Newsies: Nature or Nurture?

Chris, Stan and I, on our way out to visit Precious Pat, stopped in on another of my father's relatives (second cousin and his family) on the Irish side of the family (same side as Bronwyn, Ky, Lyn and Saryn, and they share their last name). Getting to know a second-cousin-once-removed, and my third cousins, I was surprised to discover similarities I (and others in our branch of the family) share with this more distant part of the family:

a.) medical history, especially similar allergies and stomach problems;

b.) Wow! Are there a lot of Christians in our family;

c.) a tendency to embellish stories, and then to blame the fact that we're Irish;

d.) most importantly: an obsession with Newsies! That's right, folks. We were sitting in their living room talking, when I spotted a DVD under their TV (everyone was surprised I could identify it so quickly and from so far away, but really). "Is that Newsies?" I asked carefully. At which point John and Barbara ranted about how obsessed their children (our third cousins) are with said musical. "I can't tell you how many times they've watched it, and now they each have their own copy, and my son was showing me this part in the movie where a boy with a scarf on his neck is in two different places in the same crowd scene," Barbara told me. Their son then came down the stairs and we got all excited about it, and apparently he got that DVD when his sister moved away and took the VHS copy that she obsessively watches.

Chris now claims that Newsies is a genetic disorder.



In other news, I very much love my Grandma's cousin, who we call Precious Pat. She's this adorably tiny little thing, who makes large loops and curlycues with her letters, and who calls everyone "precious." She and her home defy description, and yet I continually attempt to describe them. My most recent description of her home is "that which can be covered in lace and trailing ivy, will be covered in lace and trailing ivy."

And yet that misses the rest of it: the amazing view of the ocean, or the fact that her house is small, high-ceilinged, octagonal, and was originally intended to be the garage of her daughter's house. Or the Concord Grapes that trail off her house, filling the air with their sweetness. Or the fact that her house is elaborately decorated for Christmas, all year round. Or the tiny man named Burt, who is currently staying with her until a room in a nursing home is available, and who is just as sweet and elfin as his friend Pat. He's always smiling to himself and telling jokes, in spite of the fact that his hearing aid is broken and you have to shout, and he tells the neatest stories about being a chef for the army, and about living in West Germany during the late 1950s (and in Egypt with the newly-formed UN Peacekeepers!). Or Pat's tremendous energy and sense of humour, or how she's constantly bustling about making people happy.

I had a fascinating day. I ended up having turkey at two different homes of distant relatives, and I got all kinds of ego-boosting from Precious Pat. She sent us home with a bag of grapes for Vic and Barb, and with presents for all of us (I got a flowery kitchen towel, and some crocheted dishclothes). Both Chris and I came home smiling (he couldn't help loving Pat -- she's an 82-year-old version of Ariann). We had a good day.