So genealogist Cookie is taking a sick day because I wasn't paying attention to my meds this morning, and I accidentally took the P.M. meds (Vybryd, Trazadone) when I should have taken the morning meds (allergy pill, GERD medication, a Wellbutrin, and a white pill that the doctors insist that I take for blood pressure) and the result is that I am very, very sleepy. On the good side, I get to wear jammies and play Camille.
Anyhow, since I am homebound (there is no way I would get in a car and drive) I have been working on a family line and have my favorite 17th Century baby name: "Accident"
Apparently, after having eleven children, said ancestor couple thought that they were in the clear by late thirties (their "last" child, Daniel, was born when the mother was 35) when a night of human rutting resulting in the September birth of "Accident". Said accident, Accident, was a boy. Mother and father were 40 and 41 - which is like 70 in 2019 years. Apparently, Mother did fine carrying the baby and through the birth; she lived to 81. Father died at 60, so the mother was not left a minor child raise.
As for Accident, or Axa, as he was later known he spent his life in Connecticut, married, and left farming to become a Minister, dying under a freak circumstance at the age of 47.
And how did he die?
"Whilst felling an oak on the farm of John Williams, the tree half dead over from (a) storm strike, a "limbe (sic) struk (sic) the Reverend killing him, and leaving his wife a widow."
Yes, Accident was killed in an accident, accidentally.
I want to laugh out loud so badly, but these pills have me so mellow that all I can say is "dude". Still, a reminder:
"Family is stranger than fiction."