Listening to Stories
Where do all these words come from? Well, a lot of places. Actually, they come from people. My mom and dad gave me my first words. My mother stayed home with me. I was the first. She spent all of her days, every single minute, with me. My dad came home in the evenings, or he was home in the mornings, until he went to work. He worked weird hours, being a news guy. But, he was there. A lot.
So, I learned to talk because they talked to me. They talked about me. They talked to each other, but directed their attention to me, because it made me stop crying. As long as someone was looking at me and talking, I was happy. That's still true, on so many levels.
So, I heard about everything. I heard about my dad's work. I listened to my mom talk on the phone. I listened all the time. I absorbed those words very quickly and was speaking in complete sentences by 15 months. I know. That's early. I know, you might not believe it. I believe it. My mom and dad believe it. It really happened.
I could read, by the time I was four. I could write my name and some other words, too. By the time I went to kindergarten, I could read, write, do basic arithmetic and lots of other stuff. My mother gave me all of those gifts.
I still listen. Yes, I talk a lot. A LOT! I write when I'm not talking. However, I do listen. I do pay attention. All of my stories are a direct result of listening and remembering. Those are my gifts. I try to use them well.
My husband and my boys provide my favorite inspiration. If an artist must have a muse, then they are mine. However, there are lots of other stories in my head. My Granny, Grandpa, Grammy and Pop-pop had lots of stories. One of my favorite things, as a child, was to sit and listen to the grownups while they talked. I would sit at the table, after dinner, while the ladies had coffee and dessert. I listened to them chat, tell stories, laugh and relax. Then I would join the men in the living room. I would snuggle up with my dad, or my Grandpa and listen to them. Their voices were so different. They were low, rumbling and so very comforting. So many nights, I would fall asleep on my dad, listening to the men talk. It was the very best feeling. I felt so safe. So loved. So happy.
I think that's the key. We have to remember what made us happy when we were children, because they are still the things that make us happy as adults. Now, when my husband and I host parties at our house, we're the grownups. Still, when my parents, in-laws, aunts, uncles and cousins are here, it's the best. I float from group to group, listening to the snippets of conversations and I'm happy. Yes, I'm working. I'm cooking, cleaning, taking care of kids and trying to maintain some sort of order, just like any hostess. But I'm listening. When the party is over, and my parents and a few guests are left, I can relax. I can ask how it went, because I often feel like I missed it! If you have thirty people in your home, it's hard to talk to every single guest for more than a few minutes. Still, I do talk to everyone. I try to make them feel welcome, loved and taken care of, just like my parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles always did for me.
I think it's working. I continue to gather the stories and listen to the voices of the people I love. They're all so beautiful, sad, funny and compelling!! It's such a strange thing. I listen, and I immediately try to record the details of the good talks. I try to remember the feeling, expression and content of the stories. Sometimes I write them down. Sometimes I don't have to because I've heard them so many times that they're imprinted deeply in my brain.
I feel the need to write them down because I think they're worth remembering and sharing. They are the specific details of my family, but they are the universal story of our 'human family', too. I think that's why I write. Well, at least, that's why I'm writing today.
What are your stories? Write them down, before you forget!
So, I learned to talk because they talked to me. They talked about me. They talked to each other, but directed their attention to me, because it made me stop crying. As long as someone was looking at me and talking, I was happy. That's still true, on so many levels.
So, I heard about everything. I heard about my dad's work. I listened to my mom talk on the phone. I listened all the time. I absorbed those words very quickly and was speaking in complete sentences by 15 months. I know. That's early. I know, you might not believe it. I believe it. My mom and dad believe it. It really happened.
I could read, by the time I was four. I could write my name and some other words, too. By the time I went to kindergarten, I could read, write, do basic arithmetic and lots of other stuff. My mother gave me all of those gifts.
I still listen. Yes, I talk a lot. A LOT! I write when I'm not talking. However, I do listen. I do pay attention. All of my stories are a direct result of listening and remembering. Those are my gifts. I try to use them well.
My husband and my boys provide my favorite inspiration. If an artist must have a muse, then they are mine. However, there are lots of other stories in my head. My Granny, Grandpa, Grammy and Pop-pop had lots of stories. One of my favorite things, as a child, was to sit and listen to the grownups while they talked. I would sit at the table, after dinner, while the ladies had coffee and dessert. I listened to them chat, tell stories, laugh and relax. Then I would join the men in the living room. I would snuggle up with my dad, or my Grandpa and listen to them. Their voices were so different. They were low, rumbling and so very comforting. So many nights, I would fall asleep on my dad, listening to the men talk. It was the very best feeling. I felt so safe. So loved. So happy.
I think that's the key. We have to remember what made us happy when we were children, because they are still the things that make us happy as adults. Now, when my husband and I host parties at our house, we're the grownups. Still, when my parents, in-laws, aunts, uncles and cousins are here, it's the best. I float from group to group, listening to the snippets of conversations and I'm happy. Yes, I'm working. I'm cooking, cleaning, taking care of kids and trying to maintain some sort of order, just like any hostess. But I'm listening. When the party is over, and my parents and a few guests are left, I can relax. I can ask how it went, because I often feel like I missed it! If you have thirty people in your home, it's hard to talk to every single guest for more than a few minutes. Still, I do talk to everyone. I try to make them feel welcome, loved and taken care of, just like my parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles always did for me.
I think it's working. I continue to gather the stories and listen to the voices of the people I love. They're all so beautiful, sad, funny and compelling!! It's such a strange thing. I listen, and I immediately try to record the details of the good talks. I try to remember the feeling, expression and content of the stories. Sometimes I write them down. Sometimes I don't have to because I've heard them so many times that they're imprinted deeply in my brain.
I feel the need to write them down because I think they're worth remembering and sharing. They are the specific details of my family, but they are the universal story of our 'human family', too. I think that's why I write. Well, at least, that's why I'm writing today.
What are your stories? Write them down, before you forget!
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