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| The table today |
Flesh and blood, I sit now at my kitchen table. It is a round, oak table, with a center pedestal — I call it an “old farmer’s table,” but I don’t know if that’s true; perhaps I’m making it up. What I do know is that this was my mother’s table, rescued from a friend’s cellar and then lovingly refinished. This is the same table where I sat as a child and teenager in the 1960s/70s, where we all ate dinner, my sisters and brothers and I, my mother and father.
Where sometimes after dinner we laughed and wadded up napkins and threw them into each other’s water glasses.
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| 1990s - My daughter at the table in the house where I grew up in Waterloo, NY |
It is a scene clear in my mind, replayed over and over again. And, once upon a time, it happened — we were there, alive, eating potato salad, and throwing our napkins, while my mom laughed and screeched, “Stop it! Stop it!” Poor mother — of course, she was the one who had to clean up the mess afterwards.
That scene is clear in my mind, but it is, in fact, nearly gone, not memorialized in a photo or video or audio. When my brothers and sisters and I pass away, that family scene will be totally gone from this world.
Except that I’ve written about it. My words will bring back the scene, recreated in the minds of readers, who will blend my story with their own memories of their own family scenes.
In writing about it, I’ve created an object, a thing, an artifact, which will, hopefully, last over some time period. Like a photo, or newspaper, or a tape recording.
In my first blog post, I wrote about an experience with a particular artifact — a century-old postcard which preserved the words and experience of a young woman in her 20s whose mother was dying. Being a curious human, I then looked for other artifacts — in this case, historical documents — which could tell me more about this woman and her mother. And so I discovered mother Rose and daughter Nina.
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| Nina in 1991, and the postcard in 1909 |
Nina and Rose could probably never imagine our world today in which there are not only material artifacts, but virtual ones as well. We live in an online world, and it is both strange and wonderful.
In an online world, we can connect with people over time and distance. One strange and wonderful result of my blog post was that I connected with living relatives of Nina — Tim and Steve (the grandsons of Nina’s brother). And, remarkably, Tim provided a link to an audio recording of my postcard-writer, Nina.
Connecting over time with Nina via postcard. Connecting over distance with Tim via email and internet. And then, via a partnership of past and present, listening to Nina’s actual voice.
Nina’s voice was firm, clear, and sometimes insistent, giving emphasis to her important words and sentiments. Sweet too, and loving. And nostalgic - when she remembers herself as a “little 9 year old girl,” she giggles and we can almost hear that little girl in her. And, while I can’t see her while she’s speaking, I know she’s smiling because I can hear it in her voice.
It is a firm, clear, loving, smiling voice.
Nina spoke of young people just starting out in their lives, who are going to “face a world which is so different from the life that they were used to when they were living at home with their family.”
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| 1968 My first diary and my first diary entry |
She offered advice: “Keep a diary from the time they’re young. I think it would be good if parents would encourage the children to do that. I remember when I was young, I think I was, well, I was about 9 years old, and my brother Leigh was 6 years older. And that Christmas, Father brought each of us a diary. And mine didn’t have, oh, ‘bout, maybe a couple inches of writing space, not very much room, but that was enough for a little 9 year old girl. And I kept it for quite a while, and wrote every day, or if I’d forget, I’d catch up and remember for a day or two if I got behind.”
Leave artifacts behind! she’s telling us. I think Nina would love to know that her postcard, which she probably had forgotten about fairly soon after it was written, lasted through time, and was still being read and discovered.
I felt as if Nina was speaking to me when she said, “Well, I hope that you can visualize me, here, sittin’ in my room . . . and having a cup of coffee and cookies. But I’ll be out there pretty soon and takin’ my place with the rest of ‘em. And I guess it’s time for me to say goodbye, and I hope I see you sometime.”
She then remarked to Tim and his sister (both who interviewed her shortly before she passed away): “And I’m so glad that you could get to see your oldest as often as you do. You’ve got a wonderful family and I love every one of them.”
I thought about my family, the family I’ve known in real life, and the family from the past who I’ve researched and come to know. It’s true, I love each and every one of them, who made and make their mark, who uttered and utter their individual sounds, who left and leave things behind.
I wonder: Do you visit your “oldest” relative as often as you can?
I’d like to close this, my second blog post, with Nina’s simple words, Nina who knew that she would soon leave this world, and who simply said:
“Bye Bye!”
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