bowling record. We had talked for about an hour when he finally asked me the question I knew had been in the back of his mind for the year that we've been corresponding. "There's something I wanted to ask you, it's a bit personal. I don't know if you'll be offended but there's no harm meant." He was obviously being cautious. "What's that, John?" I asked innocently. "Well, love, you know, we were all just wondering, you know, all the ancestors were Catholic and all the family that stayed in England was Catholic, and you know...well...it's a very hard thing to be a Catholic in England, what with all the persecutions and all, bad business that was, and well... we were just wondering...well...well, what religion are you, actually?" And then we both burst out laughing because it suddenly seemed like such an absurd question, and then we had a long talk about my religious beliefs, which he was actually quite understanding about, and about whether I should go to a Catholic church just to see what it was like. "I mean, you don't actually have to believe any of it" said John at one point, and then we both started laughing again. *Not to worry - I'm not really going to make 4672 trips in my car. We're doing the U Haul thing. **Happy Birthday, Nana. I hope you're knitting beautiful sweaters in Heaven. ***A publican is one who owns a pub. My great-great-grandfather had the 1870's equivalent of Johnny D's.
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