My Immigrant (Who is YOUR Immigrant?) -- Part 2

NOTE:  This blog entry is part of a collaboration with a wonderful blogger on Rochester, New York, history.  The blog is Gonechester, and the writer there, Geoffrey Zeiner, has chronicled his own research on my great-great grandfather, Mathias Dossenbach.  Here is a link to his blog entry:  Gonechester: Mathias Dossenbach - Block By Block.  Geoffrey's research and writing is remarkable -- I am learning so much about the buildings and addresses that will help me put Mathias's life and efforts into greater context. 

    In the comments, would you please let me know about what you think about this collaboration?  Thanks!

   Also, You can read Part 1 of this topic -- My Immigrant -- It follows below, and is also listed on the right side of this blog.   Enjoy!  

Part 2:  The Dossenbachs in Rochester, New York

Probably Matthias and Regula
Dossenbach, circa 1865-1869
(Courtesy Polly Smith)

In Part 1 of this blog, we followed My Immigrant’s path from Baden, where Mathias Dossenbach’s family had lived for generations, to western New York, southern Canada, and eventually Rochester.  We felt Mathias’s frustrations as he struggled with a strange language and attempted to earn a living, while also beginning a new marriage and growing a family.  

1872 German Immigrants in 
the United States

Mathias’s arrival in the United States in 1851 was part of a huge wave of German immigrants, which continued throughout the 1850s.  In 1855, 1 in 7 Rochesterians were German-born, and the trend continued throughout the 1800s, doubling in the 1870s and tripling by 1890 (McKelvey, “The Germans of Rochester: Their Traditions and Contributions,” Rochester History, 1958).  In fact, the 1900 census showed that German-born peoples, and their descendants, were the largest single ethnic group in the American population.   

1870s Rochester, New York
(Courtesy Roch City Hall Photo Lab)

When the Dossenbachs arrived in Rochester, New York, in late 1872 or early 1873, they found a bustling city, rich with German immigrants from the North and South of Germany -- Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish, each group forming their own enclaves while also contributing together to the Rochester economy and social scene, which included the Germania Singing Society, the German Harmonic Society, the Maennerchor musical society, the Liedertafel, the Schiller Society, all giving public concerts in Corinthian Hall and also Turn Hall on North Clinton, later renamed Germania Hall.  Perhaps the musical Dossenbachs enjoyed the festivals, musicales, masked balls, bands, and street parades.

How thrilled the Dossenbachs must have been to discover that they could both celebrate their own heritage and speak their native German language, while also endeavoring to become a Rochesterian-American.  Rochester was abundant in German newspapers - the Daily Beobachter, the weekly Beobachter am Genesee, the Der Anzeiger des Nordens, and a few years later, the Volksblatt and Abendpost.

By the time the Dossenbachs arrived, Rochester’s German immigrants had already founded churches and schools, where their children could learn both their new English and their parents' German language:  St. Joseph’s parish school, the German Lutheran Schools, the B’rith Kodesh Temple, and the Realschule, offering a new and experimental kindergarten.   

Economically, the German immigrant population formed breweries and fermentation and ice companies; established shoe/clothing/tailoring businesses, Jewish primarily, in storefronts along the north edge of the Main Street bridge, with much of the work done at home within families; grew world-recognized nurseries and optics companies; built farms, some raising pigs and others raising cows and producing butter; and, as well, worked as carpenters/masons, cabinet makers, button and basket producers.  

In the 1870s, the Dossenbachs could have purchased insurance from the German Insurance Company, and by 1884, they could deposit their money in the German-American Bank.  As well, neighborhoods specific to German life flourished throughout the city:

      "The Germans set up scattered colonies on the fringes of the city -- places like Dutchtown (also called 'The Basket Hole' because so many Teutons made willow baskets in their woodsheds and peddled them).  Dutchtown, loosely bounded by Lyell Avenue, Hague and Jay Streets, was known for its competitive baseball and football teams too.  The Butter Hole in the North Clinton-Avenue D area was named for German residents who kept cows on small farms and produced the city’s butter.  Swillburg in the Clinton-South Avenue area was where German settlers fed swill to their pigs and scooped rich silt from Clinton’s Ditch for their gardens.  Eventually, the comfortable, plain German cottages, each with its neat yard and well-tended garden, passed to immigrants of the next wave" (Elizabeth Brayer, Our Spirit Shows: Rochester Sesquicentennial 1834-1984).

Like many newcomers to a new city, the Dossenbachs moved quite a bit, and their locations are, in fact, a travelogue of German immigrant experience in Rochester.  Their earliest addresses are in the northeast of Rochester, near to Baden Street (though there was no Baden Park at that time).  

 

From Google Streetview 2013

In 1873, the Dossenbachs lived at 4 York Street; one year later, we find them at 107 Hudson Street; and from 1875-1877, they made their home at 17 Vose Street.  The house at 17 Vose Street existed into the 1960s, and as remembered by people from that neighborhood, it looked just like this little white house in the bottom corner.  In 1875, Mathias and Regula had 7 children and also took in a relative’s son, so there were 10 people living in that little house.  

The proximity of these addresses was also important for some of the musical performances.  On November 2, 1876, the Dossenbach family performed at the North Street German Methodist Church, not too far south from where they lived at the time.  Just a few years earlier, a young man who took violin lessons from Mathias described the family playing together:   “Mrs. Dossenbach played the bass viol, her sister the ‘cello, and the two daughters played first, and the little boy (about six years old) and I tried to play second.  The lad was so small he had trouble holding his violin while playing” (E. C. Theilig,  Hermann Dossenbach Collection, UR RBSCP).  

This is significant because, in fact, it was not at all unusual that immigrant families, especially German immigrant families, played instruments together.  In Rochester, for example, there was the Schenck, Minges, Marthage, Appy, and Perkins families, and a couple of decades later, there were the Hochsteins. 

From 1878 to 1879, the Dossenbachs moved nearer to downtown, 81 Joiner Street.  This may have been because in 1879 Mathias attempted to open his own comb manufacturing business, at 149 North Water Street.  While the family enjoyed music together, and Otto’s musical career flourished immediately upon arrival in Rochester, then as now, music didn’t pay the bills, and so Mathias still struggled to provide for his family.  I don’t know the extent of his business or how long it lasted, and I haven’t found any further evidence of Mathias working as a combmaker.  

The following year, 1880, brought a significant change for the Dossenbach family, as they moved to the southwest of Rochester, to the tree-lined streets of the Ellwanger-Barry neighborhood, today’s South Wedge, where the family would be closer to the many German musical activities and venues (mentioned above).  For the next 12 years, Mathias and Regula raised their family on Sanford St (first at 66, then 93).  Perhaps they were able to accomplish this with the help of their children, as was also common in struggling families of the time, especially immigrant families.  The 1880 census shows Mathias as a musician, along with his son Otto, but also daughter Hermina worked in knitting rooms, and cousin Albert (listed as a son, but I don’t think this is accurate) was a carpenter.  The rest of the children were either at home doing housework or at school.  In 1880, the Dossenbachs’ family was complete, with the birth of their youngest child, Bertha, who was 3 years old.  

In his home country of Baden, Germany, Mathias’s dream may have been freedom, but in his new homeland in New York State, his dream was that his children would become successful musicians and conductors.  He watched his son Otto’s immediate success in Rochester and beyond, where Otto was known as Rochester’s “wonderful boy violinist,” followed by his son Adolph’s success, also as a violinist.     

But, sadly, Mathias would only experience his first two sons’ accomplishments, for Mathias passed away in 1887, at 72 years of age.  He was buried in nearby Mount Hope Cemetery.  Six years after his death, Regula moved the family to her final location at 6 Nicholson Park (across the street from today’s German House), still in or near to the Ellwanger-Barry neighborhood, where she continued to live, with some of her grown children, until her death in 1906.  

Regula lived long enough to see her son Adolph become the Musical Director of the Lyceum Theatre; and her son Hermann form and conduct the Dossenbach/Rochester Orchestra, a precursor to today’s Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra; and to see her son Theodore found and direct the Rochester Park Band, renowned throughout western New York; and also her daughter Hermina, who taught piano out of a studio from the home, even into the early 20th century.  

However, neither Regula nor Mathias lived to see Hermann and Theodore perform with the quintette at George Eastman’s mansion from 1905-1919, and they both missed Hermann’s cofounding of a music school on Prince St, which George Eastman purchased for the University of Rochester to create the Eastman School of Music.  They did not get to visit their children’s homes in the Park Avenue neighborhood, at 61 Dartmouth Street and 28 Upton Park.   

Consider the span of a human life — Mathias had within his memory that vision of his little hamlet of Rheinweiler within walking distance to the Rhine River.  He knew about war and failed revolutions.  Mathias loved and lost and left much behind, but then reinvented himself in a new land, and loved again.  

  

Let us, who are here today, remember him, and Regula, and their children, the children of immigrants.  And especially, let’s applaud the music, which at the turn of the twentieth century, was the soundtrack to everyone's activities, and to which Mathias made his brave contribution.  

Bravo, Mathias, bravo!  

My Immigrant (Who Was YOUR Immigrant?) -- Part 1

 Part 1 -- Before Rochester

Of course, since all of us come from two parents, each of whom had two parents, and so on and so forth, we all have many immigrants in our family tree.  Today, I’m going to pick one of those who uprooted his life and came here from some other place familiar to him.  He is my immigrant, and it is I who will tell his story, as best as I can.  

From bits of various historical information, we can learn much about an immigrant’s journey, and, as well, how that affected the lives of his or her children.  It is an oft-lived pattern that immigrants who come here without material or financial resources struggle to survive; however, their children often benefit from the sacrifices of their immigrant parents.  In the brevity of this blog, I cannot tell everything about my immigrant, so I’m focusing on certain aspects of his immigrant experience:  (1) Why he left his home country, (2) Language and communication, and (3) Earning a living.    

1870s circa Mathias Dossenbach 
(Courtesy UR RBSCP)

My immigrant’s name was Mathias Dosenbach, and he was one of those who came here without financial resources.  He was born and raised in the little village of Rheinweiler, Baden, where his family had lived for generations, in the southwestern part of what we today call Germany*, along the Rhine River.  On December 23, 1915, Mathias was baptized as a Roman Catholic, and in 1839, he married and afterwards had three children.  

In 1848, all of Europe was swept up in revolution, and somehow Mathias was part of it.  While most of the revolutions were suppressed before that year was over, there was a resurgence in 1849, in Baden and fairly near to Mathias’s home.  In fact, Baden was the only place where the revolutionists found success, where the military turned and joined them, where the Grand Duke of Baden was sent scurrying, and where they took over the running of the state.  It was a mess, actually, and after some months, the revolution was again put down, and the revolutionists escaped on foot through the mountains into Switzerland or over the river into France.  

The dream was over, and the repercussions were deadly.  Eventually, those now in charge (largely, Prussians) forced Switzerland and France to kick out the revolutionists who had sought refuge there.  Mathias and others were named on a Baden Police List and were told to either leave the country or face a life in prison (or worse perhaps).  And so it was that in 1851, Mathias found himself on a ship bound for the United States, a country whose democracy efforts had been a beacon of light to the European revolutionists.  How he must have felt on that ship, leaving Baden behind, and headed toward a strange and unfathomable future!  

1851-06-07 Mathias listed on the ship Adheman 
(via Ancestry)

Mathias arrived in New York City on June 7th, of 1851, and identified himself as a Combmaker.  We find him next in 1854, working at a comb factory in Buffalo, New York, where he may have joined relatives.  Interestingly, and several years into my research, I came upon an odd census entry, which showed Mathias in 1855, living in Lancaster, New York, 24 miles to the east of Buffalo.  This census came by surprise, and I had to stare at the name for quite some time to understand the information it contained.  The last name is close in spelling — Dossenbeck, but the first name, well, it looks like Motue, and it made me wonder if this was, in fact, my guy.  The age is right, the country of origin is right, the profession is right, but still . . . 

1855 NYS Census (via Ancestry)

Eventually, I got it.  Motue <—> Matthew.  An English version of Mathias is Matthew.  Motue Dossenbeck is Mathias Dosenbach.  It seems that for a short time, he appears to have called himself Matthew, though eventually he gave that up, and stuck with the name he was familiar with, his identity, Mathias.  Also, from this census entry, we can consider another aspect of the immigrant’s experience — the difficulty in simply being understood, which perhaps led to a feeling of shame.  Clearly, the census taker had difficulty spelling his name — Motue, which suggests that Mathias still had a thick accent, and so the best the census taker could do was to write the sound of what Mathias was trying to say — Matthew.  How frustrating this must have been for Mathias, a grown man.  

Immigrants often leave family behind, and we have read many stories of their efforts to save money to eventually bring their family to join them.  But this isn’t always the case.  The fact is that I don’t know what happened to Mathias’s family in Germany.  (And I don’t judge him.)  This 1855 census included a new wife and a baby — I also don’t know what happened to them.  

Above: 1861 Canada West Census 
Below: 1870 NYS Census
(Both via Ancestry)

However, by 1861, a Canada West census showed Mathias living in southern Canada and married (presumably) to the wife I would come to know as Regula, and they had four children.  Being that her name was not familiar to Americans (unless they hailed from similar parts of Europe), the census taker has spelled it as Roushaluu.  (NOTE:  Regula also showed up in that earlier 1855 census with Motue, but not as a wife — I’ll leave that as a cliffhanger for a future writing.)  In 1861, Mathias and Regula had four children, and spelled their last name with two s’s, Dossenbach, a spelling which would last through time (and which I will use throughout the rest of the blog).   

1865-1869 circa This is quite likely
Mathias and Regula Dossenbach 
(Courtesy Polly Smith)

Do you see how these formal historical documents can evoke the experience of not being understood, of having a name/identity which is difficult for those around you to grasp, and of starting anew while having left much behind.

By 1870, Mathias and family were back in New York State, living in Suspension Bridge Village, nearly overlooking Niagara Falls, with 7 - 8 children, and it is here that we learn something significant to the eventual success of Mathias and Regula’s family.  Because he had had a difficult time making a living as a combmaker, Mathias was giving violin lessons on the side.  While I can imagine that Mathias’s greatest efforts, and his greatest frustrations, must have been his full-time income, especially with an ever-growing family, in fact, it will be the violin lessons which will sow the seeds of his children’s future success.  

And isn’t this especially pleasing because Mathias’s music must have been his joy and passion, what he pursued whenever he could find the time.  I can only imagine how he would have strained to purchase instruments even when he could hardly support his family.  Oh, if only our Mathias could have known back then, during the trying days, how important the music was, in fact, beyond simple pleasure.

1872-09-02 Mathias Dossenbach
Naturalization (via Family Search)

September 2nd of 1872 was a big day for Mathias — In Niagara County, he became a Naturalized Citizen.  In order to gain this status, a couple of acquaintances testified that he had  “behaved as a man of good moral character, attached to the principles of the Constitution of the United States” and that he was “well disposed to the good will and happiness of the same.”  The County Clerk attested that Mathias had “complied in all respects with the laws of the United States in relation to Naturalization.”  And, then, finally, Mathias solemnly swore to “support the Constitution of the United States” and to “entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to every foreign prince, potentate, state, and sovereignty whatsoever — and particularly to the Duke of Baden.”  

       Yup, Mathias sent that Grand Duke scurrying one more time.  It all ended with, “So, help me, God.”  And with that, and the signatures, Mathias Dossenbach became a citizen of the United States of America.  With his name, his identity, his profession, and with a new musical family.

Suspension Bridge Village circa 1855-1897

Shortly after this event, perhaps in the waning months of 1872 or the earliest weeks of 1873, something happened which caused Mathias and family to move to Rochester, New York, and it involved the music.  His son, Otto, was “discovered” in Suspension Bridge Village, as a child prodigy violinist, by a prominent violinist and conductor, and the family was persuaded to come to Rochester where the children could receive proper musical training and opportunities.  

1877 circa Otto Dossenbach
(Courtesy UR RBSCP)

Readers of this blog:  Consider your passions and your hobbies, the things you love to do, and how you often have to sneak time for them.  Consider that it was Mathias’s violin, in the tiny hands of his little boy, which brought the Dossenbachs to their forever home city, 22 years after arriving here in the States, and that it was the music which would eventually bring success to Mathias and Regula’s children.

  Don’t give up your passions!  

This is Part 1 of My Immigrant’s story.  Part 2 will chronicle the immigrant family in Rochester.  But, as well, I have written about all of this in much greater detail, of course, in the book I’m developing, so stay tuned for that in some uncertain part of the future.   

______________________

*Germany was not yet a unified country; however, from this point on, here and in Part 2 of this blog, I will simply refer to it as Germany.  

Almost Took a Bullet! (Through the Decades at 17 Edmonds St)

Lower left: a Writing Group meeting there
in February of 2024

This blog entry, which has been difficult to write, begins with an address — 17 Edmonds St, in Rochester, New York, where I have previously stayed at a cute airbnb, a Kodak-Themed apartment.   

My husband and I, and our dog, were staying there last July 17 (2024), and at about 10:30pm, as I was propped up in bed with my laptop, in a bedroom that faced the street, someone shot into the airbnb.  The bullet went through the outside wall, through an inside wall, through the TV in my bedroom, across the room and above my head, missing me by six inches, landing in the wall above the bed frame.

Bullet hole above the bed frame

I’ll never forget the sudden blasting sound of the bullet whizzing past and piercing the wall, and the TV shattering into pieces, which were strewn on the bed and the floor.  I slid off the side of the bed and crawled out of the room.  So difficult to convey the fear in those moments.  The police, who were on the street all night because of shots fired throughout the area, explained to us that a few months ago, a “drug house” had opened on the street, just 3-4 houses up from us, and that since then the neighborhood had rapidly deteriorated. In fact, just two weeks prior, the police had shut down the drug house, but the very next day, it had opened up next door.  

Needless to say, we packed quickly and got out of there.  Airbnb issued us a refund for the week and paid for us to stay in a hotel for three nights.  And what about the owners of the airbnb and the house itself?  Well, despicable.  The house was for sale and under contract, and we learned that we were the last guests to stay there.  Long story short, the owners had taken off for vacation and were largely unresponsive for problems during the week, and their lack of responsiveness continued even after the bullet experience, not calling me back for hours, and then not caring, and then never checking in.  Of course, they were not responsible for the shot being fired; however, they knew that the area had become extremely unsafe — in fact, they live just 2 or 3 blocks away from the airbnb.  They could have warned us, easy enough to send a message about what’s happening and that it would be okay if we chose some other place, which we would have done.  Fun fact:  the owners purchased the house in 2014 for $107,900, and they sold the house in September of 2024 for $255,000.  I’m assuming that they must have puttied and repainted the outside and inner walls to remove the disturbing bullet holes.  Not a good look if you’re hoping for a windfall.   

Trauma.  For the following weeks and months, I felt fear and overwhelming sadness.  Crushed by the knowledge of the growing violence in cities — what’s gonna happen next?  Crushed by a sense of loss — Rochester is my rock, my Happy Place, but how can I ever return?  Over the next weeks, I found myself suddenly crying at inappropriate places.  At the lawyer’s office, where we were finalizing estate documents, the lawyer asked, “How are you doing?” and I started crying.  Family members visited, and I stood crying at the kitchen counter, several times, my back to them so it wouldn’t show.

Of course, the truth of it is that nothing actually happened.  I didn’t get shot.  But, yet, the trauma was there, deep inside of me.  I felt so sad for people who have loved ones taken from the world in this way.  How do they continue?  How are they not consumed with anger?  Oh, my heart goes out to all of you who have lost family members and friends to violence.  I can hardly bear to think on it, actually.  

Healing began to come from telling some people that I was in trouble.  So many lovely friends reached out to me, and talked to me, and cared.  It meant a lot.  In October, I rented a tiny cottage on Cape Cod (off-season, much cheaper) for a few weeks, and continued to heal.  All I did was sit in the sun, gaze at the marsh and the birdlife, walk several times each day with my dog along the marsh and the bay, and read books. 

Those who know me, especially friends in Rochester, know that I LOVE the city of Rochester, New York.  I lived there from 2013-2020, during which I researched and wrote about my ancestors who lived in Rochester from 1872-1946.  And I look forward to my 4 - 5 visits each year to Rochester, my Happy Place.  

So I had to get my happy place back again.  For a while, I gazed at photos I had 
taken, in the direct neighborhood of 17 Edmonds St, coincidentally, earlier that day of the bullet experience.

Photos I took earlier that day on Edmonds St 
and nearby Pearl, Boardman, and Amherst Streets
and also Rising Place.

You see it — it’s a beautiful neighborhood, an urban, residential neighborhood, with historic houses, and with all kinds of good people, living their lives, hoping for the best.  

And then I did what I do best — I connected with the past, took a look back in time, largely via the Democrat & Chronicle, researching 17 Edmonds St, and the

1880 Rochester
(H. H. Rowley & Co.)

people who had lived there.  The house was built circa 1870, and by 1888 the owners advertised a “Nicely Furnished Front Room” for rent — this would be the room where I laid that fateful night.  This “Pleasant front room” is advertised over the decades in the “To Let” classified ad sections.  By 1914, the house was split into two apartments, upstairs and down, and from the rental ads, I can see that the layout of the first floor apartment was much the same as it is today. 

Residents of 17 Edmonds St sold things throughout the years, especially cars — a 1926 Ford sold “cheap for cash” in 1930, a 1939 Ford V-8 two-door deluxe selling in 1951, and a 1950 Studebaker Commander “in A-1 condition” in 1955.  Also, Coolerators, otherwise known as ice refrigerators.  In 1950 and 1951, you could buy one, “like new,” from 17 Edmonds St for only $25.  

Of course, there was tragedy there, especially while the Great War was raging in Europe.  On January 21, of 1918, a mother, Mrs. Harriet Dunham, of 17 Edmonds St, received word that her son had been killed in an aviation training exercises accident. Cadet Vincent C. Dunham, 21 years old, had enlisted just over three months ago, and was excited to be training as a bomber, hoping to “drop a red, white and blue bomb on the Hun lines.”  Imagine his mother, there, in that kitchen, drooping over the kitchen table, mourning her lost boy.  

D&C January 22, 1918

And there were lost pets too.  In February of 1913, residents of the home at 17 Edmonds St hoped that someone might find their 10-month old yellow and white kitty, answering to the name of Sandy.  They offered a reward, as did someone in 1957 who had lost their dog, Toby, a toy terrier, white with black spots and black ears — how cute he must have been!  I wonder, did they get their pets back?  Or did they have to live with the unknown? 

Of course, people died at 17 Edmonds St, and then were laid out within a couple of days in the living room, in their caskets, for mourners to see them and say their farewells.  In 1923, Mrs. Marie Luttewiler Doxtator suddenly died there, and in 1942, 90-year-old Thomas Ferran died there.  Five and a half months later, the family listed an adjustable hospital bed for sale.  

Such is life, relentlessly moving forward.  Joseph E. McCarriagher, of 17 Edmonds St, had a streak of bad luck in the early 1950s.  In June of 1950, he lost his Pocket Watch, with his initials JEM inscribed, and hoped that a classified ad might help him find it, for a reward.   And then in September of the following year, his business, the Terrace Gardens at 1151 Ridgeway Ave, a nightclub rented out for private parties, was vandalized by five boys, 12 to 15 years old, “just for the fun of it.”  Was it fun?  They set fire to a mattress, broke stained glass windows, ripped heavy drapes, smashed furniture, and pulled down a small balcony.  Ouch.

There was joy, too.  Marriage licenses were given to young, hopeful men and women, especially the Croughs at 17 Edmonds St.  Frank obtained his in 1947, and his sister, Mary, in 1950.  I hope they were happy as the years passed by.  

And here’s the article that made me smile, and gave me back my happy place.  In January of 1938, “Chilblained Rochesterians” had to endure record-breaking cold temperatures, causing car accidents, but giving a windfall to plumbing firms and automotive garages.  Even the Genesee River had frozen at its mouth so that the “carferry Ontario II was forced to batter her way through the solid surface of the channel when she left Genesee Docks for Cobourg at 2 pm.”  It was rough.

But none of this fazed little 5-year-old Larry Salman, of 17 Edmonds St, who enjoyed an ice cream cone, while others were shivering.  He was celebrated on the front page of the Democrat & Chronicle!  I like to think of the youthful Larry, puffing himself up to go out to play with his friends, and feeling his own celebrity.  I’ll bet his parents cut out the article, showed it to friends and family.  I’ll bet Larry saved it forever.  His fifteen minutes, to be sure.  

This blog is my effort at pulling myself back into the Writing Life.  Oh gosh, I LOVE the City of Rochester!  I feel myself a part of it, even from here, where I write in this very northern part of Massachusetts.  I can’t wait to return, and gaze at the buildings and streets, and see all of the good people, living today, and leaving remnants of their lives behind, so someone can find them and see them and write about them.  This is what it is all about.  

Most importantly, this blog is dedicated to people who have endured trauma from violence and its accompanying losses:  I see you now.  I send love your way.  Love and caring and peace and health for you.  There is love in this crazy world, and there is strength within you.  I know now.  

17 Edmonds St in March of 2024