Happy

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I grew up with people always saying, "Smile", or "Why don't you smile?" or "Things can't be that bad?!" or "It takes more muscles to frown than smile..." And it always bugged me that they'd said those things because I knew inside me there was so much going on I didn't have time to think about what my face was doing, which in most cases wasn't a frown by the way but just a relaxed face.

Like when they would say "Don't shout!" when they thought I was shouting. Shouting?, I thought. "Shouting?", I responded. "This isn't shouting. THIS IS SHOUTING!", as they covered their ears. Meanwhile I was simultaneously angry and laughing inside me - angry because I was sick of hearing that from people ("You talk too loud" or "Your voice carries") and knowing I was just talking - just, talking - but lucky me, I had a "voice that carries".

Anyways, back to smiling and happiness. I would say that there have been moments, maybe even hours or a period of some time, when I felt wonderful, for a variety of reasons, due to circumstances and/or other people's influences or actions in my life, but I never feel overly positive or what I have always imagined happy must mean, or what happy people are as a general rule. I have always had in the pit of my stomach, knots. Sometimes they get tighter, and sometimes they loosen, but they are always there. There is dread in the back of my mind, and I think is there something I should be doing, or doing better. I try to stay busy doing things that make me feel accomplished or needed. I distract myself by escaping into another world with books and TV and films. I write to get the thoughts that are crowding my mind out and onto the page to read and re-read and have them make some sort of sense to me or anyone else that might read them. I cope, distract, and escape. But happy? I don't know anything about happy.

2016 Family Reunion

In anticipation of next year's Fitzpatrick Family Reunion (and associated St. Vincent Town Reunion II), I wanted to post information regarding lodging, etc. so if people need to make reservations, they will have that information well in advance.  I've also included area attractions and historical sites for those that want to explore beyond the reunion itself while in the area...

Family Reunion Info:

(July 15-17, 2016)

Lodging

Red Roost Hotel (Pembina) - (701)825-6254

Budget Host Caribou Inn (Hallock) - (218)843-3702

Valley Motel (Hallock) - (218)843-2828

Gateway Motel (Hallock) - (218)843-2032

Restaurants/Bars

Caribou Bar & Grill (Hallock) - (218)843-3740

North Branch Bowl & Grill (Hallock) - (218)843-8868

Gastrak (Pembina) - (701)825-6275 [NOTE:  Deli/Fast Food only]

Corner Lounge (Pembina) - (701)825-6581

LaMoure Memorial Golf Course (Pembina) - (701)825-6619

Places to Gather

Pembina State Museum (meeting room) - (701)825-6840

Pembina Community Center (meeting room/kitchen) - (701)825-6326

Sites to See

Pembina State Museum

805 ND-59

Pembina, ND

701.825.6840

Kittson County Historical Museum

332 E Main St

Lake Bronson, MN

218.754.4100

Fort Dufferin (Emerson, west side of the Red River)

http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/sites/fortdufferin.shtml

http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/mb_history/23/dufferin.shtml

http://www.historicplaces.ca/en/rep-reg/place-lieu.aspx?id=12688

Established in 1873 by the North West Mounted Police (later the Royal Canadian Mounted Police), Fort Dufferin was the headquarters and winter home to the British-Canadian contingent of the International Boundary Commission from 1872 to 1874. A few of the buildings that once sat at the site still exist there today (Officer Quarters, stables, etc.)

A monument at the entrance to the site bears two plaques. One plaque, erected in 1997 by the Historic Sites and Monuments Board of Canada, describes the westward march of the North West Mounted Police. The other plaque commemorates two constables in the force, W. C. Brown and A. McIntosh, who died in 1874 at Fort Dufferin and are buried in unmarked graves near the site.

Travel Manitoba (Information Centre, Emerson)

St. Vincent Cemetery

Pembina Cemetery

Pembina Metis Cemetery

Joe River Cemetery

Lake Bronson State Park

Influences

One of the films that affected me deeply as a young woman, was the adaption of Ray Bradbury's FAHRENHEIT 451. I will never, ever forget how the society in the story tried to control every aspect of individuals' lives. Nor how a brave few fought against it, and resolved to choose free will and knowledge above conformity and ignorance. The final scene of the 'books' walking purposely through the woods of their sanctuary, reciting out loud their contents, has stayed with me to this day...

How I Became a Political Activist

My membership button from the
organization Annie created to
watch for violations of the laws
created to protect the wild horses:
Wild Horse Organized Assistance

I was what was commonly called 'horse crazy' when I was a little girl.  I loved all things horses.  I loved how they looked, and how they made me feel, and when I could see a real one, I would pet it and smell it and hug it.  I wanted one so bad I could feel it to my core.  One year, after a lot of focus, determination, and hard work, that came true.

But first, I read about them.  Boy, did I.  I was so obsessed for the first several years of my reading life, I would not read about anything else.  When I was around 10 years old, I read a book that was about more than just horses; it was about some very special horses, and they needed help.  Marguerite Henry's prize-winning children's book, Mustang: Wild Spirit of the West.  Through that book, a woman named Velma Johnston became a popular heroine to millions of American children. With clear, innocent vision, we young readers of her book quickly grasped the heart of the issue.  One young reader's letter to Ms. Henry shared:

"It makes me angry and I think that the horses should be allowed to run free. They will soon be like the Buffalo that used to roam the plains of America. Extinct."

I had the same reaction.  I wanted to do something about it!  But what could I do, just a kid?  I didn't know it then, but there would be a way.

Determined to make a difference, Velma Johnston began a grassroots campaign, that involved mostly school children. Young people from all across America sent letters to newspapers and legislators and attracted enormous attention that outraged the public and made them aware of the issue. And, as public attention grew, some of Johnston's critics began to make fun of her and call her Wild Horse Annie. But no matter what her critics did, she continued her fight — and newspapers continued to publish articles about the exploitation of wild horses and burros. Starting back back in January 1959, Nevada Congressman Walter Baring introduced a bill prohibiting the use of motorized vehicles to hunt wild horses and burros on all public lands. The House of Representatives unanimously passed the bill which became known as the Wild Horse Annie Act. The bill became Public Law 86-234 on Sept. 8, 1959. However, this law did not include Annie's recommendation that Congress begin a program to protect wild horses and burros. Public interest and concern continued to increase, and with it came the realization that federal management was needed. In response to public outcry - including the letters from kids like myself, written to President Nixon - the Senate unanimously passed a law on June 19, 1971. It became known as The Wild Free-Roaming Horse and Burro Act of 1971. Wild Horse Annie knew that young people can make a difference, and through this experience, I learned, too.

Where I Came From

"It's a sad country, but it's the most beautiful God ever made. There's a wildness to it, a richness of colour, a sweetness on the wind you couldn't know unless you'd smelled it. It's a very old land where once heroes and saints and scholars lived and now the memory of those days aches in the colour of the earth, the standing stones, the trees against the sky, the sound of a storm." - Ann Perry

My ethnic background is a mixture of many cultures. My father's was Norwegian and German/Scot/English stock, from his mother and father respectively; my mother's was Irish/English (both parents).

While I did hear about the Norwegian side of things in passing conversation while growing up, my general sense of who I was, was of being Irish. My mother’s family was overwhelmingly Irish, with a wee bit of English thrown in just to keep it interesting.  I grew up with brown bread, strong Canadian tea, roast beef dinners, making do, passionate ‘discussions’, and knowing the value of hard work and faith. Family was important, and that included laying your cards on the table even if feelings got hurt; honesty was prized, and unkind words quickly forgotten. While you might feel like killing someone for a split second, you hugged them the next. Life went on.

While I eventually grew to appreciate my father’s family, learning there was more to my father's family history than I at first had realized, I’ll always think of myself as an Irish girl.