Marmaduke Scott of Pasquotank County, North Carolina, Part 4

To the descendants of Nancy, wife of Barney Clark of Madison County, Indiana, I am going to tell you now that you are not going to like this blog post...

There's a lot of family trees out there claiming that Nancy Rainer Scott Clark is the daughter of Marmaduke and Miriam Jackson Scott, but I have this feeling that she isn't and that is a myth that continues on.

Now before you go to the reply button and starting going all bananas, I have some evidence about the real Nancy Scott, daughter of Marmaduke and Mary Polly Jackson Scott.  You, too, can view it on Family Search and/or Ancestry in Marmaduke's AND Mary Polly's estate files. (Marmaduke's file is over 100 pages.)

 

All of the images on the right show that the Nancy mentioned in Marmaduke's will and his estate files, as well as Mary Polly's files clearly show she married Allen B. Jones.

I did find Allen B. Jones in the 1820 and 1830 census of Pasquotank County.  She looks to have been born between 1800 and 1810 and she is also referred to as an orphan in one dated 1819, meaning that she was under 18 or 21 at the time.  That also makes me wonder if she got married in either 1819 or 1820.

I also have to ask this question about Nancy Rainer Scott Clark (who was born about 1784 since she reported in the 1850 census that she was 66, despite some one's attempt to make her born in 1794 on Find a Grave).  If my research serves me well, Rainer is not a girl's name.  It is a boy's name as well as surname.  Was her real maiden name Rainer, she married a Scott, he died, and she remarried Barney Clark?  Another option is that her middle name was Luranny, a popular name that I have seen in numerous records for the time in Pasquotank County and it got messed up in translation.

I did find a Richard Rainer in a nearby county.  Is this her father?  A relative?  Maybe just a coincidence?

The information I have came from typed notes given to me by Dot Scott, the wife of William Lloyd Scott, after he had passed away.   The notes are from the family Bible of the Clark family.  I am not sure where that Bible is now, but would love to have scans or photographs of the original pages to study.

I met Lloyd Scott when I was about 13 or 14.  I remember him well.  They lived outside of Ovid/New Columbus, Indiana. He had been working on the family genealogy for years. I remember his "book" (which Dot kept and I'm not sure where it is now) and all the notes he had.  As I recall, he had assumed that Nancy as well as Miriam Meedie Davis were the ones mentioned in the will, but what Lloyd didn't have (nor I at the time) was access to the estate files on-line.

I understand that genealogy can be frustrating, but I would like to clear this one up.  Don't we owe it to Nancy to make sure she is connected to the right person?  If you've got the hard-core evidence, in other words, unmistakable primary documents that says she was the daughter of Marmaduke Scott, bring them forward.

If not, remember this. Maramduke was not the only Scott in Pasquotank County, North Carolina.  He had brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles, some of whom came here to Indiana as well as further points west.  So the big challenge is to find the right branch of the family to put her.

Sorry, if this offends any of Nancy's descendants, but being the research librarian and historian that I am by chosen profession, I expect to see primary resources that support theories. As I mentioned before, the images on the right are in the estates files.  You can see them for yourself on Ancestry or Family Search.  I can send links, but you're going to have to pay a subscription to Ancestry, but Family Search is free (with some restrictions on some collections).  You just need to set up an account.

CSM  

   

Forgiveness: The Cure for Bitterness

So I am finally catching up on previously written blog posts.  The poem I posted was written last winter.  This one has been sitting here for ages.  I went through a phase of finding forgiveness, rebuilding hope, kicking down old walls, and now I am revisiting and posting.

Forgiveness: The Cure for Bitterness

John F. Kennedy once said "Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names."  Josh Billings once said "There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness."  While Norman Cousins said "Life is an adventure of forgiveness."

I forgive you Mom for leaving me to deal with a difficult man.  I'm not sure how you did it for fifty plus years.  I highly recommend you for sainthood just for putting up with him.  I love you.

I forgive you Dad for being difficult at times, making it harder than it needed to be.  I can't imagine what effect Grandma Marshall's almost leaving you as a child felt like.  I know what it was like to have a mother leave you behind.  Looking back over our time together, I realize that you only wanted to be a part of my life the best way you could.  I know I was like my Mom, being around me was always like walking on egg shells, but that was my way of protecting myself.  You weren't a bad or evil man, just a pain in the butt sometimes.  I am your son and you are my father.  I love you.

I forgive my previous place of employment.  I wanted to do something more and you wanted to do something different.  And in the end, it doesn't matter.  We all move on.  I look back and realize what a hell of an adventure it was.  I was the one that brought it to a close.  But you also threw in a few road blocks.  I hope we can split the difference.  Thanks for the memories.

I forgive you, my brother.  It's not easy, but I understand you.  You may not care, and in all honesty I'm not sure I do either.  But we move on and live the lives we were given by our parents.

I forgive those the one that made my transition from one point in life to another extremely difficult.  I also praise and love the ones that helped me through it.  The numbers were far greater for the latter.  In hindsight, I doesn't matter.  You remind me too much of my Dad.  He outweighs you in the grand scheme of life.  He is far more important to me.  So you only get a half-assed forgiveness.

I forgive that ones that saw me as only a physical object to conquered, used, and tossed.  I will forgive you but I will never give up my romantic view on life.  So, I give you my forgiveness.  I don't really care whether you accept it or not; it's for me that I forgive.  You were just being yourselves and I allowed myself to get wrapped up.  And an special thanks to that last one.  Without you, I wouldn't be writing this, realizing that I had let bitterness in and now like a weed I will pull it out by its roots.  Once again, not really caring if you care, but I'm doing this for me.

Which brings me to the last person... I forgive myself, but I will never change.  I am a romantic.

Winston Churchill said "When it comes to living romantically, one shouldn't follow a road map either.  It's something you should discover through contemplation and intuition."

Meanwhile Shannon Ables wrote that "A romantic builds everyday fulfillment through tenacious observation of daily life and an abundance of reliance on intuition.  The result: An extraordinary life lived in ordinary days."

And one last, many thanks to Piglet for this one... "The things that make me different are the things that make me."

CSM

I Will Never Be.

I took a little time to revisit my least favorite form of literature... Poetry.  Unless it's Edgar Allan Poe.  I will never dislike his poetry... nevermore.  I wrote this awhile back and forgot about it.  So from my mind to paper to print...  Here it is.

I will never be.

I will never be your second choice. If I am, please move on.
I will never be undone again.  If you think can, just try.
I will never be underestimated.  And if you do, that will be fun.

Life is too short I have learned. I do not waste my time. For you see, it is MY time.  It was given to ME to use as I wish.  Just like your time was given to you.  So do not waste it.  Let's not waste it together.

I will never have my time taken from me again.  You have gotten all you will get.
I will never be the one to teach you.  I taught myself and so can you.
I will never be your door mat.  You can wipe your feet on something else.

Why do I explain myself?  And I do. and very often. Because that's how we learn about each other.
You feel that you don't need to.  Fine.  You don't feel that I need to know.  Fine.
But fuck you.

I will never be stopped.  Only death will stop me.
I will never be your crutch.  I wasn't the one.
I will never be left to wonder.  I don't have time for your mystery.

There are times when I look at you and think how you got too far. From here on, you will never come back to that place. I won't let you. Years from now, I will look back and see how I traveled the road without you and survived.

I will never be yours.
I will never miss you.
I will never stop moving forward.

CSM

Around the Block, Episode 3: The Block Street Farmer's Market

Today is The Block Street Farmer's Market. It's an amazing scene, seeing everyone flock to grab up the fresh fruits, veggies, meats, and the best shiitake sauce for pig's liver casserole for miles around. Sally Schell is selling has her famous Poodle and Mutt colognes and scents, almost selling out immediately

Along the street, musicians strum and sing while performers recite poetry and do card tricks. And everyone is happy to see that Sam, the Happy Chocolatier, has returned with his famous milk chocolate bars made with real chocolate and not the fake chocolate that caused hair loss and erratic behavior. One poor customer became so crazed after eating one of the non-chocolate bars that he kissed every lamppost in sight.

And in the midst of it all, the girls are gaga over master chef and baker Julia Children's cupcakes with rum, vodka, and Bailey's cream cheese icing. Julia just started working at Fritz's Bakery and Travel Agency. Their motto "No knead to plan. We'll whip it up." Julie says that she's been so busy that she doesn't know whether she's going or coming and she tells them a tall-tale of showing Fritz her soft peaks and getting to see his stiff peaks.





Still gagaing over Julie's baked goods, the girls aren't really listening to her half-baked story about peaking and Joan becomes bored. So she wonders off to Captain Skip's crab and cod stand.  They claim to have the freshest fish. And it's true. Blocksville is only a few miles from the Gulf of Mexico.  But today, Joan isn't wanting crabs.  Instead, she has her eye on something better -- the Captain's son, Sting Ray and his multitude of tattoos.





In fact, Sting Ray says, in his Jersey accent, that the next time he goes out on his boat, he's going to catch her a knobbed porgy.  So flattered that he would give her a knobbed porgy and being overcome by the cod and crab stench, Joan passes out, landing right on the fish.  Kathy and Catwoman (a.k.a. Jackie) run over to help her.  Sting Ray helps out by giving her mouth to mouth.  All's well that ends with mouth to mouth...  At least for Joan.






Meanwhile, at the end of the street, cave woman Fredrika explains to her cave man husband, Wilber, that the new jogging suit did not suit him. She told him that she prefers his mammoth skin suit instead and insists that he return the jogging suit at once. Wilber simply grunts and goes back into the store

Around the Block, Episode 2: Brice Brockington Rolls By

Today, The Twisted Pretzel Man is parked in front of Joan's brickstone. It's not really called "The Twisted Pretzel Man," but Joan and Kathy nicknamed him that after they heard the owner is really seriously twisted. He likes showing his dates how he can hold his pretzels without using his hands.  Joan and Kathy arrive just in time to beat the crowd.  They could smell the hot savory bread of the pretzels and soon a long line would wrap around the block as the aroma fills the streets

Just then, a pink convertible rolls by, driven by none other than that nationally well-known, sensational, hottie musician Brice Brockington. A man known for his guitar picking and songs about lovable robotic chickens.  He gives the hungry-for-pretzels line a slight grin and a gentle plasticized wave.  Kathy refers to him as the "burning brick of love." In fact, that's the name of one of his songs -- about a robotic chicken in love with a 10 by 10 brick.

Joan and Kathy swoon over Brice, his hair, and his robotic chicken songs, and are even further turned on by the fact that he slows to a gentle stop to let a jay-walking gray cat cross the street. The men swoon over the vintage auto and wished they could be Brice, all hot to trot.  And the cat doesn't care. It waltzes merrily across the street, heading towards Joan. His only wish is that she has some catnip.






As Brice Brockington drives away, Joan and Kathy just can't help but live for the moment. Knowing that they were within feet of Brice and his wavy plasticized hair makes the possibility of their future pretzels hanging from somewhere they shouldn't seem minimal.  Even the sailor next to Kathy got into the moment by yelling out "Nice."

Just then, Catwoman (aka Jackie) races by on her vintage bike.  Her hope -- to get Brice to stop by her library and strum out a few tunes.  However, Trunk Hunkysmash, local disc jockey at WGEL radio station where it's all talk all the time, mistakenly thinks Catwoman, the woman he loves unrequitedly, is chasing in a lustful dash after Brice.  Trunk cries out to her, but she races on, leaving him in tears. He loses his pretzel appetite.

Meanwhile, down the street, the notorious gangster, Fin Findley, also known as Mister Not-So-Big, is chastising his partner in crime, Dimples, about his choice of weapon -- a black plastic trident -- in their upcoming bank-robbing scheme.  All Fin can say is "Like that's not going to look suspicious!"

Around the Block, Episode 1: Meet the Girls!

Just like any other street, you'll find ordinary people doing ordinary things.  Loads of hardened laundry. Washing stacks of dishes. Combing their plasticized hair. Picking at putrid scabs. You know, the usual daily activities of life.

But not here. Nestled between Al and Bruce's Bushwhacking Salon and Paula's Pampered Pet Boutique, you'll find number 17 Ash Street. It's the home of two gals just eating up life... and occasionally a box of chocolates...

Meet Joan. She's single, vibrant, sassy, and spunky. She shares her brick brownstone with her bestie, Kathy.  Joan lives a curler-free life with one mission... Retire!
Although she has her days, for the most part, she's pounding the sidewalk. Checking out the art. Checking out the theatre. Checking out the hotties.  And occasionally, reading the best seller on a rainy day. But when that sun shines bright, she's out and about.





Meet Kathy, Joan's roommate. Shy, modest, quiet and your typical American girl.  Often mistaken as lesbian lovers due to the large number of cats seen hanging around, Joan and Kathy are nothing of the sort.  In fact, they both dating hotties.
Running, walking the dog, being carefree, Kathy doesn't have time to pick her nose. Kathy works at the local coffee shop, serving hot toddies to hot bodies.  She's often out and about with Joan on the town.

Down around the corner on Block Street lives "Cat Woman"... Aka Jackie.  She got that nickname by the jumpsuits she wears.  In all honesty, she prefers dogs.  Often the leader of the pack, Cat Woman is always on the prowl.  Joan and Kathy adore her. She's hip. She's always up for drinks. She's also doesn't shed fur which makes cleaning up easy.









Together this trio makes the world fall to their feet.  Make the hearts of many men go pitter-patter while sending a few to early graves. They're just three girls out on the town...










Meanwhile, down the street...
The "Text M for Murder" Detective Club had just finished their weekly meeting.  The mystery of the week: The Strange Case of Lawrence L. Lawrence.  A bizarre case of a murdered year-round nudist found, fully-dressed including hat and scarf, outside of a Tito's Turkish bath and candy shop.

How I Lost Everything in the Post-House-Buying Depression.

What was that? Was that the furnace? Or the hot water heater?  Hmmm... Has that spot always been there? Where is that smell coming from?  Why is this toilet moving?  And oh dear god, who planted English ivy that never dies?  Where do I turn off the gas in case of post-earthquake disaster?  And for heavens sake, who thought that red would be the perfect color for the kitchen walls?!

You've been there at some point in time. Living with these types of questions. Possibly when you were a first-time home owner. That mental exhaustion that creeps up on you. I've named it "New House Paranoia." It really hit me the moment I realized I could no longer call a landlord to come and fix it.  I was now the landlord. And I'm not sure how well I would fare.  And I was sure that I would lose my mind. And my savings.

Of course this led to combing over the finances.  So long to the "Sunday Morning Trip to Starbucks" funds. I'll just filter that into the savings.  So long to the "over-priced, poor-customer-service Internet" expenditure line.  And how about those Porterhouse steaks.  Now it's the economy-sized package of frozen chicken breasts.

When it comes to repairs or replacements, for some odd reason, I have one figure stuck in my head. $5,000.  No matter what it is.  It is going to cost me 5 grand.  Need a new furnace.  That'll be $5,000. Need a new hot water heater.  Add on another $5,000.  Damn, that drawer handle in the kitchen that just broke... Well, it's gonna break the bank...  There goes 5,000 smackaroos.  Where did I ever get this notion that everything would cost that much?

Buying my first home was a major move for me.  I still haven't convinced myself that it was the right thing to do, but it was certainly a leap of faith.  Personally I would have preferred a leap of faith that would have landed me somewhere near a sandy warm beach with rolling ocean waves.  Maybe next time, but until then I'll have to skip merrily along.

Regardless, the people who find this the funniest are my long-time-home-owning friends.  I think they may be having too much fun sitting back and watching the newbie on the block fret over it. Ahhh... just like that new car smell, that "new house paranoia" will subside... At least I hope...  I better knock on some wood just in case... Damn... knocked too hard... Now that's going to cost me 5,000 bucks to fix.

Goodbye money.  Goodbye savings.  Goodbye sanity.

CSM

My New Writing Space

Looking back over last year blog posts, it's no wonder that I only wrote a few of them.  I didn't get anywhere near my goal.  I should have been cranking them out every other day.  Let's face it.  The year 2017 was the biggest year of change since probably 2013. I have a new job, a new car, and a new house.  But just as important, I have a new lease on life.
As I sit here in my new office space, trying to get the mojo on or get in the mood or find my new voice...  I feel different.  I look around and see a very similar set-up.  The computer is on my desk.  The shelves above are filled with souvenirs from my travels and gifts from very old and dear friends. Inspirational framed art is hanging on the wall.  But there's that one part... The mojo that hasn't quite set in.  That little part that says "Hey, this is your writing space now.  Get crackin'.  Hmmm... I wonder if they make a sort of Viagra for writers to get their groove back or get their words on.  I'm digressing.
I feel different as a writer and I'm not sure how.  Maybe I just needed the long break to refill my imagination.  To let life fill me up. Or may I just have to get back to drinking wine again.  Whatever it is, I feel different.  Part of it is the new space.  I've not taken the time to sit and write.  To be in the space.  To feel that desk chair's hard seat... And boy do I mean hard seat.  Dear god, my ass is starting to hurt already.  Maybe I've lost my writer's butt.  I can work on that.

One thing for sure that I know I don't have is writer's block. You've all heard of it.  Writers who have mental constipation.  They sit there waiting for a movement day after day.  Hoping for something to break loose and let it all flow.  I don't have that.  I have plenty to write about.  You haven't heard the toilet story or the one I call "I am David.  See me pack this moving van."  Or there's the one about being told that a man died in my new house... right where my coffee table sits.  Oh, and how about the prostitute red paint on the kitchen walls.  So many layers of paint to cover that up.  And I can't forget about the last dating adventure...  I've named that story "He's 26 going on 17."  I have totally got to set that one to the cadences to the songs of The Sound of Music.
No matter what the reason, it is time to break in the new writing space and let the words roll.  I have so many ideas...  Oh wait... I can't forget this...  I want to make my blog more illustrated.  I did it with some of the family research, but I know I've got fans out there just waiting for more Lego stories -- The Further Adventures of Joan and the gang.  It was something I did on Instagram, but I so want to do them on here.
Look at me... Just busting at the seams with ideas.  Just gotta get the ball rollin'.

CSM

Marmaduke Scott of Pasquotank County, North Carolina, Part 3

Here a Child, There a Child...

Marmaduke Scott married Miriam Jackson... daughter of Simon Peter and Mary Jackson... on December 30th, 1789. (If they were alive today, they could celebrate their 228 wedding anniversary.)

More importantly, that means we can get a good sense of just how many people were in the family in the 1790 census.  From what I see, in the Marmaduke Scott household, we have one male over the age of 16 and two females.  Obviously the male has to be Marmaduke.  And one of the females has to be Miriam, but who is that second female? Perhaps a daughter who could possibly be a month or two old, meaning she was born in 1790.  The census was taken on or about August 7th, 1790.  About eight months. On the other hand, she could have been somebody's mother, aunt, sister, niece, or a vagrant off the street. But judging by the 1800 and 1810 censuses, I think this person may have been a daughter.

Marmaduke also had a son with Miriam -- Harvey, who was born after the census.  He was born in 1791.  He would be the "one male under 10" in the 1800 census and "one male 10-15" in the 1810 census.  (Harvey went on to marry Keiza/Keziah/Kesia/Kesiah Clark.  I'm still thinking about a seance to get the correct spelling of her name... if she's willing to chat.  They would move to Indiana and have kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, and so forth, and eventually I show up in there.)  But I digress...

Back to the census...  According to the research from my previous post, Miriam died in the mid-1790s, like around 1794 or 1795, and Marmaduke remarried Mary Polly Jackson and had several children. So, by 1800, the household looks different.  To start... more children.

In the 1800 census, the household of Marmaduke includes -- one male under 10 (Harvey) and one male 26-44 (Marmaduke); 3 females under 10, 1 female 26-44 (Mary Polly), and one female 45+.
And by the 1810 census, you find one male under 10, one male 10-15 (Harvey), and one male 45+ (Marmaduke); 3 females under 10, 2 females 10 -15, one female 16-25, one female 26-44 (Mary Polly), and one female 45+.

Now... Let's chat about the second female from the 1790 census.  If you peruse the 1790, 1800, and 1810 household make up, you will see 3 females in 1800.  I can account for two of them from the estate files.  One could be exactly 10, being born in 1790...  Add 10 years for the 1810 census, you've got someone who's 20... and in that census, there is someone who falls into the 16-25 range.  I can't look any further because Marmaduke died in 1813 (with not one person in his estate papers to match that enumerated female) and Mary Polly died in 1820 and since that enumerated female wasn't her daughter, there is no reason for her to appear in the estate papers.

So, did that female die?  Did she marry?  At this point, I don't know.

The second female in the 1790 census could be the female who appears in the 1800 and 1810 census as being over the age of 45.  It could be Miriam's mother. Or it could be Marmaduke's mother. Or someone else.  I'm pretty sure that it's not Mary Polly's mother.

The bottom line is that there is nothing that I have found to give better insight.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  So if anyone out there can help, email me... please...

Whew!  That's enough info for the moment.

CSM