Life stories, life stories. Now, I have been thinking about this for a long time. I read somewhere "that if something is still on your mind then you need to do something about it." I think I'm ready to do something about this series of life stories that have been running around in my head for at least a year, maybe longer. I have no idea what these stories will be or where they will go but I do know that I need to put something on this paper. What I am sure of is that I will be as surprised as you as to how far my memory can take me and what I am willing to share. Some might be here on my blog and others I will write and save for my family. Some might just be for me. So, here is how it started.
In 2012 we were visiting friends in San Diego. As we were taking a walk around a park on the waterfront we came across this huge statue of "The Kiss". A sailor kissing a nurse just after WW11 was declared over. I looked at the dates on the statue and then I looked up again. This was the time that my Mom and Dad would have been together as a young couple. It also got me wondering what those times might have been like for them. A young serviceman and a beautiful young lady. Wartime. When we returned home from that trip, I couldn't let the statue go. It kept popping up, so I did some research. Then two years later, with what little information I had found, I went to Seattle, Washington to find my parent’s early story as best I could. The "Kiss Part 11", didn't quite put my mind to rest it did just the opposite. As I began thinking of how little I knew about my parents, I began to think about how little my kids knew about me and Jim in our younger days. Why is that? I know way back there was a time when “family business” was never really discussed. We didn't ask questions because we knew we would not get an answer. Then when I got older I got involved in my own life, as we all do, and I didn't ask again. There were no heart-to-heart dinner conversations when I grew up...actually, there was very little heart-to-heart at all, either in words or expressions. Then, as often happens, my parents passed and now I am left with so many unanswered questions. Simple questions. How did they meet? How did she get to Seattle to meet and marry her man? I know the why of the divorce but that was not pretty. What did she love as a young girl, where did she work...was she happy? Who were her friends? The same for him. What was his early life like? My Dad was even less approachable though because he was in the service and more often than not he was away on active duty. Later on, in life, I did find out some of what he liked and what his early life was like. I was somewhat surprised that he was willing to share his thoughts with me when we re-connected after many years of not seeing each other. I would not have expected that to be the outcome of his and my relationship although, I am forever grateful that we were able to take the time against much undue pressure from my family. We did get to know each other as adults and also we were able to forgive and learn to trust and love each other. That was a gift.
So because my mind would not let go of the whys and the "I wished I knew", and the sadness of knowing now that I could never find out what life was like mostly for my Mom, I started thinking that I didn't want my kids to be where I am now asking questions that can't be answered. I also know that they are not in the same space as I was with my family. We have talked a lot about our life before them but there is always something to be discovered that they didn't know. Truthfully, looking back, I will be finding out things that I have forgotten and just only recently have been revisiting. So, in a sense, this will be a journey for me also and who knows, maybe in remembering some of my life stories perhaps I will remember bits and pieces of my Mom's and Dad's also. I don’t have many photos of when we were young but I have a few and I still live close enough to my old home to roam the streets and stir things up. I have been doing that now for more than a year and it has been very interesting and telling.
It takes a very long time to realize how important and fragile life is. I also think some people just move from one phase of life to another and never care to look back. For me, looking back is kind of like looking for my younger self. It helps to have a sense of where I started and where I am now. The progress made to make a good life today and the challenges that I overcame to get here. Even just a quick glimpse back shows me how much the times have changed and how divided I would be from my grandparent’s thoughts and beliefs. Some of them humorous and some very sad. My Grandmother was so rigid and righteous in so many ways. My Grandfather was my one true love in my early days. How do we break through the walls of the past? I laugh now at how hard they were on us but I also marvel at the demand for respect and honesty that they expected from us. I honor how hard my grandparents and my Mom and Dad worked just to put food on the table. I feel sad about my Dad parents who I only knew slightly and that their lives were tragic in the end. All of that bleeds into each generation going forward but lots of it seeps out when more opportunity presents itself as each generation takes hold. Change is both good and sometimes not so good but as we grow and age we have to become responsible for our own lives...so for me, looking back shows me the foundation that was set so many years ago and I'll be able to look at just how much I rocked that foundation. What I kept from my history and what I decided to move on from. Somewhere in there the story of my life as a young person, a friend, a wife, and a Mom will emerge. Perhaps one day my Grandsons will be curious about what living in "the old days was like and they may want to take a look back to find me also. It will be an interesting journey for me and the stories that aren't too crazy I'll share with all of you. Some I will save for my family and others will be just for me. I have no idea where I'm going or even what I will find. I just know that putting this much down on paper will hopefully take the thought of "life stories" off my mind...and so it begins
This is me at about 6 years old. On Sundays, when my Dad was home on leave we would go to Dane St. Beach in Beverly. When it was time to leave he would lift me up on this wall with my clean feet and my Mom’s purse. Well, there is a story right there. More about my beach bum days in another story.
Life stories are about where we have been and where we will go. Life stories tell us who we are and how we got here. Life stories are just little glimpses into our world that remind us of our journey.
“The past is in your head.
The future is in your hands.”
Thanks to Mary Johnson for the above photo of me in the car. Most of my writings are accompanied by photos so I always have my camera with me. The photo of me as a young girl came from a bag of photos that my Mother left. I have a question for her: why are there so many more photos of Dick than of me? My guess is he’s the firstborn. I think there are always more pictures of the first one.
Thank you for your visit. I love every one of them and I will read and answer all who visit here. Life: live it.
