Tuesday, September 22, 2015


Today marks the last day of summer 2015.  Our family had a great summer.  Actually, not just great, but I would dare to say exceptional.  So many times I considered sitting down and recording our experiences, but I wanted to hold these memories close - just keep them for myself.  I considered that by sharing our happenings, they would somehow be tarnished.  I'm not sure why I felt that way, but I was intentional in choosing not to post these last three months.

And then this conversation happened.

My girls and I were sitting in our living room one afternoon.  Cucumber asked, "Do you remember when Grandma Char use to make us buttered toast and hot chocolate?"  Gummi Bear added, "Grandma said it tasted best when it was white bread, dunked in the hot chocolate."  Sweet Pea shared, "She would give that to us on really cold days.  I miss her."

At this point, Pumpkin began to cry.  I held her on my lap and asked what was wrong.  She said, "I'm forgetting Grandma and all the stuff she teached me."

These words hurt and my heart broke.

When I began this blog back in 2011, I was very uncertain of the direction it would take.  I had just resigned from working in parish ministry and was deeply searching for a creative outlet.  Writing about my family and sharing adventures proved to be very satisfying to me.  Pretty soon the stories were coupled with a little advice and many lessons learned.  I began to look at this blog as a letter to my children; something that they could later in life read as a journal and hopefully discover the "good" intentions of their mom and dad to raise them with integrity and morality. And now, in this place, at this moment, I am reaffirmed to continue to tell the stories of our life, characterized by the ones who raised us and passed on their legacy. I want my children to know and love their Grandparents and all those loved ones who have passed from this earth, if only through the telling of their stories. It is these stories that connect us through generations and across miles.  The ones that unite us as family.

My dear friend Mary gave me "The Storyteller; Singing Mother" from her travels to the Southwest.  She said she thought of me when she found it, as there are six babies in her arms and on her lap.
We have some wonderful storytellers in our family.  My brother has a gift for telling stories, especially from what he refers to as "the good ole days."  He recalls growing up on the farm, all the hard work involved and memories of neighbors that would pull together as family in any number of situations.

The Love Bugs enjoy listening to Monkey's side of the family, especially the uncles, tell stories of growing up in a large family and being raised in a small house.  One can't help but smile at the enthusiasm for which these memories are told.

Storytelling: an integral part of life and rich in tradition.  It is a way of passing on life's wisdom, from generation to generation.

Tonight, turn off the screens, sit together and share stories.  Let's reconnect with who we are. Blessings to you all!