Memories are us

Summers are great for family reunions. For many years I looked forward to these picnics and dinners so I could hear the stories again from the old aunties and uncles: How they worked in the fields from sun-up to sundown then on Saturday ‘went to town’ to dance and party. How my dad didn’t dance much but sure knew where to get the ‘good stuff’ for the partying part of Saturday night.

There is the story about the snowy night in 1942 when my sister was about to be born and they took my mother to the hospital in the logging truck. It was the only vehicle with non-slick tires.

Other stories I loved to hear were about my father’s sisters and brothers and how different they all were. All 12 children were raised in a religious home with lots of love and everyone had their jobs, but the job they all hated was emptying the slop buckets. One of the girls and one of the boys were supposed to bring the buckets down from the bedroom every morning to empty. It was discovered that on the boy’s side, many threats were made so there ceased to be nighttime usage. The girls decided they too could follow that rule. After that, the buckets were used only for emergencies and it better be an emergency.

But now things are different. I am one of the ‘old aunties.’ Gone are my great storytellers, but not before they instilled in me and my cousins (I’m one of 42 first cousins), the interest and enjoyment of those stories of the olden days.

At the last reunion, the kids (ages 55 and down) were regaled with the stories about the wedding veil that caught fire during the cake-eating ceremony, about family that drove to California and accidentally left one of their five kids at the truck stop (for only a few minutes but the now 45 year old claims he is still traumatized), and about how the dog was about to have puppies so the six year old (now 35) moved her to the parents bed because it was more comfortable and big enough so the siblings could all lay down with their dog, Sweety. That was sweet until Mom came home and helped move the dog and all off her new, white satin comforter just in time.

I hope you had good summer reunions too and I personally can’t wait for the next one.

And on another note: Have you ever thought of writing your memoirs – getting down on paper those great stories your parents told you or about the people in your childhood that directed your leisure time? Or how about the special times you had with your grandparents? Would your kids like to know about those?

If you don’t know how to get started, maybe a workshop on how to get this project on the road will help. For several years, I have been leading workshops at community colleges and retirement homes for just this purpose and since there has been interest shown in the community, I’ve decided to offer a workshop here. Cost is $5 per session, paid one month in advance. What I need to know is how many would be interested in attending.

This workshop will include: how to get started, how to make the subjects of your stories real, organizing the project and lots of interaction with each other. If interested, please contact me at welltoldtales@aol.com or (360) 638-1808).