Fertilizing the Family Tree

Posted on February 7, 2014 by Kathleen Fox

When my younger stepdaughter and my daughter were both in third grade, they had a class assignment to draw family trees. My stepdaughter’s tree was a small one, including only her mother, her father, her sister, and her brother. My daughter’s tree was more like a fat Christmas spruce with an over-abundance of ornaments. She included her father, me, her brother, her stepdad, her stepsisters and stepbrother, their stepbrothers and stepsister on their mother’s side, our cat, and her stepsister’s stepdad’s dog.

Deciding who is entitled to perch on a branch of your family tree isn’t always a simple thing. In our family, now that those earnest third-graders and their siblings are adults with kids of their own, it hasn’t become any simpler. We just keep adding inlaws, grandkids, cousins, and significant others. (Does anybody have “insignificant others,” do you suppose? I hope not.) Enough of these extended family members are step-whomevers so that most of the time it’s easier to drop the “step” part and just think of them as what they are: family.

And it doesn’t stop there. My partner’s mother, for instance, who died recently at age 96, had only a small family of her own. But in the last years of her life, the definition of “family” in her life changed. A woman who originally helped her with house cleaning and errands, then took on more and more care of her as her health declined, eventually became a close and loving adopted daughter. She didn’t come alone, either. She brought her children and grandchildren, and all of them blessed a rather solitary woman’s house and life with people, activity, and lots of love. If that doesn’t qualify as “family,” I don’t know what does. Branches are branches, even when they have been grafted onto the family tree.

All those branches, of course, have to be supported by roots. To some extent, we define our families by where we came from. In my case, one grandmother immigrated from Germany and the other’s parents were both born in Norway. My grandfathers, whose ancestors came to this country much earlier, aren’t quite as easy to categorize.

But we’re about to find out more. We’re participating in the National Geographic Genographic Project. By testing DNA samples, it can tell us more about where our ancestors came from, where in the world they went across the generations, and what racial mix we are. It can even reveal whether we have Neanderthal ancestry. Who wouldn’t want to know that?

It will take a while to get the results, but there’s one thing I already know. This knowledge is going to expand the roots that support our family trees. A good thing, too. At the rate we keep adding branches, we need the broadest root system we can find. Neanderthals and all.

Categories: Family | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

Pedals to the Metal

Posted on January 24, 2014 by Kathleen Fox

The idea hit me somewhere between Last Chance and Brush, Colorado. The former used to be the last chance to get ice cream, but now it isn’t even that, just a place with a few houses and boarded-up buildings where travelers on north-south Highway 71 have to stop before they cross east-west Highway 36. Brush, on the other hand, is a perfect place for a mid-trip break. It has wide, tree-lined streets that make it a pleasant place for a walk, and there’s a restaurant on Main Street where in the past few years the owners and menus have changed three times but the low prices and tiny but clean bathrooms have stayed the same.

Anyway, the idea. Driving from South Dakota to New Mexico and back gives a person plenty of opportunities for thinking. Especially if you happen to be the one driving and your companion happens to be sleeping. This idea came to me on the second day of our recent trip home, as I was marching in place with my feet to restore the circulation in my legs and trying to turn the other cheek in a way that might relieve the numbness in portions of my posterior.

What this country needs is a new kind of hybrid car. One with pedals. Think Fred Flintstone, only high-tech.

Not being an automotive engineer, I’m a little vague on the details, but here’s the concept. Install foot pedals for both the driver and at least the front-seat passenger, rather like those stationary bike pedals you can put in front of your chair to use while you watch TV. Just hit the road, set the cruise control, and start pedaling like Lance Armstrong. Skip the performance-enhancing substances, please. The energy you produce would go to some sort of generator or battery and help operate the car.

The impact on your gas mileage probably wouldn’t be a lot, but at today’s prices every little bit would help. And the biggest benefit would be to your health. If you put the pedals to the metal fast enough, you might even burn sufficient calories to munch on classic road-trip food like sunflower seeds or corn nuts without guilt.

I suppose the argument could be made that this might distract the driver. But I don’t see that pedaling would be any more of a distraction than radio station surfing, listening to audio books, refereeing fights among the kids in the back seat, or moaning about your aching legs and backside.

The engineers would need to work out a few little details, like how to transfer energy from the pedals to the engine, and where to put the pedals, and whether they would need to be retractable, and how to easily adjust them for different-sized drivers. But, hey, solving little problems like that is exactly the kind of challenge that engineers love.

The hybrid pedal car, for better gas mileage and healthier traveling. It’s an idea whose time has come. And I’m sure an entrepreneur wanting to start a factory could get a great deal on a building in Last Chance, Colorado.

Categories: Travel | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

A Little Too Close and Personal

Posted on January 10, 2014 by Kathleen Fox

When I was a kid, going to the circus was a big deal. In Winner, South Dakota, in the 1950’s and 1960’s, the circus wasn’t held in a “big top.” It was in the open air at the baseball field. Since the field was lighted, it was a perfect venue for an outdoor circus, especially at night.

I remember being awed by the elephants striding across the ground with ponderous dignity, carrying beautiful women in splendid clothes. I remember watching the aerialists out over the field, high above our heads. Their costumes glittered in the lights as they swung from trapezes, twisting and twirling and flinging themselves through the air. It was breathtaking. It was beautiful. It was magical.

Then one year, when I was probably ten or eleven, for some reason the circus was held indoors. I remember walking into the Winner city auditorium with my sisters, scurrying through the crowd, almost overwhelmed by the people and the noise, and finally finding room to squeeze into one of the upper rows of the packed bleachers.

In this makeshift space, even our upper bleacher seats were like being in the front row. The elephants were only a few feet away. The aerial acts were almost at eye level. Instead of seeing the performers as remote creatures, way up in the air in the spotlights, we were up close and personal.

And I was shocked.

The elephants were still dignified. But their skin looked worn and rough, their headdresses were a little dingy, and, to put it bluntly, they smelled really awful.

The aerialists were no longer the beautiful, fairy-like flying creatures I expected. They were dreadfully ordinary, even plain. The flowing golden hair on some of the women was clearly dyed. Some of them even looked old—maybe as ancient as 40 or so. Their glamorous costumes, seen that close, didn’t look much different from swim suits. Some of them had obviously been mended. The sequins lost much of their sparkle in the everyday indoor lighting.

Even worse, I started to recognize performers from one act to the next. It was disconcerting to realize that “Madame Yvette” with her dancing poodles was the very same woman I had just seen swinging from a trapeze as part of the “Flying Santorinis.”

Without the lights and the distance, the illusion that helped make the acts so marvelous was destroyed. The reality was such a disappointment that I lost much of my childhood enthusiasm for the circus. I had seen too much of it, too close. The magic was gone.

I’ve been to a few circuses since then. I’ve enjoyed them. But I’ve never recaptured my early awe and wonder. I know too much about the reality behind the illusion.

I clearly remember the last time I went to a circus. Unbelievably, it was 25 years ago. It was the first time I met my soon-to-be stepchildren. Believe me, there were plenty of illusions involved on that occasion.

Thank goodness that, over the years, we’ve grown to know each other well enough to get past most of those illusions. It hasn’t always been an easy process. But the closer we have become, the more we have learned to value reality.

Just think about the distance it takes to maintain our illusions about other people. A couple you know slightly might seem to have a perfect marriage. Unless you get close, you have know way to know what really goes on between them. I used to see other stepfamilies who seemed to be doing everything right. As I got to know them better, I realized most of them had the same struggles and challenges that we did.

This week we enjoyed a performance of “Hairspray” by a local theatre group. The singers and dancers were graceful, energetic, and polished. Whether they were veterans or this was their first time on stage, they all looked confident and comfortable. It wasn’t until after the show, when dozens of cast members surged into the theatre lobby on a wave of adrenaline, that we could feel the nervous energy they must have been feeling. From the audience, we weren’t aware of the sweaty palms and the shaking knees.

There’s a time and place for illusion, and I greatly appreciate the many performers who put so much discipline and practice into creating illusions that we can enjoy. But I have come to appreciate even more the reality behind those illusions. Whether it’s a show, a job, or a family, the most incredible performances are the ones given by people who show up, day after day, and do what they do.

Who have the courage, the grace, and the heart to do what needs to be done—and even to make it look easy. To get up close and personal. To live with reality—even when some of its sequins are missing.

Because reality, I now know, is where the real magic happens.

Categories: Family, Living Consciously, Remembering When | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

Little People at the Holiday Table

Posted on December 27, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

Sitting around the breakfast table on Christmas morning over our traditional homemade cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and bacon, I had an epiphany. (Is it permissible to have an epiphany on Christmas Day, or does it have to wait until January 6? Maybe it’s okay as long as it’s an epiphany with a small “e.”)

Anyway, it happened about the time I was eating my fourth (or fifth or thirteenth—but who’s counting?) piece of bacon and watching the three newest participants in this particular tradition. The two-and-a-half-year-old, having rejected the unabridged dictionary as a booster seat, was on his knees in a chair of his own. The two littler ones, just past one and not quite one, were on their mother’s laps. They intercepted bites of egg with surprising tidiness and did their best to get a full share of the bacon. They seemed enthusiastic about the cinnamon rolls, too—though I did have some suspicions about my daughter’s request for a third one “because the baby ate all of the last one.”

And that’s when I had the small-e epiphany. “Oh my gosh. We’re going to need a kids’ table.”

One of the biggest blessings in my life right now is having two of my kids and their growing families living right here in Rapid City. And that means, one of these years, at family gatherings we will need an extra table for short people. A place where they can skip their green beans without anyone noticing, decorate their fingertips with black olives, and giggle a lot over conversations not meant for adult ears.

Just to be clear, in my experience the point of having a kids’ table isn’t to segregate squirmy small people with rudimentary table manners away from the good china and crystal. It’s more about squeezing people into the available space. At family gatherings when I was growing up, the kids were put at the kitchen table and card table because the dining room table, even expanded with all its leaves, would only hold 12 or 14.

It was usually fun at the kids’ table, of course. And sometimes educational. I remember one discussion about whether some red stuff in a little bowl was jelly or Jell-O. No one wanted to be the first to taste it. When someone finally got brave and tried half a spoonful, we still weren’t sure. (All these years later, I assume it must have been cranberry sauce.)

Still, I always felt I was missing out by not being at the adult table, because so many family members were and are such great storytellers. I loved hearing their stories, and every time I heard a burst of laughter from the dining room I assumed I had just missed one.

So at our house, when we do need a kids’ table, I hope we have room to put it at just the right distance from the adults’ table. It’s a delicate balance. They need to be far enough away so we can pretend we don’t hear or see what they’re doing. Yet I’d like them close enough so, if they want to, they can easily eavesdrop on our conversations. It’s just one more way of passing along the family stories. Especially, perhaps, the ones we don’t necessarily intend them to hear.

Categories: Family, Food and Drink, Living Consciously, Remembering When | Tags: , , | 1 Comment

Crossing Words

Posted on December 20, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

An important anniversary is almost here—the celebration of an event that brings joy and satisfaction to millions of people.

Christmas? Oh, yeah, that’s coming soon, too. But before it arrives, those of us who love to play with words have another occasion to observe. Saturday, December 21, is the 100th birthday of something that has meant even more to American breakfast tables than the toaster.

It’s the centennial of the American crossword puzzle.

The first simple crosswords appeared in England during the last few decades of the 1800’s. A journalist from Liverpool named Arthur Wynne published what he called a “word-cross” puzzle in the New York World on December 21, 1913. That was just the beginning. Other newspapers began printing the puzzles, and by the 1920’s, crossword puzzles had become a fad. They were the cat’s meow, the berries, the bee’s knees. Some local trains even put dictionaries in their club cars to accommodate crossword-solving commuters.

Not everyone considered this a good thing. The New York Public Library’s report for 1921 huffed that “the puzzle ‘fans’ swarm to the dictionaries and encyclopedias so as to drive away readers and students who need these books in their daily work, can there be any doubt of the Library’s duty to protect its legitimate readers?”

In 1924, The New York Times complained that puzzles were a “sinful waste” and that solvers “get nothing out of it except a primitive form of mental exercise . . . .” The newspaper itself didn’t start publishing crosswords until 1942. With an irony that word-lovers have to appreciate, the puzzles in The New York Times are now regarded as the gold standard for challenging crosswords.

If you want to learn more about the history of the crossword puzzle, you can browse here. Even better, here’s a link from Parade magazine where you can print a copy of Wynne’s first puzzle and solve it in his honor. (Note: It’s not as easy as it looks.)

And this weekend, as you enjoy your newspaper, take a second to lift your coffee cup in honor of Arthur Wynne. If you know that a dagger can be called a “snee,” that a black cuckoo is an “ani,” and that a pasture is a “lea,” it’s probably due to him. If you have ever called yourself a “cruciverbalist,” it’s because of Mr. Wynne.

And if you regularly exchange cross words with your sweetheart over the breakfast table, you now know who to bla—thank.

Categories: Words for Nerds | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Camo–Can You See It Now?

Posted on December 13, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

Hunters everywhere, rejoice. You have now become cool. Well, at least your clothes have.

According to fashion experts cited in an Associated Press article that came out about the time fall hunting season started, camouflage is in. It’s the new plaid. The new paisley, even. Apparently it has sneaked away from outfitters like Cabela’s and L. L. Bean and slipped inconspicuously into the world of haut couture.

The article used phrases like “sexy take on the classic hunter look,” and “edgy but completely neutral.” The experts were excited about wearing camo in “a slick urban way,” whatever that may mean. They suggested various color options, from blush for evening wear to cartoon colors for kids.

They did, however, caution that orange is a bit cliched. That blaze orange hunting cap you’ve had for ages? Sorry. Time to ditch it in favor of something neutral, perhaps accented with a “pop of navy or yellow.”

And those style gurus must be right, because even I have noticed the camo as I’ve been Christmas shopping. Browsing through gauzy women’s scarves, for example. Half of them were camo prints in muted, ladylike browns and greens. I haven’t seen this myself, but apparently this fall’s fashion lines included camo cocktail dresses. The perfect option, I suppose, if you want to disappear into the crowd at your spouse’s office Christmas party.

Apparently another designer has come up with camouflage fake-fur coats. The true woodland wilderness experience, twice removed. At least the jackets aren’t real fur, which would be truly tactless. The original wearers of that fur might take it as adding insult to injury.

It seems to me there are some risks in this style trend. Take just one: toddlers in camo. They already can vanish in a millisecond the instant you turn your back. Who needs to make that easier by putting them in camouflage?

There is, however, one form of camo clothing that they should have been making a long time ago. Underwear. It’s the perfect answer for hikers, especially female hikers. That way, when you need to retire behind a bush for a private moment, you can go in perfect confidence that no one will see you.

At least if you don’t commit a camo fashion faux pas by wearing orange.

Categories: Fashion, Wild Things | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

Smart Washing

Posted on December 6, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

That Maytag repairman from the old TV ads who never saw anyone because the machines so seldom needed repairs? If he were still around, he’d probably be lonelier than ever.

Not because washers are even more reliable than they used to be (though having just bought a new one, I certainly hope that’s the case). But because repairing today’s washers means knowing as much about electronics and computers as about plumbing and pipe wrenches. And, let’s face it, while the lonely repairman seemed like a really nice guy, he didn’t exactly appear to be a tech wizard.

Our new washer, only one step above the low-end model, is about as basic as washers get these days. Even so, I’m sure it has more computing technology than NASA did when it was sending men to the moon. It’s a very smart washer. And that’s not all. It has opinions. It is strongly committed to preserving the environment, and it is very safety-conscious.

It’s so smart that it doesn’t need me to tell it how big a given load is. In fact, it won’t even allow me to choose “small” or “normal” or “large.” Nope. The machine senses the size of the load and fills itself to the appropriate level and not one teaspoon more, thereby conserving water much more effectively than I, a mere human, could be trusted to do. Presumably, if I put in a load consisting of one washcloth and a pair of socks, the washer would go ahead and run a cycle, using about two and a half cups of water. It would, however, save energy by rinsing them with cold water. Like all new environmentally aware washers, it is not allowed to use warm or hot water in its rinse cycles.

It’s so safety-conscious that it automatically locks the lid as soon as it starts its cycle. According to the salesman at Sears, all washers now are required to do this. Presumably this is to protect me just in case I should start a load of clothes and suddenly realize I left my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans. The washer is afraid I might dash down the stairs, yank open the lid, and plunge both hands into the water before the agitator has stopped spinning, thereby breaking both my arms and leaving myself unable to use my cell phone for six weeks. Which wouldn’t matter all that much, since the phone would have been ruined by then anyway.

While all this is impressive, even intimidating, what I’d really like is a washer so smart it did everything. I would dump all the dirty clothes in a big pile in the middle of the laundry room. The washer would sort them, load them, wash them, put them in the dryer, take them out, and fold them. It would even remember that I fold towels the long way and that I fold my jeans in thirds rather than fourths so they fit in the dresser.

Wouldn’t it be great to have the machine do all that work? This one, unfortunately, doesn’t.

Come to think of it, maybe this washer is even smarter than I thought.

Categories: Just For Fun | Tags: , , , | 3 Comments

“Would You Like Service With That?”

Posted on November 22, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

“That’s an interesting tattoo,” she said. “What is it?”

He smiled, unbuttoned one more shirt button so she could get a better look, and explained the symbolism behind the image decorating his upper chest.

Sorry if you were expecting something a little racier, but this isn’t the beginning of a short story featuring a hookup in a singles bar. It’s just the description of a family dinner out at a nice restaurant.

The tattooed guy was one of our relatives, visiting for a few days. The tattoo fan was our waitress.

This restaurant is considered one of the best ones in town. Its chef is from Europe (or maybe New Orleans, or Omaha. I don’t remember exactly. Anyway, someplace distant enough that he can safely be considered an imported expert.) Its atmosphere is subdued. Its ambiance is sophisticated. Its food is generally excellent. Its prices reflect its high opinion of itself. Its service, however, can be a trifle inconsistent.

On this particular evening, the waitress was attentive, friendly, and immediately responsive—to our guest. She stopped by several times to make sure his entree was prepared to his satisfaction. She refilled his glass. She offered more bread. She made conversation. To be blunt, she flirted. To be fair, he flirted right back.

And the two of us on the other side of the booth from our guest? Our meat might have been undercooked, our salads might have had caterpillars in them, our glasses might have been empty. She didn’t seem to care. She never checked on our entrees or offered us more bread or asked about our tattoos. It was as if we didn’t exist.

At first this was amusing. As the meal progressed, it became less entertaining. In order to get my water glass replenished, I practically had to crawl across the table to grab her sleeve and beg. By the time I got a refill, I felt like one of those cartoons of a parched traveler stranded in the desert.

She was still friendly and flirtatious—to our guest—at the end of the meal when she brought the bill. She laid it beside him. Tactfully, I waited till her back was turned before I reached for it.

As I signed the ticket, I hesitated over the line marked “tip.” I finally decided there wasn’t room to write in the real tip I had for her: “Before you fawn over one guy and ignore the rest of the table, try to make sure he’s the one picking up the check.”

Categories: Just For Fun | Leave a comment

How High’s The Water?

Posted on November 15, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

Random things I learned this week:

1. A washing machine has a valve for the purpose of shutting off the water when the tub has filled to the proper level. This is a mechanical device. It can fail. It sometimes does.

2. There are formulas for determining how much water per second pours out of an overflowing washer and how many gallons of water are required to fill a bathroom floor to a depth of one inch. When you’re busy mopping up water, you don’t care about these formulas.

3. Two flat-sided plastic bowls meant to store leftovers, one in each hand, are surprisingly effective tools for scooping up water from a vinyl floor.

4. A sponge mop and a large hand-held natural sponge, each capable of soaking up a pint or so of water, are useful items no household should be without.

5. Once a bathroom floor fills to a certain level, water will seep through the wall into the adjacent storage room. When there are two boxes of important papers and two boxes of rock samples against that wall, the law of inevitable consequences insures that the boxes of papers will be in the direct path of the water while the boxes of rocks stay high and dry.

6. The roughly 30-inch by 30-inch area of nice carpet just outside the door of a flooded bathroom can hold an astonishing amount of water.

7. Pressing this water out of the carpet can require all the old towels from the rag bag, all the dirty towels that had been intended for the next load of laundry, and several clean towels. (Household hint: use the dark ones first.)

8. Once the water is soaked up, what do you do with a pile of waterlogged towels? Why, toss them into the washing machine, of course. Um—never mind.

9. When someone has had a skin cancer removed from his forehead, he is sent home with a list of care instructions. Oddly enough, mopping up water and moving heavy boxes of stuff to drier ground are not on that list as recommended activities.

10. When the writer of a weekly blog post is scrounging for a topic, she may hope something out of the ordinary will happen. The writer should be careful what she wishes for.

Categories: Just For Fun, Odds and Ends | Tags: , | 2 Comments

“Smile!”

Posted on November 8, 2013 by Kathleen Fox

We went to a big, wild party this week. The food was wonderful. The music, I’m afraid, was only mediocre. After overindulging in a certain white substance, a few of the guests got rowdy. There were some brief arguments, but no actual fights broke out. At least the neighbors didn’t call the cops about the noise, which did get a little high at times both inside and outside the house. And one guest missed the whole thing because he was passed out in the bedroom.

Maybe the reason the party didn’t get completely out of hand is that most of the guests were heading home by 8:00—bedtime for some of them. But really, it was a most enjoyable evening. The music was a family rendition of “Happy Birthday.” The substance that encouraged the guests to get silly was sugar in the form of frosted cupcakes. The short-lived arguments were over toys. The inside noise was mostly little kids shouting, laughing, and shrieking. The outside noise came from one of the resident dogs out on the deck who was unhappy about missing the fun. Or maybe she was just unhappy about missing all those cake crumbs on the floor. And the passed-out guest was a toddler who had missed his nap and went soundly to sleep in his car seat on the way to the party.

The guest of honor at this shindig was celebrating her first birthday. She opened her gifts with enthusiasm, much of it focused on the wrapping paper. She dug into her birthday cupcake with both hands and managed to get more of it into her mouth than on her clothes. And she was even gracious enough to interrupt her eating long enough to bestow lovely smiles, enhanced with pink frosting, on her adoring family members armed with cameras (the grandpaparazzi, you might say).

What is it with babies and cameras? At the ripe old age of one, the birthday girl at this party is a seasoned veteran at posing and smiling. But even at a few months old, most babies have learned to stop and smile (if they happen to feel like it, anyway) whenever a parent or grandparent aims a lens in their direction.

I discovered this years ago with my first child. Once, when he was perhaps six months old, I said something to an acquaintance about the way he responded to a camera. “Oh, yes,” she said, “My little poodles do the same thing. Just point a camera at them and they sit right up and pay attention.”

Trying to bring the conversation back to the human species, particularly the especially bright and precocious representative of it that just happened to be my son, I said, “But babies really seem to know when they’re going to get their pictures taken.”

“Oh, they do,” she answered. “You’d almost think they were human.”

Categories: Family | Tags: | 3 Comments

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