What Three Sisters Passed Down to Two Cousins (A Very Special Guest Post)

Three sisters, right around the turn of the 20th century, grew up in Texas, married three handsome men, and between them, produced one son and three daughters.  Mary Dee's two daughters each had a daughter and a son.  Mildred's daughter, Margaret, became my mother, who will probably scold me for calling her "Margaret," which she hasn't used since high school.  Lucy Sue's daughter, Lucille, had two daughters and a son.  Lucille's son, John, had a daughter and a son.   John's daughter is my third cousin once removed, if I have that right.

When Lucy Sue, Mildred, and Mary Dee wanted to gather the family together, they did so at the Stagecoach Inn in Salado, Texas.  A shop nearby, located up a flight of stairs, had a sign pointing the way that read, "Antiques."  The three sisters found it hilarious, each and every time we met, to pose in birth order on the steps with the "Antiques" sign.  Their children probably exchanged "do you believe this" looks; we kids were simply relieved to the out of the glare of the flashbulbs. (Ah! Remember flashbulbs?)

During a couple of summers when I was young,  John and his wife, Jan, invited my sister, Janet, and me to stay with them for a week.  I remember having a great time with them, once getting to hang out at the store where John worked.  I had a book and found a quiet corner where I could read and keep an eye on the action.  I doubt that Janet did that.  She was the action, I feel sure.

Looking back on it, I am so thankful that we spent weeks with cousins or with my aunt and uncle on my dad's side of the family.  Those weeks afforded us opportunities to store up valuable family memories, as did holidays in small Texas towns like Lampasas, Sour Lake, or out at the family farm in Pearsall.

In time, though, with generations growing up and moving to various parts of the state, country, or world, our family, like many others, began to lose touch.  I hadn't seen my third cousins once removed in many years.  I sat down one day and logged onto Facebook, only to find a message from one of those very cousins.  Her husband, she said, worked at Baylor and had submitted the account of our family to the Alumni Association.  They had chosen us as a First Family of Baylor, said my cousin, and she hoped to see me at the award ceremony.

Reconnecting with my cousin opened up a new friendship for us.  Despite our age difference, Ladybug is only about a year older than her daughter.  We managed to set up a meeting or two while I lived in Perfect Austin, and I enjoyed our time together.

After one of those meetings, a lunch at a tea room in Waco, I wrote this in my gratitude journal: "Being able to see someone's family tree in their face - familiar features from generations before."  I saw her father's smile,  her grandfather's eyes, mannerisms I remember seeing her great-grandmother use.  We laughed about memorable ancestors, shared different perspectives on family life in the years since we'd seen each other as children.

Rediscovering Brooke, the Intentional Momma, my cousin, has often made me smile.

Later, of course, I came to know that Brooke is more than just my cousin.  Her blog creatively approaches motherhood with fun and frugality.  Her helpful tips and coupons help me run my home better and with far more craftiness than I am normally capable of.  Her upbeat attitude reminds me to seek the best in all I do around the house.  She is more than a cousin, she's a friend and a virtual mentor as I've entered BlogWorld.

I think of Lucy Sue, Mary Dee, and Mildred on the steps of that antique shop in Salado, giggling as sisters will about the idea of them being antiques.  None of us had any idea then about the ways families would lose touch, then reconnect.  Certainly home computers had never crossed their minds as their daughters snapped their picture.  The Internet would have sounded like something farfetched and ridiculous.  And blogs?  Why on earth would you want to write, on a regular basis, news about yourself and your family for strangers to read?

But cousins, laughing together in a tea room in Waco, Texas, seeing flickers of past generations steal across our faces?  Well, I do declare they'd have seen that coming for miles away.

Jenn LeBow is a native Texan; lover of Jesus; happy wife of Honey, a Diplomatic Security Special Agent; mom of four (mostly) delightful kids: Cartwheel, 21; Einstein, 10; Blossom, 8; and Ladybug, 4; and voracious reader, whose appetite for books is reluctantly subjugated to other duties in life.  She blogs at Hang On, Baby, We're Almost... Somewhere, where she encourages a "small-town, big-world feel," and she tweets.