Family History #1: Finding the Stories
Welcome To My Oklahoma Family
I was looking for something fun to blog about in 2019 and I thought getting into my family’s history might be interesting. I’ve always been interested in the stories that make up our family, and I am particularly interested in the real lives of the folks without a strong an obvious record. I want to know the things I can never know. What sorts of things did my 4th great grandma think about? Was my 6th great uncle happy? What were the sounds and smells of the house of the young families? It’s unfortunate that legal documents form the understanding of the vast majority of our families. I long for journals or diaries, and maybe more of those will be discovered. Until then, I have only the facts and I will try to present as much as I can to try and help understand the various branches of my family.
I’ve been careful to avoid the words ancestry and genealogy until now, but after this explanation, I will use them. I consider myself a family historian and not a genealogist. I find DNA an interesting part of studying one’s own story, but it isn’t the complete story. Who I share genetics with in a lot of cases have less to do with who I am and who my family has been than close friends and communities, or even pets. There are more ways of facing what a family is than simply tracing one’s ancestry. And I’m also not saying that isn’t valid. If you are only interested in that, go for it. Do your thing. I am not trying to prove a pedigree or show how I am related to anyone in particular, so I’m going to look at the whole. I will definitely look at ancestry and trace my family lines, but I just won’t stop there or be defined by what that is.
DNA
I recently got a DNA test from Ancestry.com The broad results are fairly expected. For those who don’t know, DNA tests do not show where someone comes from, but where people with similar DNA can be found today. It might sound like a minor distinction, but it can help understand why results don’t seem 100% what you might expect.
As you can see from my results, I am 69% “England, Wales & Northwestern Europe”, 28% “Ireland & Scotland”, and 3% “Sweden.” The latter two are clear, but “England, Wales & Northwestern Europe” is a large area and does not show distinctions between Germany, Denmark, England, or France. It’s a large area with a lot of countries. I do know generally speaking that my family came to the United States from Germany, Switzerland, Ireland, and England. I am the cliché American profile.
When you look at the migrations map, you will see that there too I am incredibly broadly American, having family that settled everywhere from Pennsylvania to Texas, from Wisconsin to Georgia. I’ve got family who followed Brigham Young to what would become Utah, and family that took up arms on both sides of the Civil War. There are farmers and ministers, grocers and teachers, housewives and merchants. It would be easy to look at my family and find nothing much worth mentioning, but it’s actually the fact that there aren’t a whole lot of notable figures that interests me even more. Who were these everyday folks?
I hope you’ll stick with me. Leave me comments, and if I am talking about a relative we share in common, please add your own stories and photos.
“Dempsey, Oklahoma”
Dempsey, Oklahoma
Squash vines coiled
in and around, spilling &
tumbling over each other,
exploding with fruit,
filled with more water
than this place had seen
since May.
Those vines grew wild
alongside bindweed
in the garden that once
fed a whole family,
the jars lined up in the
dugout cellar —
apricots, potatoes, beans.
We used to play in those
places as they turned to ruins,
our historic homeland.
We’d take watermelon rind,
or cantaloupe halves out
for the overheated cows,
leave the fruit near the salt lick.
Our socks would be filled
with sand burs,
our teeth with dust,
and often my mouth would
still show the traces of chocolate
from a clandestine visit
at my grandma’s parents’ house.
The cows were traded in,
eventually the whole lot
retired to the comfort of town,
to the neighbors
with their cat stories,
and a garden bursting
with cucumbers,
a mowed lawn,
tiger-lilies.
I’d miss Dempsey then,
resigned to sit in hushed rooms,
watching my grandma’s mom
eat cornbread & milk.
She’d tell me stories,
talk about her daddy,
but I always wondered
about the cows
and about the apricot trees.
Written 29 January 2000 in Tulsa, Oklahoma & 23 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Dempsey, Oklahoma” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)
Original Version:
thirteen
Dust and saltlicks and fuzzy caterpillars. I loved the farm. I often complained about the heat or stickerweed or the heat — such incredible heat. I was secretly relieved and secretly upset when G, with her parents moved into town. Where in town was the garden full of overripe squash and where in town were the cows, anxious for discarded watermelon or cantaloupe rind for dessert. They moved to be close to a hospital — to make certain they would have a place near for death. Poor G, it broke her heart, and us kids would sit around making all kinds of noise and she wanted to cry. Cry now, G, cry. Were off making noises in our own places — we’re grown now. We know you need a little peace — we will be quiet now.
1.29.2000
part of the chapbook Studies In Loneliness
Crepemyrtle (Lagerstroemia)
Crepemyrtle (Lagerstroemia)
When I moved to Alaska in 2005 I was struck by those things that were different from my life in Oklahoma. After getting through that first winter, it became apparent that it wasn’t just the conifer trees that provided a striking contrast to the landscapes of the places I consider home. The perennials that popped up in the gardens of the area were exotic to me. They were plants I had known about, but had no experience with. Columbine, dahlia, lobelia, rhubarb, bleeding hearts, raspberries, wild roses, poppies. It was a fascinating experience to be surrounded by these new plants, as well as by the old familiar dandelions and lilacs.
I was in Alaska for a number of years and loved those summer months and the beautiful flowers of the area. What I didn’t expect was how much I would fall in love with the plants of Oklahoma when I returned for vacation.
I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma on 5 August 1979 and I lived in the state until 2005 when I left for Alaska. My uncle is a landscape architect, my grandpa was a professor of agronomy and a consultant on soils. He spent hours daily working on his flowerbeds and vegetable garden on his one acre lot, an oasis of green in the middle of ordinary yards. Plants were a part of our DNA. All parts of my family had been farmers, growing broom corn and cotton. It had never been my world and I barely paid attention to the things growing around me. I was aware of the various plants in the landscape, but I didn’t know much about those plants.
What I was most struck with on coming back to Oklahoma on a vacation in 2007 was how amazing crepemyrtles are. They’ve long been a favorite, especially of my grandpa who had them planted heavily around his house and as a backdrop/transition between the trees and flowers in the flowerbeds. It felt like I was discovering these plants for the first time.
In 2013, I loved back to Oklahoma and these crepemyrtles felt like a focus of my thoughts when I was
at my parents house or at a business. They are one of the most commonly used plants in Oklahoma, and it’s pretty easy to see why.
Crepemyrtles are native to southeast Asia, with some hybrids being crossed with a taller species from Japan. They have been a common ornamental plant in America since before the revolution, with both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson’s gardens having at least one specimen plant. They quickly became a staple in the South, but as they are not generally cold hardy past zone 6 or 7, they were not a part of the gardens of the North and as a result they do not feature in very many of the early seed or nursery catalogs. When they do start popping up, it is clear that several cultivars have been established from the original pink flowering tree. You see white, pink, purple, and red listed in those early catalogs. The purples were what we now refer to as lavender and the red were dark pink. It took a long time to achieve a true red crepemyrtle.
The cultivars did not change significantly for a long time, with sporadic new plants being introduced a couple each decade until the 1950s. It was then that hybridization started in more earnest, and the numbers of plants available really exploded. By the 1970s, new plants were being released at a rate of six to twelve per year, a speed that has only been matched in recent years. These plants had all started off as trees that grow 20-25 feet, filled from June to September with large panicles of pink flowers. Now there were bright reds, fuchsias, deep purples, blush pinks, and picotees of white and pink. Some of them still reached 20 feet or more, while other varieties had been selected to weep only 1-2 feet off the ground.
Crepemyrtles have a couple of drawbacks. The most obvious is that they don’t put on new leaves until late May or June. It’s glaring when the rest of the trees have woken up, many of which have gone through their flowering and are now greening out for the summer and the crepemyrtles still are just a cluster of sticks. It almost feels like nothing will ever happen with them, and then over the course of a few days leaves start popping up from branches that seemed dead for sure. They grow fast and in less than a month, the plant has put on so much growth that it’s easy to forget that it had waited for so long. And then it flowers and that wait was worth it, most of them covering themselves in blooms. Many will stay in bloom until frost, so it’s a showy plant.
They other problem is not so much with crepemyrtles themselves as it is with people who don’t know how to take care of them. It is very common for crepemyrtles to be cut back heavily by landscapers, often dramatically. The result is thickly trunked trees with thin branches, often referred to as a witch’s broom effect. There are two goals these people are trying to accomplish. One, it keeps the plant small and contained. Many varieties can grow to 15-25 feet. Business don’t always want that. The other thing this does is increase the new growth branches, which is where the flowering occurs on crepemyrtles. The do not bloom on last years growth. First, the size of a crepemyrtle can be maintained by planting the correct variety. Choose the one that fits your space. Secondly, new growth and blooming can be encouraged by pruning a crepemyrtle by removing old branches that aren’t growing, dead heading panicles, and cutting back weak growth. Nobody needs to engage in “crapemurders”.
Crepemyrtles may not be native to Oklahoma, or indeed anywhere in zones 7, 8, or 9, but they might as well be. These flowering trees and shrubs are a part of us now, and I am so glad to have rediscovered them and appreciate them immensely.
Please note also that there are different spellings. The plant is botanically known as Lagerstroemia, but is commonly known as crepemyrtle, crepe myrtle, crapemyrtle, or crape myrtle. I used the one I prefer above.
Southern Living: Grumpy Gardener’s Crepe Murders 2018
Thoughts On Plants #1 : Blackjack Oak
Blackjack Oak
Quercus marilandica ashei
Just outside my bedroom window is a rugged Blackjack Oak. She isn’t fancy or flashy; neither is she demanding. She takes care of herself and has a pioneering look about her.
When my parents moved to this property in 2006, most of the native trees were cleared from the areas where they would be living, being replaced with more pleasing fruit trees, crapemyrtles, and one Bradford pear. Along with a few other trees, they did leave one small oak tree. That tree offered a shaded spot to sit and enjoy the property, while being a fairly compact plant. It has not stayed that way.
I moved into this place in 2015. At that time, the once diminutive oak had become a little more of a presence. The branches had arched and reached the house, occasionally scraping against the siding. Ultimately it needed to be trimmed a little, but it’s increased size had created even more of a shaded area, some of its lower branches now no longer putting on leaves. She had started looking a little bit raggedy. It made me wonder about how long lived blackjack oaks are, worrying that she had only a limited time left and that I would need to think about what to do when a replacement or removal was needed.
Blackjack oaks are a type of red oak common from New Jersey to Eastern Kansas and as far south as Georgia and Central Texas. They are small and hardy trees, happily growing is poor soils and dry areas. They don’t represent the prettiest of trees, consisting of crooked and twisted branches, many of which stop putting on leaves when those above them block the light. It gives them a distinctive half-dead appearance that my oak now suffers from, but it does not indicate any sort of problem with the tree itself. It does have a tendency to droop the leafless branches, making it hard to walk under and requiring annual pruning, but it’s a manageable problem.
These trees are slower growing, but longer lived oaks, especially the western subspecies in Northern Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. These individuals make up a significant percentage of The Cross Timbers, the oak savannah that bisects Oklahoma, separating the heavily wooded East from the arid West. It’s a forest made up of post oaks, blackjack oaks, and eastern redcedars. Blackjack oaks can live for more than 200 years, averaging about 80 years. My fears of needing to replace my tree are unfounded.
No, this isn’t the world’s most beautiful tree. It’s leaves even feel like they haven’t fully formed, as if they can quite figure out how to evolve into something clear. The acorns are tiny, barely worth talking about. The limbs are crooked and bare, at least the lower ones. They don’t have the lush growth of most of the other trees that surround the house. However, the tree is home to many birds and those tiny acorns are enjoyed by squirrels and even brazen deer who venture up to the house to graze on them along with the crabapples that grow next to the oak. And it provides much of my house with shade, having expanded from a shady spot in the center of the yard to a defining feature of the property.
This tree has its issues, but I love her and I’m glad she’s here.
Managing Expectations
I have never been very much into gardening. I love having things growing around me, but the process of actually putting those things in the ground and taking care of them… no. But I’ve found myself with a lot of need for distraction lately. So, I have turned to gardening. In the heat. It;s keeping my brain occupied, but I also keep remembering something my brother talks about all the time: managing one’s expectations.
For years, I’ve watched my parents return from nurseries and garden centers with car loads of beautiful plants for the flowerbeds, but with no idea where they will go or who will plant them. Inevitably, most of the plants would end up underwatered, unplanted, neglected, or planted in the wrong spots. The whole ordeal that had started off as fun would end up a disappointment, and a source of frustration. The expectations did not meet the reality. The way they managed that was to try to change the reality around them, but that never worked. Brent’s point was always that it was the expectations that were the problem.
I lived for many years in Alaska. I love the climate that promotes lots of beautiful growth, but with lots of shade and very little heat. I would love to have a garden full of cypress trees draped above head, ferns popping out along the bases of the trees, and fuchsias in hanging pots lining the porch. Moss would grown on the roof of the shed and everyday a light rain would keep the soils moist and the plants would grow up around me and there would be flowers in bloom all summer. I want a beautiful deck to enjoy the cool evenings and have people over. Unfortunately, that is not the situation I find myself in. If I was constantly trying to make that happen, I would spend a lot of my time disappointed and convinced that gardening doesn’t work. What I have to do is work within the framework available to me.
I want tall shade plants: Junipers and crapemyrtles are excellent plants that grown to 10-14 feet and provide a great amount of shade. They have the added benefit of attracting birds and butterflies. So, I am planning a landscape that depends on these two plants primarily as shade plants.
I want lots of flowers: Roses. Roses in Oklahoma, well in my part of Oklahoma, require little care and bloom almost all year. Climbing roses tied against the house give a nice shade to the inside and allow for the appreciation of blooms. I also cannot think of a flower that comes in a greater variety of shapes and sizes. I’ve had a lot of luck with roses, so I’ve popped them in strategically around the house.
I want plants growing on the ground that aren’t grasses: Grasses are a pretty common xeriscape option, especially as I live on the border of two grass prairies. I don’t care for them though. What I do love is vinca, or periwinkle. Vinca keeps my flowerbeds full of green leaves without having them be full of weeds and grasses. It also helps keep my soils moist, which the other plants appreciate.
Moss growing on the roof??? Okay, I admit this one is harder to substitute. So, I’ve decided to try Virginia Creeper. It does grow wild here, but usually deep in the wooded areas. If I can provide the right amount of moisture, I’m hoping I can get this creeping vine to grow up the side of the metal shed or vinyl siding on the house. This one is going to require more effort, and I plan to start it next Spring.
Daily rain? Now I’ve gone too far! Brent and I have talked a lot about irrigation systems. I’m going to invest in the right things so that next year I can have both irrigation and misting available around the house.
I want a new deck: My back porch is rotting. It’s time for it to go, and with Brent’s help I’d like to add on a ground level deck with steps down from the house. It’d be a nice place to spend evenings, as the back yard gets all the evening shade. That project is happening this fall.
When I look at my plans, they seems overly ambitious. I worry I’ve gone too far with what I want to do. Maybe I have. I’m trying to keep it simple, space out my work, and achieve something more than I have now. And I have probably set my expectations too high.
So, I’m not going to be creating a replica of the gardens of Versailles, and I won’t be building a living sculpture. There won’t be any sidewalks with flowers arched above to take a stroll through or fountains with flamingos. That’s okay. It doesn’t need to be outlandish to be beautiful. My plan will probably get pared down over time, or I will wait another year to complete parts of it. It will be mine, and that is what I’m excited about. I never really cared about gardening until I started getting my hands dirty. It’s fun to transform a landscape and to see the plants take shape over time.
Here are the plants I’m interested in ADDING to my landscape:
Here are some of the plants I already have that I wouldn’t mind having more of:
Mom, Thoughts On My Favorite Human
A few weeks ago, I was listening to music after spending the night helping my mom in and out of bed as she recovered from a collapsed lung. I hadn’t left her house yet, and she came into the living room to join me. We didn’t talk; we just sat and listened to the music as the sun came up over the trees and filled the living room with light. It was a peaceful moment. We talked briefly after a while, and then I went home to sleep before coming back the next night. She stayed in the living room for the morning, watching TV and visiting with my dad. If I had known then that it was the last time I would spend time with her in her living room, I would have stayed all day.
My days are like that right now. Everything is about Mom. The roses she and I ordered came in yesterday, a week and a half after she passed. On her desk sit the art project she was working on, four 6×6 canvases featuring her with her grandkids. On her doors hang the wreaths she had ordered for summer; they arrived the week she went to the ER, one being only taken out of its box when we were getting the house ready for visitors. I’ve caught family members talking about the pain she was in, which she was. I’ve heard them hint at how she seemed to have lost some of her spirit, which she had. But I don’t want anyone to think for a moment that she had ever given up on living. Nobody loved life more than she did.
Mom’s life had become about pain and struggling through the many surgeries she had over the past ten years. I’ve lost count; she had lost count. But never did a surgery keep her down. She fought through it because she did not want to be an ‘old person’ and never meant to end up spending so much of her life in bed recovering. These recoveries were temporary, and she spent her time either getting ready to fight after a surgery or working on getting back to her life. Being stuck in bed made her feel left out at times, and it was frustrating for her to not be able to join her sister, friends, and other family on various outings and vacations. She wished she could go to church every Sunday, as her church family was so much a part of who she had always been. She wanted to be healthy enough to stay with her granddaughters more often, but did not have the ability lately. But most people didn’t know any of these feelings. Mom did not complain about her plight to people. She didn’t want others to ever feel bad for enjoying their own lives, even if she couldn’t be a part of it.
ER visits had become so routine, so when she was rushed to the hospital on May 18 it didn’t even phase me. I thought to myself that I hoped she stayed through the weekend; the stays in the hospital were often good for her and gave me peace of mind that someone was checking her out. I also felt relieved that I would get a little extra sleep over the weekend. Then they called me from the hospital to say she was being transferred to Oklahoma City. Dad didn’t seem to remember what the doctors had told him, and Mom and I shouted at one another through his speaker. She told me it was her colon and they needed to do surgery. I have no idea what I said to her, but it was definitely not the right thing. There is no way it could have been. It was the last time we would talk to one another. How could I have known, and what words would we have used. She was aware the next day as she slipped from up, and could nod/shake her head. I was able to talk to her then, but it wasn’t a conversation.
This doesn’t feel real. I’ve passed the part when I think I might finally wake up, but now I keep thinking she will come home from a trip she’s been on. But at the same time, I’m empty. My whole world has been consumed by this growing emptiness, and mostly life seems pointless. It’s raw of course, but it is hard to see what meaning I’ll be able to find in life.
I’m babbling.
I’ve been spending a lot of time on my front porch, listening to birds in the morning and watching fireflies in the evenings. The birds don’t seem to know that the color has gone from the world. The fireflies still light up the night, even though life is so fleeting. I’m not sure what to think about it all, or even if I’m thinking about anything at all. Every time I start slipping into despair, it starts to rain and I can’t help but find joy in storms. Joy seems inappropriate. I have moments when I laugh or smile and think to myself that I’m being disrespectful. That’s such a backward thought. Mom loved life, saw the good it it always, and wouldn’t want anyone to despair.
This was not a part of my plan. I never imagined I would lose my mom in my 30s; it feels stupid. I was ready to watch movies with her, to laugh with her, and to enjoy the nature around us with her well into my 60s. I deserved that. She deserved that. And now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.
Mom’s final moments were spent surrounded by family. She understood what was happening, and knew she was not going to make it. It was so sudden, so the fact that everyone could get there was a miracle. We cried, we sang songs, we prayed. The room was so filled with love and life, I cannot think of a more fitting situation for her to passing. We were singing I Can Only Imagine though our tears when the nurse came in and nodded her head. I felt like I had been shot in the stomach and we continued on. Brent and Dad were each holding her hands and they felt her relax and slip away. Sobbing followed, and family trickled out to the waiting room. I sat in the chair in the corner of the room and wanted to stay there forever. Once everything had been gathered, my brother and I finally left the room, leaving her by herself. It made me numb. It’s typically not fair to a person to remember that person for one day in their life. People tend to dwell on a person’s death and not on their life. I’m sure I’ll do that for a while, but if I’m going to have to focus on her last day, I will at least have those beautiful final moments to focus on.
It’s true: Mom won’t be in pain anymore. She didn’t want to give up on life, but she doesn’t have to fight through so much pain. That’s going to comfort me one day, but today is not that day.
This weekend, my nephew Conner and I will plant the roses Mom and I had picked out. And I’ll makes sure they are planted where she wanted them. And I will just try my best to get from one day to the next. I’m going to be sad for a long time, but there are things to be done.
LaDonna Marie Fuchs
LaDonna Marie 
Fuchs
On May 19, 2018, LaDonna Marie Fuchs finished her work here on Earth. She had done what she needed to do, and in spite of protests by her loved ones, it was time for her to accept her reward and move on to the next life.
LaDonna was born October 18, 1953 in Champaign, Illinois to Billy & Christine Tucker. She grew up in Stillwater, Oklahoma with her sister Ann and brother Stan. She graduated from Stillwater High School in 1971 and received her Bachelors degree in Early Childhood Education from Oklahoma State University. She was a member of the Stillwater Church of Christ. It was there that she added chosen family members Dale & Mary Combs, whose children David and Mark would be added to LaDonna’s life as brothers.
LaDonna fell in love with Curtis Fuchs in 1977, and the two of them married August 20 of that year. They had three children: Brent in 1978, Brian in 1979, and Bradley in 1981. Each of them can confirm that LaDonna was the best mom anyone could have. Her incredible love of life, of God, and of children made for a warm and happy home, which they made in Stillwater.
LaDonna’s love of children eventually became too much for just her own, and she and Curtis started Rainbow Preschool at Stillwater Church of Christ in 1982. It was open until 2007. There, LaDonna showed her incredible skills at teaching and guiding children.
In 2001, LaDonna started her role as Nana, a position that filled her heart with more joy than she knew she could have. Conner, KC, Jason, and Avery made her life even more beautiful, and she thanked God everyday for allowing her to be their Nana. People, especially children, were her ministry. She even took on the role of second Mom to Justin & Simona, and Nana to Abby because there was no limit to her love. And her home was open to countless people, whose happiness and comfort was her greatest concern.
She was preceded in death by her parents Billy & Christine Tucker of Stillwater, OK; niece Rechelle Bystedt of Anchorage, AK; as well as close family friends Dale & Mary Combs of Broken Arrow, OK. She is survived by her husband of 41 years, Curtis Fuchs; sons Brent Fuchs of Edmond, OK, Brian Fuchs of Glencoe, OK & Bradley Fuchs of Stillwater, OK; her grandkids Conner, KC, Jason & Avery: sister Ann Wilkinson (Ron) of Tulsa, OK; brother Stan Tucker (Michael McDermott) of Fort Worth, TX; chosen brother David Combs (Lisa) of Broken Arrow, OK; chosen brother Mark Combs (Krista) of San Antonio, TX; sister-in-law Rita Wilson (Jerry) of Anchorage, AK; nieces Rebecca Stone (Luke) of Flower Mound, TX & Annie Tucker (Adam Ampaipitakwong) of Dallas, TX; Denise Rogers (Matt) of Chugiak, AK; nephews Mark Wilkinson of Georgetown, Kentucky; Matt Wilkinson (Cheryl) of Bixby, OK; & Christian “Opie” Tucker (Laura) of Waco, TX; Les Wilson (Kim) of St. Louis, MO; and other family members Emily Combs (and son Levi) of Broken Arrow, OK; Justin Ward of Glencoe, OK; Abby Dye of Perkins, OK; and dog Chip. She also leaves behind countless friends who meant the world to her.
Services will be at Stillwater Church of Christ on Sunday, May 27, 2018, 2:00 p.m. LaDonna will be laid to rest at Sunset Memorial Gardens in Stillwater, OK.
(Obituary written by me. Pictures are from the handout I created for the funeral. The missing page has the obituary printed on it.)
My Things : Home
I’ve been thinkin
g about the concept of ‘home’ for a while now. What is it that give our spaces that feeling that makes us feel good being there. It isn’t uncommon for an apartment to feel distinctly not homey, particularly ones first apartment after leaving the house where parents and siblings still reside. It makes tempting the idea that it is the people that make for a feeling of ‘home.’ But it seems equally common for an apartment to feel like the place where that person will spend the rest of their life. And that happens to folks who live alone. So, is it the people at all?
I love being with my family. There was always something about returning for a visit to my childhood home that had a fantastic mix of nostalgia, comfort, and distance. In 2005, I moved far enough away that visiting required planning and money; my visits to my hometown were reduced to about once every two years. By my first visit, my parents had sold my childhood home and moved to the country into a brand new manufactured home while they planned out their dream home. There was no way, I thought, to feel at home in a mobile home sat in the trees just outside of town.
I was wrong. While it wasn’t the same, the feeling was. I was in a house that had only even existed for about a year, but it was filled with familiar furniture and my parents. For me, that ruled out the structure and the location. What seemed to be at play was the combination of the people, the memories I carried with me, and the stuff in the house. Had my parents simultaneously discovered their mutual love for Victorian furnishings, throwing out the carefully cultivated collection of things in the house, I think the space would have felt as cold as I expected it to. These objects brought with them the stories that define us as a family.
“I always want objects in my home that have a connection to me or something I’ve loved. It’s still stuff, but it’s stuff that has meaning.” Nate Berkus makes a great point, and one I’d like to explore in depth for myself. When I had one of those cold apartments, just out of high school, it was filled with items I can barely remember, mass produced and cheap things. The only items I even clearly recall are items that had a story, even if the item wasn’t old. The dresser my dad painted for me for my new place, the sofa he reupholstered, and that is about it. It would take me years to collect items of meaning, to be given things once belonging to grandparents and parents, and to have the maturity to honor those things and treat them with the respect they had earned.
Six months ago, I moved into the mobile home where my parents spent years hoping to build their dream home. They settled into their new house over the summer, leaving vacant a space that had surprised me, on a land that is peaceful and beautiful. I’m honored to live here in this space that has become a part of the story, where my nephews spent so much of their childhood, where birthdays were celebrated, where holidays with family were enjoyed, and where my parents lived and loved and convalesced.
Many of the stories are lost; it had been incumbent on me to ask the necessary questions and carry on the mythologies and lessons of my family, but I have failed to do so. But I’d still like to explore what meanings these artifacts have for my life, for the lives of my family members, to recall the world in which they came to us and present them to the world.
This is the first entry in a series about my things.
Drawing of Bradley
I did this drawing as a birthday present for Bradley, my brother. I like the result. I might have to try doing more like this.
I’m so lucky (pt. 2)
I met new people and got to spend time with some of my favorites on my vacation this year. If I had to list all the people I love in the world, the list would be as thick as a phone book. Here are some highlights based on my trip back home.
Mom: Tied with my dad as my all time favorite people, I miss her a lot. It makes me sad when I have to go home because I can see how much it hurts her. I don’t want to be the one who causes hurt, but I love my life. I hope she knows how much I love her. One day, she’ll visit Alaska and stay with me. That is going to be so much fun.
Dad: When do parents become friends. I don’t remember that transition as a markable event. I’m glad it has happened though. I think it incredibly important to become friends with your parents. My dad is one of my best. I worry about him, I worry about becoming him, and I worry that I’ll never become him enough. It’s weird.
Annie: What a gorgeous and kind lady she has become. I suppose I always knew that she was on that path; it hardly surprised me. I don’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing member of my family.
Opie: Annie’s older brother is also becoming an incredible person. His path has seemed a bit rockier, but he will get there and sooner than we all thought. I was delighted by him. He will achieve such greatness without any effort.
Stan: Good people come from good parents. Opie and Annie really reflect the best qualities of my uncle. There have been issues. There are still issues, but he is trying. He is a good man and I know that he is capable of anything. His generosity was remarkable during my time down. One day we’ll see the darkest parts as a distant memory that doesn’t seem so real. I may never see eye to eye with him on everything, but I will always feel strongly connected to him.
Michael: Oh, Uncle Mikey! Thank you for putting up with Stan! I’m so happy to know you and appreciate everything you do. You’ve brought out the best in Stan and really made me want to find the love you two have. Thank you for being so awesome.
Brent & Bradley: My brothers. God never gives us more than we can handle. I believe that, but if it makes you feel better you can always rephrase it. We are capable of anything. ANYTHING! I am so blessed to have two wonderful people as brothers. There are issues to sort out. Anger to smooth down into peace, but it isn’t impossible. These struggles will only turn good people into great people, shape them into who they’ve always been, but even better. I want so badly for richly fulfilled lives for both Brent and Brad.
Conner, KC, Jason, Avery: These kids are going to be awesome adults. I hate being so far away while they grow up. If I can’t connect with them right now, one day I hope we can be as close as I am with Stan, my uncle.
David & Daniel: It’s sappy. I realize how silly it seems! But it is no less true. I really missed these guys while I was Outside. My words are not enough to express how much I love them.
Christine: It is wrong that I see you as a sort of Vaudeville performer… a sort of Jack of all trades performance artist whose next show will surprise and dazzle the astonished onlookers? If you want to be Winnie the Pooh, then live that dream. So few people seek it out and do it. You’ve got the balls to do what you want with your life and you’ve found your perfect other half to create that life with. Nothing is never going to be boring for you and I envy that.
Jay Brannan: I got to meet one of my favorite musical artists. It was surreal. I remember that evening like I was surrounded by a paralyzing fog. I’ve been trying to sort out if it actually happened or not, but the photos make me think it might really have. I was blown away by his concert, his beauty, and his personality.
I’m so lucky (pt. 1)
I’m home from my vacation, which would normally require a “finally.” This time is different though. Finally doesn’t fit. It isn’t that I don’t want to be here; I love my home and my life here. It seems natural to be here and nothing about my vacation requires rest to get over. I just felt so much a part of what was going on in my family. The drama of individual lives was going on around us and yet we still seemed held together — a family. Maybe that requires age, maybe it requires distance. Something just felt magical about my visit. Something I cannot quite put into words.
My vacation was timed to coincide with my cousin’s wedding — a favorite cousin, a friend, a remarkable person whose love is one of joy that can make your heart skip a beat. I could not have stood to not be there for her on such a special day. Her husband, I’ve discovered is so perfect for her. The half she had been missing. What Becky wanted for her wedding was a feeling of family. My branch of the family brought our unique gifts. My older brother, a professional photographer, did what he does best. My younger brother took care of the candid shots, the “real life” shots. He perhaps represented us more than anyone else, being able to sit and visit through much of the reception. My parents and I were the reception, my mom specifically coordinating people and my dad coordinating food and decor. I kept with them, fixing the cake after it had been smashed a bit in the car. It was to be all white with flowers on top, but I wreathed the lowest level in fresh red roses and strawberries, making sure to place a rose in each thumb print left by another person trying to push the cake back into position. It turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. I also worked as my dad’s staff, putting trays of food where he said, moving crockpots to where he said to move them, retrieving what needed to be retrieved. While my dad and I had so much work to do that we didn’t get to see the ceremony, it feels worth it to me. I enjoyed the day greatly. There were a lot of people involved beyond us. I didn’t know many of these people and didn’t really have time to get to know them, but it was evident that family was the most important part of her day. That night, we slept very well.
Pioneers
“No man needs a vacation so much as the person who has just had one.”
–Elbert Hubbard
Vacation. It is going pretty well. I have managed to irritate, aggravate, or annoy more people in less time than my previous visit. It feels like an accomplishment. It shouldn’t. I really didn’t mean to be the source of any problems. I’ve enjoyed seeing everyone. However, being stuck at my parents’ finally got to me. It all started when I arrived on Tuesday.
I left Anchorage after a very long day Monday. I had worked at Borders from 7-3:30 and at Michaels from 5-10. The flight was to leave at 12:30, but of course I was at the airport by 10:45. It was far too early, but I didn’t want to fall asleep until I was on the plane. And we had a full flight, of course. I slept the entire way to Seattle. The layover was too short to sleep there. I slept on the way to Denver. I was fairly awake, but cranky in Denver. I ate nachos, contemplated changing, and generally didn’t want to be there. I feared that I would not be able to sleep on the way from Denver to Tulsa, but luckily, I dozed off well, even though I was sitting between two people.
When I arrived, it was nice to have Brad waiting for me at the airport. We gathered my bags and made a couple stops. I wanted to go by Barnes & Noble and Hot Topic (my barbell in my tongue was stripped). After that, I was really sleepy and slept on the hour trip to Stillwater. It was nice to hang out with Brad. We got in, went to pick up Conner (my nephew), and came back to my parents’ house. It was pretty late and there wasn’t much left to do. So, I slept. And well.
Wednesday & Thursday were both spent stuck at my parents’ house. I liked the people there: Dad, Conner, & Jason, but I was feeling rather trapped. I just wanted to be able to drive away for a little while, but I couldn’t. Mom’s brakes had gone out, so her car was not drivable. I spent most of Friday sleeping. My reunion registration was at 5 and mom arrived in time for me to borrow my grandpa’s car (which she had been driving all week) and get in to register. My brother arrived just as I did, which was an odd coincidence. We talked to Andrea for a bit and then drove around until we needed to be at Mexico Joe’s at 8 for the reunion. First, we stopped at Wal-Mart to get me a shirt.
My class reunion was weird — good weird. I was a bit of a loner in school. I knew everyone and I am sure they all knew me, but I wasn’t exactly friends with them. I have always felt connected to these people though. I know that I will be the one who attends the reunions everytime and grows to be more fond of these people as the years go by. And why didn’t I take the time to get to know them back then? Of course, the same ones who annoyed me in high school annoyed me at the reunion. And everyone had kids… or so it seemed. Overall, it was a good experience. I talked to only a few people, but really felt like I was part of a group… one I couldn’t get kicked out of, even if they didn’t really care for me. That was oddly comforting. What made the whole thing even better is having family there. Since Brent & I were in the same class — and therefore graduated together — he and Laurisa were there for me to hang out with. They’ve always been the types that have a lot more casual friends, whereas I always had a few very close friends. Speaking of, Travis was there. Unfortunately, a family emergency kept him from attending the family fun day on Saturday.
The family fun day was interesting. I initially didn’t want to go, but Brent insisted. It was fun to see all the kids. And it was fun to spend time with my neices, KC & Avery. They are a lot of fun to be around. What I will always remember is that I was poorly dressed, due to the mud at my parents’ house. Ick.
Sadly, we’ve already lost 4 classmates and 2 teachers. I don’t know the details of all of the deaths, but it really made me stop and think. 4 out of 402 is really quite a lot. I only really knew 1 of the students and 1 of the teachers.
Thank you David & Heather for letting me complain to you.
Updates: updated brian’s body: an exploration; updated a few links; removed a few images from Threadless Shirts page.
Activities: hung out with Mom & Dad; drove to Brent & Laurisa’s with Annie
Food: potato wedges & ketchup, split pea soup, toast with olive oil spread, potato salad, tortilla chips, Krispy Kreme mini crullers, 3+ Diet Cokes, 3 bottles of white and/or green tea. (it sounds like a lot, but I had just a little of all of this stuff)
Images: photo of Bradley, Brian, & Brent; Stillwater High School Pioneer logo
Featured Image Art: vintage map of Oklahoma
One thousand eight hundred thirty-seven lost days, plus four hundred forty-seven more
It was March 10, 2002 — a Sunday morning. I was at work, shelving a cart in the corner of the store where the history, biography, & social sciences sections were kept. I had paused for a moment to read the inside flap on the book. I had taken entirely too much time looking decided to place it on hold for myself so I could look at it later. I took it to the front and placed it on the employee hold shelf. Bettina announced that I had a phone call. I knew it would be my parents and it irritated me that they could never figure out to not call me before we open.
When I answered the phone, it was my dad. There were no pleasantries; he simply said I needed to leave work and drive to Stillwater immediately. Not really catching on to the tone, I informed him that I couldn’t leave work, but wanted to know what was going on. “Mimi has been taken to the hospital and is probably not going to make it.” That still breaks my heart. My brain went numb and my eyes blurry. I said I would leave and be there as soon as possible. As soon as I hung up, I went back to the office, told Bettina I needed to go, and fell apart. She comforted me, telling me not to worry about work and instructing me to do what I needed to do. I left work, went home to let Justin (who was my roommate at the time) know where I’d be, and rushed to Stillwater. On the way, my cousin Becky called to make sure I knew what was going on.
I arrived in Stillwater about an hour and a half after the initial phone call. As I walked in, I was met by my mom, who was bawling. The entire tone of the house was energetic and sad — each family member’s arrival starting the tears over again.
“Mimi” is my mom’s mom, Bonita Christine “Chris” Tucker. She was the matriarch of our family; the force that connected us all and kept us together. She orchestrated every event that brought us together, reminded us to connect with one another, and nagged us all mercilessly. Mimi was an extremely confident woman who knew who she was. She was totally devoted to her husband, her God, & the other members of her church. She was generous with her money and her time, but was never afraid to tell you her opinion on what you were doing. Evidently, there wasn’t enough money to be made as a writer to justify her supporting it. I cherished talking to her. I would sit with her and talk about people for hours… she knew absolutely everything going on in Stillwater. But it never seemed like gossip. Mimi was a very good-hearted person.
By the time I arrived in Stillwater, she had passed away. After the watery greetings from my mom and aunt, I settled in with my brothers and cousin — those I always hang out with when everyone is together. Star, my grandparents’ cat, was the hero of this story. Even though he was unable to save her, he did what he could. Apparently, he went to my grandpa (Papa), woke him up, and led him to where Mimi had fallen. We suspect either a massive heart attack, stroke, or aneurysm, as her arms were still by her side and she hadn’t tried to stop her fall.
Bonita
on viewing my Mimi’s bodyShe looks perfect,
her familiar red dress matched
beautifully with the soft pink lining,
the red heart draped around her neck.
As if she’d just come in
from church for a nap —
a lazy Sunday afternoon,
shy lay resting — calm, peaceful.
Tears stream down my grandpa’s
too often stoic face.
His wife — the woman he
devoted his entire life to —
his best friend.
“She really is a beautiful lady.”Brian Fuchs 3.12.2002
That week was surreal. I still don’t remember much of it. Of course, it culminated in a beautiful funeral. I had gone back home to Tulsa to get some clothes and for the funeral I chose the shirt she had just given me for Christmas. The shirt was a gold knit with a collar. I wore khaki pants. I wouldn’t have felt right in dark colors and I really wanted to celebrate life. The funeral was made that much more difficult when I discovered that my cousins’ nanny was sitting with them and I couldn’t sit with my immediate family because of it. Furthermore, I ended up next to my mom’s friend, who had apparently not figured out that I was an adult and kept talking to me as if I were a child.
When the funeral was over, my two best friends came up to me and asked if I was okay. I had really been fine all week, only crying on Sunday morning. I shook my head no and buried myself in their arms and cried. I felt like the world had just ended. A few days later, I left on a trip with them, where I was able to sort through things slowly throughout the next week. Which isn’t to say I felt any better about it all.
untitled (‘100 days’)
It’s been one hundred days
and if feels like it all happened
just this morning.
I’m starting to realize she’s gone —
finally missing her and ultimately
knowing I can never see her again.I hate that morning —
when Mimi died.
Loneliness overtook me and
pain was invited in.
All I needed was a hug
from Bettina, JD, Travis, Becky,
Mom — but they weren’t there.
I’m cold inside and sad.
I miss her.Brian Fuchs 6.18.2002
It took a long time to accept that Mimi was gone. I imagine I will have that hole in my heart for the rest of my life. I haven’t even been able to return to her house for any length of time and feel comfortable. That always makes me feel guilty because I do want to visit Papa, who is remarried, but there is too much history in that place. But it is also important to remember that I got to know Mimi. I had the amazing opportunity to be a member of a family with her at the head.
That is when I first realized my life had become about death. It had only been 447 days since my grandma Fuchs (“G”) had passed away. Since then, I have lost 2 friends and 2 great-grandmothers. I am ready to have my life defined by something else; be defined by love or friendship or family. I have felt rather selfish about these deaths over these past 6 years. They are important to me, but moving on is much more important.
21 March 2007
Images: photo of Christine Tucker; vintage illustration of child dressed as a cardinal
Featured Image Art: photo of Christine Tucker