A sunflower kind of day

In honor of my very dear Aunt Roseanne, I changed my summer blog design to sunflowers!!! Why? Because she and my favorite cousin Cindy, *wink, wink* from my Dad's side, came over for a visit and lunch Wednesday. They brought me a beautiful bouquet of tall, majestic sunflowers. I've been admiring them so much, forgetting how much I truly enjoy them. Their gorgeousness definitely inspired my creative streak to create my own version of summer-y sunflowers, love it. Thank you Aunt Roseanne and Cindy!! 

Our visit was, as always, awesome yet too short. We can never really touch on everything to catch up. We always have a ton to talk about between our kids, families, anything and everything. One common constant that always comes up is our memories of our childhood and family gatherings at our Grandpa's house. The incredible smells of his Italian kitchen still lingers in our memory. Attempts to duplicate his famous roast beef never live up to his secretive recipe, if there ever was one. His delectable cooking and tastes are forever lost in his grave.

Along the same lines, we both discovered our interest in tracing our family tree. Especially our Italian roots that almost seem illusive and mysterious. The stories we have heard over the years about our Grandfather's birth and upbringing are varied and confusing. The stories include him being an illegitimate baby, his Mother dying in childbirth @ 16, being adopted at a very young age, to him being raised by a stepfather. He refused to talk about his years growing up in Italy. We know for a fact he left his roots in Italy to immigrate to Colorado through Ellis island @ 20 years old on Jun 20, 1913.

My father and Cindy's father were brothers, both of whom had horrible childhood memories during the depression living in rural Colorado. Cindy's Dad, Uncle Pete to me, passed away when I was 13 (?) and my Dad was never close enough to my Grandpa to shoot the breeze about his past. Nor did my Dad really care to know. I asked him to tell me as much as he knows, which isn't much. For that, I regret never sitting down with all four of my Grandparents, to 'hear' their life stories. 

As I grow older, my 'need' to know my ancestry in more depth, has tugged at me since our 2004 trip to Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Northern Italy. We visited the small town of Castellamonte, Italy 40 miles north of Torino and just south of the French/Swiss borders. This is the last known residence of my Grandfather in Italy from his Ellis Island manifest. My need was further fueled since the day my Dad gave me the boat load of old family photos about 5 years ago. I know I have 100% Italian from my Dad's side, but my Mom's side is a mixed bag. I feel a sense of responsibility to learn as much as I can to pass the info on to my grandchildren. I don't want their ancestry and what I know to go to my grave like my Grandpa's recipes.

I also feel a inner calling to find out more about my CF genetic links, possible kids who were sick and died, most likely of CF. And boy have I found some, on both sides, who died of 'pneumonia.' 

I've been an absolute mad woman examining photos, notations on the backs, clippings, and memorial cards. The internet has been invaluable . . . I've googled, stalked other's family trees & dug into their family histories, delved into Ellis Island immigrant files, reviewed so many lists of names from death records, census, birth records, & cemetaries, and finally gleaned limited info on ancestry.com. Remembering stories relatives have told me over the years have filled in some of the blanks. 

In the end, I have learned a lot dating back to around 1800 on my Mom's side. But there is still much more to learn and discover. It's interesting that the reason that brought me to this place, my grandfather's Italian ancestry, still comes up with a dead end at his birth and death. I guess my Grandfather wanted his past to die along with his Italian recipes. But that doesn't mean my stubborn trait, that I inherited from him, will give up looking until I finally find some answers.

I'll find them, buried somewhere. :)