Wheaton Wood

Fill a Jar: Writing Challenge

Posted on March 28, 2022 2 Comments

“The magical view of language, in a nutshell is that the word is part of the thing it stands for–the word contains some of the juice or the essence
or soul of the thing it points to.”
Peter Elbow in Writing with Power

This idea came to me whilst taking a walk on a misty morning. I was thinking about a jar of pebbles I have collected and what will it take to get me to stoop down and pick up a new one? What makes me pick up that pebble and not this one? What makes some bit of writing more appealing, more tangible than another?

This challenge is designed for those who haven’t written before or are convinced they don’t have time to write, or that they must be polished writers in order to write. It has several different variations so feel free to adapt it to suit:

Write a word, phrase, sentence, or thought on a piece of paper, fold and place in a mason jar, box or other suitable container
Do this whenever you think of it—just a word or sentence when the mood strikes you
The snippets can be descriptive of any subject of your choosing
They could be memory images such as my piece: Hands in the Mud
They can be something you heard, read, saw, smelled, ate [I could imagine recipe titles, book titles, quotes…]
Could be a turn of a phrase you liked, a clever rythme, a haiku, descriptions of [fill in the blank]
Could be something you imagine your ancestor saying
You can make these completely non thematic (random)
Or you could choose a theme like my “grandmother Carrie”, “my childhood”, “my great uncle” or “a favorite place”
Whenever you think of something jot it down

OPTION 1

When the jar or box is full, take all the pieces of papers out and type them into a blank document. You have now written something! And so that is one hurdle put behind you. If you picked someone you knew you might have quite a few memories or descriptions about them. Are there any themes?—can you rearrange the lines to make a poem or story or is a list sufficient? Can you use these random bits as inspiration? Do you have some lines that you really like?

OPTION 2

If you used the Random or non-thematic approach, can you organize the slips into themes? Are there things you tend to gravitate towards? If so take note because this is where your energy or passion may be found. is there anything that makes you want to write more? Is there any magic here or do they read like a census description? Analyze what you like or what is missing. If you like nothing but one slip of paper throw out the rest and start adding to that one as you hone your craft.

OPTION 3

Use the slips of paper as fire starters, otherwise known as writing prompts. The idea is to make writing fun, playful, and something that you look forward to doing. You can be serious or silly, that’s up to you. Make up your own version—just can’t use the excuse you don’t have time, you don’t know how to write or you have nothing to say.

OPTION 4

You can even take pot shots at your writing if you’d like—my writing is as flat as my newly pressed shirt. My writing would make great bird-cage lining. Let your critic have free reign– if that’s what’s holding you back. The critic eventually gets tired and your creative self can take center stage. Remember writing is a process. When the process works the magic takes hold and you lose yourself. If the critic sits like a punitive school master on your shoulder you won’t be able to tap into the magical. You can brush the critic off or outwit the critic by doing a bit of ducking and weaving. The only time the critic is your friend is at the very end of the writing project. Until then, “not now!” should be your mantra to your critic.

Fill the jar, find out who you are! If you can’t write, what are you afraid of exposing?

Endings: A Soprano’s Aria Chapter 36

Posted on March 27, 2022 2 Comments

Aug 18 – 1920 – I am surprised to see that I have not written in my diary for so long a time. I’ll try and recal a few dates.

The Last two weeks of Summer S. was filled with hard work. The typing was perhaps the hardest for I couldn’t do that and Syl came home and engrossed so much of Jessies time. So some of it had to wait until afterwards. It was all done beautifully at last. I finished up everything and came out with a credit of 2 in every subject. And a credit of 3 units in all three subjects. The last day July 31 as I was waiting for my P. T. book to be marked, J called at the house. I did not see him. I went directly over to Eilenes and spent the evening. On Monday she came over and we went down to see Mrs. Smith and she bought a piece of poplin to make a dress (Aug. 2)

Aug 4 – J called and I had a pleasant visit. He did not stay long. The little car is in the city for awhile.

Aug 6 – Betty’s Birthday [Mrs Fryer’s daughter] – Bettys 10th birthday. I bought her a scrap book and took it to San Rafael on Sun. had a very fine trip but was disappointed to find when I arrived that they had been sent to Notre Dame in S. F. I had an awful time finding visiting several convents in the mean time and at last I found the place. It was after suppertime and visiting hours. The good Mother Superior waived all rules and let me see my darlings who were overjoyed to see me and so pleased with the scrap book and Aunt Elsies page that I was well repaid for all my strenuous time hunting them up.

Aug 7 – Eilene brought the money for for the dress and some for me.

Aug 10 – I went to Mrs Pfitzers to meet Mrs Milliken and pay her for the silk. All this while I am doing housework and a little sewing for myself. Making over Irenes brown silk dress.

Sat July 14 – Mr and Mrs Mooney and two children came over to see us. We had a pleasant time.

Sun July 15 – J and Syl and I went over to the city and out to the beach. It was cloudy foggy and cold but I enjoyed every moment of it. Frank H [ Hoffman] drove out to the beach and picked us up and drove home past Ingleside and stopped at Smiths for some honey and a short call. Then home leaving J. & Eilene to cook dinner while they took me on to Allies where I had a bite and then we three Allie, Agnes and I went to the California to see a fine film. Then home to Berkeley by the everlasting hills. Received letters from Milo, Carrie and Lolita. They are all well and so this brings me back again to Aug 18, a fine day.

Sep 1920 – School has begun. Resumed my Friday night course in applied design.

Sep 25 – began $25.00 course in color design under Mr. Ralph Johonnot at the Y.W.C.A. auditorium. Think I shall like it immensely. Tuesday Thurs. Sat. also Miss Sellenders class on fri eve which will make 4 classes a week for 5 weeks.

Met friend J. [Joseph Richardson] who told me a remarkably amazing story of his life and his true relation to Mrs. Fryer who was not his sister at all but his wife forced by cruel circumstances to pass as his sister. I was so dazed by the story that I can hardly grasp it yet. So Lois and Paul are Josephine and Bettys half sister and bro. O cruel world and crueler laws that govern its blundering humans.

Sat Sep 25 – Went to S. F. for the night. Recd letters from Milo and Carrie

Sun Sep 26 – Went to convent to see Josephine and Betty. Took them the Ribbon and manicure set. They were delighted to see me J and E called in for a few min. at the convent. J was there and left before I arrived. The rest went on for a long ride in dad’s machine. I came back to Eilenes and couldn’t get in. Dad M came and crawled in the bath room win. and opened the door for me and then went away. I got dinner for the hungry motorists who arrived about 8 oclock.

Mon morning

Sep 27 — Came back over to Berk by way of Oak. called on Jessie at work and got my bag at St. Marks that I left there sat. Glad to get it back again. Just unpacked my bags and brought in wash, that J. and Syl did on sun. Got a letter from Bro Horace.

Oct. All mo. — busy with Johonnots course in color and design. I liked it immensely, and made several good designs, held the final exhibition at the Oakland Auditorium which was well attended and appreciated. Sent mother a birthday card. [Millie COATS PADEN]

Oct 26 – commenced practice teaching at the Lockwood school like it pretty well went over to the city several Sundays to see Josephine and Betty.

Lockwood School Now 68th & International Oakland

Nov 2 – went to Lockwood school

“ 4 “ “

Nov 7 – Went to convent to see J. and B.

“ 9 – unobserved anniversary [her wedding, now divorced]

Nov 10 – commenced sewing for Mrs Martin of the city for 5 dollars a day and my lunch and din and have made 40 dollars up to date (the 2nd)

Nov 16 – 53 birthday Mrs. Martin gave me a good book and Ella gave me a bottle of toilet water.

Nov 14 – Eilene and Frank drove over and bought a dress form from Mrs.Milliken and took it home in the car we had a fine ride down after it.

1921 April 3 – Grand mother Mrs Catherine Mosier died at Butte So. Dak. Aged 93 years.

April 10 – Josephines 12 birthday – I went to Notre Dame Convent and took her a birthday cake and Fairy Story book “Laboulacs” J. came in his new car. I dident see it. Spent the afternoon at the convent and then went to Eilenes. Met Dewey and Allie who took me to the Ferry. Dewey took me to the end of the wharf to see the boat Ashbury Park that runs between S.F and Vallejo. And said it came from N. York City on its own power. Jessie and Syl went to Smiths to a dinner.

(Began Teachers Training course Sep 2 1919 at Oak. High school at 12 and Jefferson st. My first teacher was Mr Lance Abernathy who taught theory and methods also textiles. I attended every Tuesday and Friday nights going on the street car from 1534 Bonita Ave Berkeley. I studied color and design under Miss Sellender Miss Jacobsen and Ralph Johonnot. I also attended the summer session of the University of Cal in 1920. I finished with a short course of Oral English under Mr. Jacobs. from Jan 31, 1921 to April 1 1921).

Fall term 1921

During that time, I put in several months practice teaching 2 days per week at Lockwood school and from Jan to June teaching sewing and remodeling at the Mobilized Women of Berkeley at 10 and University Ave. Berkeley California, in the year 1921.[note: This Bernard Maybeck, architect, designed building still stands and has unique glass blocks set in concrete in a lattice-work pattern & is still standing as of this writing.]

In October I studied Lamp Shade making in San Francisco at the Emporium and The White House, and in Nov 1921 did lamp shades at home for a factory.

The class Alumni gave a dinner at the Hotel Stuart in S.F. which was also the occasion of presenting diplomas. These were later exchanged for more comprehensive diplomas showing the work covered and signed by the university faculty at the graduation exercises of the class of Jan 31 1922

In summer of 1921 I visited my cousin in Los Angeles.

In November 1921 I went to St Helena to nurse in a sanitarium for a few weeks. [ you can read more about this in the Case of the Mysterious Birth Certificate]

Feb 3 1922 – I joined a millinery class. Began work renovating and trimming hats for the Mobilized Women of Berk[eley]

Sat Mar 11 –Worked at M. W. B [Mobilized Women of Berkeley] all day

Sun “ 10 1922 spent evening in bringing this record up to date.

The above is the last regular entry in the diary. However the page below was from 1913, and it predates the first entry in the dairy which was September 1st 1913. So in a remarkable way we arrive back at the beginning.

1913
Aug 15 Mrs Gussie Halstrom wrote a love letter to my husband which I found in his pocket on Monday the 18. That evening I went to Mrs Reynicks and later the same evening to Mrs Della Mc Vickers. Stayed at the latter place Tuesday, Wednesday and leaving Thursday morning and going to Mrs Lizzie Neumans at 1017 Hawthorne St. Minn .

Thurs Aug 21 I filed suit for divorce on the grounds of cruel and inhumane treatment

Fri Aug 22 withdrew suit upon my husbands promise to reform. Mr Michael ODonnel attorney Charge $18 Sat 23 Got ? Letter until day in St Paul ? F.S.M. [Franklin Stewart Mosier]

Recapping the diary begins in 1910 as a business and correspondence ledger and ends in 1922. It both records the mundanities of life as well as historical events and Lulu’s struggles with a failing marriage and supporting her family and then herself.

Lulu married Frank Nov 8, 1989 when she was 21. The fact that she was not married at her mother-in-law’s hotel in Dodge, like his sisters, along with the fact that no family members were witnesses for there marriage lends me to think her family did not approve of her marriage to Frank. Lulu was the eldest of 13 children and perhaps she saw Frank as her ticket out of taking care of her younger siblings and escaping her father’s demands as her vocal teacher. Whatever the case 9 1/2 months after she wed Frank, their first child arrives. In total 8 children are born between 1890 and 1903. As far as I can tell Lulu’s sons and daughters were close and good to their mother. She certainly cared for and worried after them.

After March of 1922 when the diary ends we have scant records of Lulu’s life. In 1923 she was living in Berkeley. In 1924 and 1925 she is living in Oakland and in 1926 & 1927 she is living at 171 Miramar Street in San Francisco. Not sure of the reason to her return to San Francisco. Did she get a teaching job? The City Directories do not reflect her occupation, however she is living independently. On the 9th of July 1927 she marries Karl B Anderson who had been an immigrant from Sweden. In 1928 they appear in the City Directory at 48 Delmar, San Francisco together with his occupation as Foreman at California Stevedore Company, Pier 26 [loading and unloading freight on ships].

Karl B ANDERSON & Mary Lulu MOSIER on their Wedding Day

I think it would be safe to say thay the dress Lulu is wearing above, was designed and sewn by Lulu. Lulu must have welcomed a return to one of San Francisco’s lovely Victorian houses, just 3 blocks from Golden Gate Park and even less of a distance to Buena Vista Park. And with a Bay Window!

On the 1930 census they have moved to 219 Jules Ave and Karl’s son Carl B is 16 is living with them. I like to think that Lulu finally found happiness with a man who loved her as she deserved. She moved again in 1930 from Ingleside District of San Francisco back to the Inner Sunset, I am sure it would have been a move that pleased her. 1715 18th Ave is about 3 miles north of Jules Ave and about 5 blocks from her beloved Golden Gate Park. On the 23 of October 1930 at 2:50 in the afternoon she died at home of chronic interstitial nephritis, chronic myocarditis and general anasarca [fluid retention, edema]. Her physician certified she had the chronic conditions otherwise known as kidney and heart disease for 6 years. We know she had been suffering from various ailments including psoriasis for many years before that. She was a few weeks shy of her 68th birthday. She is laid to rest at Cypress Lawn Cemetery in Colma, California. She was the mother of eight children and only the last predeceased her. She was a devoted mother and grandmother, avid reader, seamstress, teacher and above all else, a fine Soprano who found solace in song.

Lulu PADEN MOSIER ANDERSON Obituary 1 Nov 1930
San Francisco Examiner

Dear Readers I hope you have enjoyed Lulu’s diary as much as I have. There may be a couple of more chapters although they will not be of her writing. And again a heartfelt thanks to my cousin Dale Mead for his permission to share Lulu’s diary and to my cousin Malia Hammerstrom for her help in the transcribing.

Hands in the Mud: Writing Challenge

Posted on March 27, 2022 3 Comments

I was daydreaming about mud which led to this piece of writing. I will have some writing suggestions at the end.

“Learn to humble yourself, you are but earth and clay.”
Thomas a Kempis

When I was a kid we made mud pies. The best mud was made from dirt with lots of clay in it. The mud was mixed with grass, ostensibly to give the mud patties shape and keep them from falling apart. There is something satisfying about a fragrant mud pie steaming in the summer sun. Or mud oozing thru one’s fingers or even better one’s toes— giving the perfect excuse to let mud play, turn into water play. The mud where I grew up was a dark ashy brown, when properly wet. Once after Castro Park was built across the street from our house, it rained very heavily and all that ashy mud ran down the unlandscaped hill, down the street, into our driveway and deposited itself quite evenly in a 3 inch layer in our garage. When it dried and was shoveled out it still left its earthy dust behind. It hid in corners and boxes and generally made it impossible to be rid of it completely. Mud does that sort of thing. They say ashes to ashes dust to dust—but fail to mention how dust is forever.

As I got older and I went to kindergarten, mud gave way to clay. We actually had a kiln in Mrs. Walker’s kindergarten classroom and I made two objects out of clay that were fired and glazed and dutifully given to my mother as gifts. Even though it may have pained my mother to keep them, she did not throw them out, in fact I think I did and now sometimes wish I had saved them. My first sculpture was a small squirrel holding a nut, glazed in a leafy brown glaze. It was pinched out of clay rather crudely but was quite recognizable. The second was a sandy colored birds’ nest with 3 smooth blue eggs. Later I graduated to plasticine and then Fimo, crafting all sorts of miniatures out of clay.

In 1960 my parents and grandparents bought 68 acres of wilderness in the Mayacamas Mountains of the Napa Valley. My usual playground was Dry Creek, truly a misnomer as it never went dry. It is there I found veins of a lovely blue-gray clay along the creek bank. The clay was always fissured with roots and bits of dirt and debris so I don’t remember ever fashioning anything permanent from it. But I certainly liked playing in it. My mother said the way to do it properly was to make a liquid out of the clay —strain it to remove impurities and then let the moisture evaporate to leave a purified clay. I never got that far. In High School I took a ceramics class. I lacked the confidence to try my hand at the potter’s wheel so I spent most of the year working on a sculpture of a naked, lounging young women. My teacher really liked it and gave me an undeserved A. In the end I deposited the unfired, unglazed figure into the garbage bin. So much for my career as a sculptor!

When my children were young we all enrolled in a pit fired ceramic class where which we all enjoyed. It turned out to be quite challenging. We built coil pots and sculptures from red clay and burnished them with spoons. The burnishing took hours and hours a day for several weeks! My daughter Anne made a lovely fox and I made a harbor seal as well as a pot.

It truly made me appreciate the craftsmanship of Native American Indian pots like this one I bought in 1986. Its decorated in the “Repeating Feather Pattern.”

I have even fashioned a few things from clay with my grandchildren. However as much as I like the feel of slick wet clay I really do not care for the desiccating feel of drying clay on my hands. Too close to chalk dust or the ash dust one encounters when cleaning out the fireplace. Yet, I do have a love of ceramics. I bought these Keena figures in Niagara Falls Canada and they watch over my kitchen. I still love their simplicity. They make me smile.

Life is full of seemingly random connections. I enjoy bringing them together in story. Many years ago I found out that my my 4th great grandparents, Nicholas MOSER (1762-1821) and Elizabeth LOY (c1769), married in Orange County (now Alamance), North Carolina. And then later discovered that Elizabeth LOY’s first cousin was George LOY, the first of the family of famous Moravian LOY Potters. I was quite pleased with that find since it gave me a kinship with people I knew little about. They had a connection to the earth, to the clay they fashioned into useful objects and that made me happy. Then while watching Season 4 of “Outlander” I immediately recognized the pottery plates, bowls and jugs of the Fraser cabin fashioned after the Moravian potters of the North Carolina region in which some of the books and now the TV series are based.

Pottery is as one of human’s oldest inventions. Venus of Dolní Věstonice is a clay figurine from the Czech Republic dating back to 29,000–25,000 BC. It would seem getting our hands in the mud and trying to represent figures, animals or make utilitarian objects is a very old endeavour.

We even use pottery to describe cultures such as Corded ware or Bell Beaker as descriptive of the pots they fashioned. So something as seemingly unmeaningful as making mud pies may have a very early genesis that ties us to our very ancient pasts. My interests in family, genealogy, and genetic genealogy are all tied together with clay.

Bell Beaker pots from National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh

We cannot escape our pasts, and the things that attract our attention. Seemingly random things in life can have a storyline. I set out with the memory of making mud pies and was a bit surprised where I ended up. I really had no idea how many things that memory would invoke. So here is the writing challenge:

Grab a handful of clay, pick a memory that involves something tangible
Start writing about that memory and see where it goes
You don’t have to force it into something more than it is, if nothing comes then let it go and pick something else
It could be anything from catching your first fish, learning to ride a bike, a favorite childhood recipe
Could be you write about a memory of a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, friend
You aren’t telling their life story (or yours) you are just illustrating something that matters to you
It need not be earth shattering–you aren’t trying to impress anyone, you are just practicing your craft

I have no interest in writing an autobiography, but as I said in Write it Down I do want to leave something behind. This story actually reveals quite a lot about me and things that matter to me. Writing does that. So take your clay and mold it as you will. Most of all, be playful with your writing—have fun!

A Year of Silver Linings, Happy Anniversary: Legacy Writing

Posted on March 24, 2022 3 Comments

One year ago on March 24 2021 I published my first general genealogy blog post! Between 2012-2015 I had written an occasional WHEATON DNA private blog. During this past year I have averaged more than two posts a week and have over 115 posts, even though I never set out to be a regular blogger. Sometimes you just start writing and find out you have a lot to say, even though you didn’t know that in the beginning. I keep waiting to run out of things to write about—or the inspiration to do so, but so far they keep coming. Perhaps writing is an antidote to all the things I cannot control like Covid-19 and the War in Ukraine—writing as an outlet for organizing one’s thoughts. It has given me the opportunity to learn more about my ancestors and bring their stories to life. And in the process learn more about myself.

But the biggest surprise is that I am writing about writing. I am neither an English major nor a professional writer and yet I encourage others find their voice. I write about doing genealogy and family history in an intuitive, informative way, as an antidote to all those telling you to use a more methodical approach. I especially want to urge those who are discouraged by all the do’s and don’ts to research, write, and have fun, any way you wish! Write what you want, any way you want and stop worrying about what others will think. What matters is you have put something down on the page and someone will appreciate it, long after you are gone. If only I could tell my great grandmother Lulu how much her diary has meant to me. Her diary was supposed to have been destroyed upon her death, but her eldest daughter Jessie kept it and it passed on eventually to my second cousin who gave me permission to share it with a wider audience. Lulu, her son Milo, who is my grandfather, and his son Duane, my dad; all were writers even if the world did not know them. They had the courage to record their feelings and I can think of no greater gift to me.

The most intimate thoughts shared in a diary, in letters, in stories or poems has allowed me to know my ancestors, even my father, in a way I will never know my silent ancestors. They left behind a written legacy and I suppose that is what I am doing through my writing. Even the briefest of quotes gives you a deep picture of who they were. Here is a sampling of each.

“July 31 Sat. Began the day with a senseless quarrel about Milo filling the woodbox. F.S. [Franklin Stewart, husband] told him to fill it at night and he said he did. F.S. said he didn’t whereupon I said he, Milo, had filled the box and that I had burned it up after dinner on the night before (fri) when I mopped up the floor, baked apple turnovers for his and Deweys lunch and washed and upped the dishes, as Lolita had gone to spend the week end with the Freyers. Frank flew into a rage and said I lied and talked like a fool and he was tired of my butting in and for me to keep my mouth shut when he was correcting the children. He is or wants to be absolute monarch. I told him I should talk whenever I felt like it and he answered by saying Id talk once to often some day. I wonder.“
Lulu’s Diary San Francisco, California, 1915 Mary Lulu PADEN MOSIER, 47 years old

” Dear Leo, this letter started out as a penciled scrawl. Then I had to type it to find out what I had said. The maples in my yard are flaming now—Red and gold. I imagine those in your neighborhood are long since bare. The rains have come, gone, and they are now clouded up to come again. We are awaiting with much interest the attempt at rendezvous of the two Gemini space craft. On November 27, 1957, my PRAYER appeared in the Oakland Tribune. At the time no one had done more than go swimming in the atmosphere. Eight years ago–“Dieu, qui le temp passe vite! [God, time flies!] “
Milo D. MOSIER, Napa, California , 66 years old; letter to his brother Leo in Minneapolis

“I don’t know whether this year in the corps is going to mature me or bring about a premature second childhood. Since I last wrote I’ve done a lot of thinking about the Marine Corps lost time and I find the facts regarding the Corps achievements in the past haven’t changed much, but my sense of values has and I feel that fear, misinformation, disregard for human life, narrow mindedness, naive pride and prejudice tied together by mutual suffering and so called guts have made the Marine Corps what it is and was–a myth that accomplishes its end by drawing a curtain in men’s minds–like religion–if you begin to questions it, it’s gone, if you believe there are no questions, no problems, no nothing, but glory.”
Duane F. MOSIER, San Clemente, California, 25 years old; letter to his father Milo D. MOSIER, 4 Oct 1951

So reflecting on those before me– perhaps it is not an accident that I should find myself writing my way through whatever life is dishing up. I am lucky to have a family of role models. May they continue to show me the way. From a grateful daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter.

Registered at UC Berkeley: A Soprano’s Aria Chapter 35

Posted on March 21, 2022 Leave a Comment

Feb. 14 – Life was some what of a drag all around. I have all my notes to show that I attended class regularly and made good marks. Finished textiles and took up a short course in Psycology Also a few private lessons in dress drafting from Mrs. Percival.

Feb. 23 – Jessie went to Fabiola hospital to be operated on for appendicitis.

Feb 24 – Sylvester and I went down and stayed while she was operated on. It was very successful. I kept house for Syl. Dull quiet days about all alike. Jessie convalescing. Syl at work me doing house work and going to class at regular intervals at night in Oakland.

Mar 4 – Lolitas 19th birthday.

“ 5 – I had a caller for a few min before I had to go to The Fabiola to help Jessie home. She is fine and getting better all the time. The next two weeks were spent in nursing J back to health and strength. Some time after Jessie went to the Hospital Jessie sent Lolita a couple of baby quilts.

Mar 10 – Sylvesters birthday Ray’s baby was buried. J. invited to dinner didn’t come because he never got the invitation. Mother Miller came had a fine Rabbit pie. He was 30 years old.

Mon routine in the same old way. Pleanty of humdrum work.

Mar 30 – Jessie 27th birthday We had a birthday dinner at Eilenes for Jessie. Joe was an honored guest. We had a good time. Jessie Sylvester J and I left for home about 10 oclock. Jessie & S. and I comming on over to Berk. We had a chicken noodle dinner—very good

1 April – Spring and sad memories. No spring sewn for my sweet kiddies who are wearing their black uniforms in a San Rafael convent.

APRIL – 10 – Josephines [Mrs Freyer’s daughter]—11 B DAY — I gave her a book of poems.

April 17 – Lois Cameron born to Charles and Lolita Cameron in Humbolt Co California.

Apr 18 – Dad Miller came and took Jessie Syl and myself to Westlunds in Castro Valley. I stayed 4 days sewing and made 4 dollars a day. Hard work. Come home on 22 April to find my bro Horace here. I was glad to see him.

22 April – Bro and I took a street car ride to San Leandro and back. We stopped in Oakland to do some shopping for Lolitas baby. I sent her the box soon after. It contained a lot of nice baby clothes that we had collected together. Bro sent some socks and bunny booties which were very lovely.

Sat Apr 23 – We went to S. F to see Allie and Agnes.

Sun. Apr. 24 – Bro. went back to Madera. He soon wrote he had secured employment for Sylvester, who was temporarily out of work.

May 2 (sun) – Syl went to join bro. Horace in Madera.

May 12 — Big Graduation day at U. C. 1300 students received their sheep skins. It was a great day, impressive in the extreme. The chimes played “Theres a long long trail awinding.” [Chimes would be the campanile bells]

May 13 – Jessie obtained employment at a Kodak shop in Oakland.

May 30 – Gave Mrs. Johnson a large sheaf of white gladiolas for her mothers grave.

May 31 – Jessie stayed home for the holiday.

June 1 – A most wonderfully perfect day beginning and end. I went down to class in the evening as I passed Irenes aunts place I saw Joe’s car in front. This winds up the terms work in Trade Analysis. I have my paper to write yet.

June 13 – “Pop” Miller drove over in his ford and took us down to Neptune beach. Dewey and Dutch, Jessie and I. When we returned Frank and Leo were here. I was very sorry we missed them

June 19 – registered at the U. C.

University of California Berkeley Campanile

June 20 ? – Jessie & Vestina, Mrs Smith and I went over to Smiths place in the Sand Dune dist of S. F. for a picnic. I cooked 2 rabbits and they made the salad It was a fine dinner and a grand good time. The fog came wet and cold, a great contrast to our Berkeley heat. I enjoyed every minuit of the long day. We came home late tired and happy.

June 21 – a great day. I started to Summer School at the U. I find it very interesting

June 23 – Had a telephone installed step forward. Another desire realized. Had a fine auto ride to Oakland, and dinner at a cafateria after the morning session of School.

June 24 – Entered another class today. It is still another step forward. It is a class in Part time work with the regular academic teachers. This with my other class in Smith Hughes work is the training to fit teachers for the public schools under the new laws that will bring hundreds of new scholars into the school this fall.

Sat June 26, 1920 – Did a big days work today. Washing ironed and cleaned house. Of course I tired myself out but had the satisfaction of seeing it accomplished at any rate. Jessie called up Ruth Westlund Fri and made a date to go out to Castro Valley on Sunday.

Sun June 27 – Jessie and I got up early and did up the work and started. The day was fine. We had a lovely trip thru the cherry orchards. When we got to Hayward we found Ruth waiting for us. Jessie got 2 qt of ice cream and we went out thru the golden sunshine cool breeze and sweet perfumes to Westlunds. She our hostess was glad to see us. She was Frying chicken when we arrived 4 of them. My but they were good. I could have eaten a whole one myself, the little fryers. I didn’t care so much for the ice cream. After lunch Jessie snapped our pictures and we talked, read the news of the Democratic Convention now being held in S. F and napped. Then we had coffee and cake and then Mrs W. took us to Hayward where we took the street car for home arriving at 10.15. J bought 3 doz. egs and brought them along. I studied Mondays lesson a bit and went to bed.

Monday June 28 – Went to class at summer session of U. C. Cal. Took up all morning from 8 to 12 enjoyed it very much. Got a new binder for my blanks in Part Time. 85 cents. Filed my registration card and got my assembly ticket. Walked home by Gas & Electric and paid bill. Stopped at City hall and paid taxes. Stopped at store and bought meat and potatoes. Came home cooked lunch ate, and rested. Watered flowers, read paper, posted diary and am cooking dinner for J. and I. Am ready to study my lessons for tomorrow.

Wed June 30 — Went home with Mrs. Milliken after hours at the U. C. Jessie came over and we came home tog. had dinner. Jessie then went for a short call on Vestina. I am studying the new state and Federal school laws all alone.

July 8 1920 – Came home from U. C. with a head ache. J. rang up and later called. Didn’t stay long. Had a nice visit while it lasted. Am working hard on course of study for my class tomorrow.

Sat J. 10 – Went down to Oakland and bought a Boston bag.

Sunday July 11 – Jessie and I are trying to catch up with the work which has been neglected during the weeks occupation with other duties. I am almost too tired to study which must be done if I am to make any headway at the Summer Session at the U.C. Lost my Smith Hughes bulletin tough luck. [Smith-Hughes Act, formally National Vocational Education Act, U.S. legislation, adopted in 1917, that provided federal aid to the states for the purpose of promoting precollegiate vocational education in agricultural and industrial trades and in home economics.]

July 17 – Put in time at U. C. since last entry. Mrs Ludwick gave me an extra Smith Hughes so I am all O K again. Home sick with a bad cold in my head. Allie called up Jessie ditto. Great invention, the telephone, I’ll say. I have written to Goldie Louis and Lolita today. I will now read up on my studies for Monday.

Catch & Release, Word Fishing: Writing Challenge

Posted on March 20, 2022 2 Comments

“Every man is a quotation from all his ancestors.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

If fishing is a metaphor for writing, the title is the bait. I often start with the title. It’s setting the hook, attracting the reader, but it has another purpose. It sets the scope and determines what it is I am hoping to write about. I know many people don’t select a title until they are done. With Lulu’s Diary I typically read over the transcription, picked the time frame and then the title from something in the entry. Do what works for you. Working with a title prevents me from getting lost. Stay along the stream, Kelly: you can go upstream or downstream. You can go for a swim or dry off on the bank. The title helps me to focus.

I was reflecting on my writing process and it brought to mind the many excellent English teachers I have had. Collectively they were a very demanding lot. Not a slouch or easy teacher in the bunch. From my 4th grade teacher Miss Buckley where our text was “Laugh and Learn Grammar” to the dreaded diagramming sentences at the black board with Mr. Tolland. Mrs. Larm in 9th grade would stand in front of the class, feet planted in a wide stance, while gazing out the windows at the San Francisco Bay, “It’s lovely isn’t it?” she’d ask then answer, “Even though I know the stinky Emeryville mudflats are there at mid horizon, I don’t have to focus on them.” It was she that taught me to love Shakespeare and how to concentrate on what is important. To Mr. Hewes who lived in Bolinas and knew Janis Joplin. He had us select quotes from everything we read and write them on index cards. He created in me, a life-long quote collector. And finally Mr. Monsees whose red pencil could bring a student to tears, but thanks to my previous teachers, I was not one of them. Each contributed to my writing, so here is a much belated “thank you” to my writing teachers.

Writing is not about perfection, although for many years I thought it was. Perfection is a writing killer. It is the enemy of all writers. It’s what keeps a page blank. Forget about perfection and practice perseverance. Fish with words. Stop trying. Cast the line, reel it in, repeat…Fisherman’s luck is about rhythm, intuition and putting yourself out there. You don’t catch anything without trying. A fisherman has to be willing to come back empty handed. A writer must write even if it comes to naught. The effort is never wasted.

If you are a genealogist or family historian who has not written a story or narrative—I am talking to you. You can do this. What you will need:

You must have something to say–if you draw a blank you aren’t ready to write
You must know what that is–and sometimes it’s by writing you can figure that out
What you say should evoke emotion–make the reader care
It must have energy and authenticity
Be realistic. If you want to set yourself up for failure, then set out to catch a dozen fish in two hours.
Writing isn’t talking. The fewer words we use the more power the remaining ones have.

You must have something to say. If you have an ancestor you want to write about–you need to know your subject. You need to place them in time and space. Give them a context. Were they the eldest child? The youngest? Only? Was their mother 14 or 44 when they were born? The key to being able to write about someone is finding out everything you can and carefully analyzing what you can find. If you can’t find anything much about the individual then maybe the story should be about someone else in the family. If your great great grannie was the daughter, sister, mother of someone with more history or information maybe you can write about them in the context of someone for which more is known. If it is someone close to you like a parent or grandparent maybe you know too much about them—in that case focus on some part of their life that interests you. If your grandfather was a blacksmith—maybe learn all you can about what that meant in the proper time frame. What sorts of things might he have been called on to do? If you write about what matters to you—you are more likely to write something that matters to others.
You must know what that is. If you don’t know what you want to say just start writing and keep writing until a theme emerges. Write everything you can about the person. If you knew them describe what you remember. What the wore, how they combed their hair, knitted their brow, tapped their fingers—what did “you” notice or remember about them? Why did you loathe them, love them, or listen to them? Why did you care? Why will the reader care? Maybe they weren’t a particularly interesting person but they lived through something historical. A war, a tragedy, a victory, a celebration. As you research someone pay attention to what was going on around them.
What you say should evoke emotion–make the reader care Are your ancestors flat? Do their narratives read like a grocery list? Aunt Mabel was born 20th of March 1906, blah, blah blah. Aunt Mabel was born the first day of Spring in 1906, but you would never have guessed it from the 3 feet of deposited snow that fell in the several hours her mother had been in labor… Great grandfather was married blah blah blah. John Lewis Henager, my great grandfather, had waited ten years to marry my great grandmother. He was 26 and she a few months shy of her fifteenth birthday… Everyone’s life has stories in it. You need to find them, and make them real.
It must have energy and authenticity. A story has energy if you want to turn the page to see what happened. Authenticity means it reads true—that the author gains our trust and we are willing to follow along. Energy can come from struggle, desire, humor, passion, curiosity, any human emotion. It can be subtle or intense—but a story without energy will fall flat and the we will lose interest—both in the writing of it—or anyone reading it.
Be realistic. Let’s face it, most people aren’t going to read what we write. That’s okay, it takes the pressure off. So if our audience is small then we can adjust our aspirations to something doable. If you have spent a portion of your life building your family tree that’s great. But if you can’t tell me any interesting stories about your ancestors you need to take a deeper dive into the tree of life. Write about what you love and how that might connect with your ancestors. Do you love to cook, travel, sing, sew, paint, or write? Where did that come from? Can you use that love to illuminate your writing about an ancestor?
Writing isn’t talking. Some of us get too chatty when we write. In the draft phase write to you heart’s content. Be superfluous. Say the same thing 3 ways. Write out of sequence—you can fix that later. Many times a story is more interesting when told out of sequence. Keep the reader guessing why the subject ended up here. A story does not have to start with their birth. Maybe start with the dying and have your subject reveal stories from their past. Maybe they took a story to their grave and at the funeral someone told it. Be creative, have fun. The beauty of writing is we get to edit it. We get to mix up the order and remove anything that did not work. Editing is your chance to throw back the fingerlings and only take home the trophy catch. Edit with a passion. If a sentence has 3 clauses and 17 words can you say it better in 7? Can a different word choice make a difference? Be ruthless. You can always put it back. And finally read it out loud. Not out loud in your head, but literally out loud.

The Culmination of a Long Dream: A Soprano’s Aria Chapter 34

Posted on March 19, 2022 Leave a Comment

Editor’s note this chapter is of particular interest to me as it recounts Lulu’s perspective in her meeting of her son Milo’s girlfriend, my grandmother Carrie Henager

Nov 12 — Yesterday Jessie and I went down to the auditorium to hear a very fine program in Memoriam to the American Army. When we got home We found Eilene and Milo there. After dinner we all went down to Lake Merritt to see the fire works which were very beautiful. [I remember going to see the fireworks at Lake Merritt as a child]. I was tired when I got home but stood it fine limping around on my sore foot which I scalded accidentally a few days ago. This morning I got up early and got Allie off and went back to bed I slept soundly awhile then the bell rang and when I got up and looked out I saw Joe standing there. I stepped in a kimono and opened the door. He came to see if I still wanted to go on with my classes and whether he should sign my recommendation. I assured him I still wanted to go on with it so he promised to recommend me for the position of teacher of sewing in the public schools. This is a truly beautiful day sunny and crisp and cool. It seems as if it is also the fulfillment out of all promises the culmination of a long dream. The end of an intensely interesting chapter and the beginning of another. May it begin and end happy!

Nov 14 – I went to the O. H. S. class Designing. It is growing more interesting every lesson.

Nov 15 – Did a very good sat house cleaning job. Studied in afternoon Uncle came over to see us.

Nov 16 – My 52 birthday I feel quite the same as I did yesterday. Jessie and Syl gave me a nice box of writing paper. Allie and Agnes went to the city Allie gave me an eversharp pencil. I bought me a set of hair combs. Lolita and Charlie contributed a box of Humboldt apples and Leo sent me a 2 dollar bill to buy me something with.

Nov 17 – getting Lolitas things ready to send. Jessie and Syl went to the country to make fence.

Nov 18 – Went to Dr. Blood pressure 190 still high. Called up 1520 Morton [Mrs Fryer’s address]. Every body all right.

Nov 26 – Sent Lolitas box very glad to have it off at last. Went down to Oakland and got the buttons for Agnes coat and sewed them on in even, so she would have something to be thankful for on Thanksgiving.

Nov 27 – Thanksgiving day. I made the pumpkin pies and cranberry sauce and then came over to Eilenes to a fine turkey dinner. Dewey took me to a show at the Portola in the evening I went back to Jessies for the night. She came home for T.G. [Thanksgiving]

Nov 28 – I packed up and came over to stay with Eilene awhile. We have been cleaning house and washing cloths. Milos new girl Miss Caroline Hagerman [Henager, my grandmother] came over to dinner on Sunday Nov 23. We had a very pleasant visit with her She is small petite and pleasant quite nice looking and a nurse in the Letterman General Hospital. Milo says they are engaged I trust they will be happy.

Nov 25 – Visited Josephines school to get information on the sub. of supplies in the sewing classes. I enjoyed it very much and went to 1520 Morton [Mrs Freyer’s family] for dinner. It was very depressing for the place seemed so empty and dull with Irene gone. J. brought me home in the sedan. I enjoyed the ride. The weather was perfect we talked of many interesting things and parted friends hoping to meet again.

Nov 29 – Cleaning house at Eilenes 1415 Oak St San Francisco

“ 30 Sun — Eilene had Caroline Hagerman [Carrie Henager] to dinner. Later we went to a show on Haight St.

Monday Dec 1 – Helped Eilene wash. First rain of season. Very good

Tue 2 – Still raining and sunny by spells. Am going to Oakland to my class this evening.

” 3 — Wrote to Lolita. Milo and his father are in Colusa Co. Cal. Later went to Oakland and had a very instructive lesson on The Psychology of teaching.

Dec 4 – attended Oak Down town school in evening. Enjoyed a fine lesson on artificial silk and decimal Fractions.

Dec 5 – At O. H. S. evening classes on Colors. Their fundamental principals.

Dec 6 – Still at Eilenes helping with the work.

Sunday Dec. 7 – Very quiet Christmas at Eilenes Syl and Jessie came over for a few minutes.

Dec 8 – Making Eilene a coat.

“ 9 – Tuesday evening class Allie came in for a few min.

“ 10 – Still at coat. Went to Divisadero theater in evening with Eilene

“ 11 – Class on Methods and review on silk Textiles

“ 12 – Our usual Fri evening class on Applied Design Miss Lellender our very eff Teacher giving us another interesting lesson on the blending and grouping of colors.

13 Sat. – Went up on Haight St and had my picture taken for the application for teachers certificate.

14 Sunday – Caroline [Carrie Henager] came and we had a nice dinner

15 – Washed for Eilene Sunny day

16 – Finished wash and went after the pictures which were not ready. I had planned to go direct to Jessies but this will change my plans. (Later) I went to Oak. Saw the Dr, the Notary and the Post Master got all the papers and went to the office of Mr Jacobs and handed them in then went out to Jessies for dinner. Had been there but a short time when J came. We all chatted awhile and he took me down to the Key Route station where I took train for S. F.

Dec 25 1919 – Eilene had a big tree in the front window and all the family present but Lolita and Leo and their father who were all out of the city. We all worked hard to make it a success and so it turned out to be. Every one enjoyed it immensely We all got nice presents which were also appropriate and useful. I received a beautiful silk umbrella from the family. 25 dollars from mother and $5 from Milo and 2 from Leo 3 from Dewey so I can say Santa Claus remembered me. I also got a box of Chickens and sausages from Goldie and then got the news that their beloved and only son Richard was shot and killed instantly with a 22 accidentally discharged on the 21 of December. It was an awful shock to me. Poor Goldie who was so kind and good had to give up her only son.

Dec 30 – Went to Oakland to see the Dr. My pressure was 175 and my skin not better. He thinks my trouble is nervousness. He has changed my treatment. I went to Mr Jacobs office and turned in the letter Albert got for me from Mr Drew. Then I went out to see Jessie. Milo and Carrie were already there and we all had dinner consisting of Goldies chicken. Then Agnes and I went to the Oakland auditorium to hear Alice Gentle in the Messiah. It was very grand and impressive. That night I spent at Jessies and returned to San Francisco

Dec 31. Allie and Agnes accompanied me and in the evening we all drove down Market st to see the fun such an abandon of formalities. Every one tried to out do the other in making the last day of the old year and the 1 of the new year a merry one.

Jan 1 1920 – At Eilenes. Dewey Milo and Caroline Henager present. Crocheted Lolita some holders which makes 9 I have made 3 for each of Lolita Caro and Eilene. I also crocheted 5 table mat covers for Jessie. Eilene furnishing the thread. So I have been quite busy the last few weeks. We went out for a little spin around the Park with the good old trusty Jeffries. It was keen and cold and foggy. The bunch are playing cards and I am writing this at 10.30 Good night. And may the year prove a successful one and may happiness be with us.

Jan 2 – 3 – Washing and cleaning house

Jan 4 Sun – Still cleaning up tiresome dull day.

Jan 5 – Schools begin. Carrie and I take a walk in the park.

Jan 6 – Our night school opens. I attend good class. Interesting lesson on psychology. J called at Eilenes soon after I left.

Jan 7 Wed – Busy as a bee at house k duties. J [Joe Richardson allegedly Mrs Fryer’s husband who turned out to be her widowed husband] Called in afternoon to tell me he had sent in my recommendation. I am so glad but not gay. I feel blue somehow. I hope every thing will turn out all right. Miss Carrie went back to the Letterman [Hospital at the Presidio] Milo is going tomorrow to Belden [Plumas County] to work. Albert was over to attend night school. Milo bought and presented to me a book on Textiles by Paul Nystrom. It is much better than the other authors we have been studying.

Jan 8 – Went to night school and had a fine lesson out of my new book on cotton.

Fri 9 — Went to night school in Oakland had a most interesting lesson on colors. Miss Lellander is a fine teacher and knows her subject well. She is going to try to give us a course in advanced costume designing.

Jan 10 Sat – Clear cold and frosty as so many of these winter days have been. Jessie and Agnes called a while last evening. Milo didn’t get started so thinks he will get off today. Am going to study a whole lot and try and catch up.

Jan 11 – I went over to Oakland to our class in applied design and found out that Miss Lellender was ill so we put in the time reviewing the previous lesson on colors their tints shades hues and near and distant relations. Mrs Percival gave us a talk on her method of drafting and we may take it up later.

Jan 10 – Sat work as usual.

“ 11 Sun – Dewey came Attended regular classes as usual all week. Nothing of moment happened save on Thursday I was vaccinated as small pox had broken out in the O. H. S. I refered to our Friday meeting in a previous paragraph a week ahead of time.

Sat 17 – found us all still busy

Sun 18 – Dewey was going to give us a ride when the lights refused to go so we sat in the machine and watched the world go by awhile. The weather was ideal and we enjoyed the fresh air. Eilene entire household was present.

Mon 19 – Dewey left for Mare Island. He didn’t get to go to Siberia on U. S. Transport as he had desired to but may get to go later. Studying and washing cleaning house and ironing very busy day. Arm lame and sore.

Jan 20 – Attend class on Method as usual. Test paper and reviewed next lesson. Arm and side swollen and sore. Allies Birthday he is 30. The years continue to roll on. Long time since he was born in Rogers on a cold winter day.

Jan 21

Jan 22 – First rain for a long time. Put in the day on my lesson mixing water colors in a painting of various hues on paper to cut out in circle to make up the family circle of colors later ie. tomorrow night. I want to go to the library now to study up on the Jaquard loom. My arm is better. I helped Eilene with her sleeves and Leos pajamas. It has quit raining and is cloudy and cold.

Jan 23 – Last lesson on applied art by Miss Lellender. –Sorry–

Jan 24 – Sat with all that goes with it.

Jan 25 Sunday – Milled around home at Eilenes all day.

“ 26 – Housework and study Attended class at O. H. S. on Method as usual on tue. When I got back Eilene told me that J called after I left.

“ 28 – More study and work.

“ 29 Attend class on Textiles

“ 30 – At home writing up notes on last nights lesson

Occasional dates [from this point on the Diary is occasional entries]

Feb 1 – went to Jessies in Berkeley

“ 3 – Eilenes birthday. Jessie and I went over to S. F. and gave Eilene some birthday presents. I came over to Oakland to class and Jes. went home to B. I return to Eilenes. Caroline Heneger is a guest. Eilene, Carrie, and I visited Letterman Gen. Hospital had a pleasant time I may have mentioned this before.

Carrie is preparing to go home to her people in Orofino Nevada [Actually Idaho] in a short time. She made Frank H. a fine bathrobe. Eilene bought the stuff. Carrie made Eilene a beautiful tray. On the 12th she and Milo went to Berkeley to make Jessie a visit on the 13th of February 1920 they called me up and I went over to sanction and give my consent to their marriage. Milo and Carries Wedding Day. Carrie looked sweet in a neat blue outfit which she changed for a rose silk dinner gown later. And so they leave me one by one. Only good old Dewey left single of them all. Carries leave being up, she went north the next day as her army nurse’s transportation was void after that day.

Editor’s note: Milo wrote the story of going to work on the Feather River with his father in order to save up enough money to marry Carrie. I have these entries from Lulu’s diaries as well as the letters he wrote to Carrie while away. Very nice the way they all compliment each other. I cannot fail to note that both Lulu and her now daughter-in-law Carrie are accomplished seamstresses. Perhaps when Lulu’s dairy is finished I will recount Milo’s story “Sierra Sojourn.”

Writing the Tough Stuff: Writing Challenge

Posted on March 16, 2022 5 Comments

After writing several of the last few blog posts I had to ask myself—what’s this with all this writing about loss? And I don’t have an answer, but I suspect the impetus to handle the tough topics has to do with the war in Ukraine. Seeing death and destruction causes me to wonder about all our forebears and what they went through and all the trauma for those in Ukraine and even those in Russia whose children will not be coming home. And all of us a world away who feel helpless, trying to make sense of it. And this comes after two years of Covid-19 and the looming threat of global warming. We all deal with loss differently and we all tackle family stories differently. The thing for me is, if we are dishonest in our portrayal of the past, if we sugar coat or leave out the “tough stuff” we deny understanding and inspiration for future generations.

The other day I was talking with my granddaughter and I mentioned a “phase” her mother had gone through. My granddaughter was shocked to hear her mother went through something similar. Understanding that you are not alone in your struggles, that your ancestors or family members went through rough times, is not meant to discourage or depress—it is meant to tell us– WE have been here before. Wars, famine, death, loss– these seem to go hand and hand with the human condition. There is a value in realizing, people survive unfathomable tragedies and still they have meaningful lives.

I will be honest with you, when you dive deep into your own story or that of your forebears it will affect you. If you aren’t feeling it, you have only scratched the surface. And maybe you are just not ready to “go there.” Fair enough. But if you are at the stage where you are thinking of writing family stories and tackling the tough stuff. The stuff no one wants to talk about, I want to encourage you to do so. Before writing Catherine’s story in My Woman Warrior or my own in My Sister is Gone, but still I Smile I really hadn’t understood how profoundly loss can affect us. Even what appears on the surface to be an ordinary loss that many families face does not affect people the same.

If you are a genealogist or family historian it is easy not to see what is right in front of your eyes. Yes we know women died in childbirth, men in wars, children died young, people died prematurely of illness and disease that seldom happen these days—but how many times do you ask yourself how did it affect them? How did they manage? How did they do it? And the answer is they had no choice. They did not get to choose any more than we do. We are all dealt a hand and we must play it the best that we can. There’s very little that we face that has not been faced before. What is different is how much we know. And how we manage to make sense of the past, the present and the future? The answer is we can’t. For the future we can only leave bread crumbs. Letters, stories, diaries, poems, paintings, photos something that might outlast us. Something which will allow someone in the future—likely someone we will never know, to recognize themselves in our journey, in our struggles.

“We read to know that we are not alone.”
C.S. Lewis

“I write to know what I think.”
Joan Didion

I agree with both. Reading connects us and writing forces us to make sense of the things we care about. In my post Write it Down I meant to encourage you to leave something behind. You can share it now if you so choose. Or leave it for the future.

So how to handle the tough topics. These include but are not limited to:

Death
Loss, tragedy, heartbreak
Illness, including cancer, depression, insanity
Crime, imprisonment
Physical, mental or sexual abuse
War
Misattributed paternity, incest

Any one of these topics can be broached in our family stories. They are the subjects of movies, novels, and TV shows so they can be dealt with. How you approach difficult topics is revealing and thus our tendency to walk away, to not expose the most vulnerable parts; not just of the stories, but of ourselves. No one wants someone to reduce who we are to the losses or traumas we have endured. Do we want our readers to say, “ah, so that’s what’s wrong with them?” No we don’t, but that’s what we must risk.

So if you want to write about a difficult topic. Here are some questions to ask yourself?

Are you being honest?
Are you exploiting someone’s tragedy for your own gain?
What do you want the reader to take away?
Are you being courageous?
Are you facing facts or couching the truth behind a more palatable story?
Do you have something to say, that someone, particularly your family, will find illuminating or useful?
Will exposing a family secret cause another person harm? If so, does exposing it prevent future pain for others?
Are you prepared for reactions that may be different than you expect?
If it is a personal story do you have a safety net, or professional support?

If you have answered the questions and are still prepared to write, remember that sometimes there’s humor in the midst of sorrow. Or maybe there’s something universal that you touch upon that helps others to connect even when they want to look away. The image of the fields of sunflowers under a blue sky as reflected in the Ukrainian flag. A dandelion coming up through a crack in broken pavement. The human heart and the human spirit survives. In the midst of sorrow, life goes on. Babies are born, couples are married, seeds are planted and flowers bloom. Take a risk. Write the unspeakable.

My Sister is Gone, But still I Smile

Posted on March 14, 2022 10 Comments

I often try to remind readers and myself, not to forget our own stories. However, the closer they are, the harder it is to share them. I wrote the original piece on which this is based many years ago. It was the story of sharing a name with my sister, but so many more pieces have been added, that the story has shifted on its axis, multiple times. Our understanding changes and so do the stories we tell ourselves.

“Absence is a house so vast
that inside you will pass through its walls
and hang pictures on the air.”
Pablo Neruda

I don’t know how old I was when I realized I shared her name. I don’t know when I came to know of her existence –though it would have been difficult not to feel her presence. A ghost–never seen–but still ever present. She was the sister I never knew, though we shared the same name.

These are the only 3 photographs that exist of my sister. They never felt quite enough. How could I know her from a face smaller than my little finger nail? She was born with a congenital interventricular septal heart defect, where the wall which divides the lower chamber of the heart failed to form properly. This defect lead to Eisenmenger’s syndrome, that made her heart have to work very hard and still not be able to deliver enough oxygen to her body. My parents are holding her upright to ease her burden. My father’s mouth open echoing hers. My mother so young.

Expectant parents worry about their unborn children but a letter my father writes to his parents the 4th of October seems to foreshadow her arrival in December. “Janie is having a few trials and tribulations with the baby but I think her troubles are much less than average and she is handling the situation well. It would be very nice if there are no serious complications because for me it’s better if I have less troubles of the type which I can do nothing about.” That followed by this letter on December 20th where he suggests that he might need them to come down to help. “Dear Mom & Pop, No news yet– we went to the hospital today — It is back in breech presentation, it has settled and it’s too big to move according to the doctor. They took some x-rays and Jane is to return Monday morning. I don’t believe they have decided yet what they can do. Evidently it is a fairly long child, anyway with the RH negative, fairly low blood count, the cyst etc. I am beginning to think that it is quite possible she may require a little more help than ordinarily would be necessary.” All details of which I was woefully unaware, except the RH blood incompatibility.

Kelly Margaret arrived the morning of December 28th at the Naval Hospital in Oceanside, California, on the Feast of the Holy Innocents. My father was in the Marine Corps at Camp Pendleton, thus the birth at the Naval hospital. My parents would tell me that when Kelly was born they knew something was wrong but the doctors kept telling them she was fine and that they were worrying too much. In a letter of Dave Dowdakin to his parents he writes: “Duane & family have been up here for several weeks on a vacation. The baby had not gained any weight since birth so they took it to Oak Knoll Hospital [Naval Hospital in Oakland] where they found out that she has a congenital heart defect which hasn’t been diagnosed exactly as yet. She is still in the hospital & seems to be getting stronger but they believed that sooner or later an operation will be necessary but prefer to wait as long as possible. It is kind of a rough break since they are not sure the child will live long enough to be operated on.” She was baptized February 27th by an Episcopal priest Father Kuhn.

My father had received a compassionary discharge a few months early because of my sister’s condition. They were in the process of moving when she died at 7:05 PM on March 7th at Oak Knoll Hospital in Oakland. My mother would tell me she knew the moment Kelly died as she turned to my Dad and said, “She is gone.” In another undated letter from Dave to his parents: “The Mosiers baby died several weeks ago while in Oak Knoll Hospital. It so happened that Duane & Jane were moving north again since he got a transfer and didn’t find out the news until they reached Albany. They had more or less reconciled themselves to this outcome so things were not too bad for them. But between the two elder Mosiers there was quite a fight about something. I’m afraid to go down that way any lo get since there always seems to be some kind of crisis going on. There seems to be a lot of animosity between Duane’s parents & Jane & vice versa. Duane doesn’t say anything but looks at them all as though they were refugees from a zoo.”

I never met Kelly, for she died before I was born. “Who would I have been if she had lived? We certainly would not have shared the same name, then.” In the silence the questions insisted on being asked, but there were never any answers. “Was I, who I was, by default? If she had lived would I not be me? How different might I be. if I were called by a different name?” My sister was born Kelly Margaret Mosier. Three years later I was officially born Kelly Margaret Mosier II. My parents never had any idea of the secret pain sharing a name entailed. I finally told them in my forties. They had innocently chosen to name me as they did my sister because “they liked the name.” It did not seem at all odd to them, and in years past it had been a common practice to name a child after their deceased predecessor–but not so common when I was born. “Can you imagine them naming their second daughter the same name?” I heard a neighbor remark to another when they did not know that I was listening. I was not even 5 at the time. I felt shame, yet had no idea why. It was years later that it was reframed when I read this:

The occasional births were celebrated with emotion, and the children were given the names of the dead, so that no one would ever forget them.
Isabel Allende’s book ‘Of Love and Shadows’ 1987 pg 231,

And so in that moment a name went from being a burden to an honor. Although I did not know it then, the pain was not from sharing a name, rather it was in not sharing life. It was in not knowing who she was and how her life may have changed my own. How her death and subsequently that of our brother would leave me alone with two grieving parents. And I the child that lived, that could not mend what was broken…It’s hard for me to imagine what strength I would have drawn from an older sister, a younger brother. I never dared imagine what I had missed, but there loss, was with me always. I heard a song by Capercallie written by Manus Lunny called “Claire in Heaven” it shifted things yet again:

I was no more than three days old
too young to speak too young to count my toes.
I think of fields where I might run,
this moral twilight I've been plucked from.
Up here we have no goals.
You tear your hearts, you claw your souls.
I wonder at this life that passed me be,
But still I smile.

Although I’m not with you down there
I sit alone up here and stare
It’s me, my name is Claire.
Claire in heaven.
I wait for my next life patiently.
I’m in no rush because of what I see.
It’s hard for me to understand.
I gaze from poisoned sea to poisoned land.
Up here I see a new tomorrow
Your world’s not round your world is narrow
For me I just had a while,
But still I smile.

Although I’m not with you down there
I sit around up here and stare
It’s me my name is Claire
Claire in heaven.

At last a image of my sister, with a life that passed her by. And perhaps of my brother too? I remember seeing my birth certificate for the first time. “Why is there a II after my name?” I asked. I don’t remember the answer, only that it was unsatisfactory. That II always unnerved me. It separated my identity from that of my sister, but it wasn’t enough. But what was once a desired separation, is now a connection that draws me to her. The gap, that once seemed impossible to breach, is not so far away.

I have a book of poems written by my grandfather. It is inscribed “To my Grand daughter Kelly Margaret II with much Love, Grandpa Milo.” Among its poems is one called “Kelly Margaret.” It begins “We buried Kelly Margaret today” and ends:

Kelly Margaret
And now she is gone–Kelly Margaret–
And we, once so full of our love,
Are emptied to nothing
Kelly Margaret is dead
God Love her
Little
Soul!
Milo Mosier

For many years I did not know where Kelly was buried. We never visited her grave, we never marked her birthday or the anniversary of her death. It was as if she never existed, but she did. Once I located her resting place my husband and I went to meet her. Golden Gate National Cemetery is where servicemen and their immediate family members are buried. We parked in a designated area, but nothing could have prepared me for this section of the cemetery where hundreds of infants and children are buried together in row after row after row. All that loss, all that sorrow… And then finally to find her grave and lay your eyes upon your own name on the headstone. It was the first time the ghost became real and the grief had an opportunity to be expressed, the burden shared. The loss was mourned then, as it is now. It was then I remembered being at the cemetery for my great uncle’s burial and my parents slipping off without me. At the time it felt odd. I know now, that they were visiting her grave.

Yes we were two different people my sister and I. Just now I look at her footprints and mine to see those differences. Her footprints at 2 days and mine at 15 days. She was 21 inches long and weighed 6 pounds 14 1/4 ounces. I was only 19 inches and weighed 6 pounds 11 ounces. I will always be her little sister. Would we have fought? Would she have been an ally and a comfort?

The tears well as I write of her, the sister I did not know, whose life and death are deeply entwined with my own. The sister who shares my name, Kelly Margaret. I am not sure whether her absence was my parents trying to protect me, or themselves. What I can say, is for me, ghosts and secrets extract their toll, regardless of our acknowledgement of them. I was left alone with tragedies too big for a child to carry and yet you do. One of my father’s dying gifts was an apology. He said, “I have always leaned on you.” I said it was okay, but we both knew it wasn’t. I never had Kelly to lean on, because she was, but a ghost. The older we get the more ghosts we befriend. The more we realize what we have lost.

“For me I just had a while,
But still I smile.“
Capercallie Lyrics by Manus Lunny ‘Claire in Heaven’

No More Favorites! Plus a New Writing Challenge

Posted on March 9, 2022 6 Comments

It is asked constantly in Genealogy circles: Who is your favorite ancestor? What us your favorite heirloom? What is your favorite story about…? Everytime I hear the word “favorite” I cringe. I immediately react negatively even though I may like all other parts of the question. Even a slight change to the question such as ” Tell me about one of your favorite [fill in blank]? Perhaps I am unusual, but I don’t have just one favorite of any category you might choose. I have many. And I feel choosing is a slight to the rest. I have favorites, but never “a” favorite.

Let me put this another way. Tell me who is your favorite child, sibling, grandparent? Perhaps these are easy questions for you? Not for me. How would I choose when I only knew two of my four grandparents and of that couple, she suffered from dementia so I only knew the shell of who she once was. So do I pick my grandfather by default? That seems a disservice to them all. Maybe this is just a personal flaw. I don’t have a favorite color either. I do have the color that was “assigned” to me but it was never “my favorite.” (It was yellow by the way). I like yellow because it is the color of sunshine, daffodils and happiness. What’s not to like? But it isn’t enough. Even with a complement of ochre, sand, lemon, gold, and buttercup, still not enough.

So it’s a simple request fellow genealogists. Stop asking about favorites. Change up the questions. Which ancestor would you like to meet? Which place an ancestor of yours lived would you like to live? Which ancestors’ stories upset you? Which photo beckons you to know more? Favorite is arguably a lazy word. And it’s a word that, for me, forces unnatural choices. If you must ask these sorts of questions ask “do you have a favorite color?” Not the one that forces a choice and does not invite one into a more thoughtful answer.

Which gets me to the second point which is how you frame questions makes all the difference in what the response will be. Let’s look at the subtle differences between questions.

What is your favorite color vs. what color reminds you of something that happened to you?
Who was your favorite teacher vs. Which teacher most embarrassed you? Tell us about a teacher that inspired you? Tell the audience about a teacher you would credit with changing your life in some way.
What is your favorite heirloom vs tell us the story of an object you inherited? What heirloom would you like to know more about? Or better yet tell a story through the object. Where did it come from? Who made it? Where did it travel? How did you come to have it? What does it mean to you?

The key is to ask open ended questions that invite complex answers. The same is true when we write about the past. What can you do, to make your ancestors real? Is your tree, like your questions, flat and uninteresting? Look carefully.

I have one great grandmother who was married at 14! And a great-great-great grandfather who married at 38. How do those details shift the story? What was going on in their lives that influenced those choices. Was she pregnant? [No] Was he a confined batchelor? [Maybe] Even in the absence of diaries, letters etc there is lots to be gleaned from placing your ancestors in context. In my search for Catherine just reading the weekly papers gave me a much better idea about the world she lived in. [Not just the ones she was mentioned in.]

Personally I would rather you spend your time telling the stories of your ancestors rather than putting another 1,000 people in your tree. And here’s a take away when you dig deep, you add ancestors. Even though I finished my piece on my Woman Warrior Catherine I have already discovered a few more names and another loss. Her first born son John A Murphy went to California with his step uncles and died of heart disease in his 50’s. Remember she lived to be 92! Another child who predeceased her.

It’s better to tell a few stories well. Another often asked question what would you do differently if you were to start your genealogy all over again? I would write more stories. I would ask more probing questions and I would write down the answers. Like my post Write It Down, anything that survives is better than nothing.

So here is another writing idea. I have not done this myself but the idea intrigues me. Pick a real or imagined heirloom of an ancestor and tell its story and what it can reveal about your ancestor. It can be anything from an article of clothing to a tool or simply an object: Something of beauty or something of terror. Just pick something and let the object guide your story. Here are some possibilities to prime the pump:

a bible
a letter
a watch
a walking stick
a pair of shoes or boots
a piece of jewelry
a scarf
a pair of knitting needles
a fishing reel
a camera
a book
a fountain pen

Have fun!

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