Family Matters

As most of you reading this blog know, I kind of have an obsession with history and genealogy -- anything to do with the past. 

Well at the behest of someone I got a Facebook page.  I’ve made quite a few contacts there, including one called Reign-Louise Jolina. 

If the name Jolina sounds familiar, it should.  It’s my paternal grandmother’s last name.  It’s also one-half of my father’s last name, the other half, of course, being Plumb. 

Apparently I have another family I never knew about.  I mean, I suspected all of this… but to have it confirmed, well, it’s a surprise.  I knew my grandmother was a bit of a flirt, and I knew my grandmother was very charming and had a lot of admirers of the opposite sex, but there’s still so many un-answered questions.   

So Reign-Louise’s daughter writes:

I think we're so related I forgot to tell you that RL's dad was Jamie Jolina's son. It just mean you and RL were first cousins.

Goodness, if my tangled family-tree doesn’t get any crazier…you mean I have an uncle somewhere?  And more cousins? 

But wait, there’s more.  The conversation continues. 

Marlon - RL's dad, was also left by Jamie at the hospital and was just claimed by his dad with a note from Jamie, from then on they haven't heard from her anymore.

And…my response:

Apparently Jamie left RL and her dad... for my grandpa. That's the only way I can see it happening. My grandfather was smitten with her and wanted to marry her, but she didn't wed him either. According to my grandma's diary, she had real reservations about marriage in general and was shocked that she was pregnant with my dad. Seems like she left behind a trail of broken hearts. :(

And to top it off, mom wasn’t done with her truth serum.  Apparently she spent part of her childhood in Twinbrook and moved to Sunset after turning YA.  When her dad disappeared and her mom died, she went to stay with a family friend, Edmund Browning, who wasn’t much older than she was. 

Dad's autobiography

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So my dad's autobiography is out, kind of. I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it. The fact that it's out scares me, as much as the fact that he's writing it.
There are some things in it I didn't know, for sure. It surprised me that he actually watched grandpa die. That had to have a big impact on him. Also about grandma, it sounds to me like grandma wanted him to be a doctor or something like she was.
I also didn't know about Noah's childhood and teenage years. I didn't realize he'd misbehaved. Dad didn't talk about Noah's youth much. I guess this was why.

Blast from the Past

So, last night dad and I were talking. About a lot of things. About my book (which is still flying of the shelves, btw), about Neil possibly coming to live with us, about his musical influences growing up.

Of course, during these chats you usually find out things you wouldn't ordinarily. My dad mentioned a long-dead rock star called Mick Lassiter.

Apparently, when dad was growing up, Mick Lassiter was the biggest star in the land. Everyone wanted to be him, everyone wanted to be friends with him, everyone wanted to be around him. Of course dad, as a little boy, was one of those people.
Mick Lassiter wrote and performed nearly every hit song that was on the radio. His concerts were standing-room-only and sold out months in advance. Every musical commentator in Simland has compared dad's style to his, even though they worked in different genres.

So it turned out that one of grandma's friends, Madison VanWatson, was married to him. Naturally, as she and grandma ran in the same social circles, Madison wanted to share her good fortune with them. So one Sunday she offered grandma 2 front-row tickets to see Mick perform at what was then called the Wilsonoff Community Theater.
According to grandma's journal (which I consulted later), she was trying to decide between taking her boyfriend at the time (Orlando Paine) and my dad, who was still a young boy. When grandma took Orlando, Dad was really upset. So somehow he got to the theater and sneaked backstage where Mick was getting ready to perform -- and was caught. But dad got what he wanted in the end -- one moment with his idol -- and it changed the course of Sunset Valley history.

"I ran as fast as I could, as far away from the theater as I could," dad recalled. "I wanted to get back home before mom did."
After grandma got back, she gave him a sound tongue lashing. But it didn't matter.
Dad never saw Mick Lassiter again, but he still listened to his music. Mick sent dad an autographed copy of his record, a record, by the way, he still has.

Freedom Part 2

The next night, I went back to the cemetery.
I had no choice; it felt like something was drawing me there. Something I needed to see. Something I needed to get closure on.

My heart about leapt out of my chest when I saw a ghost. Not just any ghost -- but a ghost that looked like the pictures I saw of my paternal grandmother, Jamie Jolina.
As most of you reading this blog know, I've been wanting to 'meet' her for a very long time. Reading her journal and hearing about her from my dad and others, she sounds like a fascinating woman.
So, even though there isn't much that actually frightens me, understandably, I was a ball of nerves when I walked up to her ghost. I've only had very limited experience with supernatural creatures, even those with prior blood ties to me.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked her.
"I know exactly who you are," she said. "You look like my son -- and you look like me."
"Really?"

I found out she'd been flirty, a party animal, and a bookworm. Which explained a lot, really. It explained my dad. It explained Noah. It explained Sebastian. And it explained me. But I had so many more questions for her, many more than I had time to ask. For it was nearly five a.m. and the ghosts return to their slumber then.

While I was talking to my grandma's ghost, my grandpa's ghost was standing off to the side. He cleared his throat to make sure he got my attention.
When I saw the outline of his face, I thought for a second that I was looking at my dad.

When I realized that standing before me was the ghost of the family founder, my grandfather Nigel Plumb, I quietly gave him my best curtsy before he flashed that same lopsided grin and that same twinkle in his eye. He explained my dad, too, as much as grandma does.
I wondered what my grandparents would think of my mom. They'd died before my dad even met her.

I walked in the house at six-thirty that morning. By then I was starved and knackered. But dad was as wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever while eating leftover ratatouille from the night before.
"Morning, darling," he said, "have a seat."

"So, what grand adventure have you been up to lately?"
"I haven't been on any adventures."

"Savannah --"
I cannot lie to my father. I get away with doing it to my mom, but I cannot do it to my dad, because he knows when I'm lying right away and he looks at me, not with anger, but with disappointment.
"Savannah, I know you. When you were little you used to come from the forests past Pinochle Point with scrapes all over. Have you been looking for rocks down at the cove?

"Nope."
"Have you been exploring the catacombs beneath the cemetery?"
"Nope."
"Have you been at the art gallery, bookstore, or the theater?"
"Nope."
I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. I didn't have the guts to tell him I'd talked to Aunt Margaret and I'd talked to his parents. I couldn't tell him I have grandma's journal. I couldn't tell him about the family scrapbook project I started.

Instead, I changed the subject. I talked about everything BUT what I've been up to. I'm just not sure he's ready for what I've been up to. How's he gonna deal with a daughter who spends more time with the dead than the living?
"How's your new symphony, dad?"



He perked up. "Lovely, dear, thank you for asking." He went into his soliliquy about contraltos and half-notes, and I was reminded yet again how much he lives and breathes this stuff. He once told me that he loved the idea of putting together notes that don't seem to fit -- and making them sound harmonious.
But he wasn't thrown off track one bit. "Savannah," he laughed, "I know you've been up to something. When you're ready to tell me, I'm here."
With that I went into my room (well Aunt Margaret's) and I pulled the covers over my head and went to sleep.

In Search of Grandma

As cool and intriguing as grandpa sounds, it's my grandmother who totally fascinates me. I'm not sure why that is. Perhaps it's because more than one person has said that they see her in me. I'll be lucky if I ever become even half of what she apparently was.
Sure, my grandma was a doctor, but the way dad talks about her, she might as well have been superwoman. Mention her name to dad and there's a catch in his voice.



My grandma may have had "Dr." in front of her name, but she was much, much more than that. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall of her parties. She sounds like she must have been a blast to be around. Guitar playing? 'Woo-ing' guests? Heady discussions about books and music and art?
My dad admitted to me once that he fell for my mother because she reminded him of his mother. You've got to understand, him saying that is like him saying he's going to the moon. Really. It's that earth-shattering.
My first attempt to see her ghost at the cemetery was an abysmal failure, and I want to try one more time before my YA birthday. After my birthday, though, I'm not bound by that stupid 11 pm curfew, I could stay as long as I want. One thing about ghosts and things, cemeteries and dark places don't really frighten me like they do most folks. On the contrary, I'm actually fascinated by them. Maybe it's because of the story Aunt Margaret likes to tell, that when mom was pregnant with me, she spent a lot of time in the cemetery late at night fishing for deathfish so that she could prepare her secret life-extending recipe for her. Something you should know about mom, she's a world class cook.



The reason I wrote this blog entry is because I recently came across her journal in a bunch of dad's things. I've been carrying it around with me, and not even my dad knows I have it. She says some interesting things; most notably, that my grandpa wanted to marry her but she had "serious misgivings" about the idea. My grandpa was very much a traditionalist and my grandma was anything but. My grandma was a woman well before her time, methinks. Dad got a lot of his 'free spirit' from her.
I've been thinking lately, what would my grandchildren think about me? What would my granddaughter's reaction be if she found this blog the way I have my grandmother's journal? I'd have to create some kind of legacy for them to follow. I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with my life; however, I do think there'll be some painting and writing and music involved, because I'm a Plumb and that's what we do.

Daddy Dearest -- Part Two

First off, before I begin this part, I wanna say that before my dad became a teenager, he and my grandma watched my grandpa pass away. It was a traumatic experience for the both of them, and until she died, when she wasn't in her work uniform my grandma only wore two colors: burgundy and black.


When my dad was my age, it was tough for him, by his own admission, and Aunt Margaret confirms this. He and grandma were not seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and he felt like a stranger in his own house. It wasn't any better at school either. He was called names like faggot and queer because of his fair skin, blond hair, and shy, sensitive demeanor. It got to the point where he quit going to school altogether, and he'd spend his days in the park, playing his guitar in front of whoever would listen, or at the theater listening to symphonies and concerts.


The day my dad turned teen, my grandma gave him her most prized possession: her treasured guitar. It was as if at last she figured out that a) that she didn't have much time left and b) how serious my dad was about music.
In order to fund his music (and, he also admits, to meet girls), he got a part-time job at the local spa. I think he got the job to prove to the guys at school that he wasn't gay. He started working out (something he still does) and there, he says, he met his first girlfriend, Erin Frio. He also says he never actually talked to girls (he was too shy to), that he'd compose a song for them.


Dad scrounged up the money from his part-time job to take painting lessons downtown without his mom's knowledge, but though he liked to paint, music was his first love. He redecorated his bedroom in his favorite color, much to his mom's chagrin.

Come to think of it, when it came to dad, there wasn't too much that grandma was happy about. Her only son had long since dropped out of school, and he was spending his days playing guitar for pennies and pleasure in the park and folding towels at the community spa, all the while honing his strategy for winning the hearts and minds of women all over town. But of course, she didn't know that part yet.

Daddy Dearest -- Part One

This is my father, Nathan Jolina-Plumb, when he was a young boy. Everyone in Sunset Valley knows who he is. He's a musician and composer who's written pretty much every major hit song there is in Simland. He was born with tunes in his head.

Aunt Margaret said that when daddy was really little, his babysitter caught him playing some top 40 hit on his toy xylophone. Had perfect pitch, too. And when she told my grandma, she didn't believe her. Why would she, really? Who would believe a toddler is playing real songs?

Dad got his musical genes from grandma, who played casually and to relax after her high-stress job at the hospital. He said grandma was so good at it that she could have made a career of it herself, and that after school, when he'd heard her playing, he would trail her around just to hear the tunes coming from her guitar.

Seriously, he really is very, very gifted musically, and eventually grandma figured it out. Aunt Margaret says he taught himself how to read sheet music just before he started school, and wrote his first song just after that. She also says he used to close his eyes when they would watch TV, because he'd be listening to the music. As soon as he was able, he took guitar lessons and started playing day and night.

He really, really does love music. Even now, I'll wander downstairs and catch him with his guitar, just immersing himself in the tunes. Most of the people who hear his songs and catch his concerts really have no clue how musical he really is. He hums and beats his legs all the time. He thinks in musical notes and when he signs his name, he'll underline it with a musical flourish called a crotchet. The "I" in "Jolina" he'll dot with a little minim, a musical note that looks like a small 'o'.

I believe my dad loves music more than he loves people, honestly. Unlike grandma, who loved giving parties and such, dad doesn't seem to be the partying type, despite his reputation around town. Temperamentally speaking, dad is more like grandpa and Aunt Margaret. Few would believe it, given his show-stopping concerts and interesting sense of style, but dad is actually an introvert. He's actually really shy, when you get down to it, except when the conversation turns to music. Then he comes to life.

Hello! Introducing the Plumbs

My name is Savannah Plumb, and my family is "Just Plumb Nuts!"

I know I sound like I'm at an AA meeting or something, but I gotta tell ya, it's pretty hard being the only sane person in your entire family. And when practically the entire town is your family, that's saying something.

This man is my paternal grandfather, Nigel Joseph Plumb. Seems like a nice enough guy eh? Well, to hear my Aunt Margaret (more on her later) tell it, he came over from England at the tail end of the Great War and settled down into a nice comfy farm up in Riverview.

Here he is as a (younger) man with Aunt Margaret's mom, Carolyn Finney Plumb. She and grandpa split up way before I was born and way before my dad was born, too. After he split up with her, he packed up everything (including Aunt Margaret, who was a teenager at the time) and headed south and east, to Sunset Valley.

This is my Aunt Margaret when she was my age and about the time she moved here with my grandpa. Even then, she was writing books. She got her first novel published a few simdays after she arrived in Sunset Valley.
Here's where it gets real interesting. Shortly after my grandpa arrived in Sunset Valley, he met this woman.

Her name was Jamie Jolina. I've heard she was of French descent. He met her while they were both working at the local hospital. She was a surgeon, he cleaned bedpans when he wasn't at his farm. Who was she? She was my grandmother. To hear my dad tell it, she might as well have been superwoman.
At any rate, I don't have the whole story. But from the bits and pieces I've been able to glean from Aunt Margaret and other sources, my grandparents hooked up, and my grandmother was shocked to find out she was pregnant. My grandpa asked her to move in, and my grandma, who pretty much was used to living her own life and lifestyle, turned him down.

The day before Valentine's Day, my grandma delivered my dad. On Valentine's Day, grandpa showed up to my grandma's house with a bag of diapers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other. Grandma had named him "Jamar Jolina," but grandpa didn't really like it. So he asked her for a list of alternatives, and they all went to City Hall and changed his name to Nathan. So the name on his birth certificate read Nathan James Jolina-Plumb.

I've been told I look a little like my grandmother. I wish! She was gorgeous, lol.

Speaking of my grandma, she was a 'party animal.' What I mean by that is, she was very outgoing and loved to laugh and have fun. She surrounded herself with a lot of people. Aunt Margaret says she used to spend her evenings in deep discussions about a lot of creative topics like art and music and books. What I would have given to be a fly on the wall at those gatherings!

Grandpa lived a much slower life. He spent most of his time with plants rather than people. Aunt Margaret pretty much kept to herself, in the company of her books, so he was pretty much free to tend to his vast orchard. After he left his job at the hospital he devoted himself full time to the orchard.