The Late Arrival

A simple double-click of the mouse would open an email from a complete stranger in another state who I cyber stalked in hopes that he could tell me about my relatives.   Highly improbable.  But I double clicked anyway. It wasn’t as improbable as I thought.   Turns out that Murray – that’s his name – was more than willing to help me.   He’s done extensive research that included my family for a yet-to-be-published book because they were at the center of an incident in Pierce City, Missouri that changed the town forever. While I was very interested in the incident, I was more interested at the time in knowing what he knew about my family.   He understood and immediately filled me in on information about my great-grandfather: “Wiley worked at the lime kiln, where lime was dug up…He was a hardworking man.” Out of all the stones on ancestry.com and the myriad of rocks on Google, it seemed like I had found a gem. We’ve communicated since that time, and he’s been emailing me his no

Can you find the raw ruby in this picture?   Take a look; it’s right there.   Still don’t see it? It’s the one with the roundish, but jagged sort of edges. Maximize the photo if you still don’t see it.   Go ahead.   I’ll wait here.   Did you find it? Look again. It’ll be the one with rich-red hues. Okay, I lied: there’s no ruby - raw or cooked - in that picture. But searching for a gem in a sea of stones is kind of what it’s been like piecing my family tree together .   I knew my maternal ancestors were from a small Missouri town, and I even have a rough idea of their ages.   I used that information to conduct my search…and generated records for about eight billion people with the same last name from that same small town. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But there were a lot more than one or two. One of the records belonged to a person with a name that I had heard my mom and aunt mention numerous times while they were having conversations that kids are too bored to be

“I just love your gap!” A well-meaning person to whom I had just been introduced gushed the compliment. I was around twenty-three, and to tell you the truth, wasn’t even aware of this much-loved gap.   A nervous giggle escaped as I politely said “thank you.” Later on after dinner, I pulled out my mirrored compact to reapply my lipstick, but that was a ruse.   I was really checking to see if I indeed had a gap.   I did. I do .   In fact, just about everyone on mom’s side of the family has one.   It’s hereditary. Several years later, Jamie and I were a doting-dating-childless couple, strolling through the mall hand-in-hand. I tried on some jeans at a department store, and (quite uncharacteristically for me) did a little sexy model walk for him.   I posed, expecting a wolf-whistle or a “how you doin?’” Instead I got: Are you knock-kneed ?” Yes. Yes I am knock-kneed. First time I noticed it was in ballet class: the teacher told us to stand with our feet parallel, knees facing frontw