A chat on Messenger got me thinking about how my family ended up in Wisconsin and built this house in 1891:
My grandmother with whom I lived as a child told me that we are the descendants of 19th century New York state Millerites. Convinced that Jesus was about to return, they sold their farm, put on white nightgowns, and sat on the chicken coup waiting for the world to end. When, with the dawn of the Great Disappointment, it didn't, they moved to WI out of sheer embarrassment. Jehovah's Witnesses keep showing up at my door, although they don't seem to know who the Millerites were. We debate. One elder got so upset that he started jumping up and down, knocking the supports out from under the front porch. I continue to be fascinated by End Time stories. It occurs to me that I am currently writing one with the last novel in my fantasy series, although I hope not to disappoint anyone.
Published on May 12, 2024 09:39
I don’t particularly want it to end, but when it does, it gives me the opportunity to go back and read it all again from the beginning.