Sometimes, thoughts loom in my mind for too long, so long, that they become a nuisance. These thoughts seem to take a form of their own, as if they’re alive.

It’s not worry or anxiety.  It’s more like a ‘to do list’ with lingering chores.

to do

While seeking info on my ancestry, I found an individual on a genealogy site, who granted  access to his private family tree, as my grandfather married his grandmother in the 1940’s.  My grandfather died in 1961.  I never knew him and haven’t been able to figure who his parents were or where he was born, with even a small degree of certainty.

dr seuss

What I found  on the sharing man’s family tree was a name.  His father’s name.  His brother’s name.  So?

It was a second marriage for his beloved grandmother.  He carries the name of the first husband.

Is that man his father?

who's your daddy

My grandfather’s middle name was Delora.  Delora?  A women’s name.  Commonly, Hispanic cultures use the name of the mother as a middle name, generally a surname.  If Delora is a surname, then I’m surprised.  More likely, it’s a given name, and passed to my grandfather, Henry (aka Enrique as a boy) and passed again to my birth father.

Who names their son Delora? Can you imagine the teasing the kid got?   Did the mother simply pick the name out of the air?  Unlikely.  My instincts tell me that the name came from my grandfather.


Was Delora the son of this couple? Was she married to her first husband when he was born?   I have two half siblings who were born when Mom was still married to her first husband.  I’d guess it’s fairly common.

After Delora, came Henry.  Henry?  Come on, this is getting too obvious.

Am I a betrayer of confidence?  The man allowed me access to his private family tree.

If he trusted me, then I am one.


There is a notation that Delora was raised by his aunt and uncle for the first four years of his life, and his mother came back for him. Where did she go?  Why did she leave? I’m nosing around again.

They were laid to rest together, in a  Massachusetts cemetery.

I asked the man about the name “Delora.”  I asked why his grandmother wasn’t there to raise Delora.  I asked a few more questions, without being so direct as to crush him under the weight of speculation.

I doubt I’ll receive a reply to my query.  If I didn’t ask, I’d have the list unchecked forever.  I’m a selfish ass.

aabout me

Zeus gave me the key to Pandora’s box. And being Pandora, I must see what I can, inside.
I’ve slammed the lid shut, though it remains unlocked, for when I need  another look.