We are our stories. Our stories are more substantial than our dna. Energies within energies.
And so many times, way too many times, we use stories against ourselves. Don't. It's stupid.
Instead, I will take to heart, each & every day of 2013, the daily mantra (courtesy of an early influence - I was in 8th grade - Dag Hammerskjold) - - For all that has been, Thank You. For all that is to come, YES!
Track 9 to NYC
dropping off "my guys" at Hamilton Train Station
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Wondering
Been wondering about the power of the messages we think we got through family, teachers, friends, messages which might have little to no connection to anything ever voiced. How many times did we misinterpret something because of where an inflection fell or garbled body language or because we were feeling stressed or unhappy & completely took what was said the wrong way, then believed it for years, even decades?
We all do.
It's the nature of the human condition - to mess things up, even when we have the best intentions.
One of the few things I know for sure is that WHAT we know is a teensiest tiniest sliver of a sliver of what there is to be known - and most of that humans mess up by thinking we know it all.
Imagine how different life on the planet would be if we considered as suspect all the messages we use to set the gps of our personal life.
How many of us have discovered that mapquest.com is NOT the most reliable way to get driving directions, that it should always be backed up by a long, hard look at a MAP of where we are & where we are going?
The same is true with life. How many times do I figure out my next destination using information already in my head, info which - in many instances, in many ways - has been messed up, either from the its beginning or over the years?
More & more I find that the smartest thing for me to do is to clear out the old info, take a fresh look at where I am & where I want to be, and plot a course based on that information, not well-intentioned gobblety-gook.
We all do.
It's the nature of the human condition - to mess things up, even when we have the best intentions.
One of the few things I know for sure is that WHAT we know is a teensiest tiniest sliver of a sliver of what there is to be known - and most of that humans mess up by thinking we know it all.
Imagine how different life on the planet would be if we considered as suspect all the messages we use to set the gps of our personal life.
How many of us have discovered that mapquest.com is NOT the most reliable way to get driving directions, that it should always be backed up by a long, hard look at a MAP of where we are & where we are going?
The same is true with life. How many times do I figure out my next destination using information already in my head, info which - in many instances, in many ways - has been messed up, either from the its beginning or over the years?
More & more I find that the smartest thing for me to do is to clear out the old info, take a fresh look at where I am & where I want to be, and plot a course based on that information, not well-intentioned gobblety-gook.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
QUIDDITY
(cross posted onto savingallmybestlines.blogspot.com)
A lot, maybe a majority, of people dismiss the importance of saying – out loud, in writing – our personal stories. Stories can be seen as symptoms of self-absorption, indicative of narcissism, dull prattlings of people with too high a regard for themselves & too little of matter to keep themselves occupied.
Such folk miss the importance of personal stories, ours & others. A wise woman wrote that celebrating life stories, big & small, important & apparently inconsequential, provide a “strategy for learning.” By taking the time to look back on who we were, on what we did, on the impact of others on us, of the things we knew for sure that turned out to be way different than what we thought – by doing that, we help get a bead on who & where we are, maybe get a hint of where we might be going.
How can we know who we are if we don’t honor what we’ve been? How can we know where we’re headed without giving at least giving a tip of the hat to the tracks we left behind?
Learned a new word this past fall – quiddity.
According to Merriam-Webster, quiddity is a noun meaning “whatever makes something the type that it is; essence.” Strangely, the same source includes another meaning - a trifling point.
Interesting.
So many people find life stories to be mere trifles. They tend to chalk up folks like me, who find that such stories cup in their metaphysical hands whatever it is that makes us who we are, as eccentrics.
Quiddity - essence. The gist of who we are. That could be why working with stories - naturally, without any sense of forcing – can make it easier to interact with olders, especially olders struggling with the delicate balance between what they remember & who they were with what they forget & how they've unraveled.
Words – once partners in expressing thoughts – turn against them. They can’t remember the right word or they seem to pluck ones out of the air, whether they apply or not.
Ah, but things of essence are beyond words. They simple ARE. Things of essence conjure images in the mind & heart that need no words, would be hemmed in & caged by words.
Maybe those who seem to find my passion for honoring, sharing, recording life stories to be a trifle, not worth significant time or effort, miss the essential point, which true for young & old, robust or frail, sharp-as-a-tack or forgetful ~ stories anchor who we are, help us find ease with who we are becoming, help us find peace with who we were.
They conjure up, reflect & shine a light on our quiddity.
Passionate?
(cross posted onto savingallmybestlines.blogspot.com)
Am I passionate about sharing/saving personal & family stories.
To quote the much-missed Carson Tyler – you bet your booties, grandma!
Maybe it’s because I’ve seen the effect sharing stories has on the majority of older people.
Is it easy getting an older to tap into their treasure house of memories, to share them with others? With 9 out of 10 olders, no.
First of all, olders - make that almost everyone – tend to think of their stories as of little interest to others, inconsequential. Just little stories from long ago.
It typically takes another's genuine interest & lots of low-key cajoling to get most olders to open up. It rarely happens the first, or even fourth, time it’s attempted.
What is the value?
Stories can be an invaluable tool working with olders. Even the healthiest generally experience increasing isolation, as friends move or pass away. Remembering stories, valuing them & having them valued by others, helps keep many olders engaged with life. They have proved powerful tools working with folks suffering from memory challenges, providing connections when there might be their grasp on the here & now might not be as strong as it is on the back then.
Today's culture has become so automated & digitalized, we’ve lost many – perhaps most – oral traditions that were once commonplace.
When olders live with their children, sharing stories about grown sons & daughters was natural as dishes were washed or meals were made. There were countless opportunities to ask questions about early years, courtship, marriage.
The current barrage of distractions is so different from anything that existed before. Radio gathered families around it, which television did not. Today, computers & iPads et al make entertainment an often solitary experience. So different from the typical households of the 100 years ago, when entertainment was often as low tech as the family piano & story telling, tales of past adventures & triumphs, challenges & tragedies, resilience & victory were shared across generations.
Stories are not all sweetness & light. There can be pain there, too. Clients of mine lost relatives & dearly loved ones in World War II. My brother died when I was seven. Mom was widowed at 63. Both John & I have ridden financial roller coasters & wrestled with difficult relationships.
Who wants to hear sad stories? Truth be told, there can be a lot of power in stories of tragedy, loss & woe.
One tragic tale I heard from my Mom happened before she was born, a story handed down from her mother, about an uncle I never heard about until the final weeks of Mom’s life.
We did a lot of talking over those weeks, both at INOVA Alexandria (VA) & St. Mary’s (PA), especially when we thought she was on the mend. Maybe we’d been discussing medical advances. For whatever reason, she started telling me about her older brother, William – Willie – born after Uncle Al and before Uncle Bob.
Newborn Willie couldn’t accept his mother’s milk, couldn’t take a bottle. This was in the first years of the last century - there was no alternative, like there is now. My grandparents, in their late 20s, had to watch their sweet little babe ebb away.
Near the end, my grandfather refused to leave his tiny son’s crib. Finally, my grandmother went in, draped her arms around her bereft husband’s shoulders, and said – “Ben, come away. Let him go.” In tears, my grandfather let himself be led out of the room. Within the hour, Willie was gone.
Yes, it was a tragedy. Still, imagine a father’s love being so strong, it was kept a wee baby connected to this life. It happened over 109 years ago, to someone even my mother didn’t know – except through her mother’s stories. And it’s retelling is the only presence that little baby, my Uncle Willie, has in the here & now.
Am I passionate about sharing & saving such stories?
YES!!
Just one broken heartbeat...
(cross posted onto savingallmybestlines.blogspot.com)
It might seem sort of a downer thing to bring up during this Christmas season, but we are all just one broken heartbeat away from losing the stories of our lives. The people we love – especially parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – are just one broken heartbeat away.
Friends often say to me, “I wish we’d had stories from our parents. You’re lucky to have so many of your Mom’s.” Just the other day, a friend mentioned my passion for sharing Mom’s stories.
It’s not a passion for sharing Mom's stories, but for nudging others into have their olders do the same.
We are our stories.
Yet how many of us know much about our parents before the years we started being consciously aware of them?
It's a joy whenever a friend posts snapshots of her Mom & Dad & their friends enjoying good times together, back when they were very young adults. I look at their older selves at church or other places and see the vibrant young woman, the dashing young man, in their smiles, their eyes. And so many of the photos are at spots where their children & grandchildren & even greatgrands have similar grand times!
Their daughter isn’t telling their stories in words, like I did with Mom, but in photos. Clear evidence that pictures really do speak a thousand years!
Albums
We are only one broken heartbeat away from throwing out albums of uncaptioned pictures, like I did with a haunting one full of pictures from the late 1800s & early 20th century, photos of my father’s beloved aunts & uncles at their summer place on a unknown river in an unknown place - there wasn't so much as a single caption under any of them. Will always remember the zest, the pure pleasure of being with each other. But without the captions, they were strangers to me, in a strange but wonderful land.
Are your family album photos clearly captioned? Not just on the page. Unless it’s actually glued onto the pages, as Dad’s family album was, each photo should also be captioned on the back. Photos sometimes fall or are taken out of albums. If it only has a page caption, it’s history is gone.
Christmas Heritage
It is my pleasure & great honor to work with some fabulous grannie clients. Some of them have A LOT of grandchildren, so buying Christmas presents can take a big bite out of their funds. A wonderful present to give adult grands is a photo of the olders back when they were youngers. I don’t have children, hence no grandkids, but aunts & uncles can give photos of their parents, brothers or sisters. Captioned on the back! Reprints are easy to get these days, even at the corner Walgreens or CVS. Team it up with a mat from the arts & crafts store, and you’re good to go!
Captioning suggestion – I write captions on white labels, then affix them to the back of the photo. That way, I don’t have to work about a ball point pen leaving an indentation on the precious photo or ink bleeding through.
Passion for Sharing
We are all just one broken heartbeat away from losing all our stories. I am passionate about sharing the joys of gathering them. Each of us is an walking album of stories – this holiday season is a wonderful time to help olders open up & share them with you, to haul out family albums & remember the stories, the people behind each photo.
Just one….
Power of Stories
(cross posted onto savingallmybestlines.blogspot.com)
Chalk it up to having the honor of being the daughter of someone who lived well past the proverbial "3 score years & ten" and the friend of many others who did, too - from Grandma Rose & Viola Ridgeway to my mother-in-law & many beloved teachers ~ ~ it's impossible to remember a time I didn't understand the remarkable power of stories in living a joyful life.
Chalk it up to having the honor of being the daughter of someone who lived well past the proverbial "3 score years & ten" and the friend of many others who did, too - from Grandma Rose & Viola Ridgeway to my mother-in-law & many beloved teachers ~ ~ it's impossible to remember a time I didn't understand the remarkable power of stories in living a joyful life.
It's impossible to remember a time that sharing life stories with others, over a family meal or a friendly cuppa, recording them in letters or journals or now blogs, wasn't a natural part of my life.
It constantly stuns me how many people didn't have that same sense of connection to past generations, to their parents' younger selves.
What fun it was, hearing Mom talk about Aunt Dot, Uncle Al, Uncle Bob, and especially Aunt Betty, her lifelong BFF as well as baby sister. To hear stories about Dad's family, especially summers with his mother's relatives. Those stories held important life lessons, too - both Mom & Dad had early years marked with great tragedy, left with surviving parents who had somewhat dysfunctional ways of parenting.
From both my parents, but especially from Mom, I was given a rich treasure house of memories of people I never met, times I never lived in, circumstances I never faced.
One of the most important things I do with my grannie clients is to talk about their earlier years. It's interesting, coming from a family that always & still values such stories, to hear client after client dismiss their earlier years as being of no value. And I mean stories from their lives, not things that happened to others.
Most - sadly, most - of my clients don't initially see much value in their earlier experiences. Taking the bull by the horns, I explain to them that I am a compilation of all my previous experiences - good, bad & indifferent. In recognizing & honoring them - even the stinky ones - I've come to have a better understanding of who I am at this moment in time, which will be itself a memory tomorrow. Strange but true, they can see the truth of that about me, but shake their heads that it could be true of them, too.
One of my greatest wishes for EVERYONE is that they develop an urgency about recalling, honoring and recording their memories. No need to dredge up icky stuff. There's plenty to recall that can be shared without fear of causing so much as a single kerfluffle.
That being said, let dark things come up if they arise - there's power in remembering uncomfortable, even sad moments. Sometimes, we learn the most from those moments.
Some of my grannie clients have memory problems, which makes story telling a challenge. They can get frustrated not remembering a name or a town or a date. It's interesting how many times, if the sharing is very general, the details will float up in ways they don't when being forced.
Folks with fully intact memories can find it hard to grasp the challenges memory lapses present. It's easy to feel (even if we don't express it) exasperation at the person we arrive to pick up who comes to the door on a cold day in a warm weather outfit & a light coat, who forgets the name of a grandchild, who has lots of pieces of paper around the house to remember important dates & events & people. It's not so easy to see the person who's doing their best to hang on, to bridge the chasm they face every moment between knowing & not knowing, between being their self & watching their self.
One reason my Mom aged so well is that she had the constant point of reference that stories provided. We batted them about frequently - not just me, but my brothers & sister, too. It seemed every family gathering included the three older kids swapping tales of swimming at the pond or in the creek or a legion of other things that were great unknowns to much-younger me; Peter, Mike & Mim were many years older than I, a generation before, rooted in a culture I never knew. But Mom did. And those stories of the past - along with the ones I added, the ones John could recall with a smile & a laugh - helped anchor her in the present.
Imagine an older person, someone who lived in a house filled with kids, busy & bustling with being a mom & a wife. Imagine that person downsizing with her husband, moving into a smaller house, with no kids needing her care, but a house that still had to be cleaned, gardens that still needed tending, a husband who still needed her. Imagine that person alone, living in an apartment - still in her town, but not able to get around as much as she did, still able to drive but fewer places to go & never at night. Imagine that person no longer able to drive, without the energy to do much of what she did, with someone who comes in to clean her apartment, who has trouble figuring out how to turn on the radio or work the TV. remote control.
Having a store house of memories, a lot of pictures around as reminders of past times, maybe albums of photos with captions identifying people-places-times, helps us stay grounded in our present moment. Building up that store is a safeguard against loneliness when we're at the age where our aging bodies & sometimes failing minds limit our once busting-at-the-seams energies.
Storing up stories is more than simply a safeguard against isolation. We all need ways to recall, honor & story our lives. We need their nourishment as much as we do wholesome food & physical activities.
Without our stories, our spirits can too easily atrophy. With them, we have moments long past from which we can take pleasure and even learn new lessons. With them, we have a rich legacy to leave when we're gone.
Mom didn't have much of an estate when she was finally (after 28 years) reunited eleven years ago with her O! Best Beloved. At the time, I said that her legacy was much like prizes awarded at certain events, where you had to be present to win because Mom's greatest legacy was the stories she recalled to us, the stories that made up her life.
There is great power in stories, but time is short. We are all just a broken heartbeat away from losing those stories.
Take the time to talk with an older relative or friend. Do it frequently, without agenda - it takes time to get most people to open up & share. It's hard for people who knew Mom through her Mindwalker1910 e-mails to believe how many weeks & cups of tea it took for me to get her to share her personal stories, not just the amusing "war stories" we grew up with. Can recall her scoffing that anyone would care - I'd agree that her kids wouldn't (and sure enough - the others didn't), but she should do it for the grandchildren, the great grands she hoped to someday see. Through her stories, they'd see her.
Take the time to talk with an older relative or friend. Do it frequently, without agenda - it takes time to get most people to open up & share. It's hard for people who knew Mom through her Mindwalker1910 e-mails to believe how many weeks & cups of tea it took for me to get her to share her personal stories, not just the amusing "war stories" we grew up with. Can recall her scoffing that anyone would care - I'd agree that her kids wouldn't (and sure enough - the others didn't), but she should do it for the grandchildren, the great grands she hoped to someday see. Through her stories, they'd see her.
It took many weeks & much softly delivered cajoling, but Mom finally started making tape recordings, sometimes over a cuppa, sometimes out on drives. In time, she evolved to e-mail, going from sharing them with me to sending them out into cyberspace where anyone who cared could read them, to an ever-growing circle of old friends & new connections, people she never met but who knew Mom through her posts.
I guess that is my great hope for all of my grannie clients, although I've yet to convince them (still working on it) - to share their stories, if only with me. To them, as to my Mom, their stories are piddly things, nothing that would engage anyone's interest. But it was never, is never, about who reads the stories. It might be no one. It's about the remembering, the writing of them, the recording of a life, the honoring past selves whose accumulated whole is your present self.
There is power in our stories. They are not minor or piddly. The reason is simple, yet so often overlooked. Our body is composed of flesh & blood & bone, but WE are so much more ~ we ARE our stories.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Wrapped In Memories
It's such a blessing to have so many remarkable memories of Christmastime - they warm & soothe, like the very best sort of comforter. So many patches of special moments, stitched together with love & laughter.
Until fairly recently, I had no idea that my family approached the holidays any differently than most. Much to my surprise, few of my friends have the rich treasure trove of out & abouts, trips into Philadelphia & NYC, and more "must-do" Christmas events than you might believe.
One of the BEST ways I'll celebrate the season this year is by recalling a memory a day, much like the advent calendar I made my sister a couple years back, each hand-decorated tiny box containing a Lockhart Christmas moment. Never kept a copy for myself, so this is sort of my own countdown to Christmas.
The LONG Wait
All of us Lockharts were sticklers about waiting for Christmas, delaying our holiday gratification until AFTER Thanksgiving, however tempting it might be to put on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or set out a wrapped present.
But once Thanksgiving was in the rear window - WHOOSH! All manner of Christmas music hit the air waves, decorations seemed to materialize out of nowhere & wrapped packages came out to be ooooo'ed & ahhhhhhh'd over.
Since getting married, it's not just enough for me to wait until after Thanksgiving to break out the decorations & music. My kick off day is Dec 1 - today. Let the merriment begin!
Until fairly recently, I had no idea that my family approached the holidays any differently than most. Much to my surprise, few of my friends have the rich treasure trove of out & abouts, trips into Philadelphia & NYC, and more "must-do" Christmas events than you might believe.
One of the BEST ways I'll celebrate the season this year is by recalling a memory a day, much like the advent calendar I made my sister a couple years back, each hand-decorated tiny box containing a Lockhart Christmas moment. Never kept a copy for myself, so this is sort of my own countdown to Christmas.
The LONG Wait
All of us Lockharts were sticklers about waiting for Christmas, delaying our holiday gratification until AFTER Thanksgiving, however tempting it might be to put on the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or set out a wrapped present.
But once Thanksgiving was in the rear window - WHOOSH! All manner of Christmas music hit the air waves, decorations seemed to materialize out of nowhere & wrapped packages came out to be ooooo'ed & ahhhhhhh'd over.
Since getting married, it's not just enough for me to wait until after Thanksgiving to break out the decorations & music. My kick off day is Dec 1 - today. Let the merriment begin!
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