Hanging Out with Dead People

I love genealogy. More specifically I love uncovering mysteries that continually come about through researching my family's past, love affairs, illegitimate children, nationalities, military service. Of course some things will remain a secret until the end of time, and some relationships are only conjecture.

A niblet in the historical records is like a dangling end in a knitted sweater. Once you get a hold of a strand and start pulling, the mysteries begin to unravel, and slowly you can find its relationship within the pattern.  My family tree is full of musicians, doctors, preachers, farmers, and war veterans.  Part of my family legend is that we are related to Lyndon B. Johnson.  I'm trying to discover a connection with Johnny Cash.

Every piece of the puzzle not only reveals more about my family but more about me. Oh, there's DNA, yes, but we are more than DNA. DNA may reveal that I am Scots Irish and that I may have A little Cherokee blood and certainly some other surprises. More importantly though, i have discovered a longing to connect to my past because I value family.

According to Merriiam-Webster, family is "a group of people who are related to each other...including people who lived in the past." However, I propose that "family" is not defined by the name you share, living in the same household or close proximity, having the same blood run through your veins or sharing the same physical features. Family is an invisible bond that strengthens over time; memories shared and relived daily. Genealogy uncovers the past, yes, but it also connects us to those who came before us; it continues their stories. By sharing research about my family, i am telling their story which then becomes mine. 

Someone once complained that I spend more time with dead people than I do with the living and sometimes I think that is the case.  In my defense, though, I have a lot of stories to catch up on so once in awhile, you will find me right here, hanging out with dead people.

  

My Happy Place:

Somewhere inside is a happy place that is safe from all the struggles and pain. Whenever I feel the weight of the world is pressing me down, I visit my happy place. It seems so long since I have been there I thought I wouldn't be able to find my way back.

I tried to find my way back to my happy place today. I found the sorrow and grief that seem to always be waiting on the surface. They are always there and they beg me to stay awhile; linger and feel the ache and emptiness that accompany them. They wrap warm arms around me like comforting friends. "Don't be afraid," they tell me. "Allow us to wash the pain away." Soon they are guiding me on my way. "You must go deeper to find your happy place," they say.

When I look back at them, they are fading, and I can see that sorrow and grief were merely memories untouched: the strong arms of my father, the scent of his work clothes, his warm quiet laugh, his gentle loving eyes.

I continue on the path to find my happy place and find it faintly lit by other memories long untouched: Ben standing proudly in cap and gown alongside friends who tread the same halls of his Alma mater; Joel standing at attention waiting to be tapped by encouraging family rushing through the excited crowd; all there for the same purpose.

The echo of voices tells me, "Deeper, deeper. You must go deeper to find your happy place." As I search the depths, so many memories light the way: friends smiling and touching; children hugging and kissing; music made through the years drifting through the air; family weeping and laughing; birthdays, weddings, holidays are all memories lighting the dark path to my happy place.

Just as I despair that my happy place is but a memory long past and lost forever, beaten down by worry, overcome by fear and emptiness; I feel a tug growing stronger, propelling me forward. Is this my happy place coming to greet me? 

Suddenly comfort and joy wrap me in their embrace and I find myself surrounded by what has been at the center of my heart all along. My happy place was not lost; it was not merely a memory untouched. My happy place is being in the center of unconditional love, and the secret to finding it is to let go of that to which I stubbornly and fearfully clutched for so long: ME.

The Art of Letting Go: In honor of new life ventures

There comes a time for every parent to let go of each precious child. Symbolically, the act of letting go says to the world, "I have raised this human being to the best of my ability."

I have rocked him gently in my arms until he fell asleep, I have wiped his tears, bandaged his skinned knees, and held his hand when he was sick or afraid. When I was afraid, I held him close. I stayed by his side whenever he needed someone to lean against. I defended him when others turned against him. I taught him about the words of life, and held him accountable when he veered too close to shaky ground. When he asked for space, I gave it reluctantly, when he needed comfort, I provided it gladly. I pushed, cajoled, lectured, congratulated, cautioned, praised, scolded and threw up my hands in exasperation when I didn't understand, and many times I even had to say no.

All of these things I have done to help mold and shape him into the godly man that others see today. Letting go says to him, "I believe in you; I trust you; and even though I will never be ready, you are. You are no longer a boy, you are a man."

Letting go is not the same thing as cutting the apron strings. For although life can remove your child temporarily from your home, you can never cut him out of your heart. No matter where he is in the world, your heart beats for him the same as if he were home. And when he comes home, for more than likely he will, there will always be a place for him. A place for him to call home.

Giving Up

‎"The very act of giving up becomes a starting point." ~ Mary Shannon

I get a strange pleasure listening to Mary Shannon of the hit t.v. series In Plain Sight ruminate about the lesson learned each week during her current witness protection case. Shannon, played by Mary McCormack, is a tough federal marshal; not the warm and fuzzy type, yet solid, and her approach to her job and her relationships is no nonsense. I find her narrations extremely profound and achingly honest. The quote above rang true for me personally and in a very real way. 

I taught music in the same elementary school for three years. In education standards that is not a very long time considering many of my colleagues had been there for several decades. I loved the students of this Title One school and my intentions were to remain there for a long time. I was witnessing significant growth in the students' musical skills and it was exciting thinking about the things I could teach them the more musically literate they became.  The students were a challenge to me, discipline not being my strong area, but they knew that I loved them and believed in them, quite an accomplishment for a short, petite Caucasian woman in a predominantly African American community.

I was not one to give up on anything, no matter how tough it was. I had never quit a job without another one waiting for me.  I have always persevered through any difficulty. However, in June, I did something so uncharacteristic of me that it surprised me, my family, and my colleagues. I quit. 

So, what happened? How is it that intentions can change overnight?   

Even now, when I think back on giving up my teaching job, it is difficult not to think about the students who gave smiles and hugs so freely and who begged me each week to allow them to stay with me all day. (Special Area classes were only 45 minutes each week.) I grin when I think that their teachers would love for me to keep them as well.  And it wasn't so much that the students loved music but that they loved me.

It is also difficult thinking about my colleagues who are continuing to teach in the school because I will miss them very much.  They didn't want me to go but respected my decision and were even a little jealous that I felt free to let go and follow a new path.

So my decision wasn't based on the students or teachers or even the school because I saw potential in the students, their behavior and their achievements.

I had to look deep inside myself for the answer to this one.  For thirty years, I have focused entirely on music: music training, education, and performance both in schools and churches around the country. My two passions have been music and children; and those have not changed.  I dedicated my life to instructing children; helping them to love music, teaching them that music is a part of our lives and an extension of who we are.  The joy of my life is that sometimes I succeeded. 

When I didn't succeed, until recently I felt that it was my fault; that I wasn't trying hard enough.  I spent months working harder and longer; trying to please others who couldn't support my efforts because they could not understand the impact of arts in education.  

I began to realize that in order to reach students today, education has to change and in many ways it has and continues to evolve. The message (content) changes very little, but our world has changed how that content is processed.  Our methods and techniques have to be relevant. However, even districts that tout the very latest technology through new initiatives lack the resources and training to be effective in our global society.  I felt stifled within the limited parameters I was given and unable to explore the variety of options that could have been useful for my music classes.  I needed a change.  

Some would argue that institutions cannot be changed from the outside; and my response is that I worked within the system so long that I was no longer able to see clearly what needed to be changed.  I had to remove myself from the situation in order to find the right path for me to take.  The decision to "give up" is not for everyone, and it will not be the right decision for me all the time.  However, it was my decision this time and I will spend every moment I can trying to find the next "starting point."

Start Something New

I wonder how many adults of a mature age (over 40) are starting something new this year. I've always heard that it is more difficult to change the older you get, yet after the age of 40, there is a strange pull to new and exciting opportunities.  Last year, for instance I taught myself how to knit. I have knitted some special gifts for friends and family and have been able to relieve stress while I do it.

Rest assured, my post has nothing to do with knitting. Starting a new hobby is fun and interesting and can be a challenge, but it isn't a major life change; and therefore not a threat to my social and/or emotional well-being.  In the last few years, many of my friends, victims of a poor economy, have gone through major life changes out of necessity not from a mid-life crisis. Everyone seems to be affected in some way whether it's a loss of a job or home, shrinking 401K, or just more stress as we all try to ride it out. 

Starting over during a shaky economy is a big enough topic to make it to the big screen as seen in the Tom Hanks' movie "Larry Crowne." Hanks portrays a middle aged salesman fired because he didn't go to college. Though his circumstances seem grim, he decides to turn his life around by enrolling in a community college.  What could have been a pessimistic look at the plight of Middle Class America, instead becomes a bittersweet love story that traces one man's triumphant journey through the unknown.  Hanks' role as Larry Crown is reminiscent of Josh in the movie "Big" with his childlike enthusiasm for every new experience that he encounters.  Larry Crowne demonstrates a legitimate response to starting over even when it is forced on us.

We must face the reality that life is hard and and downright scary at times.  When our circumstances are overwhelming and it becomes necessary to start over, we can take a positive approach to the changes that are inevitable.  Drown in self-pity or start something new?  We have a choice about how we deal with crises.  We can view each difficulty as an adventure.

Soon all memories will depart,
Of a past left well behind.
I will get off to a new start,
With the best of mankind. 

from "A New Start" by Bernard Shaw