dual personalities

Tag: family

While the nearer waters roll

by chuckofish

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On this day in 1784 Charles Wesley chartered the Methodist Church in America. He believed he could not wait any longer for the Bishop of London to ordain someone for the American Methodists, who were without the sacraments after the American War of Independence. The Church of England had been disestablished in the United States and had not yet appointed a United States bishop for what would become the Protestant Episcopal Church in America. In a bold move Wesley ordained Thomas Coke by the laying on of hands although Coke was already a priest in the Church of England. Wesley appointed him to be superintendent of Methodists in the United States.

In a side note, Wesleyan University in Middletown, CT (founded in 1831) was the first institution of higher education to be named after John Wesley, the founder of Methodism. About 20 unrelated colleges and universities were subsequently named after Wesley. Several members of our family attended Wesleyan in the 19th century, including the brothers of our great-grandfather William Carnahan. He was thought too sickly to go to college and was sent instead to Colorado for his health.

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He doesn’t look too fragile to me. Anyway, he met our great-grandmother Anna Barnsley Hough in Lake City.

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Several years later they were married in Las Animas, Colorado, moving to Chicago thereafter. Their youngest child was our maternal grandmother.

None of them were Methodists, although you will remember that Anna’s uncle, the Colorado cattle baron, was named…John Wesley Prowers.

This is how my brain works.

Music from the New World

by chuckofish

I am reading The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather. It is very good. Here is a quote about going to see a concert in Chicago, which reminded me of my dual personality and how, when she was a very small child–3 or 4–she got a record of the “New World Symphony” for Christmas.

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She loved it and insisted on listening to it over and over. She would walk around the house singing Dum dum dum dum de dum, dum dum dum dum duuuuuum.

She had been to so few concerts that the great house, the crowd of people, and the lights, all had a stimulating effect…During the first number Thea was so much interested in the orchestra itself, in the men, the instruments, the volume of sound, that she paid little attention to what they were playing. Her excitement impaired her power of listening. She kept saying to herself, “Now I must stop this foolishness and listen; I may never hear this again”; but her mind was like a glass that is hard to focus. She was not ready to listen until the second number, Dvorak’s Symphony in E minor, called on the programme, “From the New World.” The first theme had scarcely been given out when her mind became clear; instant composure fell upon her, and with it came the power of concentration. This was music she could understand, music from the New World indeed! Strange how, as the first movement went on, it brought back to her that high tableland above Laramie; the grass-grown wagon trails the far-away peaks of the snowy range, the wind and the eagles, that old man and the first telegraph message.

When the first movement ended, Thea’s hands and feet were cold as ice. She was too much excited to know anything except that she wanted something desperately, and when the English horns gave out the theme of the Largo, she knew that what she wanted was exactly that. Here were the sand hills, the grasshoppers and locusts, all the things that wakened and chirped in the early morning; the reaching and reaching of high plains, the immeasurable yearning of all flat lands. There was home in it, too; first memories, first mornings long ago; the amazement of a new soul in a new world; a soul new and yet old, that had dreamed something despairing, something glorious, in the dark before it was born; a soul obsessed by what it did not know, under the cloud of a past it could not recall.

Makes me want to listen to the “New World” symphony, how about you? Well, here you go!

“I am not an angel,’ I asserted; ‘and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself.'”*

by chuckofish

My mother was a middle child. She had an older and a younger sister. The younger sister was one of those “surprises” that comes along seven years after the second child and that everyone immediately loves. Born in 1933, Donna was the next best thing to Shirley Temple–adorable.

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1935

When my mother was a sophomore in college and her little sister was 12, she saved her money and had Donna’s portrait taken because she thought she was so beautiful. She gave it to her mother as a surprise for Christmas. Wow. (I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for Sister #1 who probably gave her mother a nice set of hankies or something and no doubt felt a little like Cal in East of Eden when his brother upstages him.) My mother, of course, only wanted to preserve the beauty of her sister for their mother.

This is not "the" picture--I don't have a copy--but here she is graduating from high school.

This is not “the” picture–I don’t have a copy–but here she is graduating from high school.

Daughter #3 was their mother’s favorite and that never bothered my mother. It seemed perfectly natural and understandable. Her good looks were more than matched by her sweet, yet spunky, personality.

Through the years, because my Aunt Donna lived on the east coast and we lived far away in our flyover state, we didn’t see each other very much. When we did, though, she was always glad to see me and made me feel loved and appreciated. When I had long hair, she would ask to brush it and would do so as if it was a privilege. I can’t say that I have ever known anyone else like her in my life. She is like someone out of the Bible. Ruth or Priscilla.

Since my mother died almost 25 years ago, Donna has always been there when our own mother would be particularly missed. She went all the way to England for my sister’s wedding and, as usual, rolled up her sleeves and asked what she could do to help.

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I remember she spent hours with 4 1/2-year old daughter #1 making some sort of floral arrangements and sat with the poor sick 2-year old boy on her lap on the long plane ride home. She was here last summer for the boy’s wedding.

Today my Aunt Donna turns 80. Bless her heart. This calls for champagne!

* The quote is from Jane Eyre, in case you’ve forgotten!

Send me no flowers

by chuckofish

As Valentine’s Day fast approaches, I would just like to say that I hope I do not get a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Nothing says “thoughtless, auto-pilot gift” like roses. Do you know what I mean? They are expensive and let’s just admit it, not so great-looking.

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I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, and my intention is not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I have friends who will say, “Roses are better than nothing!” But I don’t think so.

Don’t get me wrong. I would like something. Tulips from the grocery store. Daisies. A book. A plant. Booze. Red wine, just not red roses.

Okay, yellow roses would be okay. White even. Just not those big honking red ones.

I didn’t mean to rant, but it is just a pet peeve of mine.

Since it is Monday, I will leave you with this adorable picture of the kiddos all dressed up for Valentine’s Day in the not-too-distant past.

valentine kids

I miss those days of the handmade Valentines and the school essays. “I love my Mom because she makes my lunch…”–never very creative, but earnest anyway. I suppose the red roses are the earnest gift of a spouse, and we should not sneeze at that.

William and Mary loved of old

by chuckofish

On this day in 1693, the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia was granted a charter by King William III and Queen Mary II.

William and Mary

Privately founded in 1693 by letters patent issued by King William III and Queen Mary, it is the second-oldest institution of higher education in the United States after Harvard University. (Some at W&M would argue that point.)

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U.S. Presidents Thomas Jefferson, James Monroe, and John Tyler were educated at William and Mary, as well as other key figures important in the development of the nation, including U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall, Speaker of the House Henry Clay, and 16 signers of the Declaration of Independence. And lest we forget, John Stewart is a graduate.

I have a Masters Degree (in history) from the College and spent a year living happily in Williamsburg.

Here is my dual personality in a Williamsburg garden when she visited me during her spring break at Smith.

Here is my dual personality in a Williamsburg garden when she visited me during her spring break at Smith.

I went back almost 30 years later when daughter #2 was visiting colleges in Virginia and North Carolina in 2007. A lot had changed, but much was the same. I was amazed by how little I actually remembered of the campus. Outside of the library and a few classrooms, I guess I didn’t spend a lot of time on campus. I think I had been much more engaged with Colonial Williamsburg, which was and still is a very cool place.

And now for the Interesting Family Sidebar!

Henry Compton, my husband’s ancestor, was the first chancellor of William and Mary (from 1693–1700 and again from 1707–1713). But this long-distance post was the least of his accomplishments!

Henry Compton was born in 1623, the 6th son of Spencer Compton, the Earl of Northampton. He and his brothers all served with their father during the English Civil War (on the Royalist side–boo). After the death of his father at the Battle of Hopton Heath, Henry left the army and made a career in the Church.

Henry_Compton_by_Sir_Godfrey_Kneller,_Bt

He was made Bishop of Oxford in 1674, and in the following year was translated to the see of London. He was also appointed a member of the Privy Council, and entrusted with the education of the two princesses – Mary and Anne. Being a staunch Protestant, he had nothing but trouble with James II, so it is no surprise that at the Glorious Revolution, Henry Compton embraced the cause of William and Mary. Indeed, he was one of the “Immortal Seven” who invited William to invade England. He stepped up and performed the ceremony of their coronation when others would not. His old position was restored to him, and among other appointments, he was chosen as one of the commissioners for revising the liturgy. During the reign of Anne he remained a member of the Privy Council, and was one of the commissioners appointed to arrange the terms of the union of England and Scotland. However, to his bitter disappointment, his claims to the primacy were twice passed over. He died at Fulham on 7 July 1713 and is buried at Compton Wynyates.

The old family home

The old family home

My husband’s progenitor, however, was actually Henry’s adopted son, the son of his cousin John Compton, who died in battle. Typical. Another hero who is merely a cousin! Well, Henry adopted the 14-year old and it was this man, John Compton II, who went to Maryland where Henry had been given a land grant. From afar, Henry helped set up the Anglican Church in Maryland.

As you can see, the Comptons started off rather brilliantly in this country. Unfortunately they went to seed in Kentucky (not without good reason I’m sure) following the Civil War and for some generations were probably akin to some of our favorite characters on “Justified”.

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All families have their ups and downs! It keeps us humble, right?

Rest in peace, Winston Churchill

by chuckofish

As you know, Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill, KG, OM, CH, TD, PC, DL, FRS, Hon. RA was a British politician, best known for his leadership of the United Kingdom during the Second World War. He died on this day in 1965 at the age of 90.

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Widely regarded as one of the greatest wartime leaders of the 20th century, he served as Prime Minister twice (1940–45 and 1951–55). A noted statesman and orator, Churchill was also an officer in the British Army, a historian, a writer, and an artist. He is the only British prime minister to have received the Nobel Prize in Literature and was the first person to be made an Honorary Citizen of the United States.

I remember how really sad my parents (especially my father) were when Winston died. We watched the entire televised funeral.

churchill_funeral

In our family, it was a Big Deal. My father probably used it as an excellent excuse to drink way too much and to entertain gloomy thoughts about the state of the world.

A few years later, my family went to visit the Churchill Memorial in Fulton, Missouri when it opened in 1969. This Church, St. Mary the Virgin Aldermanbury, had stood in London since 1677 when it replaced an earlier structure that had sat on the same site since the 12th century. A magnificent building, it was badly damaged during the London Blitz, and was moved stone by stone to the campus of Westminster College in Fulton and rebuilt to Wren’s original specifications. Beneath this Church is the National Churchill Museum itself. I have always meant to go back.

St Mary Aldermanbury

Maybe this year!

Anyway, a toast to Winston Churchill and to our pater who revered him!

“All the greatest things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honour; duty; mercy; hope.” (1947)

Happy birthday, Mary and Dolly (and Buffy)

by chuckofish

You may recall that tomorrow (January 19) is the birthday of my mother and also of Dolly Parton (and Buffy the Vampire Slayer). I blogged about this last year. I won’t repeat myself, but I thought I’d post a picture of Mary when she was a wistful and athletic college student at Middlebury.

mcc ski

…and a picture of Dolly “in the good old days”.

dollypartoninthegoodolddays

“But there’s a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.”
― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

Happy birthday, ladies!

This and that

by chuckofish

When daughter #2 was home over the Christmas holiday she made a concerted effort to read some contemporary fiction. (You can read about it here.) I told her I would read The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach so we could talk about it, and, always the good mother, I did just that.

Well, I tried to read The Art of Fielding. I really did. I read at least 60 pages before I threw it across the room (metaphorically) and gave up. It is just pretentious showing off in the worst sophomoric way. For instance he gives his characters stupid names: Skrimshander and Starblind and Affenlight. Okay, we get it; you read Moby Dick. And I just couldn’t take the way he always writes “freshperson” instead of “freshman”, as in “freshperson year”. Please. The characters and story were not enough to overlook these minor irritations I’m afraid. Life is too short for this drivel. And, hey, baseball-as-a-metaphor-for-life has been done many times before, and by far better writers.

Sorry, daughter #2. I tried (but not very hard).

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Luckily, I took the advice of my niece Ellen and sent away for The Solace of Open Spaces by Gretel Ehrlich. What a find! This is beautiful prose at its best…and about Wyoming! It is a deep and true and pitch-perfect observation of Life. How could I not love a book by someone who writes, “I met my husband at a John Wayne film festival in Cody, Wyoming”?

Gretel Ehrlich is a writer from California, who went to Bennington, UCLA film school and the School for Social Research in NYC. But she left all that baggage behind when she went to Wyoming looking for solace and discovered that “true solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.” She is no sophomore.

Meanwhile, my Saturday estate-sale-ing turned up no Big Finds, but some good books.

booksJan

Have a great week and happy reading!

The end of the week approacheth

by chuckofish

This has been my first full week back at work since the holidays ended and my daughters returned to their far-flung homes on the east coast. I have half-heartedly assumed my usual routine–and I am a routine person–but it is always hard to get back into the swing of things after an extended time off with my girls.

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I try to keep in mind what Emerson wrote:

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety. Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt, crept in. Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”

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So I do my best to own the day!

Did I mention that it rained all day yesterday? Thank goodness it was in the 50s, so no snow. Today they say it may get up to 66-degrees. Hello. Carpe diem.

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

by chuckofish

Did I mention that we got a lot of great DVDs for Christmas? Well, we did. This should not be surprising to our readers.

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When I was growing up Christmas was about exchanging books and records (LPs–remember?) Many jokes were made about those oddly shaped packages–was it a coloring book?! Oh, hahaha. Later CDs took the place of LPs and lately there haven’t been many of either, what with iPods and downloading to iTunes.

This year daughter #2 gave me an actual CD–The Lumineers–and it was a big hit! I have listened to it non-stop in my car. (Yes, I am an old-fashioned girl. I still listen to CDs in my car.)

Anyway, it is good to have a new bunch of DVDs from which to choose. When daughter #2 leaves this weekend for the east coast, I will have some solace to fall back upon. (Unfortunately, some of those DVDs are hers so they will be going with her.) Sigh.