Lately, I have been turning to old traditions to boost my holiday spirit (Which is in full swing this year, perhaps trying to compensate for the absence of my mom). I was looking forward to watching the old holiday classics from childhood: Santa Clause is Coming to Town, Rudolph, Frosty, The Year Without a Santa Clause, and my new favorite The Life and Adventures of Santa Clause. But the family channel's 25 Days of Christmas lineup looks more like this: Harry Potter, Chronicles of Narnia, Cars, The Incredibles. What do ANY of these have to do with Christmas? They have relegated all of the classics into a one-day marathon, which they don't even give you a schedule for! I suppose that we really DO have to take responsibility for our own traditions. I'll have to buy them on DVD.
The problem is IDENTIFYING traditions and then deciding which ones to KEEP GOING. I have difficulties doing this, because there are no set traditions that are called "traditions" in my family. There is simply our way of doing things. Is making homemade ornaments a tradition? I don't know that we did it every year, so does it still count?
This year I'm going to try out the tradition of making a yule log cake (Bushe de Noel) and see how it goes over. Maybe it will become a yearly thing, or maybe I'll find something else.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Year Without a Santa Claus
I know that I haven't posted in a while, and I apologize. It's been difficult to keep up with blogging since the holiday rush has begun.
This weekend, I visited home. My sisters and I cleaned my dad's house and went through (some of) my mother's things; mostly clothes. Since we all live out of town, we decided against trying to hold a garage sale. It would have been too difficult, anyway. My mother's things hold sentimental value, and it would be impossible to put a price on them that satisfied both my family and garagesalers alike. Some things hold more weight than others, like the dress that she wore to my sister's wedding. It reminds me that she won't be there if/when I get married.
We also got a chance to go through some of our old things, especially dance costumes. I chose to donate mine, as I know some little fluffy girl will love being able to play dress-up in pretty costumes, but my sister kept most of hers. You could attribute it to the fact that she is now a dance teacher herself, and she sees the value in them for that reason. I tend to believe it is because she is more sentimental than I am. I rarely keep things for keepsake alone. She is a scrapbooker and a picture-taker. I am a packrat, but not for keepsakes. Throw away all of my stuff from highschool! Am I really ever going to look at it again? I have a few of my mother's things, and I suspect over the next few years I will take more from my father's house. But I know her memory is alive inside me and these things only serve as touchstones to jog my memory about specific moments in time.
My boyfriend's mother told me at Thanksgiving that she has already begun to divvy up her possessions for her children when she passes. They were even joking that they were going to get colored stickers and mark what they wanted. I think this is sad, but practical.
It is not the possessions that hold so many memories for me, but noting when she isn't there. For instance, while I was spending Thanksgiving with my boyfriend's family, tears welled up more than once just noting how differently his family interacts. It has never been a large holiday for my family, and I didn't quite know how to be a part of the festivities. I was still missing my mother. It also pains me that my father will not be putting up a tree this year. I understand why he doesn't want to, but he didn't even consider it. Last year, we had a few presents to open, since my mother had ordered some from catalogs before she passed. But this year, we will have nothing under the nonexistent tree, since my dad told us not to get him anything and he's not getting us anything. I'm a little resentful because part of my mother's spirit is being Santa Claus.
I suppose it is time for me to start my own traditions and take charge of my own celebration of the season, even if others are being "scrooges."
This weekend, I visited home. My sisters and I cleaned my dad's house and went through (some of) my mother's things; mostly clothes. Since we all live out of town, we decided against trying to hold a garage sale. It would have been too difficult, anyway. My mother's things hold sentimental value, and it would be impossible to put a price on them that satisfied both my family and garagesalers alike. Some things hold more weight than others, like the dress that she wore to my sister's wedding. It reminds me that she won't be there if/when I get married.
We also got a chance to go through some of our old things, especially dance costumes. I chose to donate mine, as I know some little fluffy girl will love being able to play dress-up in pretty costumes, but my sister kept most of hers. You could attribute it to the fact that she is now a dance teacher herself, and she sees the value in them for that reason. I tend to believe it is because she is more sentimental than I am. I rarely keep things for keepsake alone. She is a scrapbooker and a picture-taker. I am a packrat, but not for keepsakes. Throw away all of my stuff from highschool! Am I really ever going to look at it again? I have a few of my mother's things, and I suspect over the next few years I will take more from my father's house. But I know her memory is alive inside me and these things only serve as touchstones to jog my memory about specific moments in time.
My boyfriend's mother told me at Thanksgiving that she has already begun to divvy up her possessions for her children when she passes. They were even joking that they were going to get colored stickers and mark what they wanted. I think this is sad, but practical.
It is not the possessions that hold so many memories for me, but noting when she isn't there. For instance, while I was spending Thanksgiving with my boyfriend's family, tears welled up more than once just noting how differently his family interacts. It has never been a large holiday for my family, and I didn't quite know how to be a part of the festivities. I was still missing my mother. It also pains me that my father will not be putting up a tree this year. I understand why he doesn't want to, but he didn't even consider it. Last year, we had a few presents to open, since my mother had ordered some from catalogs before she passed. But this year, we will have nothing under the nonexistent tree, since my dad told us not to get him anything and he's not getting us anything. I'm a little resentful because part of my mother's spirit is being Santa Claus.
I suppose it is time for me to start my own traditions and take charge of my own celebration of the season, even if others are being "scrooges."
Friday, November 14, 2008
Story Learning
I had a bit of an A-Ha moment yesterday, a very little one.
I attended the poetry/fiction reading yesterday afternoon. One of the participants read a fictional story about suffering through cancer while dealing with an alcoholic mother. I do not have a terminal illness, nor do I have (or have I ever had) an alcoholic mother. But some of the things that this young lady was talking about (through her character) I could relate to. I had cancer at one time, so I know what it's like to come home from the doctor's office in a daze, not quite sure what to do with yourself. Because of her story, I reflect on my own relationship with my mother before, during, and after my treatment. This is actually helpful, because a large part of what is going into my personal essay is my struggles and my mother's struggles with the medical field.
I suppose the A-Ha moment was the realization that we really do learn through stories.
I attended the poetry/fiction reading yesterday afternoon. One of the participants read a fictional story about suffering through cancer while dealing with an alcoholic mother. I do not have a terminal illness, nor do I have (or have I ever had) an alcoholic mother. But some of the things that this young lady was talking about (through her character) I could relate to. I had cancer at one time, so I know what it's like to come home from the doctor's office in a daze, not quite sure what to do with yourself. Because of her story, I reflect on my own relationship with my mother before, during, and after my treatment. This is actually helpful, because a large part of what is going into my personal essay is my struggles and my mother's struggles with the medical field.
I suppose the A-Ha moment was the realization that we really do learn through stories.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Family Photos
I have realized how little I know about my family, including my immediate family. Maybe I’m just a little self-centered, being the baby of the family and all. I never thought too much about the life my family had before me. How did my parent’s meet? What kind of pets did they have? What was the old house like?
My family existed as a family before I was in the picture, literally. There is an official family photo of them. We never retook a family portrait, and I never let them forget it. I don’t even think we have a snapshot of all of us together.
I have never been big on pictures. Only recently have I noticed that the only pictures I have of my mother and me (here in Corpus Christi with me) are the one that I was given for Christmas last year after she passed away and one Polaroid of her and me in the hospital when I was born, off-center and washed-out.
***
I have decided to write my final paper about my mother. She was a housewife/homemaker/stay at home mom. I don’t know what the theme of my paper should be. I want to honor my mother, but what do I write in and what do I omit? I mean, I have 24+ years worth of experiences that we have had, but which of those will fit together to make up an overarching theme for my paper? Maybe I bit off more than I could chew with this assignment.
Maybe my focus isn’t my mother, but my relationship with her. Or the issues that we as women struggle/d with. Unfortunately, I can’t just pick up the phone and ask her what it was like to be a young woman in the late sixties/early seventies, to get married at age seventeen, to raise three girls and never finish high school, to be married for 37 years; I suppose that I have to show all of this with the stories.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Ancestor Night
The holiday that we know as Halloween has always been associated with death. It was originally a night when spirits were believed to return to this world (think of the halloween images of the ghost and even zombies). Therefore, it could be seen as a time to honor the dead, especially the ancestors (Think Dia de los Muertos).
So with all of this emphasis on the dead and ancestors this time of year, I once again find myself feeling root-less and not even knowing where to look for them at.
Last weekend I went to a wedding. My boyfriend and I got to spend the four hour ride with my sister and brother-in-law (and two and a half of it with their black lab). Luckily, my BIL can keep us entertained with his stories.
I listened to his stories come alive as we got closer to his home. Stories of his family and his family's land. Three generations all in one spot. Stories of bars and guns, hunting, and rice farming. It was quite educational really, I had never thought about what rice actually looks like as it grows. It made me realize how disjointed I am from the land. I don't even know where my food comes from or what it naturally looks like. I have this need to get back to the old ways. This stems from me trying to discover my roots. I want to go back home to the Home that I originally come from. A more natural state, I suppose you could say, where connections to the land and ancestors were important.
I envy my brother-in-law's stories. They connect him to the land that he grew up on and the land connects him to his ancestors.
My jack-o-lantern will be lit tomorrow, to guide the spirits that may visit this realm, but will any of my ancestors visit? And will I recognize them if they do?
Halloween Pumpkin Maker & MySpace Layouts
So with all of this emphasis on the dead and ancestors this time of year, I once again find myself feeling root-less and not even knowing where to look for them at.
***
Last weekend I went to a wedding. My boyfriend and I got to spend the four hour ride with my sister and brother-in-law (and two and a half of it with their black lab). Luckily, my BIL can keep us entertained with his stories.
I listened to his stories come alive as we got closer to his home. Stories of his family and his family's land. Three generations all in one spot. Stories of bars and guns, hunting, and rice farming. It was quite educational really, I had never thought about what rice actually looks like as it grows. It made me realize how disjointed I am from the land. I don't even know where my food comes from or what it naturally looks like. I have this need to get back to the old ways. This stems from me trying to discover my roots. I want to go back home to the Home that I originally come from. A more natural state, I suppose you could say, where connections to the land and ancestors were important.
I envy my brother-in-law's stories. They connect him to the land that he grew up on and the land connects him to his ancestors.
My jack-o-lantern will be lit tomorrow, to guide the spirits that may visit this realm, but will any of my ancestors visit? And will I recognize them if they do?
Halloween Pumpkin Maker & MySpace Layouts
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Stupor
Well, my personal essay seems to have gone pretty well. I actually enjoyed writing that essay. But now I have to get back to the million other things that are on my mind. It seems like I have so many things sitting around in my head right now. I can't focus on anything. It's like walking around without my glasses on (and only people who wear glasses full-time know what I mean). It's disorienting.
In my conference, I talked about how I was still a little scared and timid about stepping out of the box and into the personal essay. I want to keep at least one toe inside the box. I was asked why, and maybe it goes back to that whole "you can never go home" thing. If I step too far out, can I ever get back in? Or will I want to? Maybe I'm afraid of liking it outside of the box and, as we've heard over and over, that can be scholarly suicide. I think (and some people may/may not see this) that I have "outsider tendencies." Maybe these tendencies come from my fuzzy lineage, and not really feeling like I have a home and/or ancestors that I can connect with. I constantly feel outside.
It must be the risk of academic suicide that still scares me. I know that we have written a personal essay already, but it was for a personal essay class so the risk was not just minimal but nonexistent. I suppose that it is the idea of taking this type of writing outside of this class that frightens the crap out of me. Hopefully this class will inspire some more Courage in me.
***
In my conference, I talked about how I was still a little scared and timid about stepping out of the box and into the personal essay. I want to keep at least one toe inside the box. I was asked why, and maybe it goes back to that whole "you can never go home" thing. If I step too far out, can I ever get back in? Or will I want to? Maybe I'm afraid of liking it outside of the box and, as we've heard over and over, that can be scholarly suicide. I think (and some people may/may not see this) that I have "outsider tendencies." Maybe these tendencies come from my fuzzy lineage, and not really feeling like I have a home and/or ancestors that I can connect with. I constantly feel outside.
It must be the risk of academic suicide that still scares me. I know that we have written a personal essay already, but it was for a personal essay class so the risk was not just minimal but nonexistent. I suppose that it is the idea of taking this type of writing outside of this class that frightens the crap out of me. Hopefully this class will inspire some more Courage in me.
***
I wonder if it is just the turning of the seasons. It seems I always fall into this stupor around this time of year. Perhaps it is because the weather makes me want to be outside when my daily life confines me inside most of the time. I love being outside during the Fall. It's so gray and soothing that I get lost in the meditative-ness of it all. So if you see me around and try to talk to me, don't be surprised or offended if I just stare at you blankly. I have simply been stricken with the season.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Connecting
In class we talked about how personal a blog can be. It all comes down to what the writer wants to share. We do need to be careful, though, of becoming too personal and also of becoming not personal enough. An interesting blog (IMHO) is one that is personal enough to allow the reader to connect to the blogger through shared experience. If the blogger is too distant she runs the risk of "blog bore," (the "so what?" question) yet if the blogger is too personal it leaves the reader feeling as if she has been, as Enid Pope calls it, "word vomitted" on.
In this world of cell phones, and internet access, and cell phones with internet access, we don't have to be alone for one minute (although I am a BIG advocate of alone time). There is always a way to connect with someone if you want. And LOTS of people want to. Just look on any blog site (or myspace) and you will find OODLES of people spilling their guts out on the internet, and detailing every moment of their life. But no one (except maybe their real-life, flesh-and-bone friends) will read these blogs past the initial click (I know no one ever reads mine).
That's not to say that those blogs don't belong there, or that no one should write them, but they just don't serve the same purpose. Perhaps it is best to think of them as disposable, or like that trashy magazine that you browse in the grocery store line, it's entertains you while you stand there but you never actally buy it (or I don't know, maybe you do).
We also talked about ethics in personal writing. This is a difficult subject for a lot of people, including me. How do I write my story while being ethical in regards to my family? My story (the one that I am writing here, about my history) is inherently tied to my family. Looking back, how can I be truthful about my relationships with them in a way that is ethical? Perhaps I'll just say it's tricky and leave it at that. But do I owe you, the reader, more than that?
In this world of cell phones, and internet access, and cell phones with internet access, we don't have to be alone for one minute (although I am a BIG advocate of alone time). There is always a way to connect with someone if you want. And LOTS of people want to. Just look on any blog site (or myspace) and you will find OODLES of people spilling their guts out on the internet, and detailing every moment of their life. But no one (except maybe their real-life, flesh-and-bone friends) will read these blogs past the initial click (I know no one ever reads mine).
That's not to say that those blogs don't belong there, or that no one should write them, but they just don't serve the same purpose. Perhaps it is best to think of them as disposable, or like that trashy magazine that you browse in the grocery store line, it's entertains you while you stand there but you never actally buy it (or I don't know, maybe you do).
We also talked about ethics in personal writing. This is a difficult subject for a lot of people, including me. How do I write my story while being ethical in regards to my family? My story (the one that I am writing here, about my history) is inherently tied to my family. Looking back, how can I be truthful about my relationships with them in a way that is ethical? Perhaps I'll just say it's tricky and leave it at that. But do I owe you, the reader, more than that?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Walking with Thoreau and Barraza
In our assigned reading for last week, we read a piece by Santa Barraza about the significance of the maguey. Barraza writes: "The maguey is the symbol of home, of hogar" (20). I once again felt the way essayists often times connect to geography as a sense of home, and how my own map is so blank. Even though Barraza writes about a geography that I am familiar with, I cannot connect. A few feeble attempts to connect with the landscape were squeezed out by the nature walk that we took as a class last night:
"bits of leftover sunlight mixed with waxing moonlight on patches of water, left on the land by the tide"
"the branches envelope me, and truth blossoms-- red berries, small but abundant"
"there is a lack of clouds, except on the horizon line, making the moon bright and the shadows deepen"
and finally, inspired by Thoreau's "Walking", "I was not given the lushness of forests, but the stickiness of wetlands."
But most of the tidbits I collected are not focused on anything unique to the region. The sun and the moon shine everywhere and trees are common. I failed to connect to the distinctiveness of my home.
I was (and I am grateful for this) able to connect with nature on a broad scale. Many of my classmates were 'skeptical' as we labeled it in class, and were unable to see nature without also seeing the encroachment of man on nature. Although we were on a paved trail surrounded by apartment buildings and being passed by joggers, I was able to clear my mind of all of that. Maybe I figured that if I couldn't have what Thoreau had, then maybe this was good enough and I should try my hardest to see it as a true Nature Walk.
"bits of leftover sunlight mixed with waxing moonlight on patches of water, left on the land by the tide"
"the branches envelope me, and truth blossoms-- red berries, small but abundant"
"there is a lack of clouds, except on the horizon line, making the moon bright and the shadows deepen"
and finally, inspired by Thoreau's "Walking", "I was not given the lushness of forests, but the stickiness of wetlands."
But most of the tidbits I collected are not focused on anything unique to the region. The sun and the moon shine everywhere and trees are common. I failed to connect to the distinctiveness of my home.
I was (and I am grateful for this) able to connect with nature on a broad scale. Many of my classmates were 'skeptical' as we labeled it in class, and were unable to see nature without also seeing the encroachment of man on nature. Although we were on a paved trail surrounded by apartment buildings and being passed by joggers, I was able to clear my mind of all of that. Maybe I figured that if I couldn't have what Thoreau had, then maybe this was good enough and I should try my hardest to see it as a true Nature Walk.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
The Beginning
Well, I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning. But which beginning do I begin at? It seems as though there is so much to tell and yet no good place to begin. Perhaps I should begin with the spark that inspired this blog.
I recently attended a reading by Stephanie Elizondo-Griest. She spoke a lot about finding your roots, and returning to the Motherland. Her speaking and her writing have once again set aflame my thoughts of my ancestry. How can I visit the Motherland when I don't know where that is?
I don't know much about my lineage on either side of my family. I know that my father's side of the family is Czech. My mother always claimed to be Irish, but I'm a little skeptical of that. I think it might be closer to Britain. Although, how can I trace my mother's lineage, when all of the surnames are from males? It is impossible to trace from woman to woman to woman very far back. I believe that this is one reason I will choose to retain my last name (via hyphenation) if I get married. I want future generations to be able to get one step further in tracing the female members of the tree.
So that is how it all began, or got rekindled. Now, with new inspiration and new vehicles such as this blog and the personal academic essay that I have to write for my class on "The Personal Essay" I hope to explore and maybe even write my own history and ancestry.
I recently attended a reading by Stephanie Elizondo-Griest. She spoke a lot about finding your roots, and returning to the Motherland. Her speaking and her writing have once again set aflame my thoughts of my ancestry. How can I visit the Motherland when I don't know where that is?
I don't know much about my lineage on either side of my family. I know that my father's side of the family is Czech. My mother always claimed to be Irish, but I'm a little skeptical of that. I think it might be closer to Britain. Although, how can I trace my mother's lineage, when all of the surnames are from males? It is impossible to trace from woman to woman to woman very far back. I believe that this is one reason I will choose to retain my last name (via hyphenation) if I get married. I want future generations to be able to get one step further in tracing the female members of the tree.
So that is how it all began, or got rekindled. Now, with new inspiration and new vehicles such as this blog and the personal academic essay that I have to write for my class on "The Personal Essay" I hope to explore and maybe even write my own history and ancestry.
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