Last year I decided to put together a genealogy book for my sisters for Christmas. In my inexperienced naïve sort of way, I thought that a year ought to be enough to print out all the pictures in my Mom’s albums/boxes/envelopes and research the family lines. Do you know how many people it took to create you? More than a village I can guarantee.
Although I had enough to fill several binders and a large photo album when I gave the gift, I still have a few errant relatives who refuse to be found. I was thinking about one in particular this morning during my work commute trip on BART. Having momentarily closed my eyes, I sunk into a sleepy lethargy brought on my allergy medication and thought about ways to find Fidelia McClelland. And completely missed my stop. I did wake up to watch it go by. How pleasant.
Stupid allergies. Darn missing relatives.
Maybe I need to move to Arizona. Or is that just for your lungs? Well maybe I need to go to the Caribbean or somewhere lovely and beautiful with the relaxing sound of the water and colorful birds flying overhead. Then poverty would set in and I’d have to go out in a leaky boat each day to bring in some fish to sell to the loud and irritating touristas just so I could eat and keep patches on my boat and canvas tent, which I would have to live in as I would have no money for an actual house. I’m getting a headache just thinking about how sad my life would become in the Caribbean.
My family names range from fruit to sea life with names such as Apple, Bacon and Fish. I see why I like food so much. It’s in the very core of my DNA.
I also noticed that several of my family lines changed the spelling of their name. Probably from family tiffs that created ill-will and new spellings. Or, as my husband keeps suggesting, horse thieves who needed a new identity, but weren’t smart enough to change their name completely. Appel became Apple, Fyshe became Fish, and De Scoville became Scovil/Scoville/Scovel (they couldn’t really make up their mind about the best spelling so moved letters now and again to see if it made a difference to their fortune).
I started to wonder about these people from the distant past. What were they like? Would a person named Mehitable be someone who wore sensible shoes and swung an axe with the same verve and power as she kneaded bread? I like that name. Mehitable. It screams strength, courage and no-nonsense attire. The name rolls off your tongue like a sweetmeat. I don’t know what a sweetmeat is, but anything starting with the word sweet must be good.
And why did the De Scoville people continue to change their name…even among brothers and sisters? I thought it prudent to make up my own version of the family stories. Here goes…
It was said that at one time, the name de Scoville wrought fear in the hearts of the peasants. However, after many years of gambling the family fortune, they realized that the “de” in the name simply sounded stupid and illiterate, a mild form of ebonics actually, as most people misprounced it “duh”, most likely in defiance of the snooty rulers. Many of their descendents began dropping letters in the name, probably sold for liqueur, as they were also fond of The Drink. Eventually, only one shabby “l” in the name was left as that was all they could afford. At times, due to the need for attention, some of the family changed the “i” to an “e”, (Scovil became Scovel) thinking this would shroud them in mystery. Unfortunately, most people thought them to be silly and tried to avoid them altogether. It was at this time that many of the Scovel people began to gain weight; the penchant for which was passed down to their offspring. The “e” was changed back to an “i”, but the weight issue proved too strong for any vowel to overcome.
Now that I’m on a roll, I believe I’ll make up a few more stories about my relatives. Although the last names are true, the first names have been changed to protect whatever is left of innocent relatives…
I love Slim Hargis. A snake-like figure of a man with whipcord reactions in a gun fight. Jake Hargis, his brother was a good-time guy who made all the women fall in love with him by an arch of a darkly sardonic eyebrow. If you’ve never seen a sardonic eyebrow, consider yourself cheated in life. Brullee Hargis was from the French side of the family and turned a mean pancake when he had a mind to.
And then there were the Keith people. That name speaks of rusted shells of buggies without wheels on the front lawn and a sagging sofa on the front porch that has stains from food fights and animal incontinence. No, you can have that name. I’ll stick with the sturdy Hargis’s. We are people who like potatoes and after dinner desserts.
The McClelland clan were known for their pies and clever insurance scams. They wore oddly colored plaid socks and wool skirts, and preferred high rocky places with crevices to hide from their enemy. It was rumored that they were a bit “fey”, although no one really knew what the word meant.
Ah yes, the Jackson family. A slippery bunch of people who pegged a varied assortment of nicknames on their kin in an attempt to garner fear from their neighbors. Stonewall Jackson was the leader of this group of relatives who hoped his nickname would instill some sense of an impenetrable character, but instead came to be known as a stubborn man who was contrary on every turn, thereby stonewalling any good efforts of his fellow officers.
There are more stories to be sure, but I think I’d better stop before one of my relatives lifts a sardonic eyebrow and makes me forfeit my membership card in Romance Writers of America.
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