dual personalities

Tag: family

‘If Candlemas be bright and clear There’ll be two winters in that year’*

by chuckofish

It rained all day Saturday, so I stayed home and puttered around the house. I would probably not have ventured out at all, but the old man and I had tickets to attend the “Elegant Italian Dinner” at our church.

Every year the youth of the parish (and their parents) put on this dinner to raise money for their annual spring mission trip. Frighteningly, this was the nineteenth such dinner. All three of my children participated in this dinner and so did I–usually in the kitchen, serving up the plates and washing dishes.

So now it is nice to go and sit at a table with friends and be on the receiving end.

Everyone comes to this party and by Everyone I mean even the Old Man.

Everyone comes to this party and by Everyone I mean even the Old Man.

It is always the same menu: salad and lasagna and Italian bread with some fancy desserts thrown in. “Elegant” means they use real china and hang up some strings of twinkly white lights in Albright Hall. There are checkered tableclothes and candles in chianti bottles. You get the picture. The teenage waiters wear white shirts, black pants and bow ties. Oh my.

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Everyone goes home at 9 o’clock. And, thank you, I would rather attend this function than any society ball or self-aggrandizing academic ceremony you can name.

On Sunday we watched the Super Bowl with some other like-minded, football-indifferent friends. I rooted for Peyton Manning and his Broncos, but was uninvested really in the outcome. (Ever since the Rams lost that heart-breaker in Super Bowl XXXVI and Kurt Warner moved to Phoenix, I haven’t cared much about football.) It was a major bummer, nevertheless, that Peyton’s team lost and lost Big Time, but oh well. It is just football. We enjoyed seeing our hometown Clydesdales in the latest AB commercial. However, my favorite (besides the Oikos Full House reunion) was the Go Daddy commercial with the running bodybuilders.

Now our local weather wizards are saying we’ll have more snow this week. But Candlemas was dark and dreary, so I hope that means that we will NOT have two winters. However, I see that Punxsutawney Phil predicted six more weeks of winter, much to the chagrin of everyone hoping for an early spring. Conflicting superstitions. C’est la vie.

How was your weekend?

* Charles Causley

How the West Was Won

by chuckofish

Today is the 176th anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite ancestors, John Wesley Prowers, who was born on January 29, 1838 near Westport, Jackson County, Missouri.

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Readers of this blog will recall that John was the older brother of our great-great-grandmother Mary Prowers Hough. Not much is known about their parents, Susan and John Prowers. Some say they came from Virginia, arriving in Missouri where John built a sturdy two-story log cabin near the Missouri River, which stood for nearly 75 years. The senior Prowers died (we know not why) in 1840, leaving 22-year-old Susan alone (literally) in the wilderness with two children under two and very little else save the sturdy cabin. She re-married–what else could she do?

Anyway, John Wesley Prowers did not get along with his step-father and skidaddled in 1856, at the age of eighteen. He went to work for Robert Miller, Indian agent for the Kiowa, Comanche, Apache, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of the Upper Arkansas region. They headed for Bent’s new fort. Soon he was working for Colonel Bent at the fort, who put him in charge of the wagon trains, freighting supplies from the trading posts on the Missouri to those west, making twenty-two trips across the plains over the next six years.

In 1861 he married the 15-year-old Indian “princess” Amache Ochinee, the daughter of Ochinee, a sub-chief of the Southern Cheyennes, near Camp Supply in Indian Territory. In 1862 when John made his usual trip to Westport he took his bride east with him and she remained there with his sister, giving birth to their first child. They named the baby Mary Hough Prowers after her aunt (my great-great-grandmother, Mary Prowers Hough)–which has been confusing genealogists ever since.

The Prowers went on to have nine children, eight surviving to adulthood. John became a cattle baron, building up his herds until at the fall round-up of his ranch, the cattle shipment was a matter of train loads, not carloads. Sometimes, according to his daughter, as many as eight train loads left the ranch for eastern markets. At one time, the fall “check-up” showed 70,000 cattle bearing the Box B and the Bar X brands. Later Prowers cut out the middle man, building his own modern slaughter-house in Las Animas.

For a man with very little formal education, he was a creative and scientific rancher/statesman. He was always trying to improve his herd and his ranch. He experimented to find the cattle best suited to the plains country, bringing cattle from Ireland (the Kurry breed) and he bought “Gentle the Twelfth” from Frederick William Stone of Guelph, Canada. At last he turned to the Hereford as the best North American beef animal, calling it the “American type.” Thus he set about systematically improving and enlarging his herds and acquiring larger range. During his lifetime he fenced 80,000 acres of land in one body and owned forty miles of river front on both sides of the Arkansas River, controlling 400,000 acres of land.

He liked to experiment with things other than cattle as well. He introduced prairie chickens and Bob White quail at the mouth of the Purgatoire River. Hoping to increase the wild game in the county he brought in white tail deer. He also experimented with irrigation, having miles of ditches dug on his ranch.

Unlike his sister, who was a devout Baptist, he belonged to no church or lodge, but he always gave generously to resident pastors, no matter what denomination. He founded a bank and had numerous partners who ran stores and shipping operations. He was elected to represent the county in the Legislature and again to represent Bent County in the General Assembly. Furthermore, he sent all his children, boys and girls, to school and to college.

My great-great-grandmother was a great believer in women’s rights and the need for women to be educated and to have their own property. I have no reason to believe that her brother didn’t feel the same way. I’m sure this stemmed from their own mother’s predicament when her husband died.

When a new county was created from Bent County on May 3, 1889, it was named for Prowers, the pioneer and cattleman. I could go on about this great man, and I haven’t even mentioned his dealings with the Cheyenne, but that’s enough for now. Tonight let us raise a toast to him in remembrance.

These words, attributed to the great warrior Tecumseh, seem appropriate:

“Live your life so that the fear of death can never enter your heart…Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and in the service of your people…Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself…
When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose lives are filled with the fear of death, so that when time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”

John Prower's 14-room house in Boggsville, Colorado

John Prower’s 14-room house in Boggsville, Colorado

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Grant us strength and courage*

by chuckofish

How was your weekend?

I started mine off by going to a “Mass of Remembrance” (in other words, a Memorial Service) on Friday for the daughter of a friend of mine–a sad occasion, indeed.

However, I have to say that I, who am not easily shocked these days, was shocked to find out that this R.C. church uses white wine in the Eucharist service! (The explanation was that it is easier to clean and does not stain the linen.) Heavens to Betsy! What is the world coming to? I would sooner drink grape juice with the Baptists than white wine at communion. Gluten-free wafers and white wine. I will spare you more grumbling…but honestly what’s next?

I watched Hondo on Friday night and that cheered me up.

Then I had lunch with the boy on Saturday.

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We went to Steak ‘N Shake which never lets you down.

Sunday was the pick day weather-wise with blue sky and temperatures in the fifties! I went to church but skipped our 155th Annual Meeting. I walked around my favorite antique mall and then took a long walk around our flyover town in the afternoon and then did some world-class puttering around our house. I caught up on my “desk work” as my Aunt Susanne used to call it.

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All in all, not a bad weekend!

“Guard well your spare moments. They are like uncut diamonds. Discard them and their value will never be known. Improve them and they will become the brightest gems in a useful life.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Flyover yard art

Flyover yard art

* BCP, Post-Communion Prayer

Tout va bien

by chuckofish

One of my favorite bloggers was cogitating the other day on the question: “If you could give one piece of advice to your teenage self, what would it be?” This is pretty funny considering old Leandra is still in her early twenties.

Looking back over a much longer expanse of years (!), I would have plenty to say to the poor, pitiful, mini-skirted me of the 1970s.

Striped knee socks were cool! Really.

Striped knee socks were cool! Really.

My 40th high school reunion is coming up this May, so I have actually been thinking about it.

First and Foremost: Do not worry so much about what other people think of you! My dual personality never worried about this, and for years she would say to me in a tone of mild disgust, “Why do you care what other people think?” Well, I don’t know why, but I just did. Some people are born caring about that.

It is, however, another one of those things you can train yourself not to do. But it takes years and a lot of effort. Well into my fifties now, I have pretty much succeeded in doing so and not caring is, indeed, freeing.

I think Holden Caulfield suffered from this too:

“I was sixteen then, and I’m seventeen now, and sometimes I act like I’m about thirteen. Sometimes, I act a lot older than I am–I really do. But people never notice it. People never notice anything.”*

I could relate back then, and I still do. Isn’t it natural to want recognition? I certainly did as a teenager. Other people always seemed to get the credit. Our headmaster once even thanked another girl for heading up some event for which I was co-chair. He was a doofus, but it was typical. Oh well, c’est la vie. By the time I graduated from high school, I couldn’t wait to leave, and that is as it should be.

I have learned though that ultimately none of it matters. Not in the long run. And the old saying about how you can get a lot done if you don’t care who gets the credit, is SO true. I embrace it.

Is this what Jung meant when he wrote, “The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it.”

What would you tell your teenage self?

* The Catcher in the Rye

“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks”*

by chuckofish

Happy MLK Day! A three-day weekend is most welcome, n’est-ce pas?

I am enjoying my Monday at home. Hope you are as well.

Yesterday after church I convinced my old man to drive to West Alton to the Riverlands Migratory Bird Sanctuary, located at the confluence of the Missouri, Illinois and Mississippi Rivers. It is primetime for watching Bald Eagles and Trumpeter Swans.

Here is a cool video about the awesome Mississippi Flyway:

http://riverlands.audubon.org/videos/spectacle-birds

It was very crowded at the Audubon Center (which is lovely), so we didn’t stay too long, but headed north up the Great River Road.

We saw a lot of eagles. (You know how I feel about raptors.) And eagles are the coolest, right?

“…and there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he forever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than the other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.”

(H. Melville)

Someone else's cool picture of a Bald Eagle on the Mississippi Flyway

Someone else’s cool picture of a Bald Eagle on the Mississippi Flyway

I did not take any good pictures with my iPhone, although I tried (see below).

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But they were there. The river was filled with chunks of ice.

ice

We drove all the way up through Elsah and Grafton to Pere Marquette State Park and stopped for lunch at the historic Lodge,

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but the wait would have been too long, so we headed back down the road and home to terra cognita and our local Schneithorst’s Bavarian Koffee Haus. It was not crowded.

On my own “Road to Oscar” travels, I watched the movie Nebraska this weekend.

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It is a “comedy-drama” starring Bruce Dern and Will Forte and is directed by Alexander Payne. It was nominated for the Palme d’Or at the 2013 Cannes Film Festival, where Bruce Dern won the Best Actor Award. It has also been nominated for 6 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor and Best Supporting Actress, and Best Original Screenplay. My guess is it won’t win anything except maybe the screenplay award. We’ll see.

I can’t say I was impressed. It is one of those movies where nothing much happens and is, therefore, “arty”. Plus, it is in black and white, and that makes it even arty-er. It is also about people who live in flyover country, so they are all kind of stupid, vulgar and boring. (I live in flyover country and I do not know anyone like the people in this movie; they are what people who live on the East/West coasts think people in flyover country are like.) The only person who is at all nice is the son played by Will Forte. I kept waiting for something to happen, for the Bruce Dern character to finally have a say, but he never comes out of his dementia-fog. Why the French thought him worthy of the Best Actor award, I’ll never know.

It held my interest–mostly because I was waiting for a pay-off (none came)–and I have to say, my old man sat through the whole thing without a break. That is saying something. However, he didn’t like it either.

I also watched, per my recommendation on Friday, Buffy’s season 4 birthday episode with Giles as a fyoral demon.

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It was a much better choice.

P.S. The Broncos won–go, my man, Peytie Pie!

Eagles Broncos Football

*Gandalf

Ehu fugaces labuntur anni*

by chuckofish

My siblings and I grew up in our lovely Midwestern city with two transplanted, New England parents. My father didn’t seem to miss his homeland that much — he didn’t really talk about it — but our mother felt like an exile (and actually used that word from time to time). She missed her family, yes, but her longing went deeper than that.

Mother had the heart of an explorer; oh, how she missed the New England mountains, woods, and waters! Emerson could have been describing her when he wrote:

We need the tonic of wildness…At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable.

While the longing for home, ski slopes, hiking trails, and canoes remained unfulfilled, Mother was not one to give up and do nothing. So with children in tow she set about exploring, usually on Sundays after church and usually unaccompanied by Father. We struggled up Forest Park’s version of Angel Falls.

For a four or five year old the path seemed incredibly arduous, muddy, and steep. All the way up I wondered what we would find at the top. It turned out to be just a field, but it seemed to exist in another world  — certainly not one just a few blocks from my house.

We visited the Park in all seasons. We went sledding, ice-skating, and boating at least once — maybe only once because we children behaved badly. But some places, such as the Jewel Box, we visited repeatedly.

jewel-box-forest-park-st-louis-1I particularly enjoyed this survival of the World’s Fair, since I cold run around on the paths, hide, and jump out at people (I regret to say, not always my family members). The Art Museum was one of my favorite destinations and there I developed a fascination for mummies, endless corridors of empty furnished rooms, and beautiful staircases to nowhere.

like this one, but not this one

like this one, but not this one

Mysterious spaces full of treasures.

Sometimes we just got in the car and drove until we got lost. Once we found an abandoned quarry with a lake of pink mud, a slough of despond if ever there was.

like this, but not this

like this, but not this

The rocks we threw into the slurry disappeared without trace. That trip scared me and gave me nightmares.

Sometimes we got a bit further afield and went to a state park like Elephant Rocks

I think Father came on this trip

I think Father came on this trip

That one made an impression on me because I almost got stuck trying to squeeze through a narrow passage in the rocks. I was not a skinny kid.

I could go on and on — I haven’t even touched books, movies, and baseball —  but I must say that except for the occasional moments of terror (e.g. pink mud and narrow spaces), I loved these outings. Until recently I probably would have said that my childhood was pretty boring and that time lagged horribly during long, hot summers, but I now realize that we actually did quite a bit when I was little. My mother managed to make even the twentieth trip to the Historical Society or the Art Museum interesting. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, these outings helped me develop a keen imagination and various interests. Quite by accident, I learned plenty, too.

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And if there was sometimes an element of desperation in my mother’s efforts, well, she had reason. But I know she also enjoyed herself, too, because she loved to learn and be with her children.

What childhood outings do you remember best?

*Alas, the fleeting years slip by (Horace).

 

 

 

Darlin’, pardon me

by chuckofish

Some people, like my dual personality, have inconvenient birthdays right before Christmas. Other people, like daughter #3, have birthdays too soon right after Christmas. Hers is January 6, and what with the polar vortex dropping a foot of snow on our flyover town, we were not able to celebrate until last night.

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So, darlin’, happy belated birthday! You are a good sport to come over on a Monday night for toasted ravioli and salad and mini cheesecakes! Best wishes for a fantastic year!

“If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal- that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.”

― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches*

by chuckofish

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Yes, yesterday we had a blizzard.

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I ventured out in my trusty college boots, but the snow was way over the rolled cuffs of my jeans and the wind was howling so I headed back inside.

I put away the rest of the Christmas decorations–back to the basement–and tidied up. A blizzard is a great time to get one’s house back in order.

I also responded to some new interest in my old blogpost on the Sand Creek Massacre. The comments section was blowing up! I heard from a Japanese-American who lived as a child in the Amache Internment Camp during WWII and also from a retired history teacher who lived in Lamar, Colorado. It is amazing how the internet connects people.

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Blizzards are also excellent for encouraging reading without guilt. I finished re-reading Sackett by Louis L’Amour. L’Amour, you will recall, was the author of 89 novels, 14 short-story collections, and two full-length works of nonfiction and was considered “one of the world’s most popular writers” during his lifetime. A lot of what he wrote is not that great, but I like Hondo and Sackett. As I have said before, sometimes you are just not in the mood for great literature and need a good yarn.

“People who live in comfortable, settled towns with law-abiding citizens and a government to protect them, they never think of the men who came first, the ones who went through hell to build something.

“I tell you, ma’am, when my time comes to ride out, I want to see a school over there with a bell in the tower, and a church, and I want to see families dressed up of a Sunday, and a flag flying over there. And if I have to do it with a pistol, I’ll do it!”

Sackett–a man after my own heart.

Today, of course, is a snow day as there is no getting out of our driveway. Daughter #2 and I shall attempt to clear it. Onward and upward.

*e.e. cummings

The family that plays together stays together

by chuckofish

Studies show that spending leisure time with one’s family – be it playing a game of Scrabble or taking a road trip – enhances the quality of life and the relationships at home. No kidding.

Here are a few pictures of my older brother and his two children literally “playing” together when they gathered from across the country (and from Spain!) during the holidays.

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Fulbright scholar Foster and his old Pappy

Fulbright scholar Foster and his old Pappy

Picking and grinning with geologist daughter Ellen

Picking and grinning with geologist daughter Ellen

They have been playing together since they were little tykes and by now they are pretty good indeed.

Alas, we are not musicians in our family. My children did participate in band in middle school and two into high school, but none of them ultimately continued on with the clarinet, flute or violin. They all sang in the choir as well, but only the boy went on into high school with that. (He put the kobash on a Broadway career, because he thought it would be embarrassing.) I have encouraged him to re-join the adult choir at church, but, for now, that is but a pipe dream of his mother’s. Sigh.

We do not play board games in our family either. We tried that when the children were young, but the boy became hysterical when he lost, so we had to abandon games and we never went back for them. I have never been a game person myself–too many rules to learn.

But we have done plenty of playing I think. And by that I mean talking. We watch movies together and talk about them. Some families go hunting together or ski or fish. Some cook or hike. Or shop. Whatever.

It is the “together” that is important and not what you do I think. What do you do together as a family?

You know something, Wally? I’d rather do nothin’ with you than somethin’ with anybody else.
–Theodore “Beaver” Cleaver

Back to the salt mines or You’ve got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone*

by chuckofish

Having gotten up at 4 a.m. to drive daughter #1 to the airport to catch an early flight back to NYC, I am now heading off to the salt mines where I may get a bit of rest after all the holiday hoopla.

Last week is kind of a blur. A blur filled with parties,

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gift giving (and receiving),

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eating too much , drinking more than usual,

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shopping a lot, going to church (even a funeral)

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and talking pretty much non-stop.

We also watched Mary Poppins and the next night saw Saving Mr. Banks, which I enjoyed very much.

I was in the third grade when I first saw Mary Poppins in 1964.

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We went to see it at the fabulous Fox Theatre downtown for my dual personality’s 6th birthday. We went to the University Club for dinner first. It was a huge deal. The build-up was big. We must have been so excited. I just remember loving it–every minute–and being so sad when it was over. And wanting to go again, which we did.

When was the last time you felt like that at the end of a movie?

While you’re mulling over this question, here’s a little something fun from the Ashmoelean Museum at Oxford:

* Bert in Mary Poppins