Stories to Tell

The years seem to pass quicker the older I get.  Isn’t that ironic when now I want everything

to move slower. I want more time for daylight, weekdays, and yes, even weekends.  But my

reasons for wanting long weekends are not for the same reasons as when I was in school, no not at all.   I want to savor the moments, have the luxury of just relaxing, taking in the splendor of living life to the fullest.   Too much time has gone by where I was living by the seat of my pants, in perpetual motion.  I look back and sometimes wonder where I got the energy to get it all done so quickly and still keep moving.  If I had to do it all over again, I could not possibly come up with enough kinetic energy to do so.

  

There were days when I was working part time and attending college full time.  All the while, I was raising my two children, holding down a house, managing the household finances (barely!), the kids select soccer seasons and whew, whatever else came my way.  Nights ended at midnight with my studying and days started around 5:00 a.m.

As the years have flashed by, and the seasons change, so have I. I sure wish my body would recirculate like the leaves on the trees do and when fall returns, my body would look rejuvenated and as pretty as it did last autumn.  Mine gets each year, a bit older, more wrinkles, and possibly a teeny bit slower too, if one was clocking my speed.   It is safe to save Mother Nature is not as kind to mere Mortals as she is to the planet Earth.  That tree in our front yard will be here long after me and be just as majestic.

When I was younger, visiting with family was boring.  Just sitting around talking was painful. I would be looking for any distraction to help make it more bearable.  Now I simply find it so refreshing to spend time with family, immediate and extended. It is amazing how those bonds, no matter the time between visits or distance, seem to build quickly and they renew intently.   The similarities are quickly recognized and the shared memories warm the heart.   I find myself craving for more time and not less time with family to celebrate our connection.

Friends of yesterday years helped influence who I am today; some in small ways, some in large ways and some were just a fun piece of my history.   How I would enjoy reminiscing

with them!  In the past, running away from times in my life when I didn’t have it all together, e.g. high school years, sounded ideal. Now, as the pieces of my life fit, it would be so entertaining to collect some of those former friends and actually connect live, in person and just celebrate life, the fact of what we were and who we are now.   One day we will all be connected again, in a more perfect world and but all of us have come a long way and have hopefully grown.  The past is a blessing and the present is a blessing also.

I find more and more things in this world we live in to smile about and less to worry about as I age.  Cynicism is an attitude.  It is a choice.   It is allowing the negative to underlie everything you see, think and feel.  If I do that, I can’t enjoy the moment.  I worked too hard to be here, at this moment, to not enjoy it.  There is so much good surrounding us if we look and feel with an open heart.

Plus I believe in miracles. I see them every day. I think with a closed mind, you don’t see them.  I have faith and believe God makes things happen all the time.  I didn’t feel this so much when I was younger. This is something I have become more aware of as I have grown older and deepened my faith.  Try adopting this attitude for a while and you may be shocked at what you see happening all around you. 

My favorite memory of old was listening to elderly people tell stories of their life, growing up. 

There was this one lady, Louise, for example. She lived in a nursing home next to my grandparents’ house in Piqua, Ohio. Louise was wheel chair bound and had no legs. When she was younger, she use to attend grand gala events at a huge home in Dayton, Ohio down the street from where I grew up. in Saville Estates. We use to simply call the home the Mansion.   It was easily the biggest house in the neighborhood and towered on a huge hill down the street.  It always looked horrible when I was kid, run down, with huge outdoor pool overrun with weeds, signs of decay on the columns running alongside the walk ways leading to the pool, ivy growing up alongside the house.  

Louise described the house from back in her days, when her relatives owned it.  It was a different day and time. She showed me pictures of her family from outside on the grounds and inside the home.   It was like something from Tara in Gone with the Wind. Simply beautiful!   The pool water was crystal clear with the ladies and gents around the edge of the water in their full body bathing suits as was the custom in those days.   The yard was well manicured and looked as clean and proper as a golf course on the pro tour. 

The day I ran over to Louise’s one bedroom to hear my afternoon of stories and found her room utterly empty only to be told she had died, my heart sunk.  She cannot be replaced.  She brought to life her life to me.

Stories of our life told to younger generations should do that; bring an earlier era to life. Take time to do that. History is best served that way.  I use to crave listening to older people talk about their lives, some twenty and thirty years ago. Those recanting were so much better than a boring history book.   I always wondered what it would be like to have a pocket full of stories like that to tell. 

It is as if I woke up one day and became one of those old women sitting on the front porch.  I have a wheelbarrow full of stories, oodles of wonderful yarns about people I have met along life’s journey. Oh, and tons of stories about me, about history in the making, when microwaves first came out, where I was when the Shuttle blew up, when cloth diapers were used only, etc….  Some of the stories are funny, some sad, some make you think.  All of them have touched me in their own unique way.   Isn’t it amazing how much we learn in life from just everyday living?   It is as if recanting our steps in life we can help someone else vicariously visit the history of us, our legacy. The joy of a story is being taken to a land far far away  without your feet leaving the ground.

As we age, before our feet leave the ground permanently, perhaps we should all consider doing this, tell someone your story. 

The Good Ole Cheek

Something happened yesterday that reminded me of my grandpa. I was at lunch with my grand-daughter and she kept reaching over and pinching my cheeks with her hands.  In her excitement to see me, she could not contain herself, nor find a way to express it other than just busting out this tight huge smile and squeezing just as hard as she could.  Yep, she had some of the Italian blood in her. I knew then and there, my Grandpa was smiling with joy at his great-great grand-daughter!

When I was a little girl, every time we were met at the door to walk into Grandma Gliatt’s house, Grandpa was always right there behind her all smiles.  The next thing to come was the dreaded cheek pinching.  It was Grandpa’s way of being endearing and no one had the heart to tell him it hurt like hell.   We loved him just the same. His face always had the kindest smile on it with a twinkle in his eye but when he grabbed your cheek and shook it, you prayed the minute went quickly.  When Ava did that yesterday, if I closed my eyes, I could have swore it was Grandpa again coming back to cheek on me again!

 It makes me reflect on just how much time has truly gone by since he passed away, both of my grandparents. They were from Italy and when they died, a rich history went with them.  The stories they would tell us of their life, when we could understand their dialect, which could be a challenge, were fascinating.  I wish I had more time with them to hear more stories.   It helps me understand where I came from, part of who I am today.

An integral part of growing up should be listening to older generations tell stories of days gone by.  These are the best history lessons of life.   Children need exposure to many role models and thrive on adult attention from more than just their parents.  I remember one older senior citizen named Louise that lived next to one of my grandparents.  She was an invalid with no legs.   I use to go over and visit her every time we saw those particular grandparents. She would weave on her big loom and also tell me elaborate stories of her years where she was courted and attending galas and enjoying life to the fullest.  These visits were treasured by both her and me.  It gave Louise an opportunity to share a glimpse back over the wonderful life that she had led.  This mutual time gave me a chance to peak into a world I would never know existed.  

I sometimes wonder, if in this world of modern media, technology and competitive sports for children of all ages is there time or an effort to have children be told stories?  Are they encouraged to bond with elders anymore?  The richness of history can really be found much more in the spirit and stories of those that have lived it.  Young people need to find the time to spend with those that have those experiences while they are here. 

My neighbor in Kettering, Ohio baked apple pies and told me about her children, husband and her years as a school teacher.  I was in grade school but she wanted me to know what life held for me in my future.  She died while we still lived in that house but I knew what kind of woman she was and I admired her.  I aspired to have the kind of heart she had and have the depth of love she had for her kids and her husband.( She was also a great baker! )  

I write my blogs for many reasons.  One of the motivations though is as a legacy. I want the opportunity to leave stories about me behind. I remember so many older people that cared enough about me, as a child, to sit and tell me their thoughts.   They shared their lives with me and I feel I am a better person because of it, their selfless sharing, and their openness.   

We live in a different reality.  There is a fear in society about talking to strangers. In my neighborhood, most of the folks don’t even know each other’s names much less talk to each other.  It is hard to even talk to a child unless the parents are friends for safety reasons these days.   Hence, never would a child come knocking on a door just to talk.

Society also tends to be quite a bit more judgmental.  I think more people are afraid to express these feelings due to the tendency to be categorized as this or that.   I understand that concern, however, I suppose I am a risk taker of sorts.   These women taught me that life is about risk taking.   Leaving my stories and reflections behind is like the old lady who weaved on the loom and sat alone in the retirement home.  If she never talked to anyone, her stories would have died with her.   Silence is not always welcome.  Blessed are those that share and more blessed are those that listen.   Please know, as you read this, I am squeezing your cheek…ever so slightly…      Grandpa Tell Me Bout The Good Old Days by the Judds

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