The Way We Were

Today while reading Dana Wildsmith's blog post, I realized that my writing has changed or evolved over the years. I don't write the way I used to write. I sometimes find documents, stories or memoir pieces that I think I wrote but am not sure because I did not put my name on them at the time. I would never want to plagiarize someone's writing, so I can't share it as my own since I am not sure. I wonder if my readers have had that happen to them.

I don't have problems with my poetry because so much of it is autobiographical, and I recognize it as my own. Dana writes about how her writing has changed over the years and even if she knows it is her work, she doesn't recognize that writer that she once was. 

I am using this weekend to gather my writings, memoir and short stories, into files where I can self-publish them one day soon. I don't plan on reaching a large audience, but I would certainly like for my family to have the pieces I have written about my parents, my siblings and my ancestors I have researched over the years. 

My neighbors said they don't think their adult children would be interested in their family stories. I think they would be interested, but it might be after their parents have passed on. I notice that it is not until the parents die that their children and grandchildren wish they had asked more questions and had written down the history of the family for generations to come. 

Every time I talk with my older brother on the phone, I ask him to tell me his memories about our family and I learn something new each time. He was born years before I was, so he remembers the day I was born and the place I was born. He remembers when and how our family moved to the farm where I grew up, and he can tell me details I never heard before. I hope his own children are hearing his stories and will remember them always. 

Max, Gay and me at 2013 family Christmas party

My brother, Max, has composed beautiful songs in his life. Some of them he sang with his brothers when they were the Council Brothers Quartet, and many of them he sang with his lovely wife in their later years. Even today after her memory has diminished, she will sit down to the piano and play music they sang together. Max says she remembers the words better than he does.  I wish his children or grandchildren would record them before it is too late. 

I often think Max is more of an artist than any of his siblings. He has drawn and painted birds that are perfect. He creates poetry and song lyrics, sings and is a story teller. He has never been taught by an artist, a poet or a song writer. Completely self-taught, he amazes me. 

This photo goes way back to when Max, and his wife, Salita, were young. Their first two sons are in this photo. I babysat these kids. 

I reached out today to a long time friend I haven't seen in years. She and I plan to meet in October some place where we can social distance and catch up on our lives. Even if we are not able to get together as we once did, we must keep up our connections with those we care for and enjoy. 

Well, this gloomy looking day is about over and I still have many things to do. I hope you are enjoying your weekend, my friends. Stay well and safe.

Visit www.glendacouncilbeall.com for an interesting post by my friend, Roger Carlton.