Desperately Seeking Baptismal Dates

I'm finally working on the photo book for Luke's baptism.  It's about time, I know, since he was baptized in March--of 2010.  And instead of just a book with pictures, I thought I'd make it useful.  He was four months old at his baptism, and I need to do something to help him realize what went on, since he obviously doesn't remember.  How weird that he had such a big event in his life and the only way he'll know about it is through pictures and stories. 

Yeah, I know, that's the way it goes.  In our Lutheran-Catholic faiths we are baptized as infants and given Godparents to watch over us and guide us in our upbringing, taken to church by our parents, and made to relive our own baptisms every time we see someone else get baptized.  So the book is really only a formality.  But I want it to be something Luke can be proud of.

Enter my big challenge.  Why not include a family tree, complete with the baptismal dates of Luke's parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents??  Genius.  Umm...maybe.  But not nearly as easy as it sounds. 

I got the idea when thinking about my own baptism.  Jeff and I made the decision to baptize Luke at the church I was raised in, the small rural Lutheran church with the rich history, the "Friendly Little Church in the Valley."  We've lived in the DFW area for nearly a decade, and our roots gradually grow deeper and deeper here in North Texas, but we're not from here.  I'm from the town my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, etc., etc., etc. have almost always hailed from, and Jeff's family tree has its own deep roots in/near Rowena.  We wanted to plant Luke's roots a little closer to ours, and I'm not sure how we came upon the decision to pick Walburg over Rowena, but we did, and the rest is history.

Except the history here is the challenging part.  I'm so fortunate that my family church put out a record book at their 110th anniversary celebration in 1999 that includes baptisms, confirmations, marriages, and deaths.  So, aside from my own baptism at the church, I've easily located the records of my father, my mother, her father (baptized 1916), and both of his parents (father, 1890; mother, 1892).  So, how cool that Luke can say he was baptized at the same church as his great-great-grandparents!  He would have met a very similar fate if he had been baptized in Jeff's home church.  We know Jeff, his father, and both of his paternal grandparents were baptized in Rowena (But Jeff's parents don't know when.).  And I'm fairly certain we could keep going...

Where were the rest of the ancestors baptized, you ask? Well, that's the brick wall I've come up against.  I'm still looking for dates on Jeff's Granny and Popo.  Apparently they were born before the records that the very nice lady at the Catholic diocese was able to access.  I'm steeling myself to call the church and ask the secretary to dig for the baptisms, admittedly because I'm a little afraid that I might not be able to get the information I'm so craving. 

My calls to the tiny little Lutheran church where my mom's mother was baptized--and where my sister- and brother-in-law still worship (along with our own Goddaughter!) have gone unanswered.  And Jeff's grandma was born in North Texas, so I have to call the diocese here...

The most elusive dates to me, then, are for my dad's parents' baptisms.  My two aunts have been beyond helpful; my Aunt Kathy has made phone calls, written letters, and dug for information.  We're pretty sure we have the year of my grandpa's adult baptism in the Methodist church, but the church is now defunct.  Try making that  phone call! 

You know, it's positively surreal that I can find 56 Google pages on myself, thanks to a presentation I made as a fellow for a writing institute that has been picked up and spun through the search engine's metafilter, but I can't Google "Grandma Shepherd" and "Baptism" and get the information I need. 

But I have come across some interesting information.  It seems my great-grandparents worshipped at a small church where my great-grandmother attended school as a girl.  And then, it seems, the church/school disappeared and my great-grandparents bought the land and lived in a house on the property.  And I remember that house a little, which, I guess you can say, makes me a part of history.  The problem?  Nobody seems to know the name of the church.  And it has come to light that my grandmother's two brothers were each baptized as adults.  Of course, that complicates things even more, because now there's the possibility that perhaps she was not baptized at all, which leaves a gaping hole in my perfectly conceived tree diagram. 

(My aunt told me Grandma was saved as a girl, which at least makes my heart feel lighter. And this week marks the tenth anniversary of her passing, so she's been on my mind even more than usual...)

So where do I go from here?  Well, I keep making phone calls.  And I keep digging.  And you can make darn sure that when I do find all the information, I'm writing it down.  And printing it in a book.  And making copies for all my family members.  And laminating my diagram.  :)

Shoes on High (Heel) Alert

Jeff and I had a discussion tonight that has really irked me.  He's chair of the safety council at work, which, it turns out, is a lot more important than just wearing an arm band in the halls and tattling on his friends ala Bobby Brady in that Brady Bunch episode.  Safety is hugely important at his company's plants, and it necessarily carries over into the corporate office.  So, before I go any further, let me first just say that the opinions expressed here are my own, and merely for "sport," as it were, and not to create a revolution or even receive any notice whatsoever.

Jeff works in a corporate office near the Las Colinas area, one of the most fashionable see and be seen places in the Metroplex.  I feel like my SAHM clothes hardly fit in when I go to lunch there.  And so, when Jeff came home and told me that the safety council was making a new policy regarding the wearing of high heels by women at work I became a little defensive.  And the more I thought about it, the more this cut to the bone, not just because of the location of the company, but, deep down, because of what it stands for (to me, at least.).

So it seems that there are new stipulations on the heels that women are allowed to wear to the office.  I'm paraphrasing, but as I understand it, heels (which are entirely optional in the office) must have 1) a back, 2) a heel at least 1" thick, and 3) a height of no more than 3".  Suddenly I think of both the shoes my grandmothers wore in their sixties and my first pair of "high heels" at Easter time when I was eight years old.

And, apparently it's not a cold, hard rule, but a strong suggestion.  But I'm not sure what the difference is.

Now, I'm no Carrie Bradshaw.  But I do love shoes.  For years I danced on the margins of professionalism as a teacher, almost always wearing some sort of heel to teach high school in.  And I've all but missed the current phase of really amazing high heels.  As the shoes started to get higher and more radical, I got pregnant (no correlation), and my budget, lack of gross motor skills, and need for "practical" shoes to shuttle my toddler to story time when we're often late have meant that I've spent the entire summer in my Reebok Easy Tones.

But, when I go to lunch with Jeff or my sister (who also works in the Las Colinas area), I almost always wear heels, because that's what the female sex wears in Las Colinas.

So when Jeff and I were having the shoe conversation at dinner I was mentally running an inventory of my "work" shoes and realized I'd be in a whole world of hurt because I really couldn't think of any shoes I owned that met all of his criteria. 

Jeff really spends a lot of time in the world of black and white, and he's made for the gig as safety czar.  And to be clear, the idea wasn't his own.  But he's seen me stumble my way through life (again, I'm just not that that coordinated) in high heels, and he gets the need for safety in the work place.  Oh, and in his words:  "Brandi, our bonuses are partly determined by ESHA and how safe we are at work." 

I'm absolutely not arguing against the safety component.  I'm all in favor of nobody getting hurt, and I do admit that sometimes the shoes can be a bit ridiculous.  But for me--and probably for most women who wear them--it all comes down to one thing:  shoes are a tool for self expression.

When I hear that I'm not allowed to wear high heels, and especially when the dictum comes from a man, I immediately hear that I'm being opressed.  Here's the bottom line:  women need to dress more like men. 

Remember the study a few years ago that suggested that height in the workplace really does seem to determine power?  Some of us really do wear heels because they make us feel empowered.  And I don't love that that empowerment is being stripped away, even if it's in the name of safety. 

After our dinner conversation, I took about 2 minutes to run through my closet and grab shoes that didn't meet the new criteria, just so I could show Jeff that the new rules just didn't make a lot of sense.  And there are only a couple of shoes in this pile that really shouldn't be worn.  And I didn't even make a dent in my shoe collection.  I wanted Jeff to agree with me that while safety can be mandated, personal expression really shouldn't be. 

I'm not sure it completely did the trick, but, since I covered his sink in shoes, it did make it hard for him to brush his teeth.  Maybe he'll think of that at his next safety meeting.  ;)