FamilyTies

Christmas tends to be a very stressful time of year for me. I always had magical Christmases, and they always seemed so effortlessly pulled off. My family always made sure the magic clung to the holidays like cinnamon on a snickerdoodle. This past Christmas was particularly stressful as there were some changes in the family that I needed to process and new added stresses I had to learn to manage. So the day before New Years Eve I decided to visit Hollywood Cemetery by myself. It was misting a freezing rain, and I wasn’t really dressed to sit outside, but I needed the bite of the cold and I needed the respite for my brain. I remember telling my husband my plan and grabbing my journal and pen so I could jot down thoughts as they came while I sat in peace on the hill. As I pulled out of the driveway to leave, one of my favorite singer-songwriters played on my Spotify, Ray LaMontagne. It was the song “Be Here Now”, and I felt all the stress melt away and leave my body. I hadn’t heard the s...

  Now. No one panic. I’m not a necromancer. At least, not in the magical way. Lemme ‘splain. I live near Richmond, Virginia and it’s a very historically significant place in the South, and in the US in general. It’s been the home to many famous people, some of them presidents. I have sad news though. They’re almost all dead. And if they were a president and/or famous they were probably buried at Hollywood Cemetery in Oregon Hill, a Richmond neighborhood. Hollywood Cemetery was first opened up for use in 1847 from land donated to Richmond by William Byrd, for whom Byrd park is named. It has a vast, rolling, gothic landscape and the western side overlooks the river. At the top of the hill, overlooking the river, is my favorite spot to sit. I like to sit and enjoy the view, but I also love being amongst the graves. Let me tell you why. Some people, when they come to a cemetery or graveyard (burial ground attached to a church), they go as a matter of remembrance. If it’s just to look a...

This blog kicks off a mini series as an ode to my favorite place to go think. My thinking place. I hope you enjoy my little blurbs about it, and I can't wait to introduce you to it. It's my peaceful place, my muse, my little escape. And I think it's time I truly embraced what a weirdo I am. Because aren't we all? Sleepers' Hill The glittering river Wet and wild Storms past the sleepers' hill, Their stories alive Though their bodies are dead But vessels for souls. They bask in the river's peace, Crescendo as she rages, Whisper when the summer heat dries up her banks. In the full moon, they dance In the shadow of the holly. In the rain they lay soft In their beds in the earth.  The city looms East Unaware they still speak On the hill Where sleepers sleep.

  I have 2 crafty grandmothers. My Gramma Jean, who passed in 2001 could sew, knit, crochet and could probably embroider. I would watch my Nana crochet and knit with the skill and speed of a professional fiber artist. When I was very small, they each took me under their wing and taught me what they knew about what I was interested in learning. They had learned from their own mothers and they joyfully taught me skills I still use to this day. And let me say, these two weren’t in competition with each other, nothing was bitter. It’s always been loving and supportive on both sides. They knew and respected each other, and they each knew/know how special they are to my brother and I. I don’t think that’s something a lot of people can say. And I’m full of gratitude for both of them. Not only did they each teach me - but I have something from each of them. I can’t recall whether it was a birthday or Christmas, but when I was six I finally got the afghan my Nana had been working on for mon...

  There is a theory among scientists that we are a collection of memories, lessons, trauma, maybe even talent stored deep in our DNA, called genetic memory. It's something I’d like to examine in my own experience in researching my family and is already something I see in my parents and my kids. In my family there are many different ways I could see this play out, from the dark things like alcoholism, to a love for the Smoky Mountains, to hobbies like wood working and music.  Above is a picture of the barbershop my great-grandfather worked in. His name was Hoyt Calvin Martin, but he went by Turk. I have no idea where that nickname came from, and I don’t think anyone else knows either. This exact photo was displayed in the Etowah Depot, which is a historic building in Etowah, Tennessee. I’m not sure it’s displayed there any more, but we would stop and admire it whenever we’d go to the 4th of July celebration Etowah would put on from the Depot every year. My Dad tells a story of ...

**TW: Infant Loss** I’m currently working from an in-between stage of this blog. I don’t yet have my big project, but I was so excited I started writing about it immediately. I have another couple  months before all of that information is in my hands. I talked to my Nana yesterday and told her I couldn’t wait to get started on this, that I was salivating. She said I shouldn’t do that, but that she was happy I was excited. Again…ya girl is extra.  So in the interim, I’ve decided to explore thoughts, ideas, and feelings about everything I’m learning. There are of course people I’m going to relate more to than others - like my relatives who were domestically inclined and active with their kids vs. the American Vice Consulate to Arabia. Of course I’m going to relate to the stay-at-home mom more than the well-traveled (and my imagination *sings* that the man had a mustache…he HAD to, right??) well-connected 3x great uncle. Among the themes and feelings I’ve felt I’ve needed to spea...

  My Nana called me after I’d written a piece about one of her ancestors to say how much she’d liked it, which of course meant the world. And in the meantime between now and when mom and dad bring the family tree up, she gave me a couple of missing people to find. She told me that her grandfather had an affair while married to her grandmother, who was beloved to my Nana, and her grandmother subsequently divorced him. We knew that the mistress had come to her grandfather, telling him she was pregnant and that the child was his. And we knew the child’s name. Other than that, she had no information and had always wondered what had happened to her. I went back to ye olde family tree and searched for this grandfather’s name. I found it. And I found his divorce record, his death record…as well has his marriage record to this mistress. I plugged in the name we’d had and found the missing daughter and all her half-siblings. My grandfather had married his mistress and spent the last three y...