Your family’s history is important. This video from the Association of Personal Historians explains how it works and why personal historians like me are passionate about what we do. While the APH is no longer active, we historians are and are helping people tell their stories all over the world. I’d love to help you tell yours!
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Tested Tips for Thanksgiving Conversations
Thanksgiving is almost here—this year, when you’re gathered with family and friends around the table, plan for some intentional conversation. Many families have a tradition of sharing what they’re grateful for. This is a wonderful place to start. But you know you all sit around and reminisce over the 2nd or 3rd piece of pie too. Yes, you do!
Ramp it up a bit and dig out the memories unique to your family, your background and culture.
Record those stories, ask some questions of the “Do Remember When…” variety. Ask your older relatives about their holiday memories and past customs. What did Grandma cook for her first Thanksgiving dinner? Did she burn the turkey; forget the sugar in the pie? Were Uncle Joe, Charlie or Manny the practical jokers in the family?
Tell the immigrant stories—most of us were immigrants at some point in our family history. What foods are traditional in your cultural background? Lefse? Posole? Latkes? Black beans and rice? Tamales?
There are some funny, poignant, treasured memories hovering around in your family. Write ’em down or record them this year.
Now—do you need a unique present idea? Your problem is solved! Turn those gathered memories into a short book, treasured legacy letter or photo memoir for your family. Long or short, it will always be remembered. There is nothing else like it—totally unique and you can give copies to everyone. Do you really think Grandpa needs another package of golf balls, or Grandma another set of slippers? Skip the awful dreaded Black Friday lines and give your family the gift of heart and soul instead.
Gift certificates available — give me ring and let’s talk!
Karen
What You Need to Know this Veterans Day
Thank you to our veterans! To the men and women who have been willing to share part of their story with me, thank you, you have helped me to understand. To those whose sacrifice and role in history we honor while we are saddened that it is still often repeated, thank you. To those who struggle and are reluctant to share with their family–this is hard, but please share with us, we love you, your story is important.
The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
Douglas MacArthur
Check out the History Channel’s short video below:
http://www.history.com/topics/holidays/history-of-veterans-day/videos/bet-you-didnt-know-veterans-day
These words from General Douglas MacArthur sum up the thoughts I’ve heard repeated from the many veterans who have shared their story:
Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words
reverently
dictate what you ought to be,
what you can be, what you will be.
I want to share a brief conversation with an Iraq war veteran I’ve never forgotten. Years ago a family came to look at my old ranch horse, Shorty, for their young boys. A man, his wife and three year old son. They were stationed at Ft. Bliss down in El Paso, Texas. Danny said he had been in three combat tours. He said, “We are hoping to go live near some friends in Wyoming on a 2000 acre ranch when I get out of the army in 2013.” He got very quiet and said he needed wide-open spaces, “…I just don’t want to be in crowds anymore. I don’t want to shoot a gun anymore. I just want to go live and work on a ranch in Wyoming with my family.” He softly rubbed that old horse’s furry ears and got an odd look on his face. We stared at the long grass dying on the orchard floor on that cool fall day. I quietly said, “I bet there’s more behind that story.” He nodded and looked me straight in the eyes for a long second. I could not help the tears spilling down my face and said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done to keep us safe.” I never saw him again but have never forgotten this young man.
Danny, I hope you and your family are living on that ranch somewhere. ¡Vaya con Dios!
Are You Living Large or Hardly Living?
…As I look back over my life there were so many things left undone. Don’t let it happen to you. So many things I started and didn’t finish. For instance that carton of chocolate fudge ice cream in the freezer, I had better go finish that or I will regret it all afternoon.
Thus began the email from a friend whose memoir I worked on a couple years ago. He’s in his 80s and sent this essay (written by another author) out to a wide circle of friends and family with the comment:
READ THIS VERY SLOWLY… IT’S PRETTY PROFOUND.
Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven’t thought about it, don’t have it on their schedule, didn’t know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine.
I got to thinking one day about all those people on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I’ve tried to be a little more flexible.
How many women out there will eat at home because their husbands didn’t suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word ‘refrigeration’ mean nothing to you?
How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched ‘Jeopardy’ on television?
I cannot count the times I called my sister and said, “How about going to lunch in a half hour?” She would gasp and stammer, “I can’t. I have clothes on the line. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast, it looks like rain.” And my personal favorite: “It’s Monday.”
She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.
Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect! We’ll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained. We’ll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We’ll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college.
Life has a way of accelerating as we get older. The days get shorter and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of “I’m going to,” “I plan on,” and
“Someday, when things are settled down a bit.”
When anyone calls my ‘seize the moment’ friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes and you’re ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblades and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.
My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It’s just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.
Now go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?
An aside from your’s truly—Here’s a few links to get you started:
https://daringtolivefully.com/bucket-list-ideas
http://ryaneller.com/281-awesome-bucket-list-items-you-should-add-to-your-list/
Guess what? You don’t have to be rich or awesomely daring to have a fulfilling bucket list–it is yours so make of it what you will.
Can’t see yourself “Running with the bulls in Pamplona?” How about visiting a working ranch or farm and feeding a calf?
Not able to afford “Relaxing in Tahiti for 2 weeks?” How about retreating for a weekend to a gorgeous late half a day’s drive away?
“Mushing a dogsled” a bit out of reach? Find a friend with a big dog and this winter go to the
park, tie that puppy to your kid’s plastic sled and hang on. Mush, baby!
Here’s one you can do (I can help with that):
177. Have a book published
Okay–back to my friend’s essay:
Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry-go-round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, “How are you?” Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, “We’ll do it tomorrow.” And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say “Hi?”
When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift thrown away… Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over. Show your friends how much you care…
“Life may not be the party we hoped for,
but while we are here, we might as well go flying!”
I’ll do a bit of confessing here. I’ve about wrapped up a memoir book for a couple here in southern New Mexico so, to celebrate, I bought a bottle of red wine and a big fat piece of tiramisu cake. I devoured the cake while reading this essay but will show some restraint with the wine and wait till tonight.
Living large my friends, love and blessings to you,
Karen
5 Keys to Taking Your Memoir Out of the Box
The dusty, faded shoe box was crammed under the workbench. In the midst of de-cluttering fervor my friend said, “Take it home, I didn’t know it was there and I haven’t missed it.” I felt like the Indiana Jones of Garage Archaeology! It was a small memoir encased in cardboard; inside were a number of small items tucked into old jewelry boxes. But they weren’t just objects, each has its own story and some will be sent on to a family member.
This forgotten collection started me thinking about ways you can use the “stuff” you’ve saved as prompts for some personal history work. It’s a great place to begin, especially if you’re stuck on a project that seems too big. Where to start? Problem solved! Whether it’s a box of photos, a collection of tools, buttons, coins, books, recipes, or just “stuff” use that eclectic collection as the basis of your personal history.
Get it out of the box and into your story
The story of these items and why they are/were important can be easily turned into a standalone chapter or even become the start to an entire personal history, you decide.
Key 1
Gather the existing collection—the how, why, where and when of its existence is a great launching point for your story.
Delve into the details.
Key 2
Get a medium sized box—begin placing things in it that prompt your memory, either about yourself or the person whose story you are writing. This is an extremely effective step as it helps you recall things you thought you’d forgotten. As you select items for your box keep a running note going about the memories associated with it.
Key 3
Ask family members and friends to contribute to the memories surrounding the items in your stash. They may even have an object to contribute, like a photograph or old letter. Add to your notes as more memories come to you. If the stash belongs to someone else, interview them. Remember to look at the backgrounds in the photos, the postmark and paper of the letter, the gravy stains on the old recipe—the charm is in the details, take your time.
Key 4
This is important—don’t skip this step.
Sit and mull the contents of your box with your notes and/or a recorder in hand. If you’re telling someone else’s story, interview them. Be specific and handle each item in the box, taking your time. 
If you consider yourself a non-writer, record your thoughts or have a friend write or record while you sift through the objects.
Now, walk away from your box of goodies. Come back to it in a day or few and see what else your mind has recalled since you last spent time together. There will be more, I guarantee it!
Key 5
Look for a theme—are the photos all of family events? Are they important historically? What was going on in the world at this time? Does a collection of letters tell a great love story? Does it chronicle the preciousness of an ordinary life? Is it a travelogue?
If you are having trouble seeing the theme, a rare occurrence, ask a close friend or family member to look through the box with you and tell you what they see. What stands out?
Takeaway—shorter is sweeter
You don’t need to write about everything to tell a great story. Some of the best stories ever told are just a snapshot in time, one event, one object. If you’ve always wanted to tell your story but have felt overwhelmed, start with these 5 keys and begin. You’ll soon have a powerful, condensed collection of life memories.
Then, voila! You are unstuck and have given yourself the gift of making progress.
A reminder from author Terry Pratchett says “The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”
Keep it up—
Karen
Listen Up–Advice from 105 year old Isabel
A beautiful example of a short memoir, written by Carlos Lopez, Las Cruces Sun News reporter, a few days ago. Happy Birthday, Isabel! Include the details about cookies, education and life lessons in your story, just like he did.
Mesilla Park resident turns 105. Here’s her advice
Carlos Andres López, Las Cruces Sun-News Published 6:13 p.m. MT Oct. 3, 2017 | Updated 8:21 p.m. MT Oct. 3, 2017
(Follow the link to see photos by Josh Bachman/Sun-News)
MESILLA PARK – A life devoted to working hard and maintaining a strict diet of fresh food has paid off for longtime Mesilla Park resident Isabel Valles Uribe, who celebrated her 105th birthday last week surrounded by over 150 family members and friends.
“Trabajè todo mi vida muy duro (I’ve worked hard all my life),” Uribe said Tuesday while sitting in the living room of her Mesilla Park home, where she and her late husband, Concepcion Uribe, retired after operating a general store in San Miguel from 1947 to 1972.
“My mother is very loving and patient — it’s amazing,” her daughter, Flavia Pavia, said.
Isabel was born in Artesia on Sept. 27, 1912, about eight months after New Mexico became the 47th state in the United States. Her parents were Jose and Tomasita Valles, and she was the eighth of 16 children, according to Pavia.
At age 10, Isabel moved from Artesia to Vinton, Texas, with her parents and siblings, Pavia said. The family then relocated to the southern Doña Ana County community of La Mesa in 1924 and later settled in nearby San Miguel in 1926.
Pavia said her mother never attended school as a child but taught herself to how read and write in English and Spanish. Isabel spent her childhood helping her mother care for younger siblings, and later worked as a field worker, picking cotton and peas.
In 1935, she married Concepcion. The following year, Pavia, the couple’s first child, was born. They also had two sons, Homero and Renato. The Uribe family lived in San Miguel, where they opened Concho’s Mercantile in 1947.
“They both ran the business until 1972,” said Pavia, who grew up working in the store. “It was a general store and we sold everything from clothing and shoes to fresh meat.”
After retiring in 1972, the couple relocated to Mesilla Park and spent their retirement traveling to places such as Mexico City and other areas, Pavia said. Concepcion died in 2003 at age 95; their son Renato died in 2015 at age 75.
In addition to three children, they have 14 grandchildren, 24 great grandchildren and seven great-great grandchildren, Pavia said.
Today, Isabel enjoys relatively good health — something she and her daughter attribute to a lifetime of working hard and eating right.
“Mama does not eat anything canned. Fresh veggies, she says, that’s the best thing for you,” Pavia said, adding that her mother “has great faith in the Lord.”
But she also has a sweet tooth and regularly bakes batches of oatmeal cookies, or galletas, from a beloved recipe she learned years ago. Her secret? She flavors them with a hint of cinnamon, which she said makes them “very tasty.”
She’s also been making homemade tamales for many decades and still helps spread fresh masa on corn husks when making them with her daughter.
She stays active with housework, tending to her six chickens and playing the board game Rummikub.
Over the past weekend, she celebrated her birthday with large party at a church with more than 150 people in attendance, Pavia said. “Ever since her 100th birthday, we’ve celebrated really big,” she added.
One her gifts included a certificate of recognition from Gov. Susana Martinez that was delivered to her home on Monday. “I wish you many blessings and hope that special day is celebrated with the love of family and friends,” Martinez’s certificate states.
She and her youngest brother, Cleto Valles, 87, are the last of their siblings still living, according to Pavia. “We keep saying, ‘Thank God we have her for another year’ — that is wonderful,” she said.
Carlos Andres López can be reached 575-541-5453, carlopez@lcsun-news.com or @carlopez_los on Twitter.
Heads up–not many of us are blessed to live to 105, please don’t wait.
Now go, be inspired, and write your family’s stories. You can do it!
The Skunkinator
Got a funny story in your personal history? Share the memory and ask your family to help fill in any details you’ve missed. Here’s one of mine from a few years back. Hope it brings a smile to your face…
The Skunkinator
My son calls me the “Skunkinator.” Several nights ago our cat, Fudge, came in for the night, bearing the residue of a recent close encounter with a skunk. Fed up, next morning I trudged off to the neighbors to borrow a humane live trap. Jack and Martha have lived out here in the country for 25 years and know a thing or two about skunks.
I was about to be schooled.
Thursday night, I carefully set the trap. Friday morning—nothing. I baited the trap again with a delectable half-serving of peanut butter sandwich, complete with homemade jam. Jack had claimed this would work and I was hoping word about my devious plan had not leaked out among the skunk community. Saturday I forgot about it and went out to dinner with my husband on a long overdue date. Sunday morning, while getting ready for church, I looked out the bedroom window to see Fudge sitting by the trap intently watching a black and white something trot around inside. Our other cat, Socks, matches that description so I thought she’d become a little too curious and been nabbed. Looking again, I yelled, “I got a skunk!” and dashed out the front door in my bathrobe.
Shooing the cat away with difficulty I cautiously approached the trap from behind a tree and observed a very nervous, very small skunk corralled inside. At this point I realized something about live traps. They come in different sizes. This one was designed to contain a full-sized skunk, preventing it from lifting its tail and deploying its defensive mechanism. Jack hadn’t mentioned the size issue. My skunk had room to do laps and set up housekeeping.
I retrieved an old rug from the rag box, mentally rehearsing what I knew about skunks. Number one fact being that skunks won’t spray what they can’t see. My delighted children all trooped out to watch the spectacle. Informing them that I would be releasing Missy Skunk up the river, I busily made plans for dropping her off and making it to church, deciding that in the interest of time I would get dressed first. Garbed in my best pantsuit, I did my hair while my husband proceeded to tell me what nice pets skunks make and did I think the neighbors would mind? I was oblivious to the sly grin with which he delivered this bit of information.
My hair still up in rollers, I carefully held the old rug in front of me like some motherly matador in high heels as I tried to approach the trap without upsetting the skunk. It didn’t work. Small spritzes of cologne-like delicacy let me know that was close enough, thank you. In that last mad dash to throw the rug over the trap my nose must have gone into olfactory overload. The odor honestly didn’t seem too bad at the time.
Carrying trap and all at arms’ length, I carefully deposited it in the back of the pickup then headed inside to wash my hands, breezing by my family, who were all ready and groomed for church. They speedily informed me that I “stunk” and needed to change my clothes. Five minutes later I handed the offending duds out the door to my snickering husband, put on old clothes and prepared to finish the job. We drove Missy Skunk five miles up the river and released her in the thick willow breaks, feeling good about ourselves. She left with one parting defensive salute and never looked back.
I sat at the back of the church that morning in a faint cloud, considering that the good Lord who made both skunks and mothers had taught me something about getting carried away with multi-tasking.