Personal History - More on Names, and Wonder Woman

Just when you thought there wasn't any more I could say about my name, the stories go on...

Was I named after someone else?

I mentioned yesterday that my first name comes from the Roman goddess Diana, which really stands all by itself in coolness...

But later on, as a child, I discovered the most wonderful TV show that gave me hope like nothing else...Wonder Woman!

I first saw her in black and white, of course, and later in color, but she captivated me. Not only because of her magic lasso and her bulletproof bracelets and really nifty skimpy bathing-suit outfit, but...

Because...her name when she hid her Diana Prince! Wow!

Obviously, in my young-girl mind, because her name and my name (almost) matched, if I too spun around enough, I would turn into Wonder Woman and go away to Paradise Island and not have to be stuck in a tiny tenement house in Salt Lake City surrounded by four stupid brothers in my family and too many scary home and neighborhood pets. I could shoot arrows and take down bad guys and be the goddess I knew I had to be.

So at night, in bed, I spun around. And around and around.

And nothing happened. Super-disappointing!

But thus began my lifelong love-affair with superheroes, and Wonder Woman still holds a tiny edge above them all for me, because of her alter-ego name.

But then, Another Diana...Who Was a Princess this Time...

Around the mid-80s, suddenly everyone talked about Princess Diana and the wedding.

I didn't pay much attention, but some pointed out that we held a slight resemblance - crooked nose, strong facial features. She had better hair (of course - she had hairstylists and I barely had a hairbrush), but I appreciated her a little bit at the time.

I didn't try to emulate her - was more into Madonna's style than hers - but I appreciated how kind she seemed, and how she tried to help people. Sad when she died.

Even today, I still hear comparisons between myself and her, because of my name, and I welcome them.

The Missing 'N' is Not Missed

My only real problem, then and now with my name, was how often it was misspelled. I have two 'n's in my name, but no one seems to remember that.


I clung to that second 'n', though.

In some cases, it became a test of how much a person truly cared.

The ones that did, remembered the 'n'. The ones that didn't, well...I didn't always bother to correct them unless it was important, but I noticed it.

Always.

My 'Dull' Family Stories, Starting With My Name

I'm restarting this blog, after a big of an epiphany over last week's Pioneer Trek.

What? Why?

Pioneer Trek, for those gentle readers who aren't aware of Mormon culture, is a trip we take about every four years with our teenagers, where we pretend to be LDS pioneers crossing the plains with handcarts and living like they did for a few days. Like walking in our ancestor's footsteps.

Never went on one before myself. Twenty minutes in on the first day, I felt like I would truly die, and counted myself lucky to escape with only the loss of my boots and a toenail at the end of three days. Those pioneers, boy - tough people!

I thought a lot about them while I was out there though - not much on them left behind. When I got back, the fiction writing I was doing got pushed aside in a great need to get through my own family's stories instead.

So I'll collect family stories and throw them here - for my children, my grandchildren, nieces and nephews and great-grandchildren, and heck, whoever else feels like reading them.

I called this blog 'DuLl Family Stories' for an obscure, artsy reason - because my first names are Dianna and Lorraine (hence the capital D and L in the title, which, when sounded together sound appropriately, 'dull'), and also, because I couldn't think of anything better, but I couldn't wait to start!

So here we go. Starting with my own story.

What's my full name, and where did it come from?

My full name is Dianna Lorraine (Eden) Zaragoza. I dropped my maiden name when I married. Thinking back on it, I should probably have kept Eden, instead of my middle name, but I've always loved the name Lorraine. A derivative of the name 'Lora', the amazing woman who is my grandmother, after whom several people in my family were named.

My first name comes from the Roman goddess Diana (of course - very appropriate). I developed an early interest in Greek and Roman mythology because of this, as well as a deep and abiding interest in the moon. Diana was the goddess of the moon. Also the goddess of hunting, but I couldn't bring myself to get into that as much. Still, she was strong and a female warrior archetype, which has also fascinated me over the years - the female warrior.

Lorraine, after my grandmother Lora. Very proud.

Eden was my family's last name, which I got from my dad - the noble line of Eden heritage, hailing from the historic New Brunswick, New Jersey. Meh.

I also enjoyed the Genesis story in the Bible much more as a child, because of that particular garden association. And I do garden myself.

Zaragoza is my married name, but one my husband only loosely enjoys, to be honest. I loved it when I dated him. Tried it on regularly, and it just smacked of pizazz. However, once I wore it, I found myself forever spelling it for people, which was something of a drag. And there's a family legend I learned from my mother-in-law that Zaragoza wasn't actually our family's name, if you can believe that.

According to her, our oldest ancestor on that side, a man named Gabriel Schultz, came to Mexico from Zaragoza, Spain, for whatever reason, and took up residence in the Zacatecas area. Married Eva Alvarez and started a family. He was in the Mexican militia, and got leave to come home to see a child born, but somehow the paperwork was lost, and he was declared MIA.

When his regiment found him at his home, he was tried and sentenced and executed on the spot, hung by the neck in front of his wife and family. This was roughly around the time of the Mexican Revolution of 1910.

Eva escaped to Arizona with her children, and took the surname of Zaragoza to protect the rest of the family, presumably because the European name of Schultz was dangerous for them at the time. And ever since, they were the Zaragoza family, from Arizona to East LA to the Bay Area where most of the family resides today.

Anyway, that's a myth, and myths are always fun. I could be flat-out lying on that one, for all I know. I'm hoping to bust through some of these family mysteries as I go, even though I know I can't kill them all...neither would I want to, really. What's a good family story without a little mystery in it?

And if we ever do follow my hubby's wishes, and change our last name to Schultz, there goes my pizazz (sigh)...

A Renaissance writer (and reader)

I'm not sure what the focus of my writing was when I started this blog. I don't have a single focus, so it's hard to know who's my audience when I share these posts.

So just know, I write. And I read.

I read mostly very old stuff, since I'm rarely impressed with more modern fare, ironically enough.

I write science fiction short stories,
articles about being married and Mormon (LDS) with the hubby,
working on finishing the next two books in my trilogy (don't we all need a trilogy in our portfolio?), family stories,
and I'm starting in on screenplays since my daughter is going to filmmaking school, and I've never NOT been able to help her with her homework.


If you're into any of those things too, what I write may not bore you to pieces, and you're welcome to read some of all of my daily/weekly behind-the-scenes ramblings.

**

I finally got around to recording my story yesterday, after a quick helpful technical tutorial from the 15-year-old on how to use Audacity. And I ALMOST made it all the way through with no mistakes...so utterly pleased with myself. I have to re-record the last sentence and figure out how to cut and paste it in, and then it's ready to send to AntipodeanSF for their October issue. Oooroo!

**
My husband and I get involved sometimes with local service projects sometimes through our church. This week we helped a sister (we do that in our church...the whole brother/sister thing) who needs to move to a retirement home and divest herself (painfully) of years of mementos, since it won't all fit where she's going.

We pulled everything out of her backyard shed, and helped her sort what to keep and what to sell, careful to avoid the spiders and mice and other larger creatures that had no doubt set up house in this rustic little outdoor shelter.

One box we opened contained a sheer miracle and pirate treasure, all at the same time - an entire set of the Harvard Classics, all 50 volumes!

My oldest son and I nearly salivated on the box.

It smelled of mildew and a tiny, tiny bit of mouse urine on the outside cardboard. A few mouse droppings and spiderwebs in the box, and some dust on the covers. Otherwise, the books were perfectly preserved.

I asked her about them, and she said they'd sat on her shelves for 40 years, and out in the shed for nine years. She'd never read them beyond the first book.

"Do you want them?" she said.

Do I want them??? Shiver me timbers!!!

**

So, after we got them home, I found that ammonia wipes largely took care of the smell without damaging the covers, and I'm starting in on the first volume.

When I read, it's not a sponge kind of thing. It's a conversation I have with someone who often no longer exists in this world, and some writers I really resonate with, while others I gratefully leave behind.

The first volume starts off with  Ben Franklin's Autobiography.  I'm only on the first two pages so far, and I practically feel re-parented. His sayings and his stories make me wish he'd been my father.

My own father always had this thing about making sure I wasn't vain, and he would accuse me of vanity whenever I showed him a catalog of pretty clothes or asked for something. To be fair, we were dead broke when I was little, and he did that to try and save money, but the way he did it mentally screwed me over for decades afterwards.

This one paragraph from Ben Franklin set me completely to rights, just this morning, in talking about why he decided to write an autobiography in the first place:

 "...And lastly, (I may as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody), perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity.

Indeed, I scarce ever heard or saw the words 'Without vanity I may say, etc.' but some vain thing immediately followed.

Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they may have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others that are within his sphere of action;

And therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life."

Coolest. guy. ever. :-)

The Never-Ending Carrot and Stick - Chasing my Ancestors

My father has been dead now for...what? Almost two months now?

So much has happened in those two months.

The entire trajectory of my life changed. Everything I knew about myself and my history has been altered or accentuated.

Who knew something I thought would have little to no impact could hit with the force of a neutron bomb in my life? Everything looks the same, but inside feels very different.

My hubby's super-intense summer class is over, and I'm thinking of returning to school myself.

To study history.

About five years ago, I took a course that was supposed to tell me my strengths. My four greatest strengths turned out to be connection, input, learning, and intellection. All introverted strengths - no extrovert strengths at all.

At the time, I felt very depressed about that. Living as a massive introvert in a world made for extroverts makes me feel like I should get a special parking space or something.

But still, over time, I've come to appreciate these strengths more and more...my love for learning, my search for connections, my appreciation for a good discussion of concepts, and I can't get enough of any of these things.

And it all circles back to my family.

Tolkien made up his universe - I have one ready-made in my own family, and so many missing stories to research and investigate.

The gay uncle who ran a parking garage in New Jersey - what was gay life in 1950s New Jersey like?

The great-great-grandfather who died mysteriously - were there a lot of missing persons in Illinois?

The aunt who was strangled to death by her husband - what happened to him?

Was my great-grandfather actually related to the founder of Harvard somehow - even peripherally?

The great-great-grandmother who, as a widow, traveled to Wyoming from a privileged upbringing to live out the rest of her life in the wilderness? What other stories of women alone in the West are out there?

The albums from a certain torch singer left behind by my grandmother after she died - who was this lady, and why did my grandmother like her so much? Where were the similarities?

The indentured servant who somehow escaped most of the terrible things that happened to indentured servants - how did he do it?

I could literally spend the rest of my life chasing down these stories - and what better way to do it than on the government's dime?

If I get my Ph.D. and get grants to write historical books, or teach online classes about history in college (remember, I'm super-introverted!) or learn languages and prowl libraries and databases for more information...wearing books on my head like a maniac...til I've got a Silmarillion of my own...

Bliss!

Now there's a project worth undertaking - I have it! I have my special purpose!

Now...to figure out this college application...

Procrastination and Priorities

I still have not recorded my story yet.

I suppose it could be a technical issue - my kids have far surpassed me in the mastery of this mysterious box with the glowing screen. And that's even AFTER having taken college classes in networking (which I barely survived) and A+.

I'm lucky to remember my password from day to day, really.

So it's time to tune up the pressure and git 'er done!

There's a time when procrastination is good - when the story needs more time to 'cook' in the brain, so it comes out in the best way.

Other times, procrastination makes the writer a little crazy, accomplishing everything BUT what you're supposed to be writing. The dishes are done - the garden is weeded - the family is happy - and you are miserable because what you really want to work on isn't getting done.

Crazy, I know. But that's how it goes.

So here's a video as a personal reminder...

Back to the Scottish Gypsies with Me! :-)

As a gift to myself when I graduated from high school, I brazenly took a week off work at my new job, with my new credit card, and traveled to England and Scotland.

In my heart, I had a feeling it might be the only travelling I would get to do, so I wanted to make sure it happened.

I was totally alone, riding trains and going from town to town, not even sure how I would feed myself. It was great good fortune that I survived and made it home, really.

One morning I woke up in a hostel in Kyle of Loch Alsh in Scotland, and wandered out early to sit on a pebbly beach and watch the clouds roll over the mountains and across the water as the sun came up. A moment I've revisited often in my mind over the years.

 

That moment came with a feeling of recognition I never could explain - a strong feeling of deja vu and comfort in my surroundings that seemed strange at the time.

So I've always felt that my ancestry came from Scotland, even though I never knew for sure.

Yesterday, I knew for sure.

One of the items I retrieved from my mother's house after the death of my father was a book of genealogy, about my Grandmother Lora Stockwell's line.

And in very dense, historical and factual terms, it laid out how William Stockwell Sr. travelled to Massachusetts as a teenager (probably) to become an indentured servant in America. His grandfather was born somewhere in Scotland around 1603.

It must have been some kind of poverty that made him want to leave. I know, that morning I watched Scottish clouds roll over Scottish mountainsides, that it would have taken threat of death for me to leave that beautiful place.

So the roots are firmly there, and now I'm looking up Scottish songs from that era, which turn out to be largely Gypsy songs. (which explains my preference of Halloween costumes for the past 40 years)...

Wish I knew where in Scotland they were from, but that's another mystery to solve in later days.

Happy Death-Day to my Father, and to Poppa Ray

My father died almost a month ago at this point, and in my rational mind I'm fine.

But my subconscious squeezed memories out of my eyes at random moments, and I still can't figure out why.

Ray Bradbury died five years ago today. Ray Bradbury was my Poppa...one of many. Someone who was always there, and suddenly not.

It was one of those moments I remember, like 9/11 or Kennedy's assassination (and I remember the former, but I'm not so old that I remember the latter).

I was sitting in my silent office, when my co-worker Alex broke the silence with the awful announcement. "Oh look - Ray Bradbury died."

My own silence broke as well. "What?"

I found the obituary in the newspaper. Then I went back to one of my favorite videos on YouTube, because I already missed the sound of his voice.

I took on his challenge, and I'm still in the middle of it today. Not as prolific a writer as he.

This blog at BrainPickings is like a posthumous birthday party to my Poppa Bradbury, and is not to be missed.

Particularly the poem Neil Gaiman wrote to him for his 91st birthday.