Can I Have Mustard with That?

Aldous Huxley wrote that “most human beings have an absolute and infinite capacity for taking things for granted.”

This is a top-of-mind topic for me recently, and I absolutely think this is true, but not in the condescending “clear your plate because there are people starving in Africa” kind of way. Sure, people are starving in Africa. Here in America too, but the chances of my lima beans reaching them in time to do any real good are pretty slim – no pun intended.

Since it was on my mind, I thought I would actually look up the concept of taking for granted to be sure I was being pestered by the right idiom. Calling it an idiom might even be a stretch, as it is pretty straight forward … but that is a different blog entirely. Specifically, that blog is http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/, but I digress.

For the purpose of this discussion, I mean taking things or granted in the sense of failing to appreciate the value of something. We’ll start with the obvious.

I now have my downtown back. My town has an actual downtown – one with shops and restaurants and a confectionary. It is a place where parades march through and people walk around. Prior to moving away, it never occurred to me that everywhere didn’t have a downtown. Turns out, to quote another dead white man, “more sad are these we daily see, it is but hadn’t ought to be.” My last town had a downtown. It was not a place of gatherings or parades. It was a neglected strip in an unused part of town that housed places where lifetime-locals could go get drunk and/or buy hunting equipment – sometimes simultaneously. We tried to “enjoy” it. No dice.

Now I am back to a beautiful downtown. You will see me there often walking up and down the strip. I am delighted. It is an absolutely delightful downtown. I wish everyone would move away for a while, then come back, so I could see more of my friends on my walkabouts.

A not-so-obvious thing that I had taken for granted in the past is a word. How do you take a word for granted? It is easier than you might imagine. The word is Kishwaukee, and any and everyone who lives anywhere near me or has ever lived anywhere near me is guilty of this same word crime.

It is everywhere, and I am not kidding even a little bit. We have Kishwaukee College, Kishwaukee Hospital, Kishwaukee River and the Kishwaukee Country Club, just to name the few that I could think of off the top of my head. So, fellow Northern Illinois residents, pray tell. What does it mean?

You can’t tell me, can you?

It never even occurred to me to wonder!

For those of you ‘not from around here,’ it is pronounced KISH-wah-key – the wah is pronounced the same way ‘wa’ is in the word walk.

The fact that it meant something never occurred to me. It did, however, occur to my brilliant 14-year-old. “Mom,” she said inquiringly. “What does Kishwaukee mean?”

“Uh …”

Thank God for smart phones. “Let’s find out together,” was my pathetic reply in an attempt to mask the fact that her question had not, even once in 40 years, ever crossed my mind.

She was on to me. She always is.

As it turns out, Kishwaukee is a Potawatomi word meaning the “river of the sycamore.” The Potawatomi are Native Americans who inhabited the upper Mississippi River region before others "joined them." They used the large Sycamore trees that grew abundantly in this area to make canoes. I don’t know if they knew it or not, but this area also turns out to be the northernmost natural habitat for the Sycamore tree.

Isn’t that fascinating? Well, I think it is. But, guess what? It is also entirely unknown, and I have proof!

There is not a single river on any of the business signs or location denotations that use Kishwaukee as part of their moniker – well, except for maybe the river. Not one! Why? Because no one knows what it is!

We all research our children’s names, ensuring that they mean this, that,or the other thing. But I had two of my children in Kishwaukee Hospital, and it never even occurred to me to wonder about the name that was draping the institution in which I had just given birth. Twice! I wish I had known. I think it is beautiful.

And, as an aside, Kish needs to change its logo. I insist.

So, if I can offer something to any of my readers, let me offer you this.

The next time you drive by the courthouse and see a car emblazoned with the Sandwich Police logo, please laugh. Because, thanks to my oldest daughter’s boyfriend, who is also not from here, I finally did.

“So do they randomly check people at restaurants to make sure they are using condiments properly?”

The Sandwich police! Get it?

After 40 years, I finally got it. I got it, and, as it turns out, it’s hilarious!

No offense to the Sandwich mshenkyenene.