The Family Letter Blog

Connecting Generations


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We interrupt this WWI Diary to bring you news of two special wedding anniversaries!

 

Our Wedding

August 6, 1983

August 6th is a pretty good day for a wedding if stability is what you have in mind. Today as my husband and I celebrate our 34th anniversary – we wish my uncle and his bride congratulations on their 57th anniversary!

 

It’s funny how wedding dates are selected – no doubt it depends on the availability of the church and reception venue and I know many brides today spend many months, if not years planning their weddings.  For Rick and me – it was a much more practical consideration – there were only a few weeks between the end of my summer job and the beginning of my second year of law school. Why else would anyone choose early August in Washington DC?

We spent the early part of our time in Washington DC finding a church that we wanted to join. I remember many Sundays visiting different churches. I also remember visiting Chevy Chase Presbyterian Church and thinking I wouldn’t like it (it was in a wealthy DC suburb and I thought this very middle class girl would feel out of place with Washington’s upper crust). Of course, that was before I knew all of my Preston and Bryant family history, through which I learned that I am a descendant of Washington DC’s “upper crust!”

I still remember the sermon on our first visit to Chevy Chase Presbyterian Church int he spring of 1983 by the head minister – Tom Jones. It was entitled, “Sins of Omission.” It was a sermon about the civil rights movement and the terrible things that were going on during freedom marches in the south in the 1950s and 60s. He certainly got my attention when he said – “if you were not actively protesting the abuses by whites in the South,  you were just as guilty as the people holding those fire hoses on the marchers.” Hmmm… maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad church to join after all. And of course, it was beautiful both inside and out.

We joined in short order and remained active participants in the life of that church for the next two years until we moved away from DC in 1985. But I digress – this post is supposed to be about wedding anniversaries!

Rick and I were married at Chevy Chase Presbyterian Church on August 6, 1983. It was hot – the Washington DC kind of hot, dripping with humidity. I remember Rick asking if he could pay extra to have the church leave the A/C on the night before. We were assured that someone would turn it on early enough for things to cool down in time for our 10 am ceremony. I don’t remember being too hot so it must have worked out.

As for Deane and Nancy who celebrate their 57th anniversary today – I have this picture that I found on Newspapers.com from page 6 of the Columbus, Indiana Republic on August 8, 1960.Nancy.wedding picture.1960

Sorry to cut off the article but what an elaborate affair it seems to have been. I don’t see Deane and Nancy as often as I’d like, but it has always made me happy to share a wedding anniversary date with them.

Here’s an excerpt from my grandfather’s family letter dated November 25, 1958 in which he describes meeting Nancy’s parents for the first time.

“There are prospects of a wedding in our family. Deane is sure he has found the right girl, and they thought of getting married at the end of this school year, but the latest decision is to wait until Deane finds out whether the Army is going to take him, and for Nancy to finish her last year at the university. [Deane was a senior and Nancy a junior at Indiana University when this was written.] They met while they were both working on the Daily Student, and this fall it began to get serious. Nancy Myers lives in Columbus, Indiana, 40 miles east of Bloomington; she is majoring in journalism and literature. She is pretty, intelligent, and wise for her years, and we like her very much. We invited her father and mother for dinner about a month ago, with her sister and her boyfriend. It was her father’s birthday and we all had a good time. The four young people went to a dance and the four parents stayed home and had a good talk.

Mr. Myers studied for the ministry and preached for a while in a Christian church, then went into one of the plants in Columbus that makes radios and a number of other things as a personnel and labor relations officer. Her mother was born in Australia, and they are both lively, witty, and good people. They like Deane, and had no objections to the kids getting married, though it would please them if Nancy finished her last year in the university. This is an example of Mr. Myers’ kind of wisdom: he suggested that they think over carefully the pros and cons of getting married next June, then he would arrange a debate and he would argue in favor of it. Well, when Deane and Nancy thought of all the reasons against it, they called up her father and told him there would be no debate. They may still change their minds, but they are both thoughtful youngsters and, we will be satisfied with whatever they finally decide.

I just realized as I was typing this that the “we” in this letter means that Kitty also met Nancy’s parents. I rarely think of Kitty (my grandmother) as being involved in family events because she died in December 1959.

 

 


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The Outbreak of World War One

Over the next few weeks, if you’d like to experience the outbreak of WWI from the perspective of an American student (my grandfather who was 24 at the time) who was planning a tour of Europe but got stranded in Nuremburg, Germany when the war began, check in to this blog.

I have transcribed the letter he wrote to his parents when he returned to the United States after his three week odyssey and will post each day as he experienced it. I am amazed by his resilience and his remarkable ability to put a positive spin on what must have been a disappointing trip.

We begin with his letter to his folks and his arrival in Germany on July 28th after crossing the Atlantic on the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse:

Washington, D. C. September 5, 1914

Dear Folks:

It is 1:30 p.m., and I will see how much I can write all alone here in the office before supper time. I am going to make three copies so I can send one to Forrest and Frank at the same time. (That reminds me, I had better make an extra one for Dean at the same time.) Then you can keep them as long as you want to. I hardly know how to tell everything, unless I just follow my diary, although that isn’t a very systematic way to describe things. You have all read the letter I wrote on ship board, so I will begin with July 28th the day we landed in Bremen.

July 28, 1914

Our porter waked us early (that was the only thing he did on the whole trip to earn his tip) and we went on deck to watch for the first sight of Germany. It was cloudy and rather dark, but we could see a low stretch of land on our right (starboard, I should say) about 6 or 7 miles away. It was very shallow, for there were light houses and light ships and buoys right beside us to mark the channel. Northern Germany has no decent ports at all, it is so flat and sandy. About 9:30 we stopped and a lighter took us all off, – 800 third class passengers and baggage. The Germans were overjoyed at the sight of their native land, though it started to rain hard as soon as we got on the lighter, and we landed at Bremerhaven two hours later in the rain. Bremen is not the port, it is 35 miles above where the big steamers land, and passengers are taken up there by train from Bremerhaven. Being low tide, we couldn’t even land at Bremerhaven, but had to stay about ten miles out.

I was the second one off the boat, and the first one to go through Customs inspection, which consisted of opening my suit case and bag and shutting them, – no questions asked. We had hot chocolate and coffee cake in the waiting room and about 11 o’clock the train took us up to Bremen. The sun came out, and our first glimpse of Germany was more than satisfactory. The country is low and somewhat marshy, but pretty. There were big herds of Holstein cows in almost every pasture, and I suppose dairying is the principal industry around Bremen, though there were quite large rye fields, which looked good. It didn’t look at all like America – – as soon as you began to think it did, along would come a pretty stone house with a red tile roof, windows full of flowers, lace curtains, and immaculately clean doorsteps and front yards; or a shed (always of brick or stone) with a thatched roof, green with moss. My first impression of the country was that it is pretty and prosperous. I didn’t see a single hut or shack or poor looking building. The only thing that didn’t look right was to see the women loading the wagons, plowing the potatoes, and doing the hardest work while the men did the easier work.

At Bremen we went up to the hotel with Rogers and Edwards who were going to buy bicycles and ride up the Rhine leisurely, reaching Geneva, Switzerland in about a month. (I would like to know where they are now.) We thought we would stay till evening, and all the “University Club” of the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse would have dinner together in the Rathaus, but we found that a train left for Berlin right away, so we told them all good-bye and got on. That was a dandy ride, through the prettiest country in Germany, except the Rhine; maybe it looked so because it was the first we had seen for so long. The land certainly looked and felt good, though it rocked under my feet for a day. Our train made about 50 miles an hour for about 5 ½ hours (pretty good for a toy train) and it cost us about 1 cent a mile. We came out just as clean as we went in. I like the German trains. In every compartment there is a good map showing just where you are going. We had a delicious dinner on the train: soup, veal, potatoes, gravy, vegetable compote, chocolate and rolls for less than 70 cents. A woman and little girl sat in our compartment. The little girl wanted awfully to talk to us but she couldn’t say a word of English and she laughed at the way we tried to talk German.

We arrived in Berlin about dark and took a droschke to the Hotel Stadt Weimar, which had been recommended to us by Mrs. Roemmele on the boat. It was a very good place, the best possible location in Berlin, right near the intersection of the two principal streets. The crowds were beginning to gather on Unter den Linden. They were singing The Watch on the Rhine, the Austrian National Hymn and something to the tune of “My Country tis of Thee,” and we supposed it was all about the war between Austria and Servia. The crowds and noise kept increasing and the police on horseback had to keep chasing them up and down the street so they wouldn’t block the traffic. We took a little walk and when we tried to come back the police wouldn’t let us cross Unter den Linden. We walked back and tried another street, and they put us back. One of them told us it was too late to get back to our hotel, and we began to think we were out for all night, but we finally did get back and were satisfied to watch the crowd from our balcony after that. Our rooms looked like they might have been made for entertaining the royalty – a great large room with two fine beds, large dressers, wardrobe, etc. and a smaller room with the same furnishings – little electric lamps on a stand beside your bed so you could lie there and read. It was so nice we hated to go to sleep, but when we got inside and pulled the soft, light eider down quilt over us, we couldn’t stay awake a minute.


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Life in Bloomington, Indiana

Joseph B Kingsbury moved to Bloomington, Indiana at the end of summer 1946 with his wife Kitty and their two boys, my father, Bryant Kingsbury who was 14 at the time of the move and Preston Deane Kingsbury who had just turned 10 in August that year. The family had lived in Chevy Chase, Maryland (just on the edge of Washington, DC) before the move and that was also where Kitty and the boys lived when JBK was in Tehran, Iran for most of 1944.  

The moved marked the beginning of JBK’s career as a professor of Government at Indiana University, returning to university teaching after many years in government service and working for a private consulting firm. In an early account from this time JBK writes: 

October 31, 1946 –We have been in Indiana 2 months. The country is charming, the weather has been beautiful and warm, the faculty and townspeople easy to get along with. The boys like school better than ever before and seem to have more friends than they did in Chevy Chase. I could be happier than ever before but Kitty seems determined not only to wreck herself, but to take us all with her.

 This is the first account in a file labelled “KBK” in my grandfather’s neat, distinctive print. The file is an inch thick with letters, both typed and handwritten, mostly from JBK documenting four years of Kitty’s drinking habits and bizarre behavior. There’s no benefit to blogging about the details, other than to say they provide a lot of insight into what my father and uncle lived through and leave me even more amazed than ever about my grandfather’s patience and resilience.  

I’ve read through most of JBK’s letters before but I always find something interesting that I missed the first time. Today’s tidbit comes from a letter in the KBK file dated May 17, 1949 in which JBK analyzes his behavior to evaluate the merit of Kitty’s claims that he is responsible for all of her unhappiness.  

I love it for his succinct but accurate description of the Kingsbury and Bush families. When I think about my Kingsbury and Bush ancestors who moved to Iowa in the early to mid- 1800s I tend to lump them together under the labels – religious, hard-working pioneers; strong, mid-western stock; salt of the earth. It’s interesting to read JBK’s perspective on the differences between the two families and his perspectives on self-analysis. 

I don’t know anything harder to do than see ourselves as others see us. Too much introspection is like a disease; I know, because I suffered with it between the ages of 12 and 30, and I have been trying ever since to get over it. But when we are in a cold war, with no referees and no rules, I had better examine myself as critically and objectively as possible and see if I am as right as I think I am. I have no illusions that I can see all my faults, but I shall make an honest attempt. This is my story and it is bound to be one-sided. If I bring you in, it is because it is impossible to leave you out. We are still husband and wife. I shall not go back into history any more than is necessary to explain the present situation. 

It would be foolish to deny that I am still influenced by my parents and early life. I am the product of two rather different families, the Kingsburys, Vermont and Iowa farmers; hard-working, thrifty, puritanical in their religion and morals, undemonstrative, but capable of genuine liking for and kindness to people. The Bush family were more sensitive, imaginative, humorous, and demonstrative, more intellectual in their interests but equally devout in their religion. I was brought up to believe God punished wrong-doing, and the Bible and the church were necessary to keep one straight. I was 25 years old and in graduate school before I had serious doubts that the Bible and the church had all the truth. Then I reacted rather bitterly against churches, but I guess I never lost my fundamental religious nature and never will.  

In my reaction against early piety and strictness, forbidden pleasures became very alluring: smoking, drinking, gambling, forbidden books, women, etc. That was the Prohibition era and the gay 20’s when many young people lost their inhibitions. I had a short and very unsatisfactory affair with a high school teacher in St. Louis – aside from that I was terribly innocent and ignorant of women and quite content to be a bachelor. When I met you, I was beginning to see that bachelors usually turned into queer, selfish, old-maidish persons, and I didn’t want to get that way. The thought that a girl as young, beautiful and sophisticated as you could be interested in me was exciting and flattering.

 Of the early days of their relationship he writes: 

I suffered tortures between the time I met you and the time I asked you to marry me – and milder hell from that time until we were married. My natural caution told me not to, and my study of Sociology told me we were too different to get along well. My newly awakened gambling spirit and my physical desires said “do it.” In the end I think my decision was rational. I convinced myself that I could get along with anyone and you were a very desirable creature.

I will always think of the first 5 years of our married life as happy ones. I was proud of your beauty, your social poise, your hospitality, your initiative, your hard common sense, and many other qualities. I thought it was a case of two quite different people supplementing each other’s lacks and proving that common likes, values and traits were not necessary to successful marriage. We did have some good times those first 5 years, and we were proud and happy when the first baby came.

 Hope I’ve left you wanting more – I just can’t get enough of my grandfather’s writing. I never knew Kitty, but from reading his letters, I get an image of what she was like.

 


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My Grandfather’s Love Letters

My grandfather was a college professor. He was 65 years old when I was born in 1955, but I enjoyed a 28 year relationship with him that profoundly influenced my life. The letters he left behind continue and deepen that relationship. I am so thankful for his written legacy.

I am taking the liberty of sharing a side of Joseph Bush Kingsbury that most of the world never knew. I’ve decide it is okay to do that. When I read his letters they are completely in line with the person I knew him to be and yet they reveal a side of him most people who knew him never got to see.

When my grandfather met his future wife he was 36 and she was 24. They married 11 months after they met. Thank goodness – or I wouldn’t be here! It’s kind of crazy (and a little selfish) when you think of things that way but I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be reading this if those two people – who seem like such an unlikely pair in so many ways – hadn’t gotten married on January 4, 1928.

This letter was written about a month before their wedding when he was on assignment in Columbus, Ohio and she was living at home in Washington DC. I’m pretty sure she worked at the Library of Congress, which is so COOL!  (If you haven’t been to the Library of Congress it is one of those places that I think all Americans MUST visit. Right up there with Gettysburg – but for entirely different reasons.) He worked for a Chicago consulting firm, Griffenhagen and Associates, doing studies for state and local governments on personnel policies and salaries, usually in an effort to come up with a uniform salary structure that equalized compensation based on training and experience across many levels of government.

When I read my grandfather’s love letters to Kitty, it’s bittersweet. I know their relationship didn’t work out the way he wanted it to and they had many years of unhappiness. But when I read of his “head over heels” love for his young bride to be, I’m happy to know that he had these feelings.

I also like these letters because I get a bit of an idea what Kitty was like. I met her, but I have no memory of her. She died in December 1959 when I was 4 years old.

December 1927

Monday Night – Columbus, OH

Forgive me, darling, but I have another sentimental spell on, and I can’t go to bed without writing you again. Went to a romantic movie tonight (The Road to Romance – good too) – maybe that’s all that’s wrong, but I think it’s something deeper. Lately I’ve been so happy that it’s almost alarming. I’m likely to forget my dignity and do something childish most any time. I haven’t worried about anything for several weeks, and the world looks like a good place to live.

When I first knew you and we used to talk in a sophisticated way about love and marriage I said I thought marriage didn’t change anyone much. I’m beginning to think it does – at least the immediate prospect of it does. I may be kidding myself, but I think I am changing a little. For one thing – I can look back just a few months and see what a baby I’ve always been. I’ve just naturally thought of myself first and expected everybody to do things to please me, and if they didn’t I wouldn’t play. Probably you’ll have some occasions yet to remind me of this, but I’m beginning to grow up, at least.

Just think, a year ago I didn’t mean anything to you nor you to me! I don’t know yet why I fell in love with you – I certainly didn’t intend to. It was a rash thing to do, but having been cautious and deliberate all my life I enjoyed being reckless and I think it’s the wisest thing I ever did. As usual, I’m talking as though I did it all. As a matter of fact you just happened across my path and having seen you I was done for. For some unknown reason you chose to let me stay and now I’m your prisoner for life, and don’t want to be anything else.

Writing is so unsatisfactory. If you were here I would hold you so tight and kiss you till I made you promise never to let me go.

                                                                                                                Your lover


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Easy Blogging

One of the biggest hurdles to regular posting is deciding what to write about. I really have no excuse for not being able to do that. Every time I consult the stack of letters that my grandfather Joseph Bush Kingsbury contributed to the Kingsbury Family letter, I am reminded that I should start sharing his kernels of wisdom on a much more regular basis than I currently do.

Case in point. In 10 days I will meet my second cousin Marcia Moore for the first time. Her mother Josephine Kingsbury Moore was my grandfather’s niece. So without further ado, let’s see what Joe had to say about spending Thanksgiving in Iowa in 1966 with his beloved niece and her family.

From his letter dated 28 November 1966 JBK recounts his recent visit to Fort Dodge, Iowa where he spent Thanksgiving with his mother (his step-mother actually because his father remarried a few years after JBK’s mother died when he was 10), brother Clark, Josephine, Edson and their family. Clark Kingsbury is the youngest of the Kingsbury boys and the only son born to Wayland Briggs Kingsbury and his second wife Annie May Carter. Josephine is the daughter of JBK’s next older brother Frank Kingsbury.

First let’s see who was there and how they got there. JBK’s letters often describe modes of transportation in great detail:

“I arrived in Fort Dodge Tuesday evening after a six hour train trip to Chicago, a long taxi ride to O’Hare Airport, and a two-hour flight on Ozark Airlines. Jo and Edson were at the airport to meet me, and with them Marcia, home from Cambridge, Mass., and Dick, from Reno. Next morning Jo took me to the Friendship Haven Health Center, and we found mother sitting in her wheel chair at work on a big and complicated jig-saw puzzle, looking very fresh and pretty. I came back after lunch and had another visit with her.

That evening (Wednesday) about 10:30, I left with Dick and Gene in Edson’s Cadillac, for Des Moines (about 90 miles) and a few minutes after midnight we met Clark at the airport. We were back in our hotel in Fort Dodge and in bed by 2 am, and rested and ready when Edson called for us at 9:30 Thanksgiving morning. At 10:30 we started the celebration with a breakfast of waffles, bacon, sausages served by Marcia, Dick and their mother.”

Let’s learn a little more about the family gathered round that Thanksgiving table 50 years ago:

“I suppose in this age of packaged and frozen foods, an old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner is doomed to disappear, and it will be a pity; but Josephine revived the old traditions. There were nine of us around a big, beautiful table, and the food was like it used to taste in the old days. Gene and his pretty wife Sue were there, and 9-month old Caroline furnished the amusement. She reminded me of Peggy Ann at that age, and like Peggy, she is a good poser for photographs. Dick and Gene took pictures of her sitting in her great-great grandmother’s lap.”

Many relatives have commented on my grandfather’s letter writing skills. I think this next paragraph illustrates the point. I don’t know any of the people he describes (but I’m about to meet some of them in 10 days!) yet I feel like I know them by his descriptions. His mother had moved into the retirement home in Fort Dodge from her home in Charles City not too long before his visit.

“I was delighted with mother’s appearance; her face is smooth and her color healthy and good, and mentally she is still alert and young. She follows every conversation and is an interesting talker. It was a great satisfaction to me to see her again after seven years, and to get reacquainted with my niece and her family. Jo is a strikingly pretty woman (I still think of her as a girl) with white hair and a fine complexion, and we all know her sweet disposition. Edson is a good-looking man who looks to be at his prime. Dick is a tall, blond, young man, whose hair is beginning to thin. He is on the serious side, very thoughtful, reliable, and interesting to talk to. He works in the Nevada State Highway Department, and takes courses in the state University in Reno. Gene is a tall, handsome boy with dark hair, who works in the Post Office, but hopes to move to Syracuse and continue university work there. He met Sue at Iowa City, and it is easy to see why he decided to get married. Marcia is assisting a Sociologist at Harvard, auditing some courses, and planning to get an advanced degree in Sociology. She is a pretty girl, and ‘modern’ in the best sense of the word  – – very much alive to what is going on, but not one of the disillusioned and alienated generation. I hope she can get acquainted with Doris and Peg and their families; I am sure they would all be congenial. For some reason, Marcia reminds me of Peg.”

Thankfully, I know that Chris Pahud (another second cousin of mine) really enjoys these letters and is a big fan of JBK’s writing style. Once I get started, it is hard for me to stop. I can’t tell you how many hours I spend reading my grandfather’s letters. And since Chris is a musician I know he will appreciate this last tidbit when JBK describes his trip home to Bloomington Indiana.

“I got on the Lake Central plane at Chicago at 8:15, but before we reached Danville, Ill., the pilot announced that Terre Haute and Bloomington were closed down by fog, so I ended my flight at Indianapolis and Lake Central paid for a taxi ride to Bloomington (50 miles). The only other Bloomington passenger was a girl in a light colored jacket and trousers carrying a violin case. She had left London that morning and was to meet her husband, a music student at IU.  We met him at the hotel in Bloomington and rode out to their apartment together, and I discovered that he was a Turk, and that they had lived in Ankara last year, so we parted with promises to see each other again. He is studying viola under Sir William Primrose, said to be the greatest viola player in the world.”

It helps understand JBK’s interest in meeting a Turk if you know that about ten years before this he taught at the American University in Turkey for a year. My uncle Dean and JBK’s wife Kitty, who died in 1959, were with him.  More fodder for another blog  post on another day. I promise not to keep you waiting so long for the next installment of JBK’s insights.

 

 

 

 

 


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Celebrating my Father’s Birthday

I’ve gotten so far behind on posts on my personal blog that I posted about my father’s birthday there but here’s a link for you to read about it.

Interesting tidbit about my father’s name. He has no middle name even though he spent most of his life using the initials BBK. Growing up, everyone in my family called him K.B. – not sure why except that those were his “Navy initials” last name first.  On his birth certificate his name is Bryant Kingsbury. The middle name he often used, Bush, was his father’s middle name. So now for the interesting tidbit.

According to my father, who apparently knew that he did not have a middle name even though he used one, the reason he began using Bush as his middle name is because when he was born, a friend of the family dedicated a book to him and she used the name – Bryant Bush Kingsbury.

“And that’s how I got Bush as a middle name.”

TitlePage.Murder in Maryland.1932

When my father was born, his parents were good friends with another professor at St Johns College and his wife. The professor’s name was Ford Brown and his wife was Zenith Brown who had some success as a mystery writer using the pen name Leslie Ford. One of her novels, Murder in Maryland, was dedicated to my father.

 

Leslie Ford was born Zenith Jones (nee Brown) in 1889 in Smith River, Calif., where her father was a missionary among the Indians, and spent her earliest years in a papoose, raised among the Indians to whom her father ministered. She studied to be a journalist and started freelancing in 1928. She wrote her first novel, Footsteps on the Stairs in 1931 and her last, Trial for Ambush, in 1962. In-between, she wrote more than 60 mysteries, created two major crime series (as Leslie Ford and David Frome), and was a foreign correspondent in the European and Pacific Theaters.

from: http://bookscribbles.blogspot.com/2012/07/leslie-fords-fall-from-grace.html

Thanks to my very thoughtful husband, I have one of Leslie Ford’s books. When he heard the story I just recounted (from my father, I had never heard it before) he ordered the book on line. Maybe I’ll even read it one day!


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Method to my Madness

I wonder if my grandfather – Joseph Bush Kingsbury – was organized? Could he find things on his desk? Did he misplace bills and get past due notices? Could he stay on top of the grading and lectures that were required of a college professor but run out of milk?

From the volumes of meticulous diaries and financial ledgers that I have inherited, I imagine that he was completely organized. And yet – he was a Kingsbury and I know from my own experience and that of my father’s – he might have suffered from some of the same organizational challenges we face.

My husband calls it – “a German mind trapped in an Italian body.”(No offense intended to the thousands of organized Italians out there.)  I can’t blame it on the Italian genes (although I do have 7% Italian DNA that I cannot begin to explain) but I understand what he means. I crave organization and efficiency -but I often let mail go piling up for WEEKS before I open it. Since I’m the only person in my family who knows how to open mail – that can create problems.

Any other Kingsburys out there who want to ‘fess up?

This is a segue into a post that will probably appear tomorrow about something my grandfather and his older brother did almost 100 years ago that I would like to do some day. Stay tuned and weigh in on the question – what sort of organizational skills are imbedded in the Kingsbury DNA?