Family Update: My Summer Vacation

It’s that special time of year when I use my blog to update my family and friends in a way that will bore the snot out of you if you don’t know me personally (and likely if you do, but you’ll feel forced to trudge through out of fear I might present you with a pop quiz at some happy hour).  Plus, let’s face it, at this moment I can’t think of a clever way to make my adventures seem all that interesting and I unfortunately feel the need to write. (That urge is being spurred on because if I move from this spot a certain beagle will race to the kitchen, convinced it’s actually dinner time when it’s not. So, I’m hyper-focused on not noticing that she’s desperately trying to get my attention right now.)

Usual Disclaimer

I can’t type.  I also can’t edit.  David can’t be expected to comb through the myriad of grammatical, typographical and some other -cal mistakes that I’m doubtlessly making every time I write.  Basically, you get what you get in all its flawed glory.  Just be thankful that I catch a ton of things before I hit post, so it could be worse for you – much, much, much worse.

The Show

The Awesome Cast of BatShyt Crazy’s: Live Rude Puppets Show

Over the summer I got to be the Assistant Director for a sketch show.  Hrmm… let me restate that – over the summer I got to hold the title of “Assistant Director” for a sketch show. As part of that title I did some standing, a ton of sitting, some thoughtful nodding and agreeable grunting. This is all very important when you’re putting on a production, or so I’ve told myself. I was the gal that when an actor said “line” I was “on book” and would say things like, “uhh hold on… ummm…”  My other duties seemed to include coaxing the director off the ledge. I kind of expected a big thank you card from the cast, since no one was injured in the production by said director.  I didn’t receive that.  I can’t guarantee what will happen at the next show when the next set of ledges present themselves. Guys, invest in football gear.  Just sayin’.

In truth, I met some wonderful, talented and genuinely fun actors. I loved that they were able to heighten the crazy from show to show (this was a show featuring hard-living, sassy-talking puppets) and they sincerely made me burst out laughing with each performance. This is saying something considering I’d heard the script numerous times over an eight week period.  At our own sketch show a couple of years ago, I couldn’t say the same thing.  In fact, had I heard one of the over-rehearsed sketches one more time, I was going to start screaming like a lunatic and running my head into the paneled walls.

I then stole some of those actors for…

A Commercial Shoot

Behind-the-scenes for my commercial featuring Taylor & Gene as detectives Wolfe & Ramsey

A couple of weeks ago we shot four low budget commercials for our friend Steve who has a new computer shop. Three of us wrote four sketches and each took a turn at directing ours.  In a short 10 hour day, we knocked out all four including one involving a fairly shy, but adorable three year old.  The bummer bit is that we learned at the shoot not all of them would be used, so hopefully you’ll get to see mine one day.  At the very least, I’m hopeful the cast for mine will be able to use their bits in their own personal reels – so when they’re famous they can say, “wow, I can’t believe I shamed myself like that”.  My kudos to Gene, Taylor, Jonathan and Mike who were great to work with as always.  Also, thanks to Topping, Mike and Jonathan for sticking around at the end and helping me with a project for my Video Sketch Class I’m currently in – a Blackout Sketch. My understanding of what that is – a very fast joke that leads with a misdirect.  It’s the best I could think of while trying to produce a commercial shoot.

As for that Video Sketch Class

What can I say? The people are extremely funny. The teacher has a nice take on things. I’m learning, but I hate every single solitary minute I’m in it and I absolutely dread going. I’ve been sitting on my own personal ledge for awhile while Jay and some friends try to talk me down.  I know it’s my crazy, but I can’t break out of it.  There may be a separate blog piece on it and my crazy later.  Three more classes (like years) – we’ll see if I survive that.  No guarantees.

An Awkward Segue to New Orleans

St. Louis Cemetery, No. 2 – New Orleans

Somewhere in all of this I went to New Orleans with April and had a grand time even if I’m not as plucky, fun or as fast moving as I’ve been on previous trips in years past.  April said I’m supposed to tell you she didn’t try to kill me.  All I’m saying is two of my toes are still black and its been 6 weeks since I’ve been there. Nosiree, didn’t try to kill me at all. That was all “me” mmm hmmm.

I did see and experience new things.  I rode a paddle boat down the Mississippi in a rain storm, which was lovely, explored the cemeteries, visited a former home of William Faulkner (a co-worker asked me later who that was, please don’t make me hyperlink it – I believe in you), ate some amazing food, and of course, then tried to order nachos in New Orleans, because well… I’m not a very seafood-y person and nachos really sounded fantastic in that moment. I later griped about them to my husband in a text, and got a very sympathetic, “and that’s what you get for ordering Tex-Mex in New Orleans”.  I also discovered Buc-ee’s a convenience store chain I had never heard of which I think I will make a blog post of its own.

That’s about it.  I have no other adventures planned at the moment.  No shoots.  No writing (other than that Buc-ee’s thing). No shows. No trips until Thanksgiving. It’s back to my normal waddle-y, self-deprecating routine.

How was your summer?

My Secret Talent

I’ve always suspected I’m secretly great at something.  The problem is that I haven’t quite found that thing I’m great at.  Over the years I’ve learned it’s not drawing, writing, photography, improv, film making, pottery, gymnastics or tennis, but I’ve never given up hope (as you can tell).  Earlier this year I decided it might be special effects makeup based on the fact that I’ve shown little interest in it over the years other than applying a bruise makeup once to scare my cousin into thinking she’d get in trouble after she accidentally popped me in the eye.  (For the record, it had the desired effect.)  I bolstered my belief in my hidden SFX talent, because I’d seen many seasons of Face Off, the Syfy channel’s SFX makeup reality show/contest, and in HIgh School I did have that Bob Kelly make-up kit that is in almost pristine condition after opening it at least two or three times.  Clearly, SFX makeup was my calling.

 My friend April, you know the one who occasionally tries to kill me, the one I’m going to New Orleans with next week out of curiosity to see what she has in store for my demise this time (expect updates if I survive) – that April.  Anyway, April saw that the Austin Film Society was holding a SFX Makeup 101 class taught by one of the former Face Off contestants.  She let me know, because I think she also suspected I had hidden talents – perhaps even be a burgeoning SFX makeup star. I’m sure it wasn’t because I might be star struck by a local artist (the teacher) being a Face Off contestant and this fulfilling some stalkery need of mine.  Yes, I’m sure that’s why she told me – the hidden talent thing.  Did I mention he was a contestant on Face Off?

My friend Topping joined me. Off we go to the class and there he is – the Face Off guy.  He’s nice, patient and pretty cool.  He told us a few stories and then gave us these tiny little take-away kits to create wounds.  Then he laid out some silicone prosthetics.  We each chose one.  I, of course, picked a wound to put directly on Topping’s face.  I’m sure deep down she was delighted by my choice even if she wasn’t readily showing it.  As a much kinder person (better person blah, blah, blah), she picked one for my arm.

Eric Z. from Syfy’s Face Off (background) Me demonstrating natural talent (yada yada)

 My first (and only) application went ok.  I killed an edge, but what Face Off participant hasn’t really?  Then it came time to paint it.  I wanted something a bit bloody in the center.  It was a tear across her face – like she’d been attacked by a serving fork – maybe she tangled with an animal with serving utensils for feet?  It could happen! I decided what the wound needed was some deep reds with dark blues and purples, then on the edge I wanted some nasty yellow – maybe yellow with some red in there.

Evidence of Innate Talent Right There

It’s been a long time since I was in an art class or even colored or considered a color wheel.  All of my age 7 year old art class experience in color suddenly came crashing back into my brain when I used the aforementioned bright yellow, liberally applied some red and I made orange.  Orange. Imagine my surprise, which was quite genuine, as my inner 7 year old mocked away. It was a gigantic bright orange wound right on Topping’s face.  I tried to make it better by adding more colors to cover up the orange.  This ultimately ended up making her wound look like some depraved 1970’s mom had  assaulted her with a bottle of mecuricome.  It was a wound disaster that she got to have her photo taken with to remember throughout time and enjoy the added bonus of having to wear it out of the class on her drive home.  You’re welcome, Topping.

Even Oranger in Person! The blending is pretty gorgeous, too.


My take away – I think that maybe being a SFX makeup artist may not be my hidden talent.  Time to sign up for the next class.

Topping’s Application on My Arm (Grossed out husband = What Real Talent Looks Like)

An Adventure

On the drive into work the other morning I was lamenting not having any good adventure stories to share.  I was coming to grips with having finally reached the bottom of my story well and preparing to settle for sharing quips about the giant mug of water I’ve been drinking daily (well, it is really huge) or maybe some stories of “Sam did the most adorable thing the other day.  Get this, she woke up, padded around, got some food and took a nap.”. “I opened AND closed the door today!” (This is actually something to celebrate if we’re talking about the kitchen cabines or the pantry.) “There was this bumper stick you see, said something about “whirled peas”.  Get it?” You get the idea – bottom of the story well.

Then it hit me.  I vaguely remembered having actually done a few things that I hadn’t shared.  (Look, blame Facebook or the times for the overshare of stuff – I personally blame my friends for encouraging me – you can, too!) It appeared that I had actually engaged in… adventures!  Adventures that proved I left the house at some point for short stints.  Go me!  Way to shrug off the hermit rags (which are, for the record, comfy, warm and after a few days you hardly notice the smell).

So, back in February… (I never said this was a recent adventure) I decided to join my friend April for a curling class.  You might remember April as the friend who tried to do me in at the Texas State Fair.  She’s got a mean streak that borders on homicidal, but is clearly unwilling to explore her own personal orange jumpsuit opportunities, so she cleverly tries to lead me into accidents.  This time her ploy involved tennis shoes on ice and a 42 pound stone.  You’d think I’d learn better, but as you may have gathered through previous stories I’m rather “bless your heart” naive/goofy.  (Southern fact: If you’re in the South and someone says “bless your heart” it’s rarely a kind thing.)

Off I went to the ice rink bundled in my Texas winter attire.  For most Texans that’s just long sleeves, but I actually managed a sweater.  I’m cold natured!  We got a little introduction to the sport and the rules, then off we went to the ice.  Now I’d been on this same ice before – back  in college for something called broomball – a sport where you smack around a hockey puck with a broom (sans bristles) while in your sneakers.  I stayed upright, unlike several other dorm mates – one who had to go to the hospital, but I should confess that I did manage to smack my co-RA’s knuckles to the point that they swelled up pretty nicely. Hey, it’s basically Texas hockey and things got REAL! (It had nothing to do with me spactically flailing around and accidentally hitting someone.)

Since we didn’t have the gear, like their fancy shoes, we were handed a slip cover.  It basically amounted to putting teflon on one foot to make it extra glidey (or fall-y depending on your balance).  They explained how to throw your stone, use your broom for balance and then get into this contraption to push off.  The first guy got in and was flawless.  He was the ringer.  Then everyone else took their turn with varying amounts of success.  Most would get a tiny push, go a few inches, release the stone a few inches and do a small unglamorous pancake on the ice.

Then it was my turn.  I was hoping to push a few inches down the ice and with any luck not  pancake.  I got my feet placed, got down on the ice and realized not only could I not push off, I wasn’t sure I could get back up.  I decided it was a great time to panic as I surveyed the 50+ highly successful participants.  “Successful” was defined by whether they could get up off the ice and while I realized I hadn’t seen everyone, I knew in my soul they all could. I was the embarrassment of the ice rink!  I might actually die out here on the ice unable to leave this spot.  Maybe the zamboni could push me to safety? Maybe I’d become a human puck and one day reach the exit?  Maybe I could belly crawl to the side, someone could open the little door out and I would once again be on terra firma.  It was settled.  The last plan was the best.  Now how to begin the belly slide that way without drawing any attention.  This was going to be difficult.

My little group was now staring and my poor little trainer (who wore possibly the best pants ever if you forget the Norwegian Olympic team) tried his best to help, extending a hand.  I couldn’t take it.  I knew if I took it, I’d pull him down, too.  I did consider that if he were down on the ground, I could use him as a way to get up.  This actually wasn’t the worst idea I’d had and it beat living on the ice. Still, I didn’t want to push up with my own hands off the ice, because well… ice is slippery and not meant for stability. I finally got up and declared, “I’m done!” Not in a pouty way.  More in a “thank you tons for your time! I’m personally mortified! This is great! I’m going to stand back here and take pictures. No, no, I enjoy taking picture! You’re great! Buh bye!”

Well, it turns out most of the curling club is packed with Canadians who may be the friendliest people on the planet.  They weren’t having anyone missing out on the fun, so one of the curling club leaders slid over and offered a solution.  A stick! Yes, a stick is a solution.  You basically hook it into the stone, step off the same little contraption I couldn’t push off of and release the stone.  They gave me a little tutorial so I could get the stone to “curl” and pointed out people in their club who used it regularly for various reason and explained there was no shame in the stick.  I had a shameless stick!

I returned to the group with my little stick and I proceeded to heave that stone down the ice every time I had a turn.  And I made those little sweepers work it, because by not being challenged by the stance and merely walking out onto the ice, I could make the stone move very quickly and send it down far.  I was triumphant! (Well, we’ll end the story here so I can say that and we’ll never mention my sweeping “ability”.  Never.)

At the end our group leader with the fabulous pants encouraged each of us to join the club.  When I made a face that read like “you kind hearted funny pants wearing man” he cheerfully added , “you, too – several people use the stick method and we’d love to have you.”  Bless his heart. I have to admit I did have a moment of “you know, I think I may do it.  I’m going to be a curler!” thanks to the people in the club.

And that’s what I did one day in February.

Below is a video from that day.  I’m in it.  I will never point myself out to you. However, if you still want to see what the rink looked like with a bunch of amateur curlers that I might be among, the news report starts at 23:45.

 

Mommy, I Want to Be a Pariah When I Grow Up

When I was younger, I wanted to be a ballerina, a few years later it was an architect, then a mythologist (which my cousin kept trying to explain wasn’t a real thing), then a museum curator, then finally a “who’s hiring?” I never consciously chose “pariah”. I guess I never dared to hope that I’d be that interesting. Yet, here I am.

If you asked my friends to describe me they’d supply a list of rather bland adjectives you wouldn’t typically ascribe to your average suburban pariah. Clearly I’m a rarer breed. I’m an introvert, I’m shy, I’m reserved, and I’m measured. While I’m not particularly bright or clever, I am occasionally and quite unintentionally amusing. My friends haven’t caught on that most of my humor comes from blunders of speech, but I do admit that when they laugh I try to pass it off as intentional. I meant to say that! Aren’t I funny? (If they have caught on, they go ahead and let me enjoy the moment. They’re great like that.)

My routine is stay in the house, stay in the house, stay in the house, go to work, come back inside the house, move to the computer room, go to the backyard, and get back inside. I’ve become more agoraphobic since my neighbor’s (unleashed) dog charged us snarling, snapping and baring its teeth several times (with no apology), since she threatened to call the cops while I was sitting in the backyard and Sam was baying at the emergency vehicle sirens (she later apologized and said it was insomnia – the apology was timely – 5 years later), since she tore up part of our fence without warning to repair it and then left the old pickets and garbage behind in our yard, since she tore up the vines we had growing up the fence (they dared to grow down its back side, so she promptly chopped them up and threw all of it over the fence without a word) and since she joined the Human Chihuahua (HC) as HC ranted about how we should go to jail for the abhorrent lifestyle my husband and I lead – the one that the neighbors all disapproved of, and that you can read about here: That’s A Wrap: The Austin 48 Hour Film Project.

Needless to say, going outside typically gives me a mild anxiety attack. The real kind. I cannot walk our dog. I cannot walk to the mailbox. I can barely water the lawn and landscaping is out of the question. All of those activities expose me to the front of the house for far too long of a period and if I am going to do any of that it involves a long pep talk about “you live here, too – go get ‘em, champ!”

So, about three weeks ago a shabby little sign-up sheet appeared on my door with the word “YUM!” glued all over it. The invitation was for what amounted to a block party and promised burgers, sausage wraps, hot dogs, etc. I was surprised to see it on my door. We’re the neighborhood pariahs. We’re the ones the “neighborhood disapproves of”. I looked at it, my stomach started rolling and I decided we had to go. We had to show them that they couldn’t force us (or me) to stay in the house. Unfortunately, Jay had to work and there was no way I’d go by myself. I immediately posted a note on Facebook begging for a date. Thankfully, my good friend Jennifer agreed. (I will forever love Jennifer for this.)

The day of the event, this past Saturday, I had another anxiety attack. My blood pressure skyrocketed. I started combing the pantry for anything that might act as a depressant, something to undo the caffeine from earlier in the day, and stumbled on the wine we use for cooking – cheesy little screw top/plastic bottles. Blech! (I’m not a big drinker and wine from a plastic bottle is well, wine from a plastic bottle.)

Jennifer and I wandered over at the appropriate time and there was Bill, the good neighbor. He walked up to me and said, “I’m so glad you came. I didn’t think they were going to invite you. If they hadn’t, I was going to come and get you.” I like Bill because he sees this stuff going on and he thinks it’s awful and ridiculous, too. I told him, “I had to come, even though I don’t want to be here so I can show them who I am.” Then I asked him to point out the woman who insulted me on my porch so Jennifer could see who she was. The story about HC is legend among my friends and there’s even a song inspired by the event that most of my friends know and sing. (This is what happens when you stomp on my porch unaware that some of Austin’s top improvisers are inside and you’re actually screaming at one of them in the form of our writer for that shoot.) I put on my biggest smile and went and forced people to see me, to talk to me, and to be polite to me. I reminded myself that the people who gossiped about me made up approximately 1/10th of the households that were invited – approximately 10%. They made up 1/4th of our actual cul-de-sac which meant 3/4th were undecided about who I was in the cul-de-sac and 9/10th of the entire two blocks. Math helps with anxiety.

The organizer (the one with the aggressive dog and the lead gossiper) walked up and said something like, “Beth, I’m so glad you made it. Everyone here has been wanting to meet you.” She’s mentioned that kind of thing to me in the past, “you know, people have been wondering about you all since they never see you.” Personally, I’ve always prized people who minded their own business and were generally not a nuisance, but here that’s a problem. Jennifer said, “wow, they really do talk about you, don’t they?” Yep.

The hardest part, aside from eating their food (breaking bread with them), was when I heard HC speaking to a neighbor and that neighbor responded, “she’s right over here, do you want to meet her?” knowing that “she” referred to me. I looked up, smiled brightly, extended my hand and chatted away. I asked her about herself and her family. I carried on. I joked. And inside I choked down a world of anger. Being polite to a person who implied Jay and I lead a deviant lifestyle, one that involves the exploitation of children was hard. Laughing with a woman who threatened to call the police and suggested not only what I do in my house is illegal, it’s abhorrent, was stomach churning. Yet, there I was. Throughout the whole event, Jennifer and I would refer to the song and sing the chorus a bit. It helped push down the hard feelings by adding levity.

I stayed for a little over an hour and a half. My friend Topping had given me goals. “You can leave in 40 minutes if you’ve gone around and mingled with everyone. After 40 minutes, if you find you’re hunkering in a corner, you have to stay an extra amount of time until you feel comfortable. You can leave after an hour and a half.” (That was the gist of it, if not exact.) I mingled, I retreated, I mingled some more. I chatted up neighbors I’d been wanting to meet who were as lovely as I expected. I shook the hands with the gossipers and I laughed with them. As I left I stopped by and said goodbye to most everyone who was still there from my cul-de-sac. I thanked the organizers for inviting me, telling them the event was just perfect. Then I finally stopped Bill as he was exiting and thanked him for just being awesome; he blushed, waved and headed home with his family. (Bill & Becky still win as the best neighbors, although now I think I may have added one or two additional allies.)

Overall a success thanks to Topping (for writing that song and for pre-party advice) and especially thanks to Jennifer for being so gracious as to stand by me on an extremely hard day. (I owe you big time. I don’t think you will ever know how much your being there meant.)

Who knows, I may try to go outside in the front, we’ll see. I’m still working through a phobia, so there may not be huge changes – just baby steps.

Foster Needed – Austin, Texas

My good friend Julie has an amazing opportunity of a lifetime – a chance to practice medicine in New Zealand for a year. The downside, aside from not being able to see her at all during that time and only getting to live vicariously through her adventures, is that she can’t take her beloved dog Sami.

WE NEED YOUR HELP! SAMI NEEDS A FOSTER FAMILY!

Sami is a senior girl. She has a goofy smile, long legs, big ears and an even bigger heart. From the time we’ve spent with her, we can tell she loves soft pats, ear scratching (right there, yes right there), naps, showing off her toy for the kitty, chasing wild rabbits and eating. She’s easy going, mellow and super friendly.

She looks great in a hat!

If you chose to foster her for a year, you’ll receive:

  • A year’s supply of all her medicines (she’s a senior, so she has a few and this includes her heartworm meds)
  • Vet bills paid (of course within reason – no open heart surgery, knee replacements, cybernetic implants, diamond doggy grills, etc.)
  • A gigantic crate with her bed, blankets and her toy.
  • A whole lot of love!
  • Wet doggy kisses!

WE NEED YOUR HELP! SAMI DESERVES A LOVING FOSTER FAMILY!

Sami is house trained, crate trained, and dinner trained (she’ll always come for dinner!).

She’s 60 lbs. and her vet believes she may be part Catahoula, Australian Shepherd and she is definitely all heart.  She needs to be able to come in from the extreme Texas heat and of course the cold.

Beth, why can’t you keep her? Great question! We’d love to, she’s a great house guest. Unfortunately our dog attacks her. Please note: all fighting is initiated by our dog. Sami is not responsible for any of the aggression; she’s easy-going and seems to want to make friends, but ours isn’t having it. Sami and our dog have to spend most of their time separated and food cannot be out when they’re both out (or a trash bag that you’re trying to seal up and take out). She needs a better place where she doesn’t have to be stressed out by our aggressive beagle. (Who knew beagles could be aggressive?)

SAMI NEEDS YOU!

All legs, ears and heart waiting for you!

Can you help? Do you know of anyone who can? Have any questions? Please leave a comment here or send me an email at bigbluemess at gmail dot com.

Cousin Removal Explained – Now with Pictures!

One of the most confusing terms when talking about family relationships and Family Trees is the term “removed”. People will consciously avoid it opting for a second or third cousin reference, because it’s seemingly too confusing. Well, a long time ago, because I’m quite an accomplished nerd, I decided I needed to conquer it if I were going to work on my family tree.  A little staring at the explanation and the light bulb came on, and now I’m going to attempt to explain it to you.

I should tell you at the outset, that I’m terrible about teaching things. If Word weren’t fighting me at the moment or I had Visio at home, I’d probably do a better job, but you got me and text, and well… like I said I’m terrible at teaching things. Good luck! ENJOY!

Here we go!

Let’s say there’s YOU and YOU have two cousins ALLIE and ARNOLD. ALLIE and ARNOLD are your Mother’s sister’s children; they are your first cousins. Now ALLIE grows up and has one son, BERNARD. BERNARD is your cousin. As your first cousin’s son; he’s your first cousin (ALLIE) once removed. At some point you go off and meet the spouse of your dreams and your first child (apple of your eye with only your good qualities) is BARBARA. BARBARA, as your child, is ALLIE and ARNOLD’s first cousin (you) once removed – BARBARA. However, BARBARA and BERNARD are second cousins.

Think of it in terms of Family Tree tiers. YOU, ALLIE and ARNOLD are on the same tier. ALLIE’s son, BERNARD and your daughter BARBARA are on the next tier. The same tiers represent first, second, and third cousins, and so on. If someone is not on the same tier as YOU (in other words, they are not ALLIE or ARNOLD) they’re considered “removed.”

ALLIE’s son BERNARD has a girl, CATHY. She is ALLIE’s granddaughter, so she is your first cousin (ALLIE), twice removed (BERNARD – once removed, CATHY – twice removed). If BARBARA has a daughter CAROLYN, then CAROLYN is also ALLIE and ARNOLD’s first cousin twice removed. CAROLYN is also BERNARD’s second cousin, once removed and she is CATHY’S third cousin.

So, now that you’ve got that completely straightened out (aka “survived”) – meet my third cousin, five times removed – Hazel Bess Laugenour. (I cheated and had Family Tree Maker figure that bit out, but now that you’re a relationship pro you could easily map it.) She’s my latest genealogical find! She’s a hoot! She’s also a swimmer, a vaudevillian, an inventor (something with a hydroelectric current), graduate of Berkeley in the early 1900’s, and chock full of spunk and sass. You should read the news articles on her!

Neptune’s Perfect Girl

… and because I now understand “removed”, you can tell that Hazel and I are incredibly close (thus the similarities in disposition and achievements – Like I’m incredible at flailing around in the water – a careful (carefree?) balance of water ballet and drowning. I’m quite the little water naiad. Then there was that time I invented ummm… well, we have to have some differences otherwise how would you distinguish the two of us? You couldn’t!)

Armed with this newly found knowledge, imagine what you’ll discover! Now go forth and remove those cousins!

 

Calling all Greens/Singletons/Robbins/Swinsons/Baileys/Howards/Touchstones/Webbs

First, let me introduce myself, I’m Beth. I’m the granddaughter of Jim Swinson and Elizabeth Cearley. You can read the reasoning behind my posting my family information on a blog in the previous post or by clicking here.

I’m looking for more information on our family – from stories to photos to very simple things like full names. (Sometimes the information you find through censuses, family trees, etc doesn’t paint a complete picture, which is why I need your help.) I have been fortunate that several descendants of the Singletons have been extremely generous with their information, but we all seem to be missing information from both the Greens and their ancestors, and the Robbins and their descendants. If you have any information on the following people, I’d love to hear from you:

Daniel Madison Singleton (1/18/1848 – 1/21/1930) – Rabun, Georgia; Dahlonega, Georgia; Chechero, Georgia, Delta, Texas, Cooper, Texas

m. Amanda Green (6/8/1848 – 1872) – Amanda died in Benton County, Arizona; Lumpkin County, Georgia

David Franklin Singleton, Sr. (2/29/1868 – 11/22/1953) – Rabun County, Georgia; Paris, Texas

m. Lera Hamilton (7/1/1877 – 12/12/1958)

Mary E. Singleton (abt. 1902)

David Franklin Singleton, Jr. (abt. 1907)

Amanda Talitha Singleton (4/26/1872 – 5/10/1946) – Benton County, Arkansas; Donie, Texas; Limestone, Texas; Dallas, Texas

m. Reverend William P. Robbins (3/7/1873 – 8/13/1938) (I’ve seen his middle initial listed as “Pete”, “Pate”, and “Peter”.)

Daniel Frank Robbins (2/1/1893 – 11/19/1965) – Donie, Texas

Winnie Jane Robbins (8/9/1899 – 3/9/1935) – Waco, Texas; Donie, Texas

m. Jasper Miller

Katie Ruth Robbins (listed as “Catherine” in Reba Nell Touchtone’s obituary) (4/6/1896 – 3/11/1945) – Dallas, Texas

m. William Stewart Swinson or William Stuart Swinson (7/3/1864 – 3/22/1963) = Dallas, Texas

James Greene Swinson (1/19/1917 – 1/14/1984) – Dallas, Texas

(note: date of death comes from the death certificate of Jim H. Swinson)

m. Hillia Elizabeth Cearley

Anita Christina

Philis Cozette

Quentin Woodrow Swinson (2/3/1919 – 10/11/1991)

Esther Elizabeth Swinson (2/2/1924 – 8/29/1993 or 8/24/1993) – Carson, California; Long Beach, California

m. Henry Webb

Cathy Webb – Laguna Niguel, California

Yvonne Webb – Torrence, California

Henry Webb, Jr.

Reba Nell Swinson (4/5/1926 – 8/26/2009) Dimmitt, Texas

m. Calvin J. Howard, II (10/5/1920 – 2/6/2006)

Calvin J. Howard, III (8/1/1942 – 1/12/1997) – nickname: Wiggy

m. Barbara L. Hammaker Dallas, Texas

Cassandra Lynn Howard – Beauxbridge, Louisiana

Christi L. Howard – Austin, Texas

m. Jay Lee Touchstone – Dimmitt, Texas

Anna Mae Robbins (Annie Mae Robbins) (2/4/1905 – 3/10/1994 – Dallas, Texas

m. Kenneth T. Bailey, Sr. (4/27/1897 – 1/19/1973)

Mary Frances Bailey (abt. 1927)

Kenneth T. Bailey, Jr. (9/20/1929 – )

William Stewart Swinson – (family with first wife)

m. Ida Quinn

  • Henry Ward Swinson (9/16/1905 – 2/1973)
    • Ward Swinson – Ft. Collins, Colorado
  • William Edward Swinson, Sr. (5/29/1898 – )
    • Edwina Swinson Hahn – Columbus, Georgia
    • William Edward Swinson, Jr. – Atlanta, Georgia
  • Richard Hillyer Swinson (7/24/1900 – 9/9/1933)
  • Ruth Swinson (8/1903 – 4/1907)
  • Mary Swinson Smith (6/20/1901- )

William S. Swinson’s Siblings include:

  • Henry Ward Swinson – (9/1859 – 1905)
  • James Daniel Swinson – (5/1/1862 – 7/1/1945)
  • John Wilkes Swinson, Sr. – (6/18/1867 – 6/7/1941)
  • Jesse Lee Swinson (8/9/1869 – 3/30/1933)
  • Lily Davis (Swinson) Blackburn) (3/20/1872 – 8/20/1943)
  • Eva Jackson Swinson (10/26/1876 – 4/21/1958)

For indexing purposes, I’m also going to re-list some of the family with their married names:

  • Amanda Singleton
  • Annie Mae Bailey
  • Reba Nell Howard
  • Reba Nell Touchstone
  • Esther Elizabeth Webb
  • Winnie Jane Miller
  • Yvonne Choate
  • Catherine Lyons

Any information you’re willing to share would go a long way to filling out our family story. Even the smallest details helps move these people beyond mere names and names. For example, I recently learned that Winnie Jane, Robbins, my great-great aunt, was an auditor at a hotel in Waco and performed in her local glee club in the 1930’s.  She wasn’t a teacher or a secretary, which is what I would expect to find.  She was an auditor.  This simple bit of information gives me a slighterly better clue as to who she might have been. If you know anything, even if it’s as simple as a full name, and you are willing to share, please leave a comment below or you can email me at bethd at texas dot net.

I would love to hear from you!  I would love to share with you! (Plus, there are a whole lot of Singletons who are very eager to learn more about you and bring you into their (our) family.)