riverwrites

The family Historian

Let me tell you what kind of historian I am.

 

    The collection, organization, and maintenance of facts do not concern me. It does not matter to me that someone was born or died in a particular year, for example, only that they lived and died. My interest is more in terms that someone was around 10 or 11, or somewhere around there, for example, when such and such happened, and, more importantly, the impact that the event had on the development of that person’s life. I am interested in the stories, the perspective of the story-teller, and the impressions conjured up by the stories.

     Facts are important, they really are, and I do not mean to diminish their value at all. The facts set the framework for the story, so I am very fortunate to belong to a family that has other members who are willing to take responsibility to dig up the facts and maintain the records for an accurate timeline of events.

 

As for me, I am simply not designed to attend to such details. No, I am the story-teller.

 

    While I recognize the tremendous value of the facts, I also contend that ultimately, they are not very relevant. Don’t get me wrong, I do not mean that they don’t matter; I only argue that two or more people can be in the exact same place at the exact same time and experience the exact same circumstances, and yet, very different stories emerge. This is because no one ever interprets anything like anyone else. And it is our interpretations of our life experiences that shape our lives.

     You should also note that even though I try to stay true to the stories as told to me by other story-tellers, the mere fact I am retelling them makes the stores affected by my perspective as well.

     For example, my sisters and I may tell something about our father – something that happened when we were all there at the same time. And when we do, I am almost always accused of exaggerating. But I disagree! You see, I tell my version exactly as I experienced it. My experience is inevitably different from theirs, however. Maybe my experience is different because I was the youngest (you see, the fact of our birth order comes into play here and is, in fact, significant). Or maybe my experience is different because my natural design contains more sensitivity to certain nuances (such as tone of voice and facial expressions) while their design is more sensitive to other nuances (such as the state of surrounding circumstances).

 

Whatever the reason, I want to assure you that I tell the absolute truth as I see it!

 

    As a family historian, I seem to have an internal magnet sensor that vibrates at a high frequency near any story that demonstrates something about a person’s character. I look for characteristics that help me understand who I am and why I am the way I am. I look for stories that help me understand how my ancestors managed certain hardships (you see, the facts play an important role here, as well). I look for stories that explain human nature in general, and the particular characteristics of my bloodline in particular.

     The kind of historian I am is one who sees the intangible, absorbs it into my being, and passes it on to others as word pictures, heirlooms, and gifts of the heart. Take it for whatever it is worth to you (and I will argue that it is worth far more than you can know at this moment for that is the gift of history and human interaction: these things affect you forever, on into your unseen future).

I am a Descendant of Carrie Delph

    I am a descendant of Carrie Delph. She never knew me, and I never knew her in the flesh, but I’ve seen pictures; I’ve heard stories; and I see her flashing eyes and hear her laughter in the faces of my living aunts and uncles and cousins. She was tough, she was funny, and she was wild in her heart.

     These characteristics please me because, as a woman, it is nice to know that my gender and my blood line have a predecessor who was the giver of my own vitality and animated view of the world. It is nice to know that my adventurous spirit – certainly a gift from my father – has female connections. (Note: Carrie Delph is my father’s mother.)

     Carrie was widowed in her early 20s, left the single mother of 4 young children. Then she married an older man, the single father of 5 (looking for an adjective here ??) teenagers. Neither birth control nor assertive women were in vogue at the time, so it is not surprising that Carrie went on to birth seven more babies.

     She lived in a tiny house, plagued with poverty, and yet, she laughed. She found joy in her children. She bound them together with love and tied the bundle with strong cords of loyalty. Thin layers of my own life experience have built up an awareness, understanding, and appreciation of this loving act of Carrie Delph’s. The bundles she made are unbroken; they have defied the finality of death and miraculously, they have expanded to embrace new generations.

     Once when I was feeling terribly lonely, I confided in my father about the pain of solitary isolation. He sympathized, then retorted, “But you are never truly alone; you are born into a family and you die out of a family.”

     I was in the first stage of self-discovery at the time and what I was finding in myself did not much resemble what I saw in my immediate family, so what he said didn’t make much sense to me. Since then, I have strayed from my family periodically over the years and each time, they let me go. But always I have returned, and each time I did so, my return was like that of the prodigal son. Though where I had been and what I had done and seen changed me, my family remained constant in their warm, welcoming cushion of absolute love.

     And through the years, I have cycled in and out of seasons of more concentrated self discovery. It’s like a slow motion tumbling through a cylinder that is my own life journey. It is a magnified and stretched out version of the birth canal, perhaps, because it is full of the legacy of all those who lived before me who, in their own genetic, psychic, and spiritual make up, built for me this canal that my experience is destined to travel.

     Now in mid life, I take a moment to view my eclectic, eccentric, and somewhat exotic collection of experiences, friendships, thoughts and ideas, and discover comfort and confidence in who I am. I am a descendant of Carrie Delph! I belong. I belong to the family of Carrie Delph.

 

Shhh! Do you hear her delightful laughter?

 

    We all carry pebbles of Carrie’s mischievous antics in the pockets of our souls. We wear her smile and we ride on those family bonds she built for us. I implore you, all descendants of Carrie Delph, to touch those pebbles left in the crevices of your being by the wake of her living days; touch them with the fingertips of your conscious mind. Yes, touch them from time to time so you will always remember who you are. Yes, touch them and I promise you, you will hear her laughter.

 

What are your interests?

“What are your interests?”

    That is a perfectly acceptable question, and yet it makes me feel as though I’m sitting under the spotlight of judgment when someone asks me, “what are your interests?”. I clam up inside, but outwardly I giggle and say “I don’t know.., lots of things!” Oh, yes, it’s cute and charming, but it doesn’t feel very authentic. Of course I know what I’m interested in!  And the truth is, I do have a lot of interests. So I panic at the question because I feel that the inquisitor will form opinions of me based on my answers. I could say that I like to sew or I like tennis and then the inquisitor would think that I am totally into those things, but I’m not. I could be just as dis-interested in them as I am interested in them. You see, my interest is dependent on something else.

     I suppose I could sum up all of my interests by saying that I am most interested in quality of living issues. Beyond the basics of living, I am most passionate about those elements that serve to meet the higher needs of the human experience.

     Spirituality, mental health, intellectual stimulation, personal awareness, peace, simplicity, discovery, creativity, growth… these things fuel my energy and maintain my desire to live!

     What form to these things take? This is the crux of the question, I am sure. OK, so I like to walk on the beach and I like to explore the forests. I like to be barefoot and I like to wear jeans. I like to read and write. I enjoy good conversation and good food. Relationships are important to me, and so is humor.

     I like to watch movies and I like to swim and hike. I like live theater and live music performances and I enjoy going to art museums and historical places. I like to drive in the country and I like to lie in the grass and watch the clouds move by.

     People fascinate me and I love to hear their stories, but when I come across someone who bores me, age has given me the freedom to walk away. Animals make me happy and I value my relationships with them as I do my human relationships.

     I like to travel because it changes me, and yes, I like change.

     Actually, there is not much that doesn’t interest me, so perhaps that is also why the question stumps me so.

I think the question should really be: what are your values?

Family, honor, respect;

Authenticity, honesty, individuality; creativity, growth, learning and discovery;

Objectivity, evaluation, and analysis

 

    So yeah, I have a lot of interests, but I find that the activities of my interests must fit the values or they will not hold my interest for very long at all.

 

What are your interests?

When you answer that question, you must know that I will be wondering, how do those things contribute to the quality of your life?