Motherhood and Muffin Tops : The Big Story

My latest pastime has been Ancestry.com.Years ago, before they had such a thing, my mother trekked all over the state and beyond, researching and digging around in courthouses and cemeteries (well, she didn't really do any digging in the cemetery) and speaking to relatives in order to piece together our family lines as far back as she could take them. She included a lot of pictures and wrote beautiful biographies on each person and what they were like and what they had lived to see. When she got it completed, she gave us all a copy. An enormous book in a 5" binder containing a wealth of information about her people and my daddy's people. What a beautiful gift that was to give to her family.

Well, last week, it occurred to me that I could plug all the info she had worked so hard to gather into Ancestry and see where it would take me. I mean, our gene pools are something we're all naturally curious about as we'd like to see what makes us who we are, where we came from, and, well, we'd also enjoy a heads up if there are things such are webbed toes or cone heads for which we need to be on the lookout.

Well, I put in her information and Ancestry lit up like a Christmas tree. There were leaves popping up everywhere on my family tree. I followed my mother's family back 24 generations to 1398. We already knew they were Scottish whose clan had apparently drawn the shortest straw for the ugliest plaid, but I found a long line of earls, countesses, lairds, barons, and lords of parliament, so I think Davis could stand to treat me with a bit more deference as I didn't find any of that in his lineup. And when I saw we had our very own "Lady Mary", I nearly jumped out of my seat. I've been sitting up straighter, using the term, manor, in the place of house, and quit using paper plates at lunch as I feel such casual living doesn't suit someone of my bloodline.

Here's my Papaw, Archibald Campbell, 9th Earl of Argyll and later 1st Duke of Argyll and my lovely Mamaw, Lady Mary Campbell. Looking at all the portraits online, my people spent a lot of time posing on velvet furniture while wearing way too many layers- a pastime that was clearly lost somewhere down the line. Interestingly, I was starting to look like Papaw Archibald before my hair appointment and, without my sunless tanner, I almost have the skin tone of Mamaw Mary.

Here's my Grandpa, Lord John van Ardkinglass Campbell sporting our family plaid. A dull combination of blue and green, but Grandpa did have some muscular legs to help draw the eye away from it. I'm awfully glad that nose has been softened through centuries of genetic dilution.

My daddy's family goes back to England with the high spots being Granddaddy, Thomas Neal, professor of Hebrew at Oxford University, which is clearly where I get my firm handle on the language. I also found a picture of Pops, Captain James Neal, envoy to Spain for King Charles I, who married my Granny, Ann Marie, a Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Henrietta Maria (Queen Mary). Apparently, we knew people back then.

I wonder what they'd think if they could see their great-granddaughter x 12, right now- sitting on her bed with a hole in her pajama shirt- trying to figure out how she got the poison ivy she's scratching on her muffin top- a bag of Cheeze-it Grooves in hand, while waxing her upper lip with a dog from off the streets snoring at her feet. I'm sure there would be a disappointed, "I told those kids not to go crossing the ocean. Now look at us."

I've had a lot of fun playing around with this family stuff, but I think I've gone back as far as I can go. There was one thing that really kept jumping off the pages as I watched my family tree stretch out further and further into the distant past. We are all just a blip on the screen. We like to believe we have a thousand years left to go in this life. Some days, weeks, and months do seem to drag on forever, especially during a quarantine, but we're all just passing through. We like to believe we're pretty important and unique and that our names will surely be in bold print among all the others that stretch across the centuries, but we're just a few lines in a really long story.

I'm not meaning this as a downer. Just the opposite. It's exciting to be reminded that, every day, we're choosing the words of our narrative. One day, our leaves will pop up on someone's ancestor search. There will be a birth date and a death date. We have all the years that lie between them to take the ongoing story in any direction we choose. Those years can be filled with our selection from all the different kinds of pursuits. Tiered with our own customized set of priorities. And loaded up with our pickings from the vast assortment of attitudes, beliefs and values.

What kind of contribution are our lines making to the big story? What will be the gist of it when we're done? Will the things we're leaving for others to read be worth a mention? Will God be pleased with our part of this collaborative writing?

"Teach us to number our days and recognize how few they are; help us to spend them as we should." Psalm 90:12

Let's all write something good today!