The matriarch of the family

It is summer and time for family reunions. A bunch named Trail, well maybe related to someone named Trail, has been for years gathering to celebrate mostly each other. Of note four of the ladies had a maiden name of Call, the "call girls", qualify because their mother's maiden name was Trail. The "call girls" their husbands all with different last names, their children some married by now with again the girls having different last names all are welcome. In this clan, after all our ancestors came from Scotland, the tie that binds is Trail. It isn't the name really it is the sense of kinship, familial love and caring for each other that is important and meeting once a year is the minimum to keep those ties nurtured.

In our society, the Anglo Protestant / Catholic family that we inherited in this country, we are not considered matrilineal (relating to, based on, or tracing descent through the maternal line). No we trace kinship through the last name of the males in the family. That is tradition but sometimes human nature sees things differently. On my mother's side of the family there was no doubt my great grandmother Pricilla Bobinmeyer Hoyt was the matriarch of the extended family. There were no alpha males and her husband could be described as more of a "Casper Milquetoast" kind of a guy. Grandma Hoyt made the important decisions and don't even consider any momentous life event without first running it past Grandma.

Well in our Trail clan, at least the ones of us who gather to reune, our beloved Stella has climbed the heap to earn the honorary title of matriarch. She, maiden name Trail, makes the important decisions about our annual gathering. For instance Stella says that the first full weekend in August is the date we will meet and by the way it is Dick and Chuck's turn to be hosts. Don't buy broasted chicken and then cut it up to serve, no the thick crusted deep fat fried variety is the best! Stella sends out the annual notices and whoever is hosting best have the details to her on time and correct. We all love her and you know how it works in your own families.

Not long ago your columnist discovered that there is another talented side of our matriarch Stella. She writes a weekly "blog" whatever that is, and turns it loose on the net. It posts as http://wp.me/p7jLwQ-7m . I'd like to share her latest effort which shows, I'm not in the least prejudiced, considerable talent. She calls it "An Old Woman." Might be why she is the matriarch.

The Other Side

"I first noticed the other side of my mind years ago, way back when third graders did arithmetic with a yellow pencil on a ruled tablet. I was working on what the teacher called simple addition with a column of figures three numbers wide and five numbers deep. After adding them I added them again, just for fun, but the second answer was different from my first. That surprised me so I added them again. Surprise again; the third answer was different from the first two, and I descended into total confusion when I learned later on that none of my answers was correct. I didn't understand it; I was used to being right about everything.

"In later years I heard this self assurance of mine called a personality defect, but at the time I was not flourishing it in public, so my puzzlement was barely noted. But, three wrong answers in a row was a major frustration to me, the first one I remember. I was concentrating with all my might, slugging my way down those rows of numbers but my mind was touching them with all the power of a butterfly floating through a sunny day. The other side of my brain is not a heavy hitter, and does not fly in a straight line.

"When I played chess with my brother I could win sometimes, but never knew why or how, and once he learned some of the strategy of the game I was toast. Later, when small mechanical tasks were confusing, my children did them for me, explaining every step as they went, while I experienced zero comprehension. When, at thirty-five, I went to the local community college to earn a two-year degree just to satisfy my soul and found that one semester of algebra was required I threw my whole heart into the job, worked long hours and asked for extra help. At the end the teacher married my D- comprehension to my A+ effort to give me a C- grade. And a few years later, I struggled for an hour to change the battery in my car before my neighbor came over. "I was waiting for you to ask for help." he said.

"About that time I was working in an office using a word processor, a simple machine soon exchanged for the deep black hole of the computer. By writing down the exact sequence of each click to make and each key to touch and using repetition to make the sequences stay in my mind, I was able to perform the tasks of my office, but never understood what was actually happening behind the screen so that all too often, needing to go from "here" to "there" I would make a quick click and be lost and unable to find my way back. Someone from the tech department would come in and make the right clicks to sort me out.

"And then I had to change the ink cartridge on my printer. For some reason the cartridge wouldn't seat properly, and after a while it seemed to be catching on something, and I was getting angry, so I finally gave up. The tech person came when I called, looked at my situation and got real quiet. Three minutes later the cartridge was in, the printer was printing and he was ready to leave. I thanked him and apologized for taking his time. "That's all right." he assured me. "Any time you have a problem just call. ...Don't touch it... Just call."

"And now, finally, I understand. Insisting that I will do what I cannot do is the posture of pride. Turns out that my lifelong uneasiness with my other side has actually only been the humiliation of imperfection. Rescue from arrogance, a turn toward sympathy and the urge to withhold judgment have all come from my lifelong struggle with that other side that cannot be what I want it to be or do what I will it to do. It only took most of my life to figure that one out. It's a good thing I've lived long enough to be old."

Ah Stella. Not only that she lives in the "Show Me" state of Missouri. We look forward to seeing her in August right here in McCook, Nebraska.

That is how I saw it.

Dick Trail