How To Root Lineage Os 17.1

[Honorato Winkel]

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I tried this call recorder a year ago (on FP3+) and also many others, incl root, none worked

In some countries there is the recording function directly in the telephony app, but mostly not

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The aortic root is the predominant site for development of aneurysm caused by heterozygous loss-of-function mutations in positive effectors of the transforming growth factor-β (TGF-β) pathway. Using a mouse model of Loeys-Dietz syndrome (LDS) that carries a heterozygous kinase-inactivating mutation in TGF-β receptor I, we found that the effects of this mutation depend on the lineage of origin of vascular smooth muscle cells (VSMCs). Secondary heart field-derived (SHF-derived), but not neighboring cardiac neural crest-derived (CNC-derived), VSMCs showed impaired Smad2/3 activation in response to TGF-β, increased expression of angiotensin II (AngII) type 1 receptor (Agtr1a), enhanced responsiveness to AngII, and higher expression of TGF-β ligands. The preserved TGF-β signaling potential in CNC-derived VSMCs associated, in vivo, with increased Smad2/3 phosphorylation. CNC-, but not SHF-specific, deletion of Smad2 preserved aortic wall architecture and reduced aortic dilation in this mouse model of LDS. Taken together, these data suggest that aortic root aneurysm predisposition in this LDS mouse model depends both on defective Smad signaling in SHF-derived VSMCs and excessive Smad signaling in CNC-derived VSMCs. This work highlights the importance of considering the regional microenvironment and specifically lineage-dependent variation in the vulnerability to mutations in the development and testing of pathogenic models for aortic aneurysm.

I'm not sure exactly when this tree fell, at least five years ago or more. Although some parts of the top edges seem to be missing, it fascinates me that for the most part, it remains pretty intact, even after all this time. From my perspective looking out the window, it's hard to be sure just how large the root base is (although the tree itself was quite tall and reaches far from its original spot to close to the edge of our property), so I sent John out, muck boots and all, to get a photo close-up. I snapped a shot using my cell phone and was shocked to see by comparison (he's 5'8") just how large the root base actually is.

This analogy perhaps originated from my genealogy research these past few years, along with my obsession with old family photos and the stories written in my Storyworth book. Family and family history have always been important to me, but more so in the past few years. When I look at the root base, I see large roots stretching in all directions....those are our early ancestors. They are the origin of the family, its base. From that base comes lesser roots, the next generations, followed by smaller roots- generations that follow. Between the roots dirt is packed in, the roots hold it firmly so that even after years of being exposed to the elements of the seasons, it still remains mostly intact. And among the roots and dirt, some new life, tiny vegetation takes hold and attempts to grow. The dirt, for me, represents the health, the glue, of the family.

I think it's up to us, as keepers of our families and their history, to do what we can to make our base strong. We need to intentionally work to keep our family stories alive through the generations. We need to make sure the young people in the family know the people who came before them. We need to make sure the young people in our family know the elders who are still with us and build those relationships. We need to tell stories and share photos and celebrate our roots. We need to honor our family history so that it will be strong and intact long after we're gone. I was fortunate to grow up in a family that valued family and the preservation of family history. I spent many Sunday afternoons around my family dinner table listening to stories told by grandparents and great aunts and uncles. I have boxes of family photos and memorabilia. Those times, those artifacts, those memories are the glue that has kept our family together. That is the 'dirt' that holds the roots, big and small, together. It's the stuff that made me value how I got to be who I am today and the people who were here before me as well as those who were my support along the way, just like those tree roots. I think that solid base is what kept my family strong, even during the storms. I'm grateful for the people who came before me that were the dirt that held our family roots together.

Growing up in New York City in the midst of that, my grandparents nourished me in ways I never found in school. My grandmother sculpted wu gen hang乌勤藤 sweets made from the flour of dried plant leaves on Chinese holidays and my grandfather sang Toisanese songs each morning he walked my sister and I to the bus stop. They raised me to learn more about the history and resilience in my lineage than the dozens of teachers in my 13 years of schooling ever taught me. And they fortified my tongue with our language.

When I graduated college, I was awarded a fellowship to travel for one year to Chinatowns in eight countries around the world and document stories of migration and resilience across the diaspora. This project was self-created and stemmed from the ways Chinatown was a steady second home in my life. From listening to elderly musicians strum erhus in Columbus Park to reciting ancient poems for the Mid-Autumn Festival in Sunday Chinese classes, I found a home in the community the diaspora created. Yet, I always had deeper questions about where the rest of my ancestors were from beyond New York.

I could see my mother in her preteens, sleek black hair bobbed just above her shoulders, standing at the doorstep of their cement house. The sun had just set underneath the horizon and the sky glowed dark blue. She closed the door behind her and looked up to see her mother walking home.

During family gatherings in living rooms and restaurants in the months before the trip, I started compiling the names of my family members and their villages in what became my roots search notebook. My family immigrated in the 1980s and I am the first generation born in New York. But over 35 years have passed since they lived in the village. Each of them has gone back a handful of times, but memories also became more muddled with the decades.

I repeated the phoneticized Chinese I rehearsed and showed him the characters. He opened a large red book and began flipping the pages. After reading the table of contents, the Chinese barely decipherable to me, he flipped through the pages and stopped at page 1112. He moved his fingers down the vertical lines.

My grandmother, born girl, did not matter in history. It turned out zupus only recorded the names of sons since daughters do not carry the last name when they marry. Wives were listed by last name, if mentioned at all. I closed the zupu, seething.

When I traveled to the Chinatowns in Lima, Peru, and Havana, Cuba, the months before I went to China, I met second- to fifth-generation Chinese descendants who wanted just as badly to know Home. Some were elderly multi-racial Chinese Cuban descendants whose parents were no longer living to answer questions they had. Others were fourth-generation Chinese Peruvian youth who tried to salvage connections lost over the generations.

My trip was the culmination of many oral history attempts with family members. I had to face that by the end, not everything was answered. In some ways, I left with even more questions. Women, like my grandmothers, were not documented in the zupus. Who else in my lineage will we never get to learn about? What about the queer and trans ancestors who never had children? What do I do as the elders are aging? Where are the rest of the zupus?

I met grandmothers who knew mine when they were young. I found photographs before they faded from the sun after my family left for the U.S. I am more deeply grounded in who I am because I know more about who and where I come from, more than I previously did when I only knew my family in the context of America.

River 瑩瑩 Dandelion is a practitioner of ancestral medicine through writing poetry, teaching, energy healing, and creating ceremony. As a poet, he writes to connect with the unseen and unspoken so we can feel and heal. River also facilitates creative writing workshops, where participants connect with their own inner and collective power. A Tin House resident, Lambda Literary fellow, and Kundiman fellow, River is the author of remembering (y)our light, an illustrated poetry chapbook. His work has been thrice-nominated for Best of the Net and is published or forthcoming in Apogee Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, Best New Poets, Bellevue Literary Review, The Offing, Asian American Journal of Psychology, and anthologized elsewhere. River has performed and presented his work globally from the Dodge Poetry Festival to the University of Havana. He is completing his debut full-length poetry manuscript on honoring matriarchs, self-remembrance, and (un)written queer and trans lineages. To connect with River, visit: riverdandelion.com.

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Jeff was born in the Boston area and went into the building trade, establishing his own business on the mainland. After vacationing here as a kid and coming back to fish as a young man, he moved his company to the Island twenty-five years ago, eventually joining Rosbeck Builders Corporation. All the while, he had no knowledge of his Vineyard roots.

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