Once Removed

Note: I wrote this several years ago. I am posting it now because May is the time we honor our female forebears, and also to celebrate my Grandma Barnes' upcoming birthday  – she will turn 90 next week.

I was eight when I found out that my parents are cousins. I was standing at my mother's feet, enjoying the natural invisibility that makes children proficient eavesdroppers, as she explained it to a friend. "We probably should never have gotten married," she said, laughing.

I found myself quite indignant. What were you thinking? I shrieked inside. You don't marry your cousin! Even I know that!

As it turned out, they aren't first cousins – nothing so Old-Testament-times as that – but my father's great-grandfather and my mother's great-great grandfather are the same man. This makes my genealogy tilt strangely, the lines pulling together in places, like a sweater with a flaw in the knitting. Second-cousins-once-removed, I learned years later, is the proper label for my parent's relationship. (This means that I'm my own second-cousin-twice-removed, a fact I find amusing if not highly singable.)

It is the “once removed” aspect of this pedigree that has been most consequential in my life, because it means that I had the experience of growing up with grandmothers who, as first cousins once removed, literally came from two different generations.

My mother's mother, Elizabeth Barnes, was thirty-nine when I was born. My paternal grandmother, Lenore Measom, was forty when she gave birth to my father. I was the first grandchild for one family, perhaps the fortieth for the other. My uncle and my grandmother were classmates in high school.

Because my two grandmothers largely followed the paths laid out for them by the times in which they lived, they led notably different lives, despite having being born and raised within a few miles of each other. Knowing them both as I did put me in the privileged position of having an insider's view of two slices of history. I am only now beginning to see how enriching this was for me.

One gave birth seven times, every time in her home. The other had her four children in a hospital. One worked at her husband's side every day on their farm, while one wore a suit to go to work in an office.

One found a soldier in World War II: she met and married my grandfather while he was stationed in Salt Lake City. The other lost a soldier – her oldest son – in that same war.

One lived in the same house from the time of her marriage until her death, while the other has moved several times, each time to a nicer home, in upwardly-mobile fashion. One was a widow as long as I knew her, while the other is still comfortably married.

My younger grandmother, Grandma Barnes, is a strong believer in fitness and does aerobics regularly. Grandma Measom would have been dumbfounded at the idea of created exercise. She labored hard all her life, and if she had any leisure time, she would not have spent it trying to get her heart rate into its target zone.

Both were thrifty, although in different ways. Grandma Barnes loves a bargain and can hear a clearance sale downtown calling to her from her kitchen.  Grandma Measom was of the “make it do or do without” school.  My father told me how she once pulled up her living room carpet, which was very worn in the middle, and cut it in half, then swapped the halves and sewed them back together with a needle and thread. I was delighted with her ingenuity and struck with a desire to do something equally resourceful.

Despite their differences, though, as a child I saw both simply as loving, attentive grandmothers, which was all that really mattered to me.

I was influenced by their expectations for me, though their hopes were somewhat different. Grandma Barnes frequently told me how smart I was; how she knew that I could be anything I wanted to be. On the other hand, Grandma Measom was often heard to say that she didn't want her children and grandchildren to be smart, or rich, or good-looking, or admired by the world, but that she only wanted them to be good people who loved their families and loved the Lord. (At her funeral, my father shared this about her, then added, “I stand before you today as a testimony that the first part of her wish, at least, came true.”)

I was impressed by their faith through difficult times. I was struck by their strong work ethic, although their work was not the same. They both loved flowers and music and good food and family, and so do I.

The time in which I was raised was different from that of either of my grandmothers, or of my mother. I have choices they didn't have, luxuries they didn't expect, pressures they didn't face. Even on days when I long for a simpler time, I am grateful to live in this season. More than that, though, I am grateful for the women whose heritage and example have equipped me to live in it well.

My Paternal Grandmother, Lenore Measom

Grandma and Grandpa Measom standing outside their home. 

My Paternal Grandparents, Lenore and Ty Measom.
(Interesting fact: My husband's great-grandfather performed their
marriage and sealing in the Salt Lake Temple in 1922.)

My grandparents with their seven children, in 1942.
 The little one is my father.

My Grandmother, Elizabeth Gull Barnes

My Grandparents, Norm and Elizabeth Barnes
(To learn more about my Grandma and Grandpa Barnes's
 courtship and life together, click here.)

My Grandparents on their wedding day

My Grandma and Grandpa Barnes with their first three children.
My mother is the redhead in the white dress. 

A more recent picture of my maternal Grandmother, Elizabeth Barnes.
Happy Birthday, Grandma!

This picture, taken at my sister Polly's wedding, is one of the few pictures
that include both my Grandma Barnes and my Grandma Measom

The Rights We Share

A little more than a year into our marriage, Wes and I moved halfway across the country so that he could continue his education. We were excited about this new adventure and the experiences and opportunities it would bring.

Memphis is a city with a lot of natural beauty, interesting places to visit, and very friendly people. But it is also city with some real problems. One of those is racism.

I grew up in Northern California and went to schools that had a lot of racial diversity among the students and faculty. I remember sitting in my fourth-grade classroom and learning about the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s. I was shocked that such terrible things had happened in this country – this great nation; not in ancient history, but not long ago, around the time I was born. I was glad to know that the era of hate and inequality was over, and “we the people” had left it behind.

So I was not prepared for the ignorant and ugly bigotry that we found in our new hometown. We moved into a neighborhood where we were in the racial minority. We enjoyed making new friends there, and we were determined that our children would be raised to be “color blind.”

One day I was in the kitchen while our son Sam, who was probably about four, was playing with some neighborhood friends. I heard Sam's voice say, “I'm white, and you're black, and white is better than black, so I get to go first.”

I felt like a bomb had dropped. I walked quickly toward the living room, ready to pull my child aside and talk to him about it and suggest he apologize to his friend. I got there just as Sam was saying, “After this, we'll play again, and you can be white and I'll be black.”

They were playing checkers.

With great relief, I remembered that months earlier, Sam had said, thoughtfully, “The difference between me and Randall is that his hair is dots, and my hair is lines.”

Today, we celebrate the life and legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr. He did not set out to be a hero or a menace. He didn't plan to shake the world. He just wanted to be a good man, a disciple of Christ, a servant of God. And when he was asked to help, he said he would try. His autobiography contains this revealing scene:

Almost immediately after the [bus boycott] started we had begun to receive threatening telephone calls and letters. They increased as time went on.

One night I couldn’t sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come down on me at once. I had heard these things before, but for some reason that night it got to me. I went to the kitchen and I sat there and thought about a beautiful little daughter who had just been born. I started thinking about a dedicated and loyal wife, who was over there asleep. And she could be taken from me, or I could be taken from her. And I got to the point that I couldn’t take it any longer. With my head in my hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud: “Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right. I think I’m right. I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now, I’m faltering. I’m losing my courage. Now, I am afraid. . . . I have nothing left. I’ve come to the point where I can’t face it alone.”

It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: “Martin Luther, stand up for righteousness. Stand up for justice. Stand up for truth. And lo, I will be with you. Even until the end of the world.”

I tell you I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me alone. At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty disappeared. I was ready to face anything.

Martin Luther King believed in justice. He believed in solving problems with peace instead of violence. He believed that love was stronger that hate. He believed in loving and serving others. And he shared these beliefs, in word and actions, with the world.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige, and even his life for the welfare of others. In dangerous valleys and hazardous pathways, he will lift some bruised and beaten brother to a higher and more noble life."

“Everybody can be great...because anybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.” 

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” 

“Those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.” 

 “Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude.” 

“Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?”

“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.”

“Not everybody can be famous but everybody can be great, because greatness is determined by service.”

“Like anybody, I would like to have a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will.” 

Civil rights is about more than race relations. It's about giving the same opportunities and respect to everyone, without regard for their ethnicity, gender, or religion. It's about remembering who we are – children of God – and that our neighbors who share this planet are, too.

For none of these iniquities come of the Lord; for he doeth that which is good among the children of men; and he doeth nothing save it be plain unto the children of men; and he inviteth them all to come unto him and partake of his goodness; and he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile. (Book of Mormon | 2 Nephi 26:33)

We can't change the past, and maybe we can't change the deep-rooted prejudices that some people have carried from childhood. But can we examine our own hearts, and rework our own thinking if we find groundless bias there? Can we do our part to make sure that the next generation is free from the burden of false assumptions and judgments?

Every culture has its problems, including mine. But I dream of a world where making a decision about the character of a fellow human being based on the the color of his eyes, or his hair, or his skin seems as preposterous as judging him by the color of his t-shirt.

We started a new family tradition last year, and we continued it tonight. We are celebrating Martin Luther King Day – and our own freedoms – with a scoop of vanilla and a scoop of chocolate ice cream: a symbolic reminder that we can find goodness and happiness in desserts, and in people, of different colors. We think it's a lesson worth enjoying. 

Passing Through

Seventy years ago, in 1944, Elizabeth Gull moved to Salt Lake City to work in a aircraft factory. She was eighteen years old, and World War II was changing lives everywhere.

A few years earlier, a young man named Norman Barnes left his home in southern Missouri to join the army. In 1944, he was stationed in Utah.

They met on a blind date. And I guess, as they say, the rest is history — family history for me. They raised four children, and now have 16 grandchildren and 34 great-grandchildren.


About ten years ago, my sisters and I made this video in honor of our grandparents, Norm and Liz Barnes.We are grateful for their guidance and example. Their love story is sweet and inspiring. 

I hope you can feel that as you see and hear their story.

You can read another post about my grandmother's "legacy" to me (in a much less serious sense of the word) here: The Power of the Dark Side