My cousin is exactly one year younger than I, and tons cuter. (It doesn't matter too much now, but certainly did when I was four.) Since I usually had all my dolls and other toys to myself, I was not a champ at sharing with her.
It is only now that it's occurred to me that she was my first "sibling" experience. I thought she was so lucky to always be an only child, whereas I was joined by my sister by the time I was five. Little did I know. During the war, she and her mom were sharing a household with aunts and cousins galore. I was the one who had stuff and didn't need to share---except when she came to visit.
I was telling her about a drawing prompt I had that asked that I remember a place from my early childhood and I thought of my grandmother's pantry with the smell of cardomom bread and so many delicious things. She had exactly the same memories of my grandmother's place. Now it is comforting that we share the same memories of someone so beloved. When we die we leave so little behind, except in the memories of our loved ones.
For a time I worked on a genealogy project and it grieved me to relegate all these interesting, formerly vital people to dates on a list. I know everyone can't write an autobiography, but for the sake of our own children and grandchildren, it would be nice to have some idea of who people really were.
My paternal grandmother was gone before I arrived on the scene, but she wrote letters to her sister, who saved them. My cousins typed them and put them in a folder, and after I spent an afternoon reading letters that Eva Christine Nordell Lundquist wrote to her sister, I felt I knew her better than I knew my own mother. My mom wrote letters to us when we lived away from her, but they were about menus, and company. Never how she felt about anything, or what she believed. I guess we had to deduce that from living with her.
It is a pity that there are so many things about family history that we are curious about only after all our informants are gone.
I loved this! I'm into family history, too, and it's the best when I come across something that shows the kind of person they were not just a name and dates. My grandmother was a saver and I was a writer...I now have all the letters I ever wrote her. I wish I had all the letters she wrote to me. :(
ReplyDeleteIs that your house in the header picture? I'm so jealous if it is. Gorgeous location!
This post brings up a lot of memories from my childhood.
ReplyDeleteI could write a book...but I won't...
And, the lake house in your picture above is wonderful, just like Stacy says....
Love from NC
You touched upon a topic close to my heart. I am so relieved that Jean A. is writing a book for her children. She wants her children to know what it was like growing up. Jean also was central to some physical barriers being removed at Winona State University in MN. Your topic reminds me that I must reset priorities and record some stories about my grandparents. Thank you ;-)
ReplyDeleteI love your post. After my grandmother's death, we found a trunk full of old letters that she has saved. Never before read by anyone but her, we spent hours and hours pouring over the handwritten letters sent to her from her mother, sister, brothers and husband during the war. My mom never knew her maternal grandmother and through these letters, we learned what she was like, her personality, how her handwriting was EXACTLY like ours and what their lives were like. I only have one letter from my grandmother that I kept. Sent to me in my first year of marriage, with a recipe, a recap of her days, a silly "clean" church joke and her slanted handwriting. I someday want to put these all into a book.When I have time.....
ReplyDeleteI wasn't only but I was one of only two!
ReplyDeleteOur Pack has their hands FULL with those pesky Giants tonight.
That's so true. Read random obituaries in the paper. You'll find really interesting people that would have been great to talk to and even friend. 42N.
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