Talk to your older relatives before they are gone. They have great stories.

Sunday is almost over and I am just getting to my computer. I hope you all had a great day. The sun shone here, and it was a nice break from all the rain.

I gave myself permission (yes, sometimes I have to do that) to while away my afternoon watching a movie on Netflix. I kind of napped some, too.

Tonight is the big Oscar’s night on TV and I am not big on watching award shows. Tomorrow all the shows will encapsulate the most interesting moments and that leaves me with more time tonight.

I do have a little interest however in this year’s show. The woman I most admire these days is Jane Fonda. http://www.vogue.co.uk/article/jane-fonda-red-carpet-style  

She is 80 and looks like she is thirty. Just this afternoon, as I was going through boxes, I pulled out one of Jane’s exercise tapes. I couldn’t do those exercises when I bought it and surely could not do it now. So it will go with all those other useless things I am ridding myself of and I won’t look back.

I not only admire Jane Fonda for keeping herself fit, but she has not given into ageing or the presumptions we Americans have about ageing. 

She is still working and stars in a television show, Grace and Frankie on Netflix. She keeps herself relevant to the times. Isn’t that what all of us want as we age? Not to be forgotten or to become invisible, but to be listened to and contacted when we can make a difference.

So many times I see younger people with an older relative or parent, and they never listen to the older person nor do they ask for his input. The younger ones talk loud and laugh and make so much noise that the older person can’t be heard. They show no respect nor interest in wisdom that could be important to them in the future.

My father used to leave the dinner table when my grown brothers began telling their stories. We all laughed, and everyone talked loudly. He would go into his bedroom and watch television or read. Some of us criticized him for doing so, but I understand him better now that I am near the age he was then. He was left out of the conversation completely, and had difficulty hearing and understanding. Mother sat there and smiled, but I am sure now that she was not understanding everything either.

As we get older most of us prefer smaller groups and being with people whom we can exchange ideas and opinions. Our hearing becomes impaired, and our voices are not always as strong as those who are younger. When older people have difficulty hearing they can become isolated and shut themselves away from the world.

I urge anyone who has a parent still living to go to them and ask them to tell you about their youth. You must be genuinely interested, however, or you will not pay attention. I think it is best to ask detailed questions to get your relative thinking about a time or a place that will provoke more memories. If possible use a small recorder so you don't forget important details.

I often ask my older brother, almost 89 now, to tell me about our family before I was born. I learn the most surprising things.

Two of my Council cousins - she is over 100 years old.

Most of my writing classes are designed for writers who want to share their life stories. I am amazed at the lives my students tell about in their memoirs. We all have unique stories, and they will not be told unless we tell them. In the coming months I will be teaching again and I look forward to hearing more of those interesting tales.

Have you written any stories about your life that others would find interesting and unique?

Other similar posts. Birthdays, What to Celebrate

Teaching Adults How to Leave a Written Legacy

About ten years ago when I began seriously teaching mature adults to write their life stories, I had been invited to a program called EAGLE held at Nacoochee Methodist Church in Sautee-Nacoochee, Georgia. Every Thursday classes in painting, fly-tying, chair caning, photography and other crafts are taught by volunteer instructors. My friends, Twila and Harvey asked if I’d like to teach a writing class for EAGLE.  It is nearly an hour’s drive over the mountains to reach the church where the members and the community have created an excellent program for retired adults and others who are free to attend day-classes.

A similar program has flourished at the Union County Methodist Church in Blairsville, GA where I have  attended as a student and as a teacher. This program is called OASIS. All those letters stand for words, but they all mean come and pay a small fee to take a one or two hour class, have lunch with friends, and enjoy an enlightening program after lunch. I don’t know who starts these kinds of opportunities in their communities, but I think this is one of the best ways churches can serve people.

My first class at the Nacoochee Church surprised me with the large number of students. Most of them were willing to work on writing at home and share it with us the next week. We spent our time on quality of the content, getting thoughts on paper, because none of them had done any writing of this sort. My purpose was to help them write their true stories so that family would want to read them. I asked them to write as if they were writing fiction, a short story or a small book. We discussed what kept them reading a novel or short story. The stories were simple with a beginning, middle and end. They caught on quickly to use active verbs and descriptive verbs to provide the reader an image.

After eight weeks of classes, several of the students were excited to read at the closing ceremony. I was proud when several in the audience came to me and said they wanted to sign up for the next writing class.

Moving on to teach closer to home

When gasoline prices rose up and up, I could not continue to drive so far and looked to teach closer to home. Nancy Simpson, resident writer at the John C. Campbell Folk School at the time, asked me to substitute for a writer who could not teach her scheduled weekend class at JCCFS. I was thrilled. After fifteen years of taking writing classes at this wonderful legendary place, I was going to teach there.

That weekend class led to week-long classes nearly every year for six years. Many of my students there have become dear friends whom I see and stay in contact with wherever they live in this country. They know they can ask me for advice, or ask me to connect them with writers or editors who can help them. They share their successes with me and I joy in their excitement.

Now I teach once a week at Tri-County Community College in Cherokee County about twenty miles from my home. I will begin a new course on Tuesday, September 1, at six o’clock in the evening. I teach two-hour classes and the courses last for four weeks. 

Ginny and Nadine were students in my first class at Tri-County College in 2008. Now we are great friends.

Again, these are beginning writers who are not looking to write a bestseller, but who want to write a lasting legacy for their families. My goal is to help them make their writing entertaining as well as informative. No one wants to waste time writing work that no one finds interesting.

I encourage my students to tell the most interesting stories about their lives, not lay out the daily facts of where they lived, attended school, and games they played. The writer must include the facts within a narrative that moves along and holds the reader's interest.

I look forward to next week when we begin a new class with some seasoned writers from earlier classes and new people who will begin telling their unique stories for future generations.

Behind Orchard House at Folk School

Leave your family a treasure - your life's story

I am always happy to see on my Stats that my blog is read in countries far from where I live. Next to the United States, my largest number of pageviews come from Russia. In fact, all of western Europe shows on my map.

I'd love to hear from real people in those countries and not anonymous Spammers. I used to follow a blog by a woman in Australia. I enjoyed her so much, but she disappeared off the Internet. Another woman in England had a very interesting blog, but I lost her, too.

Lately, I've been so busy that I can hardly keep up my two blogs. Besides this one, I also post on my Writers Circle blog. I write about the classes I teach and the instructors who come to my studio and teach. I spend much time on the computer. I get email from writers who want my help or want to know where they can take classes. Some just want to ask me questions about the craft of writing. Many ask about publishing. My advice for most is this: Learn to write well before you consider publishing. Take classes, workshops with good teachers. Read books on writing and write as often as you can. Invest in your writing - both time and money. 

Two of my aunts back in the '40s

I will be teaching another class beginning September 1 at the local community college. This is a 2 hour, once a week class on writing about your life for your family or for publication. This is the most popular class I teach. I had a call from someone who lives about an hour from me and she wants me to come to her town and teach. I enjoy teaching older people. They have the most wonderful stories about their lives. The older the person, the more unusual stories they have to tell. The stories by people who grew up in the northern part of the country or in the west are fascinating to me because their lives were so different from mine. 

It is never too late to tell your life story. Don't worry where to begin. Just start with something in your life you want to tell about. Don't try to begin at birth and tell every detail. Just tell the most interesting parts of your life. Try to tell your stories in an entertaining way. Picture youself on TV and you and others are acting out the episode you want us to know. Write the story in scenes.

Try it. It is fun. Collect those true stories or personal essays and one day you will have enough to make a book for your family. Although they might not seem to be interested right now, they will one day treasure your words.

Have you written anything to leave your children or grandchildren?

A Family Story from my collection

I am compiling a manuscript of family stories. Madness is one of them. Let me know what you think of it. 

Madness

By

Glenda Beall

It was summer and the hot August sun beat down on the fields and pastures surrounding our white frame farmhouse in southwest Georgia.  My sister Gay and I played with our dolls on the covered front porch while Fluffy, a black curly dog near the front screen-door, slept. She had been given to us when she was a puppy, and we loved her. I often buried my face in her soft fur and squeezed her in a tight hug. She licked my face to show me she loved me as well. Wherever Gay and I played, under the huge oak tree beside the house or on the porch, Fluffy was always close by as if she had appointed herself babysitter.

Our playtime was interrupted when Mother rushed out on the porch, grabbed each of us by the arm and hurried us inside.  We were forced to leave our dolls and Fluffy behind.

Being grabbed so quickly and seeing my usually calm mother in such a dither, I cried, “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“There’s a strange dog in the yard.  He looks dangerous. Stay inside until he’s gone," she said. 

It was then we saw through the screen door, the large brown dog coming from behind the house.  Mother had noticed him from the kitchen window, his muzzle white with foam, slobber dripping down in long streams. He seemed intent on a mission, looking for a victim.

Mother called to Fluffy, "Come here, come inside, Fluffy."

But Fluffy would not come. Mother did not believe in having pets in the house. Fluffy had never been inside. She ran down the steps heading for the place where she felt secure, her bed under the porch. It was the only refuge she knew.

The strange dog saw her and followed. In minutes we heard Fluffy’s pitiful yelps. I wanted to go to her. I pushed on the screen door, but Mother would not let me open it. I stood safely inside and called Fluffy until she finally came up on the porch. I let out a sigh of relief. I saw no blood. She looked fine to me. I wanted to run out to her and give her a big hug. There was no sign of another dog in the yard. 

“He didn’t hurt her, Mother,” I said. “She’s not bleeding or anything.”

Still, Mother insisted we stay inside away from Fluffy who was back on the porch, licking her fur, cleaning herself of the terrible ordeal she had experienced.

My father and brothers came home for the noonday meal, and Daddy examined our friendly pet. He found bite wounds we had not seen. The rabid dog had done the damage. Daddy locked Fluffy in a cage beside the barn. She would be fed and given fresh water as he watched for signs of illness. She was quarantined, a word my sister and I did not know.

 Her sad brown eyes begged for our pats and hugs, and when we approached she wagged her bushy tail. But we could only talk to her from a distance and tell her how sorry we were that she had to stay in the cage.  We missed her and every day we asked, “How much longer does she have to stay shut up?”

One day Gay and I went out to visit Fluffy and found the cage shut tight, but our beloved dog was not there.

“Mother, Fluffy’s gone. What happened to her?” I ran inside to the person who always made things right. Tears ran down my cheeks. Somehow I knew she couldn't fix this problem. She seemed as sad as I was, but I couldn't help my anger toward her. If only Fluffy had been an inside pet.

We were little girls and no one wanted to tell us Fluffy had to be euthanized. Daddy said she must have gotten out of the cage somehow. He evidently wanted us to believe she escaped and wondered away. Even today my older brother tells me he doesn't know what happened to our pet.

I knew Fluffy would never have left us. No matter what we were told, Gay and I believed she had been destroyed. I vowed then and there, at the age of six, that when I was grown up and had my own house, I’d have my own dog, and he would sleep in the house and even sleep in my bed so that I could protect him.

We had other dogs as I grew up. They were family pets. Brit was an English Shepherd that was killed when she was run over in our yard by a neighbor kid.  Turbo, a purebred Cocker Spaniel, was given to us by an Air Force officer who was going overseas. That was a big mistake. That fine animal deserved a home where he was groomed daily and fed treats, curled up by the fireplace. Instead he ran out and collected sand-spurs and burrs in his lush coat. He went to the field with my brothers and my father. Turbo rode in the pickup and acted like a hound dog. He disappeared one day, and we never saw him again. I always hoped he had found a better place to live.

One week after my wedding day, I was finally able to fulfill the promise I had made to myself. My husband Barry, who also loved dogs, gave me a puppy, a miniature black poodle, that we named Brandy.  This lovable little animal quickly owned our house and both of us. In many ways he looked like Fluffy with his dark curly coat, his deep expressive eyes that could read my mind. For nineteen years I kept him safe in spite of his mischievous ways, his daredevil personality, and his stubbornness. But one afternoon, his old body gave out as he slept in our bedroom. It was raining. Barry was out of town. Alone, I buried him under the trees behind our back yard.

Since that time I've opened my heart to other dogs – Nicki and Kodi, the Samoyeds, so pristine white, always smiling and loving – Rocky, the rescued mix, who was Barry’s dog, but won my heart even as I grieved for Kodi. We protected them well, loved them and they loved us. Each one had his own personality, his peculiar traits just the way humans do. They all lived long and good lives except for Nicki who died at the age of two from a mysterious malady no one understood. All of them lived in our house and Brandy slept in our bed. The bigger dogs had their own beds or slept wherever they wanted. 

Rabies is a terrible disease, and found in wild animals in our area even today. I am grateful that my mother was vigilant enough to protect my sister and me, even if she couldn't save sweet Fluffy. 

Blogging - A Seminar on How To

Friday I attended a program and lunch with Firm Answers Now in Murphy, NC.  John Fleischer presented a program on blogging and how to effectively use your blog to reach your target audience.

I sat with Mary Sedrick from BrightBridge Women 's Business Center who came over from Chattanooga, TN. Her company, in conjunction with the Small Business Association, helps women entrepreneurs grow successful businesses.

It pleased me to learn that I am doing what I should with all my blogging - posting two or three times a week, posting content that my viewers appreciate (well, most of the time), visiting other blogs and leaving comments. I like that John talked about tags and how we should use them and links to other sites. The one thing John didn't tell me was how I can find more time for blogging. 

He said we should know our niche or our target audience before setting up our blog. On my Writers Circle blog, I stay focused on writing, and posts related to writing. On this blog, Writing Life Stories, I focus on my personal life, my life as a writer and teacher, and my stories about my life, my family and family history. I want everyone to know that it is never too late to write about your life.

I try not to hit my readers over the head promoting my books and my business, but I do promote books by other writers. I want to create interesting and informative posts for my readers.

Thank you, Mary Fonda, at Moss Memorial Library, for sending those folks my way. It was a most informative couple of hours. I am happy to see interest in helping women with business start-ups. Women can work from home, or open a small shop that will grow with the proper guidance and financial advice. BrightBridge services reach into Clay and Cherokee Counties of North Carolina.

Do you, or have you ever owned your own business? What do you think are the challenges to being your own boss?

Patriotic Anniversary

Barry and I met on the fourth of July. That was a turning point in my life. 

First Christmas in our Mountain Home. We were so happy.

I teach my students to write down the turning points of their lives as a way to organize their memoirs. Meeting Barry was a large turning point in my life. I had become disenchanted with dating, with men, and wanted nothing to do with their kind. I fell in love with a beautiful young mare my brother had bought for the farm. She kept me busy and I could depend on her. I told myself I could teach and ride horseback and never miss dating.

I had graduated from college and come home like the good little girl I was expected to be. The men I dated expected me to be something I was not. But I agreed to go on a blind date with a young man, Barry Beall, who would not take no for an answer. 

He arrived in a maroon Chevy II convertible, climbed out of his car and walked toward me where I stood watching my older brothers play horse shoes in our yard. I was not impressed with my date's looks -- tall, skinny with a crew cut. He wore the worst looking knit swim shorts I'd ever seen. 

My first impression changed completely by the time we had taken a boat ride and spent time talking, and watching the fireworks that night. We fell in love on July 4th. We married the following year on Flag Day, June 14. 

He grew more handsome as he aged.

Today at our table our old friends gathered and we remembered Barry. I know he was with us. We couldn't see him but I felt his presence and his love.

We were The Six

What do you do when...

Come on, tell me. What good old home remedies work for head and chest congestion that hangs on and on?
I've tried the whiskey and  honey in the little bottles that a friend told me about a few years ago. Pershaps I've not used enough. Tomorrow maybe I should drink two or three of the little chaps.

I was advised today to boil honey and lemon juice and then add whisky. Cool and drink. How often? How much?

I smell like Vick's because I rub that on my chest every night.

My mother cured my sister from double pneumonia many years ago with a poultice of tar and tallow. She called it a tar and tallow plaster. I was too little to remember the event but Mother described in detail the night she and her neighbors sat up with the dying baby. She described it as a miracle. I wrote that story a few years ago and it was published in an anthology.

You have stories also you can write about and you can publish. I'll begin a new class in June at Tri-County College on Writing Life Stories. If you live in the area and like to write about your life experiences, call the college and register. I'll give more details later or you can go to http://www.glendacouncilbeall.blogspot.com/ (Writers Circle) and learn more.

Snow fell last night and covered our woods here in the mountains of NC. I snuggled under my covers with Tiger the cat on her blanket close by. On the floor in their little beds, Smokie and Sunny, who are visiting me this week, curled up like furry balls.



Smokie and Sunny sleeping in their little beds



Tiger on her blanket


I am one who seldom gets cold. I like cool weather and usually, unless the wind is blowing, I don't wear a coat even in winter. But when the high temperature is in the twenties and the low is way, way low, yes, even I get cold.

Life is slow and this is the time to stay indoors and clean out closets, de-clutter our lives before warm weather sets us in gear again to begin our activities. I talked to a friend today who is doing just that. She said she was drowning in paper. Don't we all know that feeling? Since computers came into our lives, we are using more paper and collecting more paper than ever before. Why is that when our goals are always to "go paperless?"

On Sunday of this week, a friend, Rebecca, is coming to visit for a while. She is going to help me get organized and de-cluttered. She has a very big job ahead of her, and she might throw up her hands and say, "enough" after a week.

She plans to start her own business, helping people organize their closets, their offices, and their homes. She can practice on me.

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First Five Things to Do Before Writing Your Life Stories

What is the difference between autobiography, memoir, family stories, family history, or stories about your life? In my classes, we write family stories or stories about our lives.




Five Things to do before you begin Writing Stories about Your Life

1. List the most outstanding events that changed your life beginning with your birth.

2. Label folders with each of these life changing experiences and dates.

3. For each folder make a list of memories from that period of your life. Keep this list in the appropriate folder and update the list as you remember more stories or events in that time period.

4. Research – Locate photographs, certificates, articles, letters, diaries, and anything that pertains to your memories. File these in appropriate folders.

5. Choose one folder with the most memorable events. Choose from that folder one vivid memory that brings back smells, sounds, colors or feelings you can express in writing. Try to think about how you would tell that experience in a way to keep the interest of your child or grandchild.

Write Your Family Stories

Leave a Written Legacy,
Write Your Family Stories
February 21-27, 2010 -- Instructor: Glenda C. Beall

Recover old memories using family photos and keepsakes. Write stories and personal essays about your unique life experiences for your children and grandchildren, and then fine-tune your work by sharing with classmates in a safe, comfortable atmosphere. Beginners to intermediate writers - join us to get your start or for motivation and ideas to organize your work.

Contact John C. Campbell Folk School for registration information.
Ask for local discount if you live in Clay, Cherokee, Towns, Union, Graham counties

Writing Class at JCCFS

Writing class at JCCFS

2006







I am looking forward to teaching a weekend class at John C. Campbell Folk School January 23-25. My students will be coming from North Carolina, South Carolina, the north Georgia area and from Atlanta.

A weekend class is a bit more intense than a week-long class. We begin Friday evening after a delicious dinner served family style. You never know who you will meet at meals or where they have come from to take a class at John Campbell. You might sit with knitters or blacksmiths, or cooking enthusiasts. The only thing you know about your table mates, at first, is the name, city and state listed on their name tags. But if you ask a question, most folks are friendly and eager to talk.

What stories I've heard just from sitting with someone at a meal at JCCFS. Maybe it is the ambiance of the campus, the openness and friendliness of instructors and staff, but for the time we are there, we share like children at camp. We play and work together and often become life-long friends.

I am finalizing my lesson plans, printing handouts, and getting ready for a weekend of writing, talking, writing some more, and sharing stories --emotional, funny, poignant, sad, strong, regretful, and sincere. All the unique stories of individuals who have something they want to say about their lives, and together we will learn the best way to say it. I can't wait!

Two Writing Students, Two published Stories

Nothing pleases me more than hearing from my students and learning that they benefited from my class on writing about your life.

In the past two days, I was delighted to receive emails from Ginny and from Ashe, both of whom attended the 8 week class I taught at Tri-County College. Their life stories about World War II experiences informed, enlightened and entertained. Filled with images and detail, their stories begged for a larger audience. Following one of my suggestions on publishing for the first time, Ginny contacted the Smoky Mountain Sentinel and her story will be published as part of a Veterans Day issue. Ashe's story has been accepted by the Clay County Progress for their Veteran's Day issue.

Ginny and Ashe, like many senior citizens want to write about their lives for their families and others, to let them know how world events affected them when they were young adults. World War II touched all Americans. Ginny's brother served in the South Pacific. Ashe was a soldier and a part of the Army that helped free citizens in Europe. These two articles which will appear in newspapers are a small part of their extensive unique life experiences. These experiences will not be recorded in history text books but will be passed down like the oral histories of old. But my students will save their stories in binders, soft cover books, and self published hard-back books with appropriate photographs easily scanned and enhanced on computers.

Thanks, Ginny and Ashe, for sharing your stories.

Genealogy and writing class

Today in my class for adults who write about their lives, we delved into memory by the use of our senses. I gave them each a piece of chocolate. As they closed their eyes and let the sweet candy melt in their mouths, I asked what memories were provoked by the taste of chocolate. Most had good memories like hot chocolate in the kitchen with mother, but one student said the chocolate brought back a bad memory.

Touching a wool scarf brought an instant memory of a red coat worn in childhood. And the smell of a cut lemon brought memories to one student of having a cold and being given lemon drops for her sore throat.

Our three hour class flies by and before we know it we have to go. Today we discussed genealogy and writing and one student will share genealogy sites with other students.

My students tell me they enjoy the class and don't want to miss one, but I'm sure I enjoy it even more. I am a storyteller myself and nothing is more fun than hearing all the different stories from my students.
I look forward to next week when I'll hear the completed stories begun in class today.

Why Do We Write Our Life Stories

Stories add leaves and flowers to the branches of your family tree.—Gloria Nussbaum, Real to Reel,Beaverton, Oregon

A life story is a gift one generation bestows upon another, a legacy people have been giving from the beginning of time.—Denis Ledoux, Turning Memories Into Memoirs, 1993 Soleil Lifestory Network, Lisbon Falls, Maine
What do you wish you knew about your grandfather or great-grandfather? Shouldn't you preserve that kind of information for your grandchildren and great-grandchildren?—Terry Mullins, Professor of Management, Jacksonville University, Jacksonville, Florida

There's something very special in even the most meager details about one's ancestors. This, I believe, is the ultimate purpose of family history, and it is not selfish or egotistical at all. It is a gift to future generations who happen to be connected by blood ties. I remind people that they have lived in a world that is entirely foreign to their grandchildren, and while their memories may seem mundane to them, their descendants will be fascinated by the differences in how they lived. These descendants will also thank them for conveying something about family members who would otherwise remain complete strangers to future generations of the family.—David Harding, Second Story, Omaha, Nebraska

If we don't preserve people's stories, they will disappear after two generations. Every story we preserve is a piece of someone's family history that would otherwise be lost.