Dad helping my brother launch a water-filled rocket
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Marjorie Turner Hollman helps authors self-publish their books. She is also a disability advocate, sharing information about Easy Walks (not too many roots or rocks, relatively level with firm footing, and something of interest along the way) in open space.Learn more.
My dad could do anything. Really. Whenever my siblings or I got stuck trying to complete any practical task, we turned to him, and predictably, he was able to fix, open, close, or repair it. Every single time.
Dad and Mom on left, grands in pool, Ted and Betty, Grannie on the far right
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Marjorie Turner Hollman helps authors self-publish their books. She is also a disability advocate, sharing information about Easy Walks (not too many roots or rocks, relatively level with firm footing, and something of interest along the way) in open space.Click to learn more.
The unfamiliar scent was overwhelming. I was suddenly a very young girl again and the wooden floor of my friends’ country kitchen had been transformed into polished terrazzo.
Marjorie Turner Hollman helps authors self-publish their books. She is also a disability advocate, sharing information about Easy Walks (not too many roots or rocks, relatively level with firm footing, and something of interest along the way) in open space. Link to all Marjorie’s books.
Another successful exercise of Zen Dishes
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I returned to my home weakened, yet desperate to do anything. After surviving brain surgery that left my right side paralyzed, I was sent to a rehabilitation facility for two weeks. During my stay the staff had insisted we inmates (patients, that is) perform what they called “standing therapy.” We were encouraged, teased, and cajoled into standing for periods of fifteen minutes at a time. Most of my fellow inmates were stroke victims, almost all elderly, and they needed a lot of cajoling. I was much younger than the others, needed no cajoling, and resented the undisguised condescension in the therapists’ voices.
Do you know when you’re going to die? Well, I don’t know the answer to that, for you, for others, for myself. But since I’m a storyteller from way back, here’s a story:
You know, my dad was lucky. Three months before he died, Dad sat in his living room watching four of his teen grandchildren gathered on the floor around him, reading chapters of his soon-to-be-published memoir. He and I had spent a number of weekends together over the previous several years, working together to help document his life lessons and experiences. I clarified details of stories that didn’t quite hold together, drawing out more information. The more he shared, the more he remembered other events. Continue reading →
One of my dad’s first letters to the woman who would be his wife for the coming 50 years
I’ve been a personal historian for a number of years, and have seen how powerful the experience of documenting and preserving one’s family stories can be. We personal historians often talk about the gift of passing on family stories to the next generation, assuring that you’re not forgotten and more. But I never realized that doing the work of preserving your family legacy—the photos that tell stories, documents, letters, and the stories themselves—can actually be a powerful time machine. Continue reading →
(Courtesy of The Bellingham Bulletin) The sign on the street announcing “Raspberries” got my husband’s attention. He turned our car into the driveway. The sign on the garage instructed, “Knock at the door.” I wasn’t so sure, but my husband really loves raspberries and he figured that, if the sign was there, these folks must have meant for people to stop by. He was right. Continue reading →
Marjorie Turner Hollman 