Holidays always get me thinking about how it USED TO BE ...
As I approach the time when I will become an elder in my family
I guess now I know how my parents, and grandparents, felt
seeing how so much had changed in their lifetimes ...
I wonder how many people
still talk about "the good old days" with their children
or grandchildren
and if the kids care to listen
or have the time to ...
When I was growing up,
the the young people in my family loved hearing the stories
of "how it used to be" ...
They were interesting,
comforting,
inspiring,
often humorous, too!
They were always told in a relaxed manner
( as though they were just telling a story,
which indeed they were ...
not dramatized,
although certain parts were EMPHASIZED )
when there was time to do so
without interruptions...
in the livingroom on a cozy day,
riding for long distances in the car,
one-to-one when one needed some TLC
walking in an area they knew as children ...
It made us realize that our elders were once young as well,
that they are just people who aren't perfect
but have just had more experiences,
how much we can learn from them,
how much happens in the world in the course of a lifetime
and how each one of them was/IS a star in their own right ...
It made us appreciate the good things we have now
and brought to life
things we otherwise would not have experienced
but through their vivid recollections,
told in colorful detail,
spoken from the heart ...
In those days
people had a way of telling things
that had a continuity,
details of their own history
and that of the times,
of people they knew
and places as they had been,
that was like traveling back in time with them ...
I remember walking with my grandmother
one summer evening in the late 1960's
when she asked me to "stroll " down a side street with her
in Greenwich Village
Not far along, we came to an old stable ...
The door was open
there were noises,
so we looked inside
to see a man tending to a horse ...
It amazed me that there was still such a place right there,
just on the other side of the humbbub and goings on
on Bleeker and McDougal Streets ...
We paused and passed a few words with the man,
who told us that this stable,
which was over a hundred years old
had been in his family for generations
and the last stable still in use there
but soon it, too, would be gone ...
We lingered only a short time, but
she spoke to the man almost as if she knew him
which seemed to me was probably because
it reminded her of days gone by...
Walking just a few more steps, she paused
turning to look at the old stone house across the street from it
with it's picket fence
keeping the whole city at bay ...
As I looked at her
I saw a soft smile on her face
as in a far away thought
she told me that she used to visit a friend there in the summers
how this stable belonged to her friend's family
and some her memories of those days
... and of how this area of the city
was all little farms when she was a child
70 years earlier ...
Although I had learned some of the history of Manhatten in school
it had always seemed far away in time
and I had only a remote sence of of personal connection to it ...
Although I played my guitar and sang
in some of the folk clubs there at the time
I'd felt like a visitor in the city...
another folk singer
among many
just passing through ...
Until that night
when I learned
that a part of me had a place there ...
Through the telling of her story
I was made aware of that
which I otherwise would not have known
if the weave of my life had not led me there,
if she had chosen not to join me
if
we had not taken that little walk
that one time ...
In her telling,
her memories were added to my memories
as she was passing them on to my care
as a part of my experience with her on this evening,
became another chapter in hers ...
Holidays bring back many memories
that are a part of our personal history
some of which are passed on
by we who experienced them ...
We, those who shared in them,
and those we pass them on to
are the books upon which these are written ,
many of which are never recorded in any other way
but which are just as important, as meaningful, as real
and as much a part of us
as those things we claim as our own
and fight to protect
while all too often we take for granted
who we AREin the quest
to
BE SOMEBODY
SPECIAL
http://creatingdigitalhistory.wikidot.com/early19thc
I guess now I know how my parents, and grandparents, felt
seeing how so much had changed in their lifetimes ...
I wonder how many people
still talk about "the good old days" with their children
or grandchildren
and if the kids care to listen
or have the time to ...
When I was growing up,
the the young people in my family loved hearing the stories
of "how it used to be" ...
They were interesting,
comforting,
inspiring,
often humorous, too!
They were always told in a relaxed manner
( as though they were just telling a story,
which indeed they were ...
not dramatized,
although certain parts were EMPHASIZED )
when there was time to do so
without interruptions...
in the livingroom on a cozy day,
riding for long distances in the car,
one-to-one when one needed some TLC
walking in an area they knew as children ...
It made us realize that our elders were once young as well,
that they are just people who aren't perfect
but have just had more experiences,
how much we can learn from them,
how much happens in the world in the course of a lifetime
and how each one of them was/IS a star in their own right ...
It made us appreciate the good things we have now
and brought to life
things we otherwise would not have experienced
but through their vivid recollections,
told in colorful detail,
spoken from the heart ...
In those days
people had a way of telling things
that had a continuity,
details of their own history
and that of the times,
of people they knew
and places as they had been,
that was like traveling back in time with them ...
I remember walking with my grandmother
one summer evening in the late 1960's
when she asked me to "stroll " down a side street with her
in Greenwich Village
Not far along, we came to an old stable ...
The door was open
there were noises,
so we looked inside
to see a man tending to a horse ...
It amazed me that there was still such a place right there,
just on the other side of the humbbub and goings on
on Bleeker and McDougal Streets ...
We paused and passed a few words with the man,
who told us that this stable,
which was over a hundred years old
had been in his family for generations
and the last stable still in use there
but soon it, too, would be gone ...
We lingered only a short time, but
she spoke to the man almost as if she knew him
which seemed to me was probably because
it reminded her of days gone by...
Walking just a few more steps, she paused
turning to look at the old stone house across the street from it
with it's picket fence
keeping the whole city at bay ...
As I looked at her
I saw a soft smile on her face
as in a far away thought
she told me that she used to visit a friend there in the summers
how this stable belonged to her friend's family
and some her memories of those days
... and of how this area of the city
was all little farms when she was a child
70 years earlier ...
Although I had learned some of the history of Manhatten in school
it had always seemed far away in time
and I had only a remote sence of of personal connection to it ...
Although I played my guitar and sang
in some of the folk clubs there at the time
I'd felt like a visitor in the city...
another folk singer
among many
just passing through ...
Until that night
when I learned
that a part of me had a place there ...
Through the telling of her story
I was made aware of that
which I otherwise would not have known
if the weave of my life had not led me there,
if she had chosen not to join me
if
we had not taken that little walk
that one time ...
In her telling,
her memories were added to my memories
as she was passing them on to my care
as a part of my experience with her on this evening,
became another chapter in hers ...
Holidays bring back many memories
that are a part of our personal history
some of which are passed on
by we who experienced them ...
We, those who shared in them,
and those we pass them on to
are the books upon which these are written ,
many of which are never recorded in any other way
but which are just as important, as meaningful, as real
and as much a part of us
as those things we claim as our own
and fight to protect
while all too often we take for granted
who we AREin the quest
to
BE SOMEBODY
SPECIAL
http://creatingdigitalhistory.wikidot.com/early19thc
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