Our family has a story that has been passed down through the generations. The tale, in My Liturgy of Easy Walks: Finding the Sacred in Everyday (and some very strange) Places, describes an encounter my grandfather had with a farmer in Quebec. The farmer had a chicken coop. My grandfather visited the farm, and realized that one side of the chicken coop was constructed from a cherrywood table. As you might expect, the table was in rough shape, sharing company with a number of chickens.Continue reading
Tag Archives: family stories
I had meant to clean my dusty needlepoint doorstop and finally got around to pulling out the lint remover, which allowed the intricate needlework to be on display once more on our small doorstop. (I have a very uneven house–doorstops are essential or the door won’t stay open!) Once I started handling the doorstop to clean it, I wondered if there might be any initials on it. I knew the doorstop had come from my grandmother Marjorie’s (my namesake) house, and was brought to my parent’s house after my grandmother’s death, then moved to my house after my grandmother’s death. Once all dusted off, I looked closely, but found no initials.Continue reading
The first time I saw the photo, my first thought was, “That’s my son.” But in fact, I was assured that the young man in the photo, who was standing in the dirt road, was actually my grandfather Glen, who had died before I was born. I’d never met him, and yet, I knew that stance. It was so familiar because my son often stood in this same pose, looking thoughtful, listening intently, or simply pondering his surroundings. Continue reading
Working as a personal historian, I never know what it will take to get someone talking. Some folks easily call up memories, while others need the stories drawn out of them. And then sometimes, all it takes is a whistle. MTH
It was just a whistle—I looked around but saw no one whistling, and the woman behind the desk was fussing with her phone. I finally asked her—“Were you whistling?” Continue reading
The trails hereabouts were all clear as we approached spring, until we were hit with a late season blizzard, and so it’s back to icy trails and the challenge to find safe places to walk. When my hiking buddy Jennifer suggested visiting Wellesley College’s Botanic Gardens, my first thought was, “Yeah, no ice!” I did not, however, expect to be transported back to the years of my childhood. Continue reading
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
Here’s a fun conversation I had recently with Liz Myska of Worcester, who invited me to appear on her “Connecting the Dots” community cable show. We talked about personal histories, and our love of the outdoors. Liz is visually impaired and advocates for the elderly and disabled in her capacity as a lawyer. She is also a great friend.
Pie-making was on the agenda for today, as was putting together the cranberry relish. My grand girl Nicole was available and willing, so I grabbed her from the bus and brought her straight over to my kitchen for us to get right to work together. Continue reading
Here’s a recent blog post I shared, of discovering the connections between the performing Storytelling world and the community of Personal Historians. The most important commonality? Story magic.
I was recently invited to guest post on Family Legal Partner’s blog about ‘legacy’ and thought of a story I could share. It’s a simple story of something my dad taught me as we worked to share his stories of growing up. When I thought about what happened to him in this process, I realized he had given me a key to creating a personal time machine.
To learn more, Continue reading