Destined

Last weekend I was in a terrible suburb of San Diego to hang out with one of my aunts. I don't mean to be so caustic toward this particular suburb: I think all suburbs are terrible. Moving on.

This particular aunt of mine, the oldest of five, has always had an interest in knowledge. I like that. Some of what has kept her attention has been the history of the people who came before us. I like that, too. Her early pursuit of this knowledge resulted in a letter written to her mother -- my grandmother -- by her mother's uncle. There were some interesting stories about fighting in France, which my aunt doesn't quite believe. I don't care about that.

What I care about? My great-great-great-grandfather's name was Henry Miller.