The strange entry title scheme: It saves me from coming up with titles. Which I can do. But I don’t want to always have to. And adapting my employer’s calendar to it makes sense since this time off is on my employer’s calendar.
S16 means “Sabbatical 2016”, obviously. The next number is the week, one through four. The last is the day of the week. Work weeks are counted Monday through Friday, one through five; so today at work is WW15.5, or Friday of the fifteenth week of the year. I use 0 and 6 for Sunday and Saturday. Very engineeringish.
S16.4.6 will be a sad day. It will be the End. But I will be out of town at a writing seminar. For the sake of that seminar I will have forsaken one of the best parties of the year. “Best” is a matter of opinion and Sunya is not a great fan of that particular one, but last year it had moments that made me as happy as at any party that lasts from mid-day Saturday until sundown Sunday, and I will miss not being there. However, there are always more parties, and as I have surely said somewhere by now, I’m 57 fucking years old. Geez.
Meanwhile, I need to keep writing, because the organizer of said seminar looks forward to hearing my stuff. Aurgh.
A fun thing that happened today was that after talking to my brother, who lives in New Orleans, I did some research on one of our more obscure family names. My great-great-grandmother’s maiden name was Kruttschnitt. There’s a teeny tiny park in New Orleans by that name. Yes, they’re connected.
A handful of Kruttschnitts and their families left Germany for New York in the early 1800s. In time, some moved on to New Orleans, and some moved further on to the gold rush in California. My great-great-grandmother was a young teenager when her parents went to Weaverville. Her mother was an unhappy old bird and when Anna was sent away to the convent in Benicia for her schooling in 1860, her parents couldn’t get along anymore and her father lit out, never to be seen again.
Why was mama Elisabeth so miserable? Well, while she was stuck to starve in a rough mining town hundreds of miles north of San Francisco, her husband’s half-brother was down in New Orleans, getting along swell in swell society for having married Peninah Benjamin. She was Judah P. Benjamin’s sister. He was the senator from Louisiana. Elisabeth can be forgiven for assuming she had family living the high life in the country’s most glamorous city while she was in the mountains boiling bones for soup on the earnings of a laborer.
Of course, once he left (and, Anna learned half a century later, married a woman in New Jersey and had more children), times got a lot tougher. Elisabeth scrubbed floors. Her daughter married a man she disapproved of and had nine children. Judah P. Benjamin became Jefferson Davis’ Secretary of State and emigrated to England after the war was over.
The other Kruttschnitts who stayed in New Orleans did well, as suggested by this article about one named Julius. And so the park, which I know nothing about except that it’s here. Maybe they had a house nearby. Or the school named after yet another Kruttschnitt, which is gone now. It’s not much to look at in any case.
Anyway, I’m all excited because a little bit of poking around netted me a Kruttschnitt Family History that I’ve never seen before that was compiled about fifteen years ago, with the above details and a bunch more, and some more ancestors going back to the early 1600s. Yes, my many charms include those of the born genealogy nerd.