Sentimental Sunday - In Honor of "Aunt" Doris

I grew up in a great neighborhood, called Granger Court (East).  It was an all-Black, middle class subdivision, in historical Aberdeen Gardens, in Hampton, Virginia.  Our neighborhood was filled with children, most of whom had at least one active-duty, or retired military parent. But the story of my neighborhood is for another day.

This Sentimental Sunday post is in memory of one of the many mothers of Granger Court; a woman whom I admired greatly, and who welcomed me into her home, and treated me (for the most part) like one of her kids, even though she already had five of her own.  I never took Mrs. Graves' welcoming outreach for granted, for I was consciously aware that, at least during the years that I was hanging out with her daughters (my "cousins" Tonya and Tasha), that not a lot of extra children from the neighborhood were allowed to visit inside their home.  (Even for me, there were those "wait on the porch" times, but that didn't happen very often.) 

The Graves Family, except for "Daddy"
Front (l to r): Dorey, Lazarus, Doris
Back (l to r): Tasha, Junior, Tonya

More often than not, when I would get invited in to the Graves' home, I would be offered a seat in the front room, which was the formal living room, and Mrs. Graves would sit down to chat with me, while I had to wait for (usually) Tonya to complete some unfinished chore, before she could come outside or have company.  During these moments, Mrs. Graves, or "Aunt Doris", as I sometimes began to call her, would inquire about my family, my grades, my job and/or my extracurricular activities.  She always would compliment me on something, which I always bashfully appreciated, because I had very low self-esteem, and didn't get compliments, often. She would even often tell me how glad she was that her daughters and I were friends, and that she thought I was a very nice young lady. Her regular show of appreciation for the person I was meant more to me than I've ever let anyone know.  

Mama Graves - just as I remember her

In later years, when I would return to the Graves' Pamela Drive home with my oldest daughter in tow, both Mr. and Mrs. Graves continued the habit of building me up.  They adored my daughter, Natasha, and always commented on how smart and well-mannered she was.  They sang my praises for how well I was raising her (alone), and always encouraged me to continue doing the best I could.  I loved how they both called my daughter, "Tasha" (rhymes with ash), the same as they did their own daughter, Natasha.  This just made me feel even more like a true part of their close-knit, loving family.

Doris Reid Graves
April 5, 1931 - November 5, 1998

November 5th marked 15 years since my "Aunt Doris" transitioned, and on that day, her fourth child, Kenyatta Dorey Graves ("Dorey", to most), who is a phenomenal writer, posted this tribute to his mother on Facebook:

Fifteen years ago today Mommy crossed a river of light and joined the ancestors. The Earth surged forward but, for a while, nothing moved in me. Now, here, I am differently aware of what it means to be my mother's child. Language leaves my mouth and as words make naked the presence of older values, a sense more country than I've ever been appears; I could almost mistake the masculine bass tones I hear for her voice. Her wit is my wisdom. The days of company I crave are inherited. Being real and genuine, genetic. Fifteen years can go where years go without slow-counting, without noticing the day your dreams no longer visualize a chance to say goodbye, embrace, and wish her peace on the next phase of her journey. The Earth surges. And I'm doing what I can with a life that resembles nothing I expected. Ear to the ancestors, eyes on my dreams, breath by breath, to be a man a mother might think on with pride.

Immediately upon reading this, I commented, asking Dorey if I could please post this to my blog.  He granted me permission, so now, here it is.  As you can see by this short example, Doris Graves' fourth child is a gifted writer! His way with words ranks right up there with those whom we most celebrate, always touching me deeply, in a place where only the written word can. 

The writer, Kenyatta "Dorey" Graves, just as I knew him :)

I wanted to post this because I loved Dorey's mother, and because I miss her, too.  Many thanks to her children, Natasha, Tonya, Jesse Jr., Kenyatta, and Lazarus for sharing her light with me; and an extra special thanks to Dorey (who I've never called Kenyatta a day in my life...lol) for allowing me to share his writing, and his pictures on my blog.

Renate

Sentimental Sunday - Remembering My Beloved Ancestors

Today is just one of those days.  As a matter of fact, it's been one of those weeks.  Well, to be truthful, it's just been one of those MONTHS!  Many of you know the kind I mean - those time periods where you just can't seem to stop thinking about those loved ones who've gone on to join the Ancestors. Everywhere you look, there are reminders.  Your mind seems filled with memories - some that make you smile (or even burst out into spontaneous laughter), and some that brings tears to your eyes or cause you to start weeping at even the most inopportune times. Yep, that's what the month of April has been for me.

To honor those whose spirits have instigated the roller coaster of emotions I've been experiencing, recently, I dedicate this post to their memory.  So here they are, the folks I haven't been able to get off of my mind:

My brother, Arthur YARBOROUGH, Jr. (August 23, 1960 - April 6, 1984)

Arthur and me - Probably Easter 1968

My daddy, Arthur P. Yarborough, Sr. (June 24, 1924 - October 4, 1997)

Me with my Daddy - Probably on his (and my daughter, Natasha's) birthday 1983



My grandmother, Anna GREEN Yarborough (January 18, 1891 - February 17, 1977)

My grandma and me - Probably 1968 or 1969



My cousin, "Uncle" George Royster Greene, Sr. (October 5, 1930 - March 17, 2013)

My "Uncle George" in his judge's robe, probably in the 1980's. 
He and my father were first cousins, but considered each other brothers. He was very special to me.
Stay tuned for a post about him, soon.



My grandmother, Mary DAVIS Thomas (December 26, 1897 - June 12, 1986)

My Grandma Thomas (Looks like she'd just come from church!)

These are the folks who have been on my mind, along with a few more, who weren't family members.  I've experienced a lot of loss in my life, and most of it was at a young age.  Not only have I been thinking of these loved ones, but I've also been reflecting (even more heavily than usual) on those of my Ancestors whom I never knew, and in many cases, never even knew about until I began my research.  I hope to get back to writing, so that I can share my thoughts (and revelations), and bring more information about those who've gone on to the LIGHT. :)

Thanks for reading.

A very sentimental,

Renate


The permanent link to this post is: http://justthinking130.blogspot.com/2013/04/sentimental-sunday-remembering-my.html

Sentimental Sunday - My Grandmother's Loss (Part 2 of 3)

This is the second in a series of what will be three posts dedicated to the life and memory of my grandmother, Mary Davis Walker Hill Thomas. I began this series of posts after receiving copies of several articles from the Norfolk, VA Journal and Guide, which confirmed, and in some cases, revealed stories about my ancestors.  To read the initial post, which explains how I came into possession of these articles, please click here. Part 1 

In writing this series, I hope to make amends with my grandmother's spirit.  I was 24 years old when she left us for her reward, and up to that point in my life, I didn't have the knowledge, nor the maturity, to empathize with what her life must have been like, after experiencing the loss of three husbands, and then, ultimately, living out her last 36 years as a widow.  Being a person who always reaches out and tries to understand and connect with others, I feel just awful for not knowing her better, seeing her more clearly, and/or loving her more dearly.  In my grown-up, intellectual mind, I know that I really have no fault, especially since I was never told of her hardships; but the sentimental, emotionally-connected part of me is heavy-laden with a feeling of guilt, every time I think about how I distanced myself from this grandmother, in favor of my paternal one. Mary Thomas' outer-shell was deservedly hardened.  I imagine she must have lived each day that I knew her constantly protecting and shielding her heart from further pain.

Part 2: Daniel Hill

Sometime after the (literally) crushing death of my grandmother's first husband, James Allen Walker, in 1923, she met Daniel Webster Hill.  I have no idea how they met, or how their relationship developed, but the article below - another of the nine sent to me by my genealogical benefactor, shows where it went.

  It seems that Mary had found love again.  She married my grandfather, Daniel W. Hill on July 11, 1926.  According to this article, the couple moved to Philadelphia  (another fact I never knew), but by the 1930 Census, they are back in Norfolk, living in the family home with my great-grandparents, Walter and Minerva Davis.  (Note:  By all accounts, and from what the records show, my grandmother, Mary, was the homeowner.  She purchased the home after the death of her first husband.  I presume she must have used whatever insurance money she received to buy the home.)

I know nothing about my maternal grandparent's marriage except that it happened, and that they had two children together; my uncle, Howell Webster, born in 1931 and my mother, Maryanne, in 1934.  However, this third article from the Journal & Guide at least hints at the fact that my grandmother may have been living a happy life.  She was already active in the church she was a member of, and funeralized in 53 years later. Her son was winning baby contests, and she would, just two months after this, conceive my mother with her husband, Daniel.



At some point, the happy days ended for Daniel and Mary. For whatever the reason(s), my grandfather  abandoned his wife and children when my mother was just four years old.  The family never saw or heard from him again, and I, in my 14 years of research, have been unable to track him down to find out where he went, or what happened to him.  In a recent interview with my uncle who only vaguely remembers having a father, he recalled Daniel Hill as being a "mean man".  My mother doesn't remember her father at all, and neither of them have a clue what he even looked like. 
So, for my grandmother, this was blow #2.  Another marriage dissipated, but for a completely different reason.  This time, she was left with two children to raise.  She'd just lost her father (in 1936), but thankfully, had her mother there to help her.  Though she was saddened by this loss, she was not broken.  Help (and another chance at love) was on the way.  

To read the third and final segment of this series, click here.

Sentimental Sunday - My Grandmother's Loss (Part 1)

A few weeks ago, I was the recipient of a random act of genealogical kindness. A fellow researcher provided me with several articles from the Norfolk, Virginia "Journal and Guide", which featured, or pertained to some of my maternal ancestors. If you missed the post about this, and would like to read it, you can click here.

It has taken me some time to be ready to post about the article which affected me most, but now the time has come. If you follow this blog, you probably already know, or at least sense, that I was extremely close to my paternal grandmother, Anna Green Yarborough. However, my relationship with my maternal grandmother, Mary Davis Thomas, was more distant, even though she lived in closer proximity to me. I never spent much time thinking about this - it's just the way it was. I loved her, and I knew she loved me, but we just didn't have a very intimate personal connection. Grandma Thomas didn't say much (not around me, anyway), and unfortunately, though I saw her often, and she even lived with us in her later years, my memories of her as a quiet, and rather stoic person, make it difficult for me to truly recollect much about our interactions. This said, I'll now admit that when I received the email from Hollis Gentry, with the links to to the nine articles about my family, the very first one I read, which saddened and stunned me, caused me to reflect long and hard about life of the woman whom I'd only known as my, "Grandma Thomas", whose young adult life was impacted and shaped by a series unfortunate events through which she (as seems to be the case with all of the women in my ancestry) persevered, overcame, and maintained her Christian faith.

James Allen Walker - Part I

My grandmother, Mary Davis, with her first husband, Allen Walker.

I did not grow up knowing that my grandmother had been married before or after she married my grandfather, but when I found out as an adult that she had, and I asked what had happened to the first husband, I was only told that he'd "died on the railroad". So, when I opened this first article from Hollis, and really came to terms with what my grandmother, then a young bride must've gone through, I began experience a feeling of mourning, as if I'd been there with her when she got this terrible news, and experienced the first, of what would eventually be three spousal losses.

Yes, my maternal grandmother's first marriage ended when her husband, only 27 years old, was crushed between two train cars.  They'd not had any children, so I'm assuming that the life they'd been building together came to an abrupt and unexpected end when Allen left for work that morning. 

Thanks for reading.

Renate

To read Part 2 of this series, click here.

Sentimental Sunday - Riding with Mom

The month of March has been extremely emotional for me for a number of reasons.  One thing that has been a challenge has been witnessing my mother's apparent loneliness, and then, just this past Friday trying to be uplifting and supportive as she, as she occasionally does, actually verbalized her feelings and expressed a true concern about her situation in life.  (For those readers who don't know, my mother has been in assisted living since June of 2004 after a devastating fall, and has lost her ability to walk -for the most part - in the past year.)  I've been very torn up and concerned trying to figure out what I can do that I'm not already doing to try to improve her situation.  I left her on Friday promising to pick her up for a ride out the next day, which was to be a warm, sunny 70+ degrees.  (My mother won't come out in the cold.)

We got a later start than I'd hoped for, due to my morning WAR with my allergies, but finally after lunch I picked my mom up and off we went.  She did a good job of getting into the car for me, which was a good sign.  Before we left the parking lot of her facility, I put on her make-up and jewelry to get her looking like Mary Anne, and we plotted out our afternoon ride.

 Our first stop would be in Hampton, at my mother's home (which she still owns and I take care of).  She sat in the car while I went in to check the house and get the mail.  When I came out, I noticed her neighbor sitting on her screened-in back porch.  She hadn't realized my mom was with me, but when I told her, she came right over to chat with her.  God is so good!  This is just what my mother needed - a few minutes with an old friend - her neighbor of 46 years.  I invited Mrs. Cappe to perch on the door-sill beside my mother, and sat by patiently while the two friends got caught up with each other, and Mrs. Cappe filled my mother in on the health of another previous neighbor.  This little visit, though brief, did my mother a world of good, and served to continue the job of lifting her spirits, which the ride, the sunshine, and I had already begun.  As an almost-afterthought, I decided to snap the two ladies' picture with my cell-phone just before we left.  It's a dark shot, but still I'm glad I was able to capture the moment.

That's my mom on the right, talking to her neighbor , Mrs. Cappe, as they sat in the car under our carport.

From here, we took a ride just a mile or so away, to the home of a dear friend and former co-worker of mine.  I'd called to tell her that we were in the area, and wanted her to meet my mom, since she never had and she hears me talk about her all the time.  The meeting was quick, but went well. :)  Next stop - McDonald's to get the required Coca-Cola (I don't know how to make the brand-sign) which my mother requests whenever we go out.  Then, it was onto to the interstate and off to Norfolk, where she was born and raised.

Our first stop on the south side was to Calvary Cemetery, the burial ground of my mother's mother and her paternal grandparents.  I wanted to show her that there was no headstone or marker for them, a discovery I'd made when I first visited in January.  She insists that there should have been a marker-plate for her mother, who died in 1986, and her brother has told me the same thing.  Luckily, the plot is right by the side of the road, so my mother was able to see for herself that there was nothing there but grass.  We drove around the cemetery a bit, looking at some of the surnames and unique graves (many of which I photographed on my last visit and have already uploaded to Find-A-Grave).  Next, it was off to my mother's childhood home, which she also owns, and I also now take care of.

Again, Mom waited in the car while I did my walk-through of the now-vacant property, which is adjacent to ODU's campus.  When I returned to the car, she reminisced a bit and commented on how the neighborhood was changing.  We talked about the need to get new tenants or sell soon, noticed the completion of the new recreation center in the next block, and headed out of the neighborhood for the 45 minute drive back to her facility in Newport News.

All in all this was a great day with and for my mom.  It saddens my heart that she, once such a vibrant and active member of the community, is now so physically confined by her failing body that she can't get out and about anymore, but I'm ever-so-glad that Spring has come, so that I can at least take her out on the weekends now.

On Tuesday, my mother will celebrate her 76th birthday.  Yes, I said 76.  The debilitating condition which has robbed her of her bodily control and ability to balance began to torment my mother eleven years ago, when she was only 65.  I'm thankful that she still has her mind (although there are times when she is extremely sleepy and you might not believe it) and that she knows all of her family members and what is going on around her.  This can be a mixed blessing though, because this means that she is well-aware of how seldom anyone else visits her, except for my daughters and me, but still it is a blessing.  Mom has asked me to make a yellow cake with lemon icing for her birthday, and she wants vanilla ice-cream, so that's what we'll be having to celebrate.  Oh, and if you're wondering what we'll be drinking... well, in this family, COKE is always IT!

Renate

Sentimental Sunday - Happy Birthday to Me!

Yesterday I celebrated a birthday - an event that I don't take for granted at all.  I am thankful for the opportunity to add another year to the count, and I pray that God sees fit to give me many more.

I had a very quiet day, for the most part, save a few tense moments at my mom's assisted living center, when I had to go head to head with a staff member about a situation with her care, but other than that, it was really a "me" kind of day -filled with rest, relaxation, and research, as well as a soothing bubble bath! :)  I did nothing special, and even ate leftovers for dinner.  I ended my day with an unsuccessful outing to one of my favorite clothing stores, only to arrive and find it completely bare with a note on the door stating that they were closed for remodeling and would reopen in March.  (That's how my luck runs..lol.)  So, as a consolaton prize, I decided to go and piddle around in Barnes and Noble for a while.  There, I relaxed with copies of, "The Washingtons of Wessington Plantation", "100 Years of Lynchings", and of a Hawaii travel guide (for my upcoming trip).  After perusing these materials to my satisfaction, I returned home and delved back into my favorite pasttime.  (I'm sure everyone reading this knows what that is.) 

All day long, I received calls from friends who wanted to wish me a happy day, and of course with each call came the inevitable question, "What are you doing to celebrate?"  Very few seemed to believe that I was as content as I sounded to just be doing what they considered to be... NOTHING.  But I was.  And, although I will admit that in previous years of celebrating alone, I've occasionally (not often) given myself a pity party, this was not one of those years.  Why?  Because this year I got a very special gift on my Birthday-Eve - one that surprised me and changed my entire perspective on everything.  My mother remembered my birthday!

Now, to some, this won't seem like a big deal, but I know that there are many of you who completely understand.  You see, my mother, a once vibrant, professional woman, has been a victim of a dulling of her intellect and memory, which, I believe, has been brought on more by lack of engagement and stimulation than anything else.  She has not been diagnosed with Alzheimers, but instead, has a movement disorder that in some ways mimics Parkinsons, but isn't quite that either.  My mother's intellect is still mostly intact, though dimished in some areas, but she knows everyone, remembers pretty much everything about her life, and can hold a good, lucid conversation most of the time.  However, there are other times - which are becoming more frequent now - when her brain seems to go to sleep, and she can't get her thoughts together or her words out right.  At those times, her comprehension seems effected, and someone who didn't know better would think she did indeed have the big "A".  Last year, on the anniversary of my birth, she was experiencing one of those phases, and for the first time in my life, my mother didn't know it was my birthday, and even when I explained it to her, she gave no emotional response.  So, Friday night, when I was talking to her on the phone, I told her that it was January 15th. When I asked her if she knew what the next day was, her response, "It's your birthday!" was the absolute most-bestest gift I could have gotten!  As our conversation went on, she asked me all of the appropriate questions: Was I doing anything special?  Were my daughters doing anything for me?  Had I heard from them?  I answered all of these questions and told her I'd see her the next day.  We talked about a few other things, and before we hung up, she remembered to tell me to have a happy birthday.

Perhaps now that I've opened the door, I'll begin to talk more about my mother's very unusual and frustrating health situation, which has been ongoing for over a decade, but for now, I just wanted to share this great gift that she gave me.  I did spend time with my mom yesterday, and thanked her for having me 48 years ago.  I even asked her to tell me a bit about my birth, which she did - but just a little.  She did repeat several times though that everyone kept looking at me in the baby bed and saying what a pretty baby I was, and each time she said it, she got a sweet smile on her face, as she remembered.

Today, on Sentimental Sunday, I'm sharing a picture of my mother that I just love for some reason.  I never saw this picture until about a year ago, when I was going through some of her old files.  The picture is a souvenier photo that was taken at Jack Dempsey's restaurant on Broadway in New York City.  My mother, who was a student at Hampton Institute at the time, was on trip to New York with her college beau, "Jimmy".  I have cropped him out because I don't know him, so I feel the need to respect his privacy.

Mary Anne and Jimmy, sometime between 1952-1955

Thanks for reading.  It's been an emotional few days.  Please continue in prayer for the people of Haiti.

Renate

Sentimental Sunday - Please join in!

I'm honored to announce that the theme, Sentimental Sunday, which I introduced back in November, is now being adopted by Thomas MacEntee of Geneabloggers as an "official" weekly blogging theme!  Although several folks have already been participating in Sentimental Sunday, I'm thrilled and excited that through Geneabloggers, over 800 bloggers, and even more readers will be encouraged to reflect on some of the their more memorable family moments and/or experiences as researchers. 

The idea of Sentimental Sunday was actually born out of the emotions I experienced after reading the posts of two of my genea-friends, and realizing how very powerful a vehicle these blogs can be.  Through our writings, we often connect with each other - total strangers, in most cases - in ways that can be difficult to express to our own family members and friends, who may not be engaged or involved in the work of genealogy research.  We hail from a variety of cultural, racial, economical, and professional backgrounds; some from well-established, completely-connected families, and others from tribes of folk who don't even know each other exists.  But our common factor is the work that we do to discover the history of our respective families, and to create a bridge that links that history to our present-day life, and leaves a gift of knowledge for generations to come.

In that light, I hope that as many members of the Genea-bloggers community as possible will join in and participate often in Sentimental Sunday.  Any memory or story you might tell that pulls on your own heart-strings and might inspire the emotions of others, should qualify.  Whether it's a memorable family moment, a tribute to an ancestor or family member, or even a recollection of something touching that occured here in the blogosphere, I hope you'll share it with us all on Sentimental Sunday!

Renate

Click here to read my very first Sentimental Sunday post, which inspired all of this. :)

The Nicest Thing!

A while back we were encouraged to post about the nicest thing another blogger had done for us. At the time, I didn't submit a post - not because I haven't been the recipient of any kind gestures her in the blogosphere, because I have - but simply because at that time, I was having a hard time recalling each and every incident of kindness that had been shown me, and I didn't want to slight anyone by just posting about what I could recall. However, today another blogger has gone the extra mile for me, by reaching out to assist me in overcoming a technical difficulty that I just happened to mention in a comment I made on her blog, so I've decided to thank her, publicly!

A few days ago, I visited Before My Time. I don't remember how or why I came across this blog, but while there, I noticed that the writer, "TK", was using Blogger, and that her wonderful video tributes to her Auntie Marceline were posted directly on her blog, something I had tried every which way (except the right way...lol) to do a couple of weeks ago when I posted my Sentimental Sunday - A Musical Tribute. Well, just as a result of my mentioning that I'd tried to do that, TK went out on an limb and sent me a private email with her phone number and an offer to explain to me just how she'd done it. She even offered to make the long distance call herself, if I wanted to send her my number. Wasn't that nice?

I received this email from TK earlier today, just as I was about to go out, so I wrote back and told her I'd give it one more try later in the day, and if it didn't work, I'd call her. So, that's exactly what I did. Needless to say, my attempts to post the video still didn't work, so I called TK, and within just a few quick minutes, she'd walked me through the necessary steps, and the video was on my blog!

The solution was a simple one, but it was one of those things you just had to "know" how to do. :) So, KUDOS, to TK for being a great new blog-friend, and THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

(And just to show off my new skills, here it is again!)

Sentimental Sunday - Holiday Blues

Here I am with my (ex)husband and daughters on one of our holiday visits to my Aunt Sue, in NC.

I know I've been a bit quiet lately. I've had a lot of my mind, and have conjoured up several potential posts there, but none have made it to the blog because I've realized that I'm not quite ready to divulge the entirety of my holiday-time misery - yet.

All my life I wanted a FAMILY. From the earliest years that I can remember - when I was about 4 or 5 - I used to question my parents about why we didn't have cousins and why I didn't have a sister (lol). As I got older, and noticed other families sharing the holidays with their relatives and having gatherings with tons of people who were all related to them, I began to realize that something was different about my family. Yes, I did know my two grandmothers, and my parents' siblings (each had a brother and a sister), but that was it. But, except for my paternal grandmother, with whom I had a close relationship, there didn't seem to be any ties that bound our little family of six to these other people. I constantly badgered my parents about this, even having full-out tantrums a couple of times because I wanted so much to experience the fun and joy that I noticed others enjoying when they were with their families. Not only that, but it was almost like my neighborhood friends belonged to some kind of secret society or something. I mean, why was it that whenever their cousins were over, they couldn't have company, or they didn't need me to play with anymore?

Anyway, to get to the point, one of my primary goals as a mother was to make sure that my children grew up in an environment rich with family, and steeped with traditions of togetherness and sharing that would stick with them forever. I began this quest before I ever even became a mother by reaching out to my siblings, aunts, and uncles from the time I was a teenager, traveling to visit with them and trying to make them a part of my life. When I did become a mother, I made sure that my children knew them, or knew of them. Their pictures were always displayed in our home, and we made sure to visit with those who lived nearby and make phone calls to those far away, on a regular basis, especially on the holidays. I guess I was trying to at least give my children a "sense" of family, if nothing else.

I got married,and during the years with my husband, it really seemed that we were creating that family-life that I'd longed for. Although we were distanced from his family in many ways, we seemed to become closer to mine, and we also had several friends whom we'd adopted as family, so our kids did have "cousins" and "aunties" and "uncles". We created and sustained a number of holiday traditions. Our children were thriving and happy, and so was I. But, in 1993, my husband decided that this was not what he wanted anymore, and he was gone. However, this did not stop me from continuing with the most of the traditions we'd created together. My famous sweet-potato casserole still was the hit of each Thanksgiving. My girls still snapped the beans and set the table. We still took our holiday light-ride. The girls still got to open one special gift on Christmas Eve (almost always new pajamas that they would sleep in that night) and I still read, "Twas the Night Before Christmas" while we all sipped on hot chocolate. Santa still came, and he (she) still sat up all night putting toys together,while munching on fresh-baked cookies that had been left out for him and his reindeer by my daughters. (Our Santa didn't drink milk, so usually there was some juice or a Coke to go along with the cookies.) And, we still took our holiday-time ride down to my father's birthplace in Louisburg, to visit with my aunt, who still lives there in the family home. Everything went on as it had before, sans the presence of a father/husband. But, for me, the dream had been busted. This wasn't the picture I'd had in my mind, and it never has been again. For a girl who'd grown up with Ward and June Cleaver and Mike and Carol Brady as my role models, my concept of "family" had been deeply disrupted.

Now, my days are spent quietly alone. Even though my daughters come home for the holidays, the preparation and aftermath tends to scream in silence without a spouse, sibling, or parent to share it with. The girls think it's silly that I wait for them to both get here (usually a day or two before Christmas) to put up the tree, but they always did it in the past, and I'm not quite ready for that to change. They put the tree up, I put the lights on, and then we decorated it together, while listening to Christmas music. That's the way it always was, and that's the way I want it to be - at least maybe until they have spouses and/or I have grandchildren.

This is not meant to be a sad story. My girls and I have had a blessed life together. However, the holidays are a challenging time for me, especially in these years since I've had my empty nest. Families are not like light bulbs. You can't just replace them when they "blow out". For whatever the reasons, most of my relatives have disconnected themselves from us since my mother became ill, choosing to go on with their lives, rather than to be a part of her care and support. Unfortunately, the timing of this coincided with the years that my daughters were graduating and leaving home, so it's left me a bit lonely, longing for the good old days, and wondering what might have been if so much hadn't changed.

Sentimental Sunday - A Musical Tribute

This Sentimental Sunday is extra-special because I am, for the very first time, going to post a video. Although I hadn't planned to post on this, the most emotional, and therefore, sentimental thing on my mind right now is the beautiful solo violin concert that my daughter, Natalia, gave last night, and the dedication that she made to me before playing the beautiful, Meditation (from Thais). It's been a long struggle being a single mom of not one, but two very intelligent, talented, and ACTIVE daughters, and I'm proud of the young women they've become. I don't seek recognition in any way, but whenever either of them does something to acknowledge our relationship, or to express appreciation, it blesses my heart.


So, genea-family, today it is with the greatest of SENTIMENT that I introduce you to my daughter, Natalia.



Enjoy!

Sentimental Sunday - SAS

Okay, so last week I laid claim to the creation of a new Blogging Theme - Sentimental Sunday - and then today I had a full day of BUSYNESS, and, although it was in the back of my mind all day, just didn't get around to doing the post. So, I decided to put if off til next week, but then.... I had to go and open my reader, and the first thing I saw was a Sentimental Sunday post by my genea-buddy, Luckie Daniels. So, with guilt setting in, let me get to typing before the clock strikes 12!

This Sunday, I want to honor the memory of my brother, Arthur, who was just 17 months older than I, and who passed away at the age of 23 from liver cancer. Arthur and I were like twins. We were so close in age that we did everything together. We had the same friends in the neighborhood, were just a grade apart in school, and fought like cats and dogs (lol), like all loving siblings do. :) Arthur is the only person with whom I shared my entire childhood. He knew all of my secrets, and I knew his. We shared the joys and pains of growing up in our rather dysfunctional family, and we provided that quiet, but solid support for each other through it all.

Arthur and I grew up in a time when kids made fun out of anything, and that's exactly what we did. We were Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack ("Where is the Love?) and Cowboys and Indians. We built tents on our stairway, played hide-and-seek in the house, slid down the banister when our parents weren't looking, and competed to see who could jump from the highest step - and land on their feet. But one of my most cherished memories of fun times with my brother are those of us sneaking late night snacks after everyone in the house had gone to bed. Here's how it worked:

Arthur's room and mine were on opposite sides of the staircase, but our closet walls met above the front foyer. We would set our game plan before saying goodnight, and at an appointed time, we'd each go into our closets and listen for the special knock that meant the other was there, too. It was my job to check to be sure that my parents' door was closed, since my room was next to theirs, and Arthur would make sure that neither of my older brothers were around (which they never were). When the coast was clear, we'd knock in unison, and then creep out of our rooms to meet at the top of the stairs. One of us would go to the bathroom (so as to be able to flush the toilet for noise) while the other crept quietly down the steps to get our snack, which one of us had usually conveniently hidden in one of a few places downstairs. (Our favorite spot was the big wooden Dutch shoes that sat very close to the staircase in the dining room.) With the lookout standing just inside the bathroom door at the top of the stairs, the other would creep quietly back up, pass over the shared snack, and we'd each retreat back to our closets to eat it!

I can't quite figure out why Arthur and I had to go to these ends just to have a snack, but for us, the thrill of the adventure was worth it. Sometimes, I think my parents had to know what we were up to, but I guess as long as we weren't bothering them, they just let us have our fun!

My brother has been gone now for 25 years, but I think of him and miss him dearly every single day.

Sentimental Sunday

Today I've been inspired by the heartfelt writings of two of my blog-friends, Luckie Daniels over at Our Georgia Roots, and Sandra Taliaferro at I Never Knew My Father. Both of these fellow researchers posted from their hearts today, and in both cases, their writings were a diversion from the usual genealogy-based subject matter. Instead, Luckie expressed her gratitude for her friends in the blogging community in her post, "So Thankful" http://ourgeorgiaroots.com/?p=1179, while Sandra shared her frustration about having "Blogger's Block" in a beautifully-written post http://ineverknewmyfather.blogspot.com/2009/11/bloggers-block.html (which showed that she can write, even when she isn't trying)!

I connected so immediately with what was written in both of these posts, that I ended up responding with comments that almost sounded like posts themselves, so I decided that I just had to share these writings with my readers. So, head on over to Luckie and Sandra's pages to see what they are talking about. If you don't follow their blogs already, I guarantee you, you'll be swept in by their writings and adding them to your feed in no time at all!

Meanwhile, the ancestors are nudging me to create a new blogging theme because of all of this. I will call it, "Sentimental Sunday" (if you haven't guessed that already). Starting next week, I'd like to encourage everyone to share a sentimental story or memory of an ancestor or family member, or if you'd like, use Sunday as an opportunity to share your feelings about the blogosphere, and the effect it's had on your life and your research! Happy blogging everyone, and have a great week!

Renate