Marmaduke Scott of Pasquotank County, North Carolina, Part 5

Marmaduke Scott has been a fascination with me for almost 40 years.  How did this man become so fascinating to me?  Well, it started in middle school.

My mom and Grandma Alford took me to visit one of the Scotts.  I remember visiting Lloyd Scott, nicknamed the "Mayor of Ovid," at his home on Highway 36, just outside of Ovid/New Columbus, Indiana.  I was awed by this tall, slender gentleman who wove a tale about the Scott family, their travel from North Carolina, and their settling in Fall Creek Township of southern Madison County, Indiana. Most of which he had heard from the older generation when he was younger.

Most of all, I remember the over-sized ledger in which he had written so much of the family history.  I still have some of my middle-school handwritten notes that I copied from it.   All these years later, I look back and think about the work that Lloyd did and, sorry to say this Lloyd, but some of it was wrong. But I overlook that.

At that time, Lloyd had written letters, one at a time, back and forth to Pasquotank County, requesting tidbits of information. I couldn't imagine doing that now.   With North Carolina's digital efforts, they have really brought the research to the home front.  And being in the digitization game myself, I understand the massive effort it took to do this.  It has been through those that I have learned even more about Marmaduke Scott, his life, his work, and his family.

One of my life's goal is to visit his homeland of Pasquotank County and see it for myself.  Google maps allows you to travel along the roads and highways, viewing the countryside in a monitor, but it's not the same.  I think it would add so much to the "feel" of his imagined life.  Living in Indianapolis makes it easy to jaunt up to the old haunts that I visited when I was on bicycle.  The cemeteries, the family farms, the back roads, but I am being drawn to the place of origin.

After years of research, having original family materials, and being lucky enough to have grown up in the area where the family settled, I'm excited that I finally put big chunks of this mysterious jig-saw puzzle together. I have so much more that I want to write about him.  His parent's, sibling's, and children's stories add so much more to Marmaduke's life's story.  But alas, this is where the blog posts about him end and it is by my choice.  I've realized that I materials that no one else has and it's my secret to hold.  I've decided that secret is mine and mine alone to know.

As a kid, I was completely enamored with the book and movie, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Koningsburg.  In he story, Mrs. Frankweiler shared a secret with Claudia, the main character, regarding a statue that was sold to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Mrs. Frankweiler put a caveat on the secret -- Claudia could tell no one and had to let that secret grow inside her and allow it to make a difference in her life.  Now that I think about it -- I too have a secret and perhaps someday I will share it with someone as fascinated by this man as I am.

But until that time, Marmaduke's secrets remain safe with me.  Hmmm... Maybe it might be fun to write a fictional tale of this man.  Make him some kind of early 19th century detective, or put him into some perilous situations.... Could be fun to give him life.  I'll ponder it.

CSM

At Winning a Losing Battle: Me: 0, Hardwood floor 29

Mr. Blanding's Builds His Dream House! Need I say more. I am living a Cary Grant and Myra Loy 1948 film, based on the book of the same name.

I have bought a small house, built in 1925.  I have named it "The Little House on 11th." It's lovely. It's cozy. It's charming. It's a bitch!  And as usual, I find myself say "What was I thinking?"

Well, the house isn't really a bitch, but the stuff that's been done to it over the years is and displays great disapproval over my attempts to remove it.  I have begun my "taking this house and making it my own" journey into the far reaches of The Twilight Zone. And the stories are now starting to back up and I have got to take time to write my adventures.... or better misadventures into the great unknown.  As one friend said "Let the money pit begin."

One Saturday not so long ago, I found myself stuck inside on a dreary day. I got a bee in my bonnet and decided to take up some of the 1990s-looking parquet floor or tiles or wooden bricks (not really sure what to call them.) that cover the dining room and hallway floor.  My hope was to find nice bright and shiny hardwood just waiting to glow in the sunshine again.  I prayed to the remodeling gods to please let me take a few of the tiles up and peer down and see my smiling face in beautifully-polished red oak.

After easily popping up a few of the tiles, I knew what I would see was not my face.  My hope floated away out the window into the sky and sucked through the turbine of a 747 flying over.

Instead a lovely polished oak floor, glaring back at me was a sad dingy floor. Coated in what surely would end up being the death of me. A pale-lifeless layer of someone's idea of modern decorating. A coat of beige paint.  I almost feel into despair, but I did not lose my faith.  I snapped a photo, sent them to friends saying that I should not be left alone on a dreary day, and hoped for encouragement, which of course I didn't really get.  More like "that's gonna cost a lot to redo."  And "just take it all up and start over." Sigh.  But there was one who promised me it would be alright.  "Plow forward and put some elbow grease in it.  You'll get there."  And so I did.

I plowed forward, seeking solace in This Old House YouTube videos, some quality on-line websites, and eventually a pitcher of sangria.  The sangria didn't really help in prying up the bricks, but I will admit that I truly enjoyed their song and dance routine that they did after I got them up. It reminded me of the broom sequence in Fantasia as they marched across the floor into the disposal bin.  As a general note, sangria and home-remodeling really don't mix well.

What came next only felt like a knife being pushed further...  The brick tiles had not only been nailed down, but also glued.  Oh joy!  Oh happiness!  I'm sure you've seen those scenes in movie and on television where someone lets out a string of swear words and flocks of birds fly away. It was one of those moments.  If mathematicians had studied that string of tightly-woven words, they may have possibly been able to compare it to the Fibonacci Sequence, noticing a distinct similarity.

Enough for now.  Check back to see who actually won this match.  Me or the glue!

CSM

When the Time Comes

Everyday I wonder if this is the day I die.  The last day of my life.  A one-way ticket out of here.

Okay before anyone jumps to any conclusions, I want to say that I am not suicidal nor am I wanting to die, but I know that some day I will.  This one thought everyday reminds me that every day is important and needs to be more that just a day at work, doing chores, and paying bills.

Losing my mother at the age of thirty-eight had a very profound effect on me.  More than I may ever realize. Since that day, I have tried to make everyday count.  Count for something more than the daily grind.  Not just working. Not just worrying about my car that could croak at any minute. Not just praying that I can retire with a decent income.

Life is so short. Life is too short.  Life is way too short.   I look in the mirror on occasion and think to myself "Where did that young man go?"  The mirror is the same, but the reflection is different.  These moments also serve as a reminder that time is flying by.

Here's a piece of advice...  Always start the day with "Is this my last day?"  I find that it makes me reflect on my life, about where I've been and where I'm going and what new adventures lay ahead.

So when the time comes, I want to be ready.  To be able to say that I lived my life to the fullest and if that means leaving behind everything I've worked for so be it.  You can't take it with you.

CSM

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