And There's Always One More Story

When I was listing this storyteller for my online store today, I realized I love the Pueblo storyteller figurines for what they represent: the need to pass down the stories to the next generation.  The figurine in the photo is by Judy Toya, and though it's an older one of hers, she is still making them today.  The storyteller figurines feature children clinging to the storyteller whose mouth is open with the sharing of history and tales with those children.

I was reminded afresh of the importance of stories when I was on vacation with my cousins last month.  As we shared family anecdotes with each other, we were delighted to hear bits and pieces of family history that we never knew before, like finding threads in a tapestry that we never even knew existed, yet as spoken, those threads wove a new picture of family members for us--so wonderful!

Even more, the time I spent with my cousins wove new new experiences into the warp and woof of our lives, connecting us at a more complex and meaningful level, with new memories to share, new connections between us, threads of gold and silver that will shine forever.

Summer is a time not only for relaxation, but to spend meaningful time with family. Why not share some memories that will weave that beautiful "one more story" moment with them?

Drifting off the Coast of Spain...

As the heat sears my brain, thoughts wander in and out, perhaps not as coherent as they should be, but they gnaw into my consciousness and will not be denied.

On the news I see a couple celebrating a marriage 75 years, and now find myself thinking, “That can never be me,” when before I always would have thought, “That will be us someday.”  Divorce has caused me to lose expectations of all sorts, but sometimes the reality of disappointment grips my heart in unexpected ways.

Once a joke was shared between my husband and myself with just a word; just the slightest reference to a person or an event could elicit hoots of laughter, but now there is no one who shares that history.  Sure, my kids know some bits and bobs of it, but not the whole of it, not the deeper, longer parts. The one who knows it no longer desires to share it with me.

I cannot help but wonder, in the nights, in the days, in the distant place where he claims to be “happy,” if he misses that history at all.   Not enough, apparently.

Can I ever hope to find love again, to marry again?  Being the truly Romantic type, with the capital R, yes, of course; I am the true believer.  I believe I had a happy marriage for most of my married life, and I believe it can happen again—different, of course, but happy again.  

And so, to cool my brain and remove myself from this oven of summer-over-baked days, I am reading Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander, delighting to be off the coast of Spain when I am immersed in the pages, and wondering where I might find a man who owns the best qualities of both Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin.  And if I do, you can be sure I will “beat to quarters” immediately.