Notes on Our Noto/Martynowski/Petz/Shock Family History

Back in the early 1970s, Grandma Lillian Martynowski, my mother's mother, whose maiden name was Lillian Petz, once told me that, when she was a little girl, her own mother's mother had told her that when she had been a little girl there were still Indians, Native Americans, that is, living on the outskirts of the city of Chicago.

I was amazed to hear her say that, as I had somehow assumed that all of my immigrant forbears had arrived in the New World around the same time as my father's Sicilian family, in the early Twentieth Century. I'm guessing, now, that the Petz clan, which my grandmother mentioned was from the Alsace region of Germany, the native land of the Alsatian, or German Shepherd dogs, came to North America as part of the Hessian army of mercenary soldiers that helped England's King George in his futile attempt to retain control of the American colonies. I've not yet heard any word of how they came to be in the Chicago area.

It is interesting that this is also how my wife's father's German ancestors, the Shocks, came to be on this side of the Atlantic. Carla Shock, my mother-in-law, has a copy of a genealogy that tells of three brothers travelling down the Ohio River on a raft, with one, my father-in-law's forbear, getting off around Evansville, Indiana.

Today's Breakfast

Huevos Rancheros, Noto Brand Hickory Smoked Jalapeno Pepper Sauce, and a hot cup of coffee. The hot sauce is home made by my brother Frank, from his own organically grown, home smoked jalapenos.

Memory Lane: My 1970 Z/28 Camaro

Back in 1970, I owned a car that looked exactly like this, except for the license plate.

Since I considered my driving skills to be exceptional, I did not always drive this amazing vehicle in what you'd call a responsible fashion.

One afternoon my brother Frank and I drove to a brand new section of road, freshly paved, flat as a pancake and straight as an arrow for a mile or two, way out in the middle of nowhere west of then-developed suburban Fort Lauderdale, Florida. We turned off the radio, rolled up the windows, tightened down our seatbelts (no shoulder harnesses in those days, kids) and I put my foot down. Up through the gears we screamed, until the telephone poles were flicking by at an amazing rate, and I noticed that we were in fourth gear and the engine was wailing away, 500 rpm past its redline.

Some years later, sitting with coffee after a family Christmas-season dinner at my parents' place, with the car safely gone to other parts, I was remembering the car fondly. My mother asked me how fast I had gone in it. I told her, "You really don't want to know." She insisted. I reiterated. She insisted again. So, I told her, "One hundred and forty-five miles an hour."

"I wish you hadn't told me." she said.

Nikki on the job: V-Day, 2007

Here's my daughter Nikki directing part of the cast of Atlanta's V-Day fundraiser, "A Memory, a Monologue, a Rant, and a Prayer". These folks are, from left to right: Nikki's exercise coach, an actress by the name of Jane Fonda, a singer, half of an act known as "The Indigo Girls", Emily Saliers; and Doria Roberts, a musician.

Lord of the Rings!

Getting ready to go see the second movie in the series, John, on the right, and several of his friends.

Nikki in her native habitat: L5P, The ATL

Pic of the Day: Nikki, in her attic apartment, with the purse Nola made for her birthday, 2004. L5P = Little Five Points, one of the city's hippest neighborhoods, though, actually, Nikki's place was about a mile east of L5P, in Candler Park. The phrase "The ATL" is an anachronism, at least for me, 'cause I hadn't heard it back in '04.

Nick is so cool!

Of course, this is artwork he did a long time ago. I haven't been out west in a few years to check out the gallery. (That's a hint, Nick. Send me some scans, and I'll post them here.)

Oh, my, Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas any more.

This is a test. I have no idea how this is going to work out, or if it is going to work at all. This is my first time using Blogger. I am very nervous about this.
Nope, it didn't work. OK, here's a second try. Nope, not yet. Third try. Fourth try. Tinkering with settings . . . Let's see. Augh! Even that didn't work. The fifth try: ah, finally, it worked. (No, it didn't!)
You didn't come here to read all this, though, did you?
P.S. April 7, 2006, and I've finally gotten a photo in here. This is my dear departed father-in-law, taken back in the summer of 1977, at a reunion of his family in southern Indiana. You should see the one where he's pitching horse shoes. It hasn't been scanned yet, though.