DNA Inheritance, Simplified

https://creativemarket.com/schwegel/680255-Double-Helix-DNA-Strand

I recently gave a presentation on DNA testing to a community group. We discussed the types of DNA testing available (MtDNA, Y-DNA, Autosomal DNA) and then using the illustration below, I clarified for the group how DNA is passed down through generations.

There is a general misunderstanding that when siblings are children of the same parents, the sibling's DNA will be identical. When it is not (which is always, except for identical twins), some are convinced there has been a testing error. Another incorrect assumption is that because one has traced their ancestry on paper (through research) to particular places, and the DNA results don't match it exactly, the "science" must be bunk. In other words, "the company makes up DNA results just to collect my $99!!" Holy cow, social media teems with posts blasting the accuracy of DNA tests for the above reasons. But DNA is science, and science is real.

Let's look at the chart below which is from the Ancestry website. It's an ingenious way to explain how DNA passes down. First fact to know is that each child receives 50% of their DNA from their father, and 50% from their mother. Second fact: the parts of each parents' DNA that pass to their children are utterly random. You can see below that Edward received half of his DNA from each parent, represented by alphabet letters. Certain characteristics and features of each parent are contained in the DNA he has received. Other parts of one or the other parents' DNA did not pass to him. Same with Edward's wife, Angela.

Angela and Edward's children receive half of each of their parents' DNA, but as you can see, each child does not receive the same pieces. The children might resemble each other or share similar characteristics, and they will also have major differences. If the letter "N" represents perfect pitch, Glenda and Reagan will be musically gifted, while Gerald will struggle to carry a tune. Of course, this is a simplification.

Because Generation A's DNA is halved for their children--Generation B--and Generation B's DNA is halved for their children--Generation C, and so on, one could be only four or five generations removed from an ancestor and not receive any of their DNA. Some have become upset because their test doesn't show the Native American or some other ethnicity that they have been told about their entire lives. Even if you truly descend from Native Americans, it is reasonable that you might not have scientific evidence of it.

Some who have already researched their family back to say, France, are puzzled or distressed that they have only a small percentage of DNA from that area. They are convinced the test can't be correct. It's important to understand that because someone lives in a geographical area, it does not mean that their ethnicity is rooted in that place, and is the same as a neighbor's. Contrary to popular social myth, people did move around a lot in the past. If an ancestor lived in Paris, that does not make them ethnic French.

Though we understand nationality pretty well, it is not the defining characteristic of a person. Do we understand ethnicity? Ethnicity is what is in our blood, and what a DNA test reflects.

Rather than being bound by political borders (nationality), ethnicity is defined by language, culture, ancestry and even religion. My grandparents' nationality was Austro-Hungarian, later called Czechoslovakian after the establishment of that country. But their ethnicity was Carpatho-Rusyn, closely related to Ukrainian. Their native language was not Czech, Slovak, German or Hungarian, but Carpatho-Rusyn. Their ancestors had migrated southwest from Kiev, and their religion was Byzantine Catholic rather than Roman Catholic, as were their Slovak and Hungarian neighbors.

As time marches on, DNA testing for personal discovery purposes will become further refined. Perhaps eventually it will hone in on the time periods a person's DNA is found in a particular place, and become even more geographically exact. I would love to see more migration patterns delineated. The science is advancing rapidly. This knowledge could actually be displayed in the not distant future.

Ancestry DNA Tests 2018

we're all connected in some way or other!

[http://sbims.com/membership-engagement-human-connection/]

Ancestry.com recently updated their user's DNA profiles, not because an individual's DNA changes, but because the science has refined to the point where a simple spit test can closely pinpoint your ethnic origin as contained in your DNA.

When I first took the test nearly two years ago, Ancestry had outlined about 25 or 30 regions in the world, uniquely identified by DNA commonality. These regions were divided not by political boundaries, natural features or continents, but according to the uniformity and uniqueness of DNA found in residents of those regions. DNA samples from living people who have a long ethnic history in a region are the standard comparison, and to make it simple here, as your DNA closely resembles the deep-rooted samples from one of those regions, Ancestry can quantify what percentage of your ancestry comes from that area.

Currently Ancestry's regions have expanded to now number 350, thus their customer's DNA can be honed to a small area. Their sample populations have increased by a factor of at least three, further refining the matching process.

Here is my updated 2018 Ancestry DNA map showing my ethnicity. Look at Ireland, where 50% of my DNA originates. Notice the small circle drawn around the very most southwest part of the country. This is exactly where almost every one of my Irish ancestors come from. Now look at the leaf-green oval drawn around the point where Poland-Ukraine-Slovakia-Romania come together. 45% of my DNA originates from there. Both of these regions I long-ago identified as domiciles of my ancestors, and now DNA testing has corroborated that. Amazing!

NOTE: my only DNA surprise involves 5% of my DNA: 4% of that is Baltic, and 1% is from the Balkans. 

Furternity Leave

An amusing article appeared on a news website that I frequent. It is all about a new employee benefit that is popping up, called "Furternity." Furternity is like maternity leave, or family leave, except it refers to when an employee acquires a new pet. Seriously. An employee can work at home for the purpose of being available to acclimate and train the animal.

I have no objections to this, but it is rather indulgent. Until not many years ago a woman was expected back at work soon after childbirth (if she hadn't lost her job because of her pregnancy), and a man couldn't even work at home to be available to help with the new human in the family. Now it's acceptable to do so for pets!

This post is less about this policy than about the amusing misconception some of the article's interviewees have in equating raising pets with raising children. 

First off, a spokesman for the company that has pioneered Furternity admitted the company sees that new pets are almost as important as new children. Good heavens, who knew? The same person said that the company wants to given flexibility to employees when they're making a major life change (getting a pet). It used to be that you got a pet. End of story. Folks in past generations would laugh out loud at the thought of a new pet being "a major life change." That phrase was reserved for a move across country, a marriage, a death, or maybe even the birth of a child.

cute! (when small)

We are informed that 75 percent of folks in their 30s own a dog. I don't doubt that, as I found when knocking on doors for the Census Bureau back in 2010. Nearly 3/4 of the homes I visited had a dog, usually an obnoxious one. I love many dogs, just not the poorly trained ones who throw themselves at the door (or window!) hoping for a chance to chew an innocent stranger's leg off. 

What really got me in this article was the woman who said that raising a puppy "helped her and her husband learn how to act as parents." I tried hard to suppress a smart-aleck chuckle, and failed. She'll find out the hard way how ridiculous that statement is.

Personally, I see little correlation between the raising of the two. For starters, I can't imagine enticing a child to do a 'trick' (sitting up, crawling, riding a bike, etc.) by offering it a delectable treat, as we would with a dog, for instance. The child would perform for the treat, eat the treat, then keep on doing what it wants to do how it wants to do it. Maybe children are more like cats than dogs.

less demanding pets

If you own a dog and you work, you can either turn it out into the yard for the day or lock it in a carrier. Try doing either with a child. Flash a handsome smile for your mug shot.

A very young child can be awake all night long, or awake in spurts 4-5-6-10 times a night. They require constant attendance. Throwing out a piece of meat or treat to quiet them doesn't work like it does for a pet. You'll arrive at work the next day looking disheveled and worn, like you haven't slept in a year. And maybe you haven't. 

Would you be able to pawn the child off to a new home because he/she was too noisy--too destructive--too big for your tiny apartment? Or send your child to live with a nice farmer out in the country when you tired of his/her obnoxious antics? Didn't think so.

If you think pets are expensive, you'll be shocked at what children cost. And the equipment! And traveling with children isn't for the fainthearted. It would be easy if you could lock them in a carrier with a piece of meat, but no. Raising a child is vastly more complicated and demanding than keeping a pet. They're not even in the same league! I should know. I have five children and have had my share of pets.

My husband and I were born in the wrong century. To think that folks can work at home for their new pet's sake, when my husband couldn't even do that to enjoy our new babies!

Just for fun, here is a story about my sister's adorable furry pet. Mom was reading the newspaper very early one morning when she felt something brush her foot. She absent-mindedly moved her foot, thinking her robe was in the way. It happened again, the soft, gentle movement of fuzzy touching her foot. She bent over to look, then bolted across the room with a scream! My sister's pet tarantula had escaped its cage, and was attempting to crawl across Mom's foot! After that the spider's cage lid was weighed down with soup cans until my sister could find a new owner. No more escaped tarantulas in that house!

my sister had one of these pets until it figured out how to escape its pen

The World's Oldest Twins

Cleo & Clifford Hawthorne, born Prescott Iowa in 1912

The world's oldest set of twins was born 103 years ago. Cleo, on the left, died this past week. The brothers were close. They held their wedding ceremonies together in 1937. Neither ever drank or smoked. They both ran on their high school track team. They both farmed and worked in creameries. Each kept their driver's license until in their 90s. They have a 96-year-old sister. Now the Cleo is gone, Clifford will miss their occasional visits. They were in facilities a hundred miles apart.

I'm sharing this today because I thought it a poignant story. If you live 103 years close to a person who looks like and is just like you, how hard that would be when the other is gone. At age 103 Clifford won't be without Cleo for long.

as toddlers

Do I Really Want to Live to Be a Hundred??

I used to think living 100 years would be a thrilling milestone, the capstone to a fruitful life, an event to celebrate.  And for some it is.  My Baba lived to 100 and enjoyed the big party in her honor.  My grandfather's cousin made it, and my great-great-great grandmother was supposedly 103 when she died.

Yesterday and today I took a short road trip from NY where I'm already on vacation, to visit some elderly relatives in PA.  It's likely the last time I'll see them. 

My step-mom is nearly 95 and yesterday was the first time I had seen her in about 7 years.  She's still very much herself, but is now nearly blind, very hard of hearing, failing in memory, and living in a very nice care home, the same one where her sister lives.  On the plus side she gets around on her own using a walker, but only in the care home.  She's not capable of say, doing grocery shopping, even if someone provided transportation.  She repeated several times how she can't do anything because she can't see.  It's gotta be hard.

Today I stopped for an hour in another city to visit a distant cousin, an old lady I'm very fond of.  She's 92 and in a care home.  She's intelligent, smart (they are 2 different things), resourceful, has a great memory.  Physically she needs a wheelchair to get around because of a fall 2 years ago.  She explained that she uses Depends and detailed the science behind them for me (I'll file that away under "information I hope I never need to retrieve.")  Before I left I pushed her in her wheelchair to the dining room.  On the way she pointed out the room where the very debilitated patients are brought for their meals.  They have to be fed as they are far beyond doing anything for themselves.  I caught a glimpse through the doorway and was appalled by the condition of some of the folks in there.  Am pretty sure a few aren't even aware of their surroundings.

We have only so much power over our own health.  I would say that making the century mark probably isn't all it's cracked up to be.  One of my elderly relatives mentioned above kept saying she's ready to go.  The other talked about her funeral plans and how the funeral is to be paid for.  Neither one is chomping at the bit to make it to 100.

Family Search Indexing

Margaret Brosnahan, Brattleboro Vermont

For decades I have been involved in a volunteer project created and sponsored by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, called Indexing. It is the method and means by which billions of family history-related records have been posted online at https://familysearch.org (and other sites as well) in a searchable format for anyone-anywhere-anytime to access for the purpose of discovering or expanding their family roots.

Back in the 1980s we Indexing volunteers were given thick packets of xeroxed records taken from LDS Church Archives, most of them records of ordinances performed in the past 100 years. We recorded the names, dates and places onto large index cards, then turned back the packets and completed cards to the administrator. He or she then gave the same packet to another volunteer who recorded the same data onto a separate set of cards, and subsequently an arbitrator compared the two sets of cards to check for discrepancies, and fixed those.

Twice during this early stage of Indexing I ran across people I knew in the old records. One was a mention of an elderly woman I had known when we lived in Idaho. But the other was . . . a record of the adoption of a man I knew in my current ward. I had no idea he was adopted because he looks just like his father. I called my administrator because it was such a personal bit of info and I knew it could never be mentioned to anyone else. She had seen that record while reviewing the packet before handing it out and said, "That's why I gave this one to you, because I knew you would never repeat it."

Gradually over the years Indexing matured into the computer age. Rather than fat packets of paper we indexers looked at microfilmed records which we then recorded onto the index cards. Then someone else recorded those onto the computer and arbitrated them. My interest was always the challenge of working from the original records on microfilm. My favorite project was the two years I spent decoding Ellis Island immigration records in the mid-90s. Perhaps because one set of my grandparents were immigrants, I loved poring over the Hungarian, Italian, Croatian, etc. names of folks who entrusted their lives and future into the hands of the good ol' USA. The handwriting was tough to read and there were times when 4 or 5 volunteers stood around a microfilmed image doing their best to figure out the letters, so the record would appear properly in the index. That was of utmost importance. Ellis Island records have now for years been posted at http://www.ellisisland.org.

a typical immigrant ship of the early 1900s; this one happens to be the ship that carried my Baba to the US in 1911

For some years now Indexing has been done entirely on computer from home. I now download a "batch" from a menu of about 30 choices in various languages, then either do the original indexing, or arbitrate a batch where there are discrepancies on which my opinion is the final word. My favorites are the Hungarian records, though I've interpreted thousands of birth, marriage, death and census records in English, Slovak, and German.

In 2012 the big push was to index the 1940 Census which was released on April 1 last year. A couple hundred thousand Indexers participated and the entire project was done in just a few months time!!   One day I chose a batch of 1940 Montana Census and once again, ran across people I knew. When I was 10 years old my very first baby-sitting job was for children of our neighbors, Bruce and Joanne, who lived on my street in California. Well there in front of me on the 1940 was Bruce as an 8-year-old child with his parents and siblings. In my early 20s I had been an neighbor of Bruce's mother Claire, and her second husband, Clarence. Boy, did that Census record bring back sweet memories of great people.

What brings me to this post is the Hungarian death records I've been working on. They range from the time period of late 1800s to about the mid-1950s, and when I download a batch I never know ahead of time what year they will be. Lately they've been late 1940s or into 1950. And I've been moved to see that after World War 2, Hungarian towns and villages made an effort to record World War 2 era deaths in their local records, even if the deaths occurred elsewhere. Two categories pop out: 1. those who were killed during the war, mostly soldiers, mainly in Russia, and 2. Holocaust victims who died in concentration camps.

Yesterday I found an entire family recorded in the death records on May 23, 1950. They died together in Auschwitz on July 15, 1944:

Vilmos Farkas, 37 years old, commercial businessman, July 15 1944, Auschwitz
Fransiska Braun, 36, July 15 1944, Auschwitz
Erzsebet Farkas, 11 years, July 15 1944, Auschwitz
Laszlo Farkas, 9 years, July 15 1944, Auschwitz
Lajos Farkas, 7 years, July 15 1944, Auschwitz

On another page recorded December 29, 1948:
Armin Wuliger, 63, business, July 15, 1944, Auschwitz
Hermina Feldman, 63, July 15, 1944, Auschwitz
Margit Wuliger, 41, July 15, 1944, Auschwitz
Karoly Wuliger, 34, July 15, 1944, Auschwitz
Jeno Wuliger, 27, September 15, 1944, died in Austria [same family, but killed in battle]

The tragedy of the war and Holocaust intensifies when you see entire families wiped out for no reason at all, except that they were Jews in Hitler's way.

Indexing will stimulate personal feelings of love, pity, sympathy, admiration, respect, empathy, and appreciation, all surfacing for people you never knew.

a sample register; this one is easy reading

NOTE: Anyone can participate in Indexing from any computer, anywhere, anytime. Projects are rated according to ease of use (1 or 2 for beginners, 3-4 average, 5 is for experienced Indexers) and you can begin by registering at www.familysearch.org. And, you can  browse Family Search right this minute for records already indexed by volunteers, and posted  FOR FREE!

How the Other Half Lived

After reading an article in BYU Magazine about successful female athletes, I thought how cool it is for them to know nothing of the struggle it was in the past to be female. I'm not talking about archaic arranged marriages and disenfranchisement. Those were major issues, and they had been overcome (in the US) long before I came along. Certain other injustices to females took a long time to disappear.

The first memory I have of the unfairness of being female, was in about second grade. Some boys were just jerks, and one who was constantly hazing me, slugged me in the stomach on the playground. After I recovered enough to walk, I marched straight to the duty teacher to complain.  Can you guess what she told me?  Slugging or hitting was a boy's way of showing he liked me.  Seriously, so I should be swooning?  That was not the only time I witnessed a boy getting a free ticket to assault someone.

A constant theme in my childhood was "act like a lady." If I climbed a tree, some adult was sure to say I should "act like a lady." Or if I went out to play street baseball w/ the boys, I heard the annoying refrain. I was interested in fun and adventure, not sitting around with my hands in my lap.

As my friends and I grew into cute pre-teens, then teenagers, we hated walking past work sites where Mexicans were laboring. Without exception, those men would all pause in their work, gawk, whistle, and say probably nasty things in Spanish. We avoided them where possible, which was hard in a town full of migrant laborers.

A serious issue in high school was the limited curriculum and opportunities for females. In 9th grade I approached my counselor to tell her I really, really wanted to register for Aviation Science that fall.  You can guess the chuckled response, yet it's shocking even for 1969: "oh honey, that class is for boys only." Good thing it happened to be full anyway, or Mom and I would have made a fuss. Shop classes were also limited to boys. I certainly did not begrudge learning sewing and cooking, but how useful it would have been to also learn about cars and wood and metal. And boys could have learned the important, useful skills of sewing and cooking.

I was never an athlete, so it didn't affect me personally that only boys were offered competitive sports. But it seemed unfair to me that girls had after-school groups that played each other, but only the boys got the big time attention and funding. Not anymore!   

Here's a ridiculous anecdote: After my marriage I went to the DMV to renew my license. I wanted it to say Suzanne B. Walker; the letter B was for my maiden name which was now my middle name. The DMV clerk  said ok, but the letter B would have to be in quote marks, like this: "B".  What the?  No, I said, like this: B.  He insisted that a maiden name was more like a nickname--not your real name, so it would need quote marks. No way!  Of course I stood my ground, but I wonder if Mr. Insane-DMV-Man did that to every woman changing her name.

I'm very glad for my girls, grand-girls, and all other girls out there who can do whatever they are capable of doing, without being restricted because of their wonderful girl-hood.

Where Do YOU Fit In? (part 2)

This chart rings fairly accurate to me, though of course there are no hard and fast rules about how people behave and react to their own situation. I see myself crossing categories because I see the world in terms of international, and then spilling over into poverty because the label on clothing means less than nothing to me. 

I personally know more people living in poverty than in wealth. And something that puzzles me is this: the poor are so overly generous at giving that it makes the rest of us look like Mr. E. Scrooge. And it is inappropriate at times. Example (and I have many): I attended a baby shower for a very poor unwed mother. With one exception, every attendee was a middle-class woman charitably supporting the future child of this ill equipped mom who refused to give up her baby for adoption. The exception attendee was an equally poor unwed mother of many ( call her A), who presented gift after gift after gift after gift. A gave more than the rest of us combined (we each brought the usual one carefully chosen gift). We were embarrassed for her. Why? Certainly A was not self-conscious in the least. All that concerned her was that her friend had nothing and needed everything. Where she got the money to buy the gifts is beyond me. 

According to the info below, in A's world, money should be used, spent. Perhaps the sentiment is, "I will never crawl out of this poverty pit so I might as well enjoy life when and how I can."  Is that why (or at least it's my perception) that smoking and drinking, having costly nail decor, etc. seems more common among lower income folks?  My friend Julie has commented that the poor seem to prop each other up; that way no one falls into the depths of despair and they all manage to get by.

Just some thoughts; end of sermon . . .

Where Do YOU Fit In? [part 1]

Yikes, is it November again already? I look forward to reading other folks' blogs yet writing my own every day will be a test. 

Could you survive in poverty? In middle-class? In wealth? I recently came into possession of a three-page paper that asks this multi-part question. It’s a yes/no quiz actually, and by answering the statements you will be able to tell where you fit in the social strata. One purpose of the “quiz”is to help you understand what it is like to be in an unfamiliar “class.” A related purpose is to bring out any empathy you can muster for those living in poverty. 

Read the statements and 'grade' yourself. Tomorrow I'll post an interesting chart that interprets these categories for you.

A sampling of the questions.

Poverty:

I know which churches and sections of town have the best rummage sales

I know which grocery stores’ garbage bins can be accessed for thrown-away food

I know how to get someone out of jail

I know how to get a gun, even if I have a police record

I know how to live without electricity and a phone

I know how to move in half a day

I can get by without a car

I know how to fight and defend myself physically

I know how to get and use food stamps and other benefits

I know where the free medical clinics are

I am good at trading and bartering

Middle Class:

I know how to get my children into Little League, piano, soccer, etc.

I know which stores carry the clothing brands my family prefers

My children know the best name brand in clothing

I know how to get a library card

I repair items in my house when they break, or know how to call a repair service

I know how to get a good interest rate on a new-car loan

I understand the difference among the principal, interest, and escrow statements on my house payment

I talk to my children about going to college

I know how to order in a nice restaurant

I know how to help my children with their homework and don’t hesitate to call the school for additional info

Wealth:

I have several favorite restaurants in different countries of the world

I know how to hire a decorator to do my house during the holidays

I know the hidden rules of the Junior League

I support or buy the work of a particular artist

I have at least two residences that are staffed and maintained

I know how to ensure confidentiality and loyalty from my domestic staff

I know how to read a corporate financial statement and analyze my own financial statements

I know how to host the parties that “key” people attend

I have two or three “screens” that keep people whom I do not wish to see away from me

I am on the board of at least two charities

I Was Run Off the Road by a Cell-Phone User and Lived to Tell About It

Like many others, I have my own personal story of being run off the road by a driver talking on his cell phone. Only this guy was operating an enormous dump truck which was pulling a very long flatbed trailer behind it. I exited Sunset Highway at Helvetia Road, and at the top of the exit ramp I was in the right-most of the two left-turn lanes. Mr. Gigantic Dump Truck beside me was turning left from the left-most lane.

Because he was a large truck I fully expected him to swing wide on the turn, so when the light changed I gave him plenty of space as we entered the intersection. But yikes, he kept coming closer to me during the turn, and thank heaven for the very wide shoulder here because by the time we completed the turn I was forced 100% onto the shoulder as he slid all the way into my lane as if he owned the place.

I paused momentarily to catch my breath, then took off after him. About half mile down the road I pulled up on his left at the stoplight, and leaning over to look up at him I could see him chatting away on his cell phone without a care in the world. The name and phone of his trucking company was proudly displayed on his truck door, which I copied down. At the next intersection he turned right while I continued straight. As he turned he was still yakking on the phone.

From home I called the trucking company number to report the dude. The woman who answered said that was her husband driving the truck, and he wasn't at home for me to talk to. I explained what happened and her first response was "he would never talk on his cell phone while driving."  Well lady, he was. We ended up having a four or five minute conversation in which she still claimed he wouldn't talk and drive, then it switched to her telling me it wasn't my fault. What the heck????  I insisted that she tell him my experience, and that he must never ever do that again. She said she would and I left it at that. Looking back I wish I had called back to talk to him. Hope he changes his ways before he drives right over somebody in his big-boy dump truck.

Best Bumper Sticker Ever . . . And The Worst

Seen in a campground on the Deschutes River near Bend, Oregon:  STOP GLOBAL WHINING

I second it!


Speaking of bumper stickers, a few weeks ago while driving through Beaverton I had the unfortunate experience to be idling behind a small pickup at a stoplight, and it's hard to avoid reading a bumper sticker when it’s staring you in the face.

This one on the truck, although an advertisement for a local crane company, was crude and coarse. But the company was smart enough to have put their phone number on the bumper sticker. So I called the number and was looking forward to giving them a piece of my mind. I was sad to get the answering machine but went ahead and said my peace, which, besides dissing their advertisement, included that if I had need for hiring a crane (which I obviously never will), I would definitely not pick their company. They did not return my call.