Recently, I learned that John Philip Sousa is the composer of The Liberty Bell. Many of us know this as the theme music for Monty Python’s Flying Circus.

He has a tie to my Mid-Western region of the USA, having composed a Foshay Tower March for the self-same Foshay Tower in Minneapolis. His orchestra played it the one time, the check bounced, and he never played nor published for the rest of his life.

But the reason I researched him reveals a part of my psyche I have tried to keep hidden. You see, I have John Philip Sousa ear worms. Seriously. Stars and Stripes Forever figures largely here, as there are many sections that all come together at the end. I listened to the whole piece just a few days ago. I forgot about the Piccolo. I smiled

You see, I needed to be able to name the terror. Then, perhaps, I can come to terms with the ear worm.

So I found the Wikipedia page. The one with all 137 of his known Marches. One by one, where there are linked audio files, I listened to the intros. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not that one either. I’m far less familiar with John Philip Sousa’s œuvre than I would have guessed. With the exception of just the two marches that my grey matter seems to adore, and the one pop culture gave to me, I thought perhaps two or three more had more familiar themes than the rest.

Anyway, my brain also loves to fire snippets of The Washington Post my way from time to time, as well.

So, which comes first? The John Philip Sousa or the dissociation?

There is one more ear worm. One in a similar vein. I know its name.

I will not speak of it here.

I’ve spent a majority of my time today plotting out my genetic ancestry. Remains discovered in various parts of the world have had DNA survive and have been subsequently sequenced. None of the finds are clearly direct lineage, but do match between one and three segments of my DNA and therefore we share ancestry. Of hundreds or more shared with the worlwide scientific community, there are 31 so far that connect with me. In this list, only one, two or three DNA segments match any of mine.

These are some of the places people with shared ancestry have ended their journeys. Dates are best effort estimates, not lifespans. Locations are where remains were discovered, though this doesn’t tell the story of their origins.

My Great Grandfather, my mothers’s mother’s father (mormors far?) was from Sweden and swore that he was of Viking blood. I am living testament.

I know.

I know.

The reason why my chats and emails and posts all seem the same is hurry.

First, I’m usually writing in a browser (as I am now), instead of a proper text editing tool. I don’t have a workflow more sophisticated than Get The Idea Out And Hit Send ™.

Secondly, while I do one or more cursory re-reads, I’m operating from what I know I intended to write, which is often different than how my fingers hit the keys, and different still from assumptions that autocorrection tools make. I don’t always see what isn’t right until I see what got published or sent.

Thirdly, I want to strike while the iron is hot. The inspiration to write a post doesn’t last long. And the germ of the idea that generates the post, if otherwise undocumented, may not come around again for a while. Even if it does, it will be subject to the filter called The Moment Is Gone.

A long time ago, I spent time with my mom in research libraries looking at microfilm and microfiche, looking for records proving lineage. On one side of the tree we were building were real and true blood ties. On the other, the lineage of the man who adopted me as his own and gave me his family’s name. I grew up in a blended family. Both sides contain some of the best humans I have ever known.

Even the history of a family name itself is fascinating. We believe we have discovered the origin in a place in what is now Poland. We have also developed relationships with folks in Europe who are actively seeking the diaspora, who wonder why so few in America seem to care.

I have even had the privilege of being on the ground in Sweden, with a large extended family and having the sensation of a strange place feeling at once comfortable and familiar.

But there was a third axis missing and a window possibly closing, which represents my lineage through my birth father. We are not close, despite his efforts. And I admit feelings of regret all the while acknowledging that I’m trying to protect myself from more pain. In a very real way, I already lost him once.

So now, after so much time has passed, I am going to try to reconnect and attempt to carry forward what I can.

Meanwhile, because I am an introvert, I have been researching my genetics directly as it is not nearly so emotionally fraught.

The results are both more and less specific than I hoped. My recent genealogy is European. Full stop. But I expected results to be more concentrated in Sweden or Germany than they are. At the same time, more of my genetics are continental European. The surprise for me was the Polish and Russian. A sort of relief comes from knowing I am genetically related to people who lived in the same part of the world that my family name comes from.

Where family lore is concerned, a great-grandfather who came to the USA in the 20th century always claimed he was descended from Viking blood. What I have learned via 23andMe is that I share one or more segments of DNA with human remains from several Viking Era archeological sites ranging from Dublin, Ireland, the Faroe Islands, the Isle of Mann, the UK, and Denmark. These are remains not necessarily associated with local populations, but more so with trade or battle. It’s not proof of lineage, mind you, but fascinating all the same.

Another thing that DNA testing does is share how you may be connected genetically with others who have used the same services. Even inside of that relatively small slice of humanity, there are thousands of people alive right now, internationally, with whom I share small segments of DNA. And that is a sobering connection to all of humanity.

Oof. I just spent hours answering questions for a survey about ADHD. Go [@catieosaurus]!(https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7ia8GKMYr2/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==) It made me feel things and remember things, but also helped me to feel proud of everything I have managed to accomplish despite this. Please share. If you have the diagnosis or are seeking it, I see you.

My immediate behavior in the face of obligation-free paid time off is to sleep until I can’t sleep any more. If/when this is interrupted, I go back to bed as soon as possible for as long as possible.

Reading and writing is wonderful. I have a brain that likes to make connections. Between consuming some social media posts today, then writing an update to my Now page, I’ve learned some things that have helped me to clarify my own values and principles.

I’m neither a Democrat nor a Republican, but on the face of it I support Minnesota Governor Walz' decision to support a person’s right to choose. I support self-determination, and I support anything that supports people where they are, as they are.

ADHD Tax: When I panic about losing my phone while I’m in a meeting. Phone was less than a foot from my person but I had set another object on top of it.

My first name comes from Hjalmer Lindberg.

Had he lived, he would have been a great uncle.

In World War II, he fought in the Battle of the Bulge with the 94th infantry. He was a sniper who was killed by another.

The story I was told was that first, Hjalmer’s helmet was shot off. This revealed the position of the German sniper. Hjalmer quickly pivoted to return fire, but the German was faster. Hjalmer was shot in the head.

Many details are not known to me. A thousand questions have occurred to me after it’s too late to ask.

Hjalmer was very good friends in the infantry with Erich Gerloff. They had such a strong bond that they made a pact. Should one survive the other, the survivor would travel to meet the other’s family.

Erich’s own life had been dramatic at points. He had been born in Germany, and had crossed the Atlantic three times with his family to escape economic hardship.

He was captured at the Battle of the Bulge and was kept briefly at a stalag. He was on a death march when, because he spoke German well enough, German soldiers told him to get out of the line. They thought he was a spy or agent and were afraid of punishment should he be put to death at their hands.

Erich survived the war, rising in rank through battlefield promotions, assuming I’ve understood the details at all.

He also honored his pact with his friend. He travelled from New York to Wisconsin to visit the Lindbergh family in Wisconsin and proposed to one of Hjalmer’s sisters within a few days.

They married and had a family. Their eldest, a son, they named for Hjalmer, who they had both lost.

That man, the son, was on a tour of duty in Vietnam, when his sister, my mother, was pregnant with me. And she wanted her brother to know she loved him.

Hjalmer is my first name. Erich is my middle name.

I always wanted to be a DJ, from the days I listened to my Radio Shack FM radio all day long as a boy. The people pushing out the sounds always seemed to have a finger on a pulse. They seemed to connect to something. I imagined a depth and breadth of knowledge and a currency that I’m sure was impossible to attain in reality.

In the 90s I took a job at a record store, which in some ways was a sort of dream come true. I thought I knew about music. I was an avid consumer of what radio and MTV fed me. But it was then that my education began.

When techno and electronica hit, my DJ dream shifted. I wanted to play the records that moved the people in the moment. I have played with decks and mixers a teensy bit. I played with a friend’s collection of vinyl and did my best to beat-match records during a small gathering.

I’ve made lots and lots of mix tapes, that mostly no one has ever heard, but me.

What’s happened is I’ve collected a lot of music over time. I am infected by people who are enthusiastic about a genre or a scene.

Music is so powerful.

It is a giant river, life-giving and fertile like the Amazon or the Nile. Some of it is written down or recorded, where it lives in the vast ocean.

Just like I can’t read every book, I can’t hear every record.

I have been listening to a series of playlists generated by someone close to my own age, that span years including the four that I spent at the record store.

Boy, is it resurfacing old thoughts and ideas and dreams.

The cool part is I agree with many of the selections.

The cool part is I’m hearing songs I would have never heard, otherwise.

The cool part is there is always such good music.

If you do the Apple Music thing, I’m here and I like to share.

What if you took the opportunity to turn your secure pass-phrase into a positive affirmation?

Or a goal? A mission statement? Your intent?

There is a lot of discussion of justice on the national level.

We have a single case of accountability.

And a lot of work to be done.

From an email subscription today:

So be good to each other. Be humble and kind. Be generous. If you fight for anything, fight for justice and fairness. That’s what we were put here for.

This is what I believe.

When the wind makes it feel colder than it is… 15 degrees Fahrenheit

Poppa and Sofia. And beard.

It doesn’t make sense for the left hand to punch the right hand, nor for the right leg to kick the left. We are part of the same body. We work better together.

“…A right jolly old elf”

Trust no political party.

The evidence continues to suggest they are more interested in having us fight each other than in enacting lasting beneficial change.

Music can return me to times, places, and states of mind in a way that almost no other carrier-of-meaning can. I spent time in motion behind a lawn mower this afternoon while listening to music and letting my mind go free.

I have realized that I am still everything I have become.

But I assert that I am not done becoming.

Settled. Science. Is a contradiction in terms. Science is constantly in motion pushing the frontiers of our body of knowledge. Opinions are settled. Careers are settled. Be alert.

Settled Science offers comfortable anachronisms.

One of my favorite photos, from June 2010.

#michelewhitephotography

Sobering statistic:

The rate of death from COVID-19 for people with Type 2 Diabetes is 12 times higher than in the general population.

I have Type 2 Diabetes.

At a minimum I am at a significantly higher risk for Severe Illness.

I wear mask and I am grateful when you do, too.

File Under “Things I Wish I Had Thought of, Sooner”:

Deadpan Existential Jokes

Would work great as a blog name or profile description

DISC assessment at work, today. The difference between my perception of myself and the perception others have of me is instructive and astonishing at once.

I’m a C when I’m in novel situations or under stress. I’m an I when I’m confortable and in my element.