Monetary Wealth

Every time I fold towels, I smile.

I have enough bath SHEETS for my family and any guests.  That is how I know I'm wealthy.  I've had bath towels, of course, but bath sheets are a luxury I could never have imagined affording.  Today as I was folding, and grinning, I contemplated what other "signs" that say I'm wealthy.  My husband wouldn't agree that we have any excess funds at all, but he would be very wrong.  We may not have money lying around, but we have the privilege of redirecting things should an emergency occur.

When I met my husband, he had been single for 37 years.  He lived at home through college and moved out to Ontario from Saskatchewan at 23 or so.  He was fully educated, very qualified, had virtually no debt.  To me, that reads "came from a wealthy family."  We met in mid 1999 while he was living in Toronto and I was raising my girls in Ravenswood, West Virginia.  He had transit, a car, a bike, and taxi money.  I was driving a car my dad gave me in a town that didn't have a taxi, let alone a transit system.  He was buying his underwear at Hudson's Bay, which is sort of like Macy's.  He didn't even know Canada HAD WalMarts, let alone shopped at them.  He ate out most of the time, had one set of dishes for when he didn't, and wore the same thing to work every day-or at least a copy of it.

A year later he had a wife, two stepdaughters, and a baby on the way.  He had paid a great deal of

money for my immigration, our wedding, and a fabulous honeymoon-not to mention my diamond.  The day we got engaged, I was visiting Toronto and we were out to lunch.  He proposed, I said yes, and that evening we went ring shopping.  We walked into the store and there were diamonds everywhere.  It was almost blinding.  I looked at him for direction, the salesman looked at us eagerly, and my husband said, "Pick out anything you like."

Both the salesman and I nearly fell over.  In reality, he simply had no clue what a ring costs, but in my mind he was the most amazing, generous guy I had ever known.  I'd never had any kind of engagement ring before, and in fact I had purchased the rings for both husband and wife in my two previous marriages.  I looked and looked while the guys looked on.  I chose one, and they went to another room to choose a diamond size and make financial arrangements.  To be fair, I was not extravagant.  I knew I would not be happy with something flashy or heavy.  I chose a lovely design and Doug had them put  a .75 carat diamond in it.  It was exactly right.  I don't know how much it cost, but when he put it on his Amex and we walked out with a temporary "brass and glass" version while they CUSTOM MADE mine, and I don't really remember much about the rest of the evening.  All I could think of was him putting the ring on his Amex.  Back then, at least I think so, personal Amex accounts had to be paid in full each month.  That meant that within 30 days or so, this man could put his hands on over a thousand dollars; and he didn't bat an eye.

We had a small wedding in a church (also a first for me) and a reception on a chartered boat.  Yes, a sit down dinner for a couple dozen while cruising Lake Ontario at sundown in August.  We then drove our new car (actually new, not just new to us) around the US east of the Mississippi for two weeks.  It was an amazing bonding experience.  We drove across the Chesapeake Bay bridge, through the pines in Alabama, through a forest fire in Arkansas, took a carriage ride in St Louis, and ended the trip in Ohio where  my mom was keeping my girls for us.  Doug paid for the whole thing.

Six months later he was paying for my surgery to have our son.  JD was a surprise, as I had had a tubal ligation in the 1980's. I certainly did not expect to be delivering another baby at 39 years old, in a foreign country.  I had friends who were becoming grandmothers!  He's now almost 19 and still at home, so our food budget is through the roof!

Twenty years after our first meeting, I'm still a small town girl.  My idea of "comfortable" is never worrying if the electric has been shut off.  It's binge shopping at DollarTree.  It's a new coat every ten years.  We are beyond comfortable.  Doug says we are middle class.  We have everything we need and most of what we want.  We travel and sometimes go to premium resorts.  We can help our kids if needed and spoil our granddaughters.

That, my friends, is wealthy.

The Idea of Privilege

My Assessment

I've spent a great deal of time contemplating the idea of privilege.  As a white person, I'm often told I have always had privilege.  As an American I'm often told I have always had privilege.  I've been exploring this, wanting to give the idea of my privilege the attention it deserves, and assess how it affects my view of things.

First, I do absolutely agree that the idea of "white privilege" exists.  I also agree that sometimes, especially when dealing with racists, I hold a great deal of white privilege.  It ends there, however.  I've never been given anything because I am white.  No doors or opportunities have opened because I am white.  No economic benefits have been mine because of my race.  That said, I do know that sometimes happens.  It just hasn't happened in my world.

Growing up white and poor isn't really all that different from growing up black and poor.  You simply don't have what others have; not because of your race but because of your circumstance and in this case color does not directly affect my circumstance.  In fact, when race is factored in, I have had certain DISadvantages. 

First, there is the idea of giving opportunity as part of quotas and "affirmative action".  I believe that programs like this have run their course of usefulness.  It's time that we are all treated equally.  If a person of color is more qualified (or more needy, depending on the award) then by all means that person should be chosen over me.  I come from an era where persons of color were given priority in college placement and financial aid.  I wasn't privileged beyond having the guts to try college anyway.  That is not racial, that is environmental.  My upbringing, and to a certain extent my culture, made me tough and curious.  That isn't racial.

I'm told, in argument, that my culture is what gave me privilege.   If poor West Virginia is privilege in any color, I will eat my hat.  There are, of course, pockets of privilege culturally--some because of being white, some because of not being white, but generally, my "culture" gave me no privilege.  There are a great many black West Virginians my age who are far more successful and accepted than I am.

Some argue privilege in expectations.  They say white persons are expected to be successful and black persons are not.  To an extent, that might be true, but there are other sides of that.  Because I was a smart white teenager with a great deal of "drive" it was expected that I would attend college, graduate (probably with honors) and go on the have a financially successful life. There's a lot of pressure there, and I wasn't up to it.  That was 40 years ago, and right now, being a smart, driven black person has a better chance than I ever did with a bit less expectation because we are conditioned to believe that person is somehow disadvantaged.   Combined with quotas, this person of color *may* actually have more privilege than I did; and far less pressure to succeed.  When a person of color doesn't succeed as expected, they (and many others) can play the race card-"I was destined to fail because of my color".  No, the truth is we all fail at some point.  I failed college quite grandly, regardless of race.  I also watched persons of color with lesser academic credentials be accepted into universities I couldn't get into; because of color.  I watched persons of color be handed financial supports I wasn't entitled to; because of color.

Fast forward to adulthood, and when things went south in my marriage nobody ever said it was because either of us were black.  When I moved with my two small children to a trailer outside of town, I wasn't allowed to live there because I was white.  I didn't get welfare because I was white.  What I got was massive amounts of disappointment and judgement.  Thirty years ago even an abused white woman was expected to succeed-because she was white.

Twenty years ago, with a new husband and lots more experience and maturity, I started a new life in Toronto, Ontario.  It quickly became apparent that there were vast numbers of people of color and not quite so many white, at least in my environment.  Less than ten percent of the families in my high rise apartment building are white.  My son has never been in the majority in school or in play.  Being white has not afforded him any privilege.  In fact, because he is white, some persons of color have targeted him for theft or bullying because they have been taught that white people have things that black/brown people don't.

Citizenship is also an issue.  Because I am an American, and right now that's not very popular thanks to the sitting president, I am sometimes bullied.  My daughter, who is white as snow and 110% southern american, has had it far worse than I have because she was a teenager here.  I have never seen a person of color bullied because of their immigration status or citizenship.  Here in the GTA, the group with the greatest amount of "privilege" would have to be Asians.  Overall, Chinese and Indian and Pakistani and Korean  have a much better life than the rest.  I don't hold that against them--they have families and others who give direct support because of their culture, not their race.  They work hard, invest well, and take care of others.  I can certainly see, however, why they are thought of as privileged; they own most of the business and property in the GTA.

It is that culture of support that I believe gives success. Everyone who has needs that aren't being met is likely to see the "haves" as having some kind of privilege.  Because we have a comfortable income (because we don't own property, primarily) I can see how people would think we are privilege. That's jealousy.  That's a fairly normal reaction, give the circumstance.  Those on the outside haven't seen our struggles to get where we are and the challenges we face every day to maintain that standard.

I have a friend who is extremely successful.  He is mid 30's and mixed race, but definitely considered a person of color.  He already has a six figure income, has traveled the world and excelled in his academics.  He may have had more privilege than my daughter of the same age, but not because of race.  He had it because his parents, a white woman from the Canadian prairies and a black man who immigrated from South Africa during Apartheid, worked hard to give him the things they didn't have.  Likewise, that same daughter of mine, has a house, is expecting a second child, and does not have to work because her husband has a great job.  She may be viewed as privileged because of all that; so many others don't have the opportunities she has had.  Those opportunities, however, were not because she is white.  To claim she has "white privilege" takes away validation for rising above her failures, meeting challenges head on, and being successful in the face of almost assured failure.

I think it's past time for us to stop throwing accusations of racial

privilege.  If we want to be treated equally, we have to present ourselves as equals.  When you devalue yourself because you think others have had more opportunity than you have, you fail from the outset.  When you devalue others the same way, you alienate them from every being supportive of you, regardless of color.

If we want to be treated equally, we need to truly treat (and perceive) others as equals.  I don't argue that white privilege doesn't exist.  Certainly in some circumstances, especially in law enforcement and bigots, it most certainly does.  My objection is to  a sort of "reverse racism" where all white persons are viewed as having privilege over all persons of color.  Just as bigots need to learn a better way, persons of color who are feeling disenfranchised need to truly assess what causes them to feel that way.  We need to start talking about "isms" that don't involve color.

This is privilege.

This is not.

Amos Moses

My sister is turning 50.  She's significantly younger than I am, so how could that be?

Amy is a truly wonderful person.  With husband Tim, they have raised two amazing girls, one off which is just graduated and will attend an ivy league school in the fall.  But this isn't about what a great mom she is.

Always involved in church throughout her life, Amy does everything from keeping the books to singing in the choir.  She does fundraisers, missions work, and bible study.  She's proud of her God, embraces true Christianity, and inspires those around her.  But this isn't about what a great Christian she is.

In the last few years, Amy and her clan have gotten involved in Theatre West Virginia and has been a part of Honey and the Rock, Hatfields and McCoys, a longtime classic as well as other shows.  This troupe has been active since before she was born.  This year, in addition to Hatfields and McCoys, she is taking on Annie.  But this isn't about what a great actress she is.


Back in the mid 1970s, when I was bedridden or had to be in a

wheelchair, Amy took care of me.  She entertained me, pushed the wheelchair, fetched things at my request, and was a great caregiver  Many decades later, she tirelessly helped care for our grandmother, who was in a nursing home after a series of strokes.  Many times per week (sometimes every day) Amy would visit, rub lotion on Gram's aging skin, tidy up errant facial hair and gently brush the baby fine hair Gram was so proud of.  But this isn't about what a great caregiver she is.

So what IS it about?  It's about a woman who has come of age.  Something happens to women around age 50.  We get a more peaceful, wiser, more astute attitude.  We stop fretting over how we look (well, most of us anyway) or how much money we make and start to actually enjoy life.  It's her time.  It's her time to file away all that has gone before and start taking all what is ahead.  It's a time of forgiving, for letting others help more, and for discovering herself in a completely different light.

I'm so excited for her journey.  Turning 50 was a highlight in my life, and I know it will be for her as well.  Today, July 25, 2019, is her birthday.  Aside from Teddy Kennedy pleading guilty to leaving the scene of an accident in Chappaquiddick, and all the excitement of space travel, the birth of Amy Elizabeth Pyatt Taylor was the single most important event globally.

So why is this titled Amos Moses?  Well you'll have to ask her.

PS  JLo turned 50 yesterday too. '69 was a stellar year!

Aging Clumsily

I've known a lot of people who have aged gracefully.  Even my mom, who doesn't do a whole lot of things gracefully, bless her heart, ages gracefully.

I'm more like my dad's mom.  On those few occasions when I acknowledge that I am aging, it's because my kids have done something wonderful and I'm beaming with pride;  or my granddaughter does anything at all.  The rest of the time I just get older kicking and screaming.

It's not because I fear death or have any regrets.  No unfinished business for me really, and I've had a truly amazing life.  There isn't much on my bucket list and the experiences I've had are superb.  They are, however, sometimes superbly horrible.  That's life.  You have to shake it off and wake up the next day and do it again.  Others are completely unbelievable.  From working with celebrities to having a son at 39, my life has been more interesting than anyone else I've ever known.  I'm grateful for that.  I'm also grateful for those who walk with me through both the good and the bad.

Most of the time I just ignore aging.  My aches and pains have not been (yet) simply from an aging body.  My memory issues aren't from menopause or senility.  That makes it easy to "forget" that I am not by anyone's definition, young.

I'm 57 years old, turning 58 in late November.  I had to do the math, because I generally can't easily think of my actual age.  If I had to choose, I think I'm somewhere in my early 40's in my mind.  Embracing the wisdom, agile enough to enjoy it.  It's been relatively easy since having a late life baby.  He's kept me young a long time.

Now, all my kids are adults.  I have a granddaughter and another on the way.  I have a fair bit of professional respect, and have earned it in a mostly male dominated field.  Twice.  I've lived in two countries, been to four, and visited more historic sites than I can even count.  I've seen stars and ghosts.  I've won big and lost big.  I prefer the former.

So now that there aren't a lot of goals for me, I've been finding it difficult to keep growing.  That isn't, however, what inspired this missive.  I read today that a woman I knew when she was a child, practically from birth, was killed in a car accident.  Her dad was the town pharmacist, her mom was a local theater star, and the whole family was VERY involved in our church.  Alan, Betsy, Lisa, Martha, Chad, and Matt Reynolds were the very fabric of our little town.  Lisa's sudden, tragic death has hit me very hard.

I stole this from Martha's Facebook

I'm used to people older than me dying.  Losing my dad in January sort of caused me to let go of that "elderly" generation, even though I still very much grieve.  Dying over the age of 70 seems natural.  I'm used to babies dying.  I've lost two, so when I hear of someone losing a child under two, I can let go of that too, even though it hurts.  Someone my kids' age I haven't often had to deal with so I pretty much don't give it any thought.

Lisa, however, was in my sister's age group.  These were kids I knew, and sometimes babysat or taught in Sunday School.  I can clearly remember them in elementary school, and have watched as they got degrees, spouses, children, confidence, independence.  These are people at the top of their game; the best time of life.  Their own kids are graduating, marrying, having children, seeing huge successes and devastating losses.  They are, by and large, in their early 40's--right where my own brain thinks I am.  My empathy is in overdrive.

Lisa is gone.  The heartbreak for her friends and family is unfathomable.

I really don't have anything else to say just now, so I will end here.  Hug your tribe.

Childhood Memories-Dad's Family

Today I spent many hours "tidying up" some genealogy work on my dad's family tree.  As I was adding siblings, dates, husbands, and the like for the scores of collateral lines, it brought back vivid memories.  So many of these people are long dead, but I knew them fairly well through my own parents and grandparents.

My dad was born in a little town in western West Virginia.  So were both his parents.  Their collective parents were born in a nearby county, and the lines go back to Virginia and Ohio for many more generations.  Because of my small town upbringing, I was often around great aunts and uncles, and more cousins than I can even remember.  I'm still in contact with many of those in my generation, and my daughters know many of the "once removed" cousins -children of my cousins.

Mildred Gorrell Pyatt Wetzel

My great grandma Rachel Miller Gorrell and her husband had twelve children.  Ervin (her husband) was from a family of eleven children.  You couldn't take a walk without running into someone related to the Gorrells.  My grandmother, Mildred, was child number eight.  Her immediate siblings, Opal (Jackson) and June (Pyatt) were very close to her, as were sisters Belle (Lehew), Ruth (Williams), Virginia (Dow) and Mabel (Bigley).  I knew them, and all of their children; Mabel had a girl in my graduating class (Debbie Bigley), and Belle had one a bit younger (Kim Lehew).  June had grandkids around my age (Tim, Mike, Keith and Jodi Abels).  There were so many Gorrell cousins that my oldest daughter (Ryan Reynolds) would check with me before dating anyone from our area.

I remember big, big family picnics at "the farm".  Women in clean linen aprons cooking the most amazing food one could ever wish for. Yard games, pet dogs, and general fun for all of "us kids" who ranged basically from young adults to infants.  There was ALWAYS watermelon, a great many salads, and green beans forever.  Later, the Gorrells who remained when I was a younger adult, would have reunions that I occasionally could make it to.  My sense of family is very strong, and runs very deep.

One of the things that struck me was the sheer number of men in both the Gorrell and Pyatt families who served in the military.  Every branch except the Coast Guard was represented.  That's not unusual for the time period as WWII, then Korea and Viet Nam, were in generations just previous to mine.  It's also not a surprise that this was never talked about.  War is hell, they survived, end of story as far as they were concerned.

Mabel and Clay Rowley

Likewise, not all of my memories were good ones.  I didn't much like my grandma's second husband, Paul Wetzel or his mom Lulu.  His sister Agnes (Wilkins) always seemed to me to be angry.  His sister Midge (Rowley) was the happier one.  Both were very big women and could smother a child with their hugs!  Grandma Wetzel was obsessed with keeping her house clean.  Paul's sons from his first marriage, John and Darrell, were teenagers to young adults back then, and full of themselves.  Darrell always seemed to be in trouble.  John liked music.

Gram's mom Rachel lost her first husband and father of her many children in 1930.    Their youngest, son Bob, was only two months old.  The oldest, Alonzo, was 20, with a young family of his own.  He died just six years later after an appendectomy, leaving his wife and five children.  Alonzo's brother Don had been killed in an accident in 1933, only 18 years old.  Then, as if that weren't enough, a real crisis and tragedy occurred.

Daughter Violet, aged 17, was killed in a car wreck just two weeks after her brother Alonzo died.  Adding insult to injury, she was killed by her cousin Garnet (aka Dutch) who had just put plates on his car that morning.  He fled the scene and wasn't picked up until the next day.  Two other non-family members were also badly injured.  Dutch was the son of David Selby Gorrell, Ervin's brother.  The families never got over it.

The uncle that I was closest to was Uncle Bob.  He lived in Mason County, WV with his wife and two kids, and was the youngest of the Gorrell kids.  He was very much like my dad, his namesake.  Both told silly jokes and liked to laugh.  My grandmother was very close to him.  Uncle Bob died when I was about ten-I think it was cancer.  I've long since lost track of his kids.

Aside from my grandmother, the Gorrell I miss the most is my Aunt June.  She was everybody's "Aunt June".  She was brassy, sassy, and incredibly kind. She and my Aunt Belle died the same year, 2007.  After my grandma died in 1999, Aunt June was her stand in in my life. My kids were fortunate to know her as well.

One more note then I will leave this for now.  My dad and his first cousin Libby Pyatt Abels were what is known as "double first cousins".  Gorrell sisters married Pyatt brothers.  Interestingly, my sister Amy (Taylor) and my cousin Jodi (Smith) looked exactly alike in their toddler years.  The local newspaper even ran photos of them in the same bathing suit, a couple of years apart, and even I couldn't tell them apart.