Genetics

When you get your family together, particularly if there are children younger than 3, invariably the conversation turns to "Who does x look like?" Of course we did that this weekend. My thoughts, however, turned to the larger issue of genetics and how I am alike and different from my family.

Here's the four of us with mom.

I resemble my mother. In fact, a couple of people at the open house remarked that they didn't know Sandy had a sister. "I'm her oldest daughter. She's an only child." There is no way to not feel stupid after you make a remark like that regardless of how much I said I wasn't offended. People remarked it was obvious we were related because we do look alike and, right now, I have the same gait that she does. Mom's had knee problems too although her's are because of age. She didn't fall. She's not clumsy.

My niece, Christina, remarked that she hopes my sister, my mom and I never live together because we sound alike on the phone. "I would never be able to tell the three of you apart and I just know you'd figure out a way to confuse me more because of that." Who? Us?

In conversation, my mom, sister and I all have cold feet, particularly in the winter. My sister wears socks to bed almost year 'round. I'm not that bad but I do have a heating pad on the bed where my feet are in an effort to be comfortable. With three of us having cold feet, it's got to be genetic. So we wonder if other female cousins have cold feet. "Hey," Sharyn said. "Let's conduct a poll on Facebook and see." I'm actually thinking that might be an interesting thing to start a conversation with my cousins. I can't remember if my daughter has cold feet in the winter or not.

Genetics really comes into play when you have the little ones around. Witness my niece Christina and her family. These three kids couldn't look more alike if you'd custom mixed their DNA. They all have similar temperaments, too.

Think back to your primary school years. I'll bet you can remember the kids who had siblings that didn't bear any resemblance to them; the brown haired blue-eyed girls with the blond haired brown-eyed brother. I remember the twins who could pass for each other and sometimes did because teachers had difficulty telling them apart and the boy-girl twins who didn't look anything alike. When Christina's kids smile, they are the spitting image of each other. It is really neat to see.

The youngest of the next generation is kind of hard to place. Harlee Kay was born in June. Right now, she doesn't quite have features we can put with either mom or dad. What she does have are 'chipmunk cheeks'. She has the sweet disposition of Christina's kids and the bright blue eyes of the Thompson side of the family. My sister is rather irritated that no one has produced brown-eyed kids. "You better be getting on that, right now," she said. Yes, Christina and Amber rolled their eyes. Mom has the brown eyes. Dad had the blue eyes as did his father and his father before him. Gotta hand down something in the family.

Part of the weekend was devoted to going through boxes mom has stored, deciding what we wanted and what really needs to be given away. We stumbled upon a photo of Christina at age 6. She held it up, showed it to her daughter and said, "Who is this?" Makayla's eyes grew wide and she said, "That's me!" Honestly, it could have been. The resemblance was uncanny.

When Carole was 3, I found a photo of my sister at that age. They could have been sisters, the resemblance was so strong.

In an age where DNA can find a lot of things and the sci-fi stories of designing your own kids don't seem that far off, the natural progression of traits through a family is a beautiful thing to see.

Beverage:  English Breakfast tea

Deb

Soul Food

When one uses the term "Soul Food", one generally thinks of what I would term "Southern" cooking; collard greens, grits, ham and red eye gravy, black-eyed peas, etc. When I think of "Soul Food", I think of food that speaks to my soul. Earlier in the year, I wrote about sausage and cottage fries and peas. Over the weekend, I bought the ingredients to make Chex Mix. Last night, I made a batch.

Chex Mix has a long history with my family. We didn't make it that often. Cereal was best eaten at breakfast. But when we got together with the Eides, my parents' best friends, at New Year's we always had at least one batch. They had 4 kids and I have 3 siblings. We were all close in age. We kids used to write a play that we would perform at 11 p.m. The adults would let us stay up to welcome in the new year but then we had to go to bed. Truthfully, we were pretty exhausted by midnight anyway.

One of the best things about getting together was Chex Mix. It was kind of a luxury at my house and we didn't have it a lot. I remember two or three batches being made at New Year's, but very rarely other times of the year. I think we might have made it for the Thompson Family Picnic that was held in the park on July 4th, maybe some other events but the clear memory is of Chex Mix and New Year's.

It's so easy to make. I don't care for mixed nuts so I used only peanuts, although a peanut cashew mix would be good. It makes a lot and I have quite a bit of ingredients left that I was thinking another batch would be a good thing. I ate it while gaming. I was thinking I need Dr Pepper and this would be an ideal raid snack.  Making it made my house smell very good last night. I did it the non-microwave way, where you use your oven and it takes an hour. I don't like how the microwave version comes out and don't get me started on those pre-made bags of Chex Mix.You want spicy mix? Add cayenne pepper to the butter and Worcestershire mix. Sweet? Instead of Worcestershire sauce, add a cinnamon sugar mix.

This is what I consider soul food; food that elicits warm memories of a time passed.

Beverage:  Irish Breakfast tea

Deb

Thinking about roots.

It's getting close to the Illinois St. Andrew Society's Highland Games, June 18-19, at the Oakbrook Polo Grounds. I'll have a brand spanking new tent to set up. If the weather looks even remotely dicey on Friday, I won't go. The memories of last year are still fresh.

As I mentioned, I visited my old hometown last week when I went to Decorah on business. I stopped by my dad's grave and told him everything that has been going on. After that, I walked among the headstones in one of the older parts of the cemetery looking for relatives.

We know where my grandparents, Archie and Eltha, are buried. We know where my grandfather's parents, Lawrence and Minnie, are buried. We know where Lawrence's father, Andrew, is probably buried, but we don't know where his mother, Anna, is buried. Andrew came to America with his uncle, Matthew, and aunt, Jean. We know where Matthew and Jean are buried.

I should have brought along the hand drawn map I received several years ago when I was doing more digging into the Thompsons than I do now. But I honestly didn't think I'd have the time to stop so the idea of bringing along my genealogy materials whooshed through my head like a stiff breeze. When I walked through the older section of the cemetery, I had a vague remembrance of where Anna's grave might be but no clear image. I didn't find Anna but I found another Jean and Janet.

My camera died after taking these two photos. I need to come back and photograph the stones from all angles. In the top photo, I think the small marker on the right side had a name that began with "M". There was, I believe, a Margaret. Again, without the stacks of information I have, I couldn't remember.

These markers are exciting to find. My mom and I have talked about meeting at the cemetery some weekend day with cameras and paper and pencil, to decipher the aging stones and document their location in the cemetery. I took a look at the Google earth view in the hopes that we could use that to mark where everyone rests. It's not the clearest. Still, it's better than nothing and, 5 years ago, we couldn't do that so we will make it work.

Jean, the top marker, was born in Scotland and came over on the boat, the British Bark Sterling. Janet was born shortly after the family arrived in Northeast Iowa.

Time is not a friend to headstones. I wasn't sure if I could scrape that orange stuff off or it I should leave it. I would like to do something that the names and dates will still be visible for years to come. I guess the first step is contacting the cemetery association to see what is and is not allowed. Then, what would it cost to clean these and do some preservation work.

My father rests to the left of the building in the background. He's got a wonderful view of a cornfield and it's peaceful.

Beverage: V8

Deb

It's about time!

Scots Jump for Joy as US Plans to Lift Haggis Ban

I've had the US version of it. Some of it is really good. Some of it would make a landfill cry. It's best served with a whiskey sauce.

Today is Robert Burns' Day, a time when Scots celebrate the life of the man dubbed the poet o' Scotland. He was born on January 25, 1759 and died July 21, 1797. There are all sorts of biographies about him which I will leave to your perusal. You probably know him best as the author of the New Year's Eve ubiquitous anthem "Auld Lang Syne", of which people only know the first verse.

Around this time of year, Scots will have what's called a "Burns Supper" where, in the U.S., a haggis knock off is served. It is usually piped into the room, meaning a bagpiper plays a tune while the haggis is brought into the room. The following is recited before the haggis is cut and served:

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o'need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro' blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
Like taps o' trissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer
Gie her a haggis!

Why haggis? The Scots have always been looked down upon by their English neighbors to the south. Considered beyond rustic, much of their culture was banned after the 1754 uprising lead by Prince Charles Edward Stuart, often referred to as "Bonnie" Prince Charlie. He didn't stand a chance in taking the throne of Scotland for himself but he did succeed in causing widespread hardship for those who supported him.

Haggis was born of hard times. When you don't have much to eat, you will make do with what you have. Is it gross? Well, it depends upon your definition of gross. I don't think it's any grosser than sausage. We all know what goes into that and yet we look forward to our brats and wurst.

I shall look to the east tonight and toast the Thompsons who came over on the British Bark "Sterling" in 1842.

Beverage: Water

Deb

An Anniversary, of sorts

It was roughly 10:30 p.m. last night when yesterday's date actually sunk in. June 17th. 31 years ago, I walked down the aisle of St. Paul Lutheran Church in Monona, Iowa and exchanged my "Thompson" sir name for "Montague". It was a lovely June afternoon. It had poured sheets of rain from 11-11:30 a.m., but settled out to be partly cloudy and the sun shown for the entire ceremony which started, on time, at 1 p.m. We had a small reception of punch, cake, ice cream, mints, nuts in the church fellowship hall and then had a buffet dinner for friends and family at a nearby restaurant. After the dinner, my relatives went back to my parent's house and my new husband and I left for a week-long drive around Lake Superior.

Funny how life changes from one day when you can't think of anything that could possibly go wrong.

Thirty-one years later, I have 2 cats, a job and a mortgage. I eat s'mores for supper because I want to. I can't mow my lawn anymore because the pollen makes me cough. I do wash and dishes when I want to, keep the house as clean as I feel comfortable with, and don't have to answer to anyone about my computer time or TV preferences or where I go and when I'll be back.

And yet...

I had anticipated having a party at that 25 year anniversay. The divorce came right after 20 years. I anticipated that, with Carole moved out and on her own, I'd be planning for retirement in 15 years and actually going places I dreamed of going. My favorite song is "April in Paris" as sung by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. You probably know it if you watched "Blazing Saddles" because Count Basie and his Orchestra did the most well-known version of the song at the end of the movie. I like that version but Ella and Louis' is better.

I always wanted to see Paris in April just because of that song. There is an anecdote floating around that someone corralled the writers of the song and asked, "Why April? You know it's cold and rainy and the flowers haven't really blossomed and you can't sit at an outdoor cafe and really enjoy yourself. Why April?" The writers responded, "April fit with the music." Sounds like a plausible reason to me.

I wanted to visit Scotland, particularly the area where my family came from. I wanted to visit Montreal, to try out my fractured French, and Germany as my mother's father and his family were 100% German. Then I could see if I could speak the German I learned in high school. I figured there would now be time to go to all those museums I never saw, concerts and plays, not that we didn't do those things when Carole was young. Indeed, she was the beneficiary of being dragged to many cultural venues which, I hope, instilled the love of music and learning that she has.

What I miss the most is the conversation with another adult. When a day feels long and you've been stressed almost to or even past your breaking point, coming home to another adult makes all the difference. With all the stresses that I seem to face, sharing them would make it seem that life has not singled me out to make an example of. There is an aphorism which I couldn't find that says how burdens divided are easier to carry. Having someone else about to share the health of the cats or the sadness of all this rain or the pain of an eye infection or the sneezing of a cold just makes it seem less oppressive. I didn't, 31 years ago, walk down the aisle with my father intending to be alone in 2009.

But this is where I find myself. It's neither good nor bad, it just is. "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel both. But being one traveler long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other as just as fair...Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference."

Beverage: English Teatime

Whoooooo Are You?

'Tis a line from Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". The caterpillar asks it of Alice and she bursts into tears trying to figure out the answer given the world in which she finds herself. I decided I best answer the question myself so, when you stumble upon this little blog, you can figure out if you really want to continue reading. There's a "gadget" I can add where I can profile myself, but it's the stuff you only give out to get coupons or to census takers. It doesn't really answer the "Who are you?" question.
Middle-aged and totally gray, is a good start. I have cats. I drink tea, duh. I also drink Dr. Pepper and hot cocoa and Scottish beers.
I own a house and have a wonderful daughter whom I am very proud of.
I have a B.A. in English (as she is spoke, and extra credit if you know from what I lifted that) with a minor in Art. I wanted a minor in Art History, but my college lacked 3 courses to offer that.
My favorite color is royal blue and my favorite flower is the lilac. I grew up on a farm in Northeast Iowa and, around Memorial Day, the lilacs below my bedroom window would bloom. I would fall asleep in the window to that wonderfully heady smell.
I have lived in Chicagoland since 1981, which is the longest I have lived anywhere. But, I have come to realize that "going home" will always mean going back to Iowa.
I am a chocoholic and I love classic jazz. My favorite song is "April in Paris" as sung by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong on the Blue Note release, "Ella and Louis Together". (Last cut, too, by the way.)
I currently read Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" books. I have a long way to go. He's written something like 30+ and I've read, maybe 8 or 9 of them. "Thud" is the current book.
My father's family was from Scotland, Dysart, to be exact. We are "Thomson" over there but the "p" was added in the 1830's. We don't know why. I belong to the Clan Thompson Society and run the clan tent at the Illinois St. Andrew Society's Highland Games in June. My mother's family was Czech and German and we are less certain from where they emmigrated.
I tend to have a warped sense of humor, a fact you will see upon these pages, the more I add to them.
There's more to who I am, but this is a start. My cup of tea is empty which is a signal that perhaps I should be going to bed. I've had a cold for a week and it doesn't get better if I stay up late.

Deb