I am German (paternal side) and Pennsylvania Dutch (maternal side.)
My mother told me that my paternal grandparents who came to America from Germany in the
1900’s listened to Hitler in their basement on their short-wave international radio.
It is for this reason that I suspect my first husband was a German and quite Nazi-like.
He did not like me having friends, contacting my mother or going anywhere by myself.
He threw my beloved cat, Snow, down the cellar steps.
She had only one life left when she ran out into traffic and was killed.
My husband’s response: “Now we can call Snow ‘sail cat.’”
Although he has never physically abusive, he spit in my face on one occasion and then denied it.
He was a weekend beer drinker, and with each swallow his neck would get redder. When he
typically passed out, he looked like a rotten plum.
The last time my mother visited us was when he blew a hole in the living room wall
with his shotgun.
His response: “Oops! I was cleaning the gun. I didn’t know it was loaded.”
When he stated, “If I see any more mail mailed to you and addressed Ms., I will tear it up.”
That was it for me.

My maternal uncle told me that one of our ancestors was Daniel Boone whose relatives came
to America from Bradninch, England.
Another ancestor was a lesser-known English woman who came to our little town
in the 1800’s and distinguished herself as an educator and humanitarian.
She is buried on the grounds of our public library.
My current husband is Irish, although I had no idea of that when I fell in love with him.
He drinks in moderation and is mild-mannered except when the members in our rock band
shirked their after-gig responsibilities.
One of his English ancestors was the father of one of the signers of
the Declaration of Independence.
Over the years I have realized that I am an extreme anglophile.
I love English china, cheddar cheese, sports cars (especially MGs and Morgans), country
villages, dry wit, tea parties and spooky mansions.
After watching The Ghost and Mrs. Muir for the second time, I lapsed into an altered state of
uncontrollable weeping. As if possessed, I cried, “I hope the people of Cornwall are happy. They
don’t know how fortunate they are.”
I have watched BBC’s Doc Martin five times. Port Wenn is heaven on earth to me.
When my husband and I visited England, I wept when we had to leave Thornbury Castle.
I felt like I was leaving home forever.
My last wish on this earth is for my husband and I to die in Bradninch, England.