I remember the year my parents decided to flock their own Christmas tree with canned spray-on fake snow. My mom had read an article that said to get the most “natural” look for your “snow,” you should spray the flocking into the air above the tree and let it settle like snow onto the branches.
Mom did the directing, Dad did the flocking, and I did the watching. Mom pointed out the angle Dad should spray the flocking, he pressed the spray button, and we waited for flocking magic to occur. Nothing happened. Where the heck did the flocking go?
Well, my parents had forgotten to take into account the fact that we didn’t have a cathedral ceiling. My dad had just flocked the ceiling. We all laughed so hard, I think my sides still ache from it to this day.
They took the tree out into the carport and did the “flock snowing down onto the tree” outside. The ceiling stayed flocked for many years. I’m not really sure why they never cleaned it up. But it gave me many years of funny stories to tell my friends when they’d looked a little scant-eyed at the living room ceiling.
Now I’m wondering if I might have a photo somewhere?
The family history project I’ve been working on was originally something I wanted to do that would be based upon a cross-country road trip I want to take to the actual places where my ancestors have lived. Basically starting at Plymouth and moving West, eventually across the Oregon Trail and then up into Washington State where I am now.
The family history road trip is definitely on my Bucket List, but I realized that, because of the time and expense involved, this trip wasn’t going to happen any time soon. It was so disheartening to think that this project that means so much to me, may not actually come to fruition. This Spring, I asked myself, “If I never go on the road trip, does that mean I can’t ever do the project at all?” I realized that it might not be my dream way to accomplish it, but I could do research here at home and write up something. It seemed like a second best option, but better than nothing.
So this July, I’ve been researching and doing writing on the family history project as part of NaNoWriMo Camp. And you know what? To my surprise, I’ve been learning things I don’t think I would’ve learned on the road trip. Now, rather than feeling that writing without the road trip is a second best option, now I realize that writing now is actually making the project richer and more relevant to my life and to today. After I get a first draft together, that might be an even better time to take the road trip. Seeing things firsthand would give an added depth to the story (perhaps). But even if I never take the trip, I can still do the project.
I guess I’d been limiting myself to my vision of what I wanted this project to be without really being open to other possible expressions of that same vision. Changing my focus slightly opened new doors and allowed me to break through a wall that had been keeping me from my dreams.
How ’bout you? Is there anything you can shift your view of in order to see new possibilities in your own life? What happens when we shift the lens and change the focus?
I asked my Facebook friends today, “What are your favorite 4th of July memories from when you were younger?” Feel free to answer the question and share your thoughts and memories in the comment section. It’s fun to be nostalgic from time to time.
Food-related Memories: When I was a child, our traditional 4th of July dessert was Angel food cake with whip cream and strawberry frosting. That particular cake was our family’s traditional birthday cake, and because my dad’s birthday was on July 7th, we celebrated his birthday early on the 4th as the entire extended family was together anyway. Yep, birthday cake on the 4th was my favorite tradition, food-wise. Other than that, I remembered we had an All-American feast of grilled hamburgers, hot dogs, bbq chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, strawberry jello with sliced bananas, corn on the cob, watermelon, marinated cucumbers and onions, baked beans. Yum. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it. 🙂
We would eat dinner outside on the back porch at my grandparents house on Yarrow Point. The porch was shaded and was close to the barbeque. The rest of the day, we’d hang out by the water to stay cool. Lots of swimming, wading, splashing, floating on air mattresses. Cold lemonade and sliced watermelon for snacks. (The photo above is my grandparents’ front yard.)
Then in the evening we’d drive to Seattle and watch the fireworks over Green Lake. When our neighborhood all returned home from watching firework displays, the families gathered at the end of our little cul-de-sac and shot off our own fireworks. Mr Razor always had a welding torch handy for lighting the fireworks so we didn’t get to play with matches or lighters very often. lol
I’ve decided to do Camp NaNoWriMo this July, working on the first draft/outline of an ambitious project I’ve been procrastinating about. I thought maybe if I post updates here now and then throughout the month, it may keep me motivated. Or it may not. We’ll see, shall we?
The project I’ve been working on is a combination of family history, personal memoir, creative nonfiction, historical fiction, literary fiction, poetry, and visual art. I think of it as a collage of words and art and ephemera that tells a story based on the flow of history. My family’s story. My story. And I’d even go so far as to say our country’s story.
I’m been researching this project on-and-off for about five years. I decided it’s finally time to sit my behind down in a chair (or on the couch) and actually work up the first draft. Or as Ann Lamott would say, “the sh***y” first draft.
Speaking of Ann Lamott and her fabulous book, Bird by Bird, she says if you have a large overwhelming project (such as a huge catalog of birds), just get started and tackle the project bird-by-bird. So, I’m following her advice and dividing this work into smaller, generational bites. Taking it generation-by-generation. Beginning with Puritans arriving in Plymouth and Scituate in the late 1600s.
This is a sixteen generation story I’m attempting to tell. Seventeen generations if I include my children, but I don’t think I’m going to write them into the story because their stories are still being told as they live their lives. They can write their own stories someday. Or their descendants can. Actually, I may not include any generations still living which would include my dad and myself.
I don’t anticipate getting the entire first draft done this month, but I know I can make a substantial dent in the project if I keep with it.
I’m sad to announce that my 107-year-old grandmother, Madeline L. Taylor, passed away last week. When my dad saw her last, she’d been sleeping peacefully. A peaceful passing was what we’d wished for her.
She led a long, full, and interesting life. If you’re curious, you can read an Oral History report I did on her life for a class at University of Washington Tacoma several years ago. I made the report into a small website, so that Grandma’s life could have a presence on the internet.