A lesson on the Compton family tree

Here's Sunday and I'm starting to feel a little trapped, or bored, to be more accurate. I've not felt bored in years and years. But I've not written a word of fiction or nonfiction in three days. No poems, either. The last thing I wrote was a book review. The words have slowed down a bit.

I'm still reading, though. Working through Wolf Hall and also Men Without Women and the Peter Orner book about reading and Russell Edson's The Tunnel. Yeah, still reading. A lot. And also watching The Tudors when I get tired of reading.

I have an ancestor depicted on that show - William Compton. He's my ancestral grandfather. Compton's are big in England. But it's a good show so far. I have to say that it parallels a lot with Wolf Hall. I often wonder which one came first because of this. But then I guess history is pretty set that way.

So how did my line end up in Podunk Kentucky? Well, my ancestor Henry Compton, the Bishop of London at the time, sent his ward, a son of his brother, my ancestral grandfather, named John Compton, to the estates and lands in the Colonies that had been given to him by the king. This was Maryland. Henry instructed John to build a church and continue the good work there. I suppose he did, but at some point we started filtering south, and the line eventually landed in Kentucky. Just so you know, there are honestly about forty John Compton's in my family tree.

But I'm a little bored. And this even though I'm an essiential healthcare worker and get to keep going to work every day. It's the weekends that are rough. So I probably should stop complaining. I get to get out five days a week for entire work days. I guess I'm lucky, but I sure wish something would give with this. I wish there were more news stories about where they're at with a cure. I'm tired of stories giving all these huge numbers of those infected and dead. I get it...we're in a bad situation. Give me something to look forward to why don't you?