Sprechen (Typ)

So, remember that trip to Salt Lake City that I never blogged about? Where the microfilm laid bare generations of Mike's peeps (yes, I non-ironically say "peeps" now - I think Pepys would approve) from Germany? (And a bit from England but damn if he's not collecting at least three different lines of Wilsons, which are just as bad as Smiths, almost, in a genealogy-off.)

No, of course you don't, but suffice to say when we came home it was all click-click-hey-cousin! And now Mike has a cousin (ummm, firing up Family Tree Maker), specifically a second cousin once removed, that we type to over in Germany. (We = me, because Mike gets embarrassed.)

And when I say type, Ich meine, dass ich Dinge Typs in Google Translate und dann kopiere ich die Ergebnisse in einem anderen Fenster der GT und dann kopiere ich * die * Ergebnisse noch einmal zu überprüfen, und so weiter, immer und immer wieder. Und dann habe ich auch einfügen, die Engländer. Und dann die Cousine schreibt mir in Deutsch und Englisch, und ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob er beide Sprachen spricht und jetzt ist es zu umständlich für ihn zu erwähnen. Hrm. Auf jeden Fall werde ich nicht cross-check dieses oder auch die englische, weil es einfach viel alberner auf diese Weise. Wenn Sie Deutsch sprechen. (Was ich eindeutig nicht.)

We need a photo. Here, in case I never do that SLC post, is the death record of Mike's great-grandmother - Mina Luisa (Fiand) Späth. We only knew her name from the refugee documents that accompanied Mike's grandmother and family to Australia. It was at this point we realized we were on to something. (And then we spent the rest of the trip hot on the trail.)

It Starts to Get Amazing

So yeah, that's what Mike gets. And that's probably the most illegible record in 200 years of scrolling through microfilm. By day three, I could almost believe I could speak German, so legible and neat were the records.

But as for my own family, what did I get?

WTH, French Parish Priest?

Merci, 17th-century French parish priest. You suck.

Tomorrow the San Gennaro Feast starts, this time at the Rio. I haven't been since Mike first came here. Neither one of us is a bit Italian, as far as we've discovered, unless you count my great(x35)-grandfather, which we don't. (He doesn't look like the sausage, pepper and onions type. Also, that would be a prat move on my part.)

But, as I eat this delicious roasted red pepper pesto penne that Mike made tonight based on my Pinterest board, perhaps it's time to forge a few italiani onto the family bark. (And he served it with ciabatta - così delizioso!) Hmmm, and doesn't Babycakes make a lovely tiramisu cupcake? And don't we have free slot play at M tonight? Hmmm.

(Arrivederci!)

13 September 2011 |



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