Mom & Me Five Archive

    Aside from a few republications in order to adjust the placement of pictures, I also wrestled with my life long difficulty with keeping "right" and "left" straight (which I inherited from my father's side of the family), which played havoc with my attempt to connect applicable text to its corresponding picture. I think everything's straight, now.
    Last night I realized that all this family history stuff began about a month before Mom's "I'm going to Mt. Vernon, tomorrow," night. She and I were talking about her cousin (the one who graduated from college the same year as Mom), her cousin's husband, and Mom wondered aloud if we still had a good phone number for them. I decided to try the internet. Not only did I confirm that our number remains correct (I'm not surprised; although this couple was also an extremely mobile branch of the family, practically living out of an RV for a good 20 years of their retirement life, they are both well into their 90's, and not at all mobile, now and always kept up their homestead in Mechanicsville, Iowa), I discovered an online history of Mechanicsville, Iowa, written in 1974. As some of you may recall, this town figures prominently in my mother's life and memories. Although only one of the founding fathers, Johnson, is a direct maternal relative, my mother's ancestral family provided wives for more than a few of the founding families and the names of Mom's aunts, uncles and cousins are generously scattered throughout the history, one of whom was Mayor of Mechanicsville for a couple of years. Mention is made, too, of surrounding towns with which my mother is familiar and many of her friends and schoolmates. I printed off the entire history and fashioned it into a booklet, using one of those folders with permanently affixed plastic, page-sized pockets. Every evening since I did this, my mother has spent time picking up the history, browsing through it, finding something noteworthy and reading sections of it to me. One particular section is read to me almost every other night, the naming of the town (fourth paragraph in this section). During these readings my mother isn't just reading history, she regularly comments on the names of people and towns and relates bits of personal history. I love thinking about my mother's mind and perceptions as she does this. It's been obvious since this and a slightly earlier event that we are firmly planted in Iowa, now.
    The "earlier event": A little after Christmas, we received a handsome, extremely detailed centennial history of St. Martin Land Company, a privately traded company, entitled, Passing a Century in the Atchafalaya Basin by Lana Henry. A couple of her relatives were numbered among the founders of the company, in which my mother continues to own lucrative stock, which was passed down to her through her parents. Her paternal grandfather was one of the founders. A picture of one of her cousins with her grandfather, as well as a group portrait of the founders, are in the book. Her relatives are mentioned a fair number of times throughout the early history of the company. Originally, all the company's holdings were in Louisiana. It seems that Louisiana is also where her paternal relatives disembarked and initially lived when they migrated to the U.S., previous to moving to Iowa. The book is rich with pictures and history that are familiar to my mother, so she also spends many happy moments with this book, as well.
    As for me, I'm pretty impressed that my mother's family is full of ambitious pioneer types, especially since many of those relatives migrated from Germany and England during times when the poor in both countries were being variously persecuted by the law. These migrants were not, as well, liked here. My paternal great grandfather, in fact, although he was a native speaker of German, refused to speak German around his kids and refused to allow them to learn it. As my mother talks about these things, I find myself vaguely recalling that my maternal grandfather had flashes of deep migrant appreciation for this country, no doubt passed to him from his immediate relatives. I now understand his enthusiasm. It seems that the mere existence of this country allowed many of my maternal relatives to disengage from economic shackles in order to give their dreams and energy full sway. I wonder when my maternal family tree will produce the next generation of chance taking, eyes-on-the-horizon migrants, figurative or literal.
    What does all this have to do with caregiving? I think, really, it has more to do with the companionship part of it. I've been contemplating, lately, that one of the more important aspects of companionating my mother through her Ancient Years is being an available witness as she reconstructs and repaints her family's history and character using her personal palette. Genealogy was a late interest of hers, taken up only after she retired from teaching. I sense that as she resurrects people, places and events, she is rediscovering her legacy, part of which involves many people who resemble Methuselah. I believe this is a significant factor in what keeps her going.
    I note, as well, that my appreciation for those tidbits of my existence that are maternally genetic is increasing by leaps and bounds. It's been a pleasure, lately, to find myself thinking, "Hmmm...so, that's where I got this trait." It also fills me with wonder regarding what curious genetic tricks my mother still has stuffed up her sleeve, thus reminding me that Ancienthood isn't merely a pre-death holding tank, it's a stage, in it's own right, full of possibility and surprise, even when observers take no note of this and assume that there is little left to know of one of their Ancient, demented relatives. Funny what happens when environment and genetics collide.