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To Nebraska and back
It's a big deal for a Morris male to live past the age of 60. My uncle Cecil - the third of the Morris boys, if I remember right - celebrated his ninetieth birthday this weekend at Mahoney State Park, Northwest of Omaha. The family and I went and I got to connect with many, many cousins - many of whom I'll not see again for years if ever, but nevertheless was glad to see.
We stopped at the graveyard in Weeping Water, of course, visited each of the family graves: Grandpa and Grandma Morris on the West end; the Wallicks, Ellises, Reeds and Fenns (mom's side) on the hill's crest; and my immediate family (mom, dad, brother David) on the East end.
Stopped in the middle by Joe's grave. I tried to feel something - you know, like, "In spite of it all, I miss the ol' man." No such luck. Felt nothing, just the door closing with a quiet snick.
Visited John Elmer and Elizabeth Millicent's house in town (the Grandparents Morris). Those of you who have been to the house at Osage and seen our peony garden(s): this is the place those peonies came from. The house was torn down six or seven years ago, and I had a chance to chat with the current owner of the property. She came on the scene too late to know JE and EM (she died in 1950, he in 1971 in Independence), but she knew and went to church with my maternal grandparents, the Wallicks. This also means she's met me before, probably, though she would have no specific reason to remember that.
Back to the peonies: they're still growing, so much so that the woman I spoke to is getting ready to divide them again. She was overjoyed, and a little teary-eyed, to learn that those plants have traveled to Independence, and now Belton (edit: sorry, that'd be Raymore); almost like discovering family living out of state.
All that was yesterday. Today on the way out of town we made the obligatory trip to Henry Doorley Zoo, but that's not the point I want to leave this entry on. It was hot, long, and the animals were just as sleepy as we were. What I want to leave on is about family.
My parents never made a point that I remember about connecting me to my family. I got regaled with stories about those relatives who lived in and around Weeping Water, but that was pretty much it. My older siblings got to know their cousins; by the time I came along, dad was in business* and mom was addicted to valium (and, later, xanax) so I got to fend for myself.
I knew I had cousins, even got to meet several of them, but if they didn't live in Independence I didn't really get to know them.
I want that to be different for my children. I want them to know which tree they fell from, of course, but I want them to have the idea that the tree in question has many branches. My father's family is rich in gifts and love - if this weekend is to be taken as any evidence - and it's important that my children - and just as importantly, me - learn how to receive them.
* Actually, that would be businesses, all of which were ill-conceived, badly planned, poorly executed, and richly indebted by the time each failed. But that's another show.
Stopped in the middle by Joe's grave. I tried to feel something - you know, like, "In spite of it all, I miss the ol' man." No such luck. Felt nothing, just the door closing with a quiet snick.
Visited John Elmer and Elizabeth Millicent's house in town (the Grandparents Morris). Those of you who have been to the house at Osage and seen our peony garden(s): this is the place those peonies came from. The house was torn down six or seven years ago, and I had a chance to chat with the current owner of the property. She came on the scene too late to know JE and EM (she died in 1950, he in 1971 in Independence), but she knew and went to church with my maternal grandparents, the Wallicks. This also means she's met me before, probably, though she would have no specific reason to remember that.
Back to the peonies: they're still growing, so much so that the woman I spoke to is getting ready to divide them again. She was overjoyed, and a little teary-eyed, to learn that those plants have traveled to Independence, and now Belton (edit: sorry, that'd be Raymore); almost like discovering family living out of state.
All that was yesterday. Today on the way out of town we made the obligatory trip to Henry Doorley Zoo, but that's not the point I want to leave this entry on. It was hot, long, and the animals were just as sleepy as we were. What I want to leave on is about family.
My parents never made a point that I remember about connecting me to my family. I got regaled with stories about those relatives who lived in and around Weeping Water, but that was pretty much it. My older siblings got to know their cousins; by the time I came along, dad was in business* and mom was addicted to valium (and, later, xanax) so I got to fend for myself.
I knew I had cousins, even got to meet several of them, but if they didn't live in Independence I didn't really get to know them.
I want that to be different for my children. I want them to know which tree they fell from, of course, but I want them to have the idea that the tree in question has many branches. My father's family is rich in gifts and love - if this weekend is to be taken as any evidence - and it's important that my children - and just as importantly, me - learn how to receive them.
* Actually, that would be businesses, all of which were ill-conceived, badly planned, poorly executed, and richly indebted by the time each failed. But that's another show.