As you may or may not know, June 21 is the longest daylight day of the year. Although I rarely advocate Wikipedia as a source of all knowledge, you might want to read its information about summer solstice and its meaning to cultures from earliest times. It was especially sad to see desecration of Stonehenge yesterday by climate protestors. It is thought this remarkable circle of stones in England was used to track the sun’s movement, although we now know it is, indeed, the earth that moves. Many cultures hold observances of this day, and at the poles, there is no night on June 21st.
The passage of time is especially important to me as an octogenarian living now in a senior living facility. No worries–we have a lovely independent living apartment with amenities too remarkable to believe and are very happy here. But this week marks another milestone for me. First, my birthday, the best possible is exactly six months from Christmas (are you ready for that?), but I also am cheering on my memoir writers here in the publication of their second volume of memoir stories. I’ve been privileged to teach a class since January, coaching first-time writers to tell their life stories–their legacies–for their children and friends, and indeed all of us. Their first volume, published in March, sold eighty-nine copies. They had a marvelous celebration, a book signing event here for their Monday Memoir Moments book. They have just completed their second, Monday Memoirs: You Are Unique. In this second volume, they tell their chronological stories of their lives and the wisdom they have learned from their life experiences. These are first-time authors, and their authentic stories are remarkable. Yes, I have been their coach and encourager, and have done a lot of typing and organizing, but their stories have blessed my soul and will be invaluable to their families and friends. We are currently proofreading the draft copy, the proof copy, and their second Book Signing Event will be August 5th.
In September, I will begin the third class, inviting others to join us in writing memoirs on the theme of holidays. It should be ready for distribution at Christmastime if all goes well. When I started this project in January, I used picture prompts to encourage these first-time writers to express themselves. None of them had written anything since school days, decades ago. All are in their eighties and nineties. Most said, “I don’t have anything to write about. I’m not famous or anything!” or “I can’t think of anything to say!” The group became one of encouragement, and when one told about her first job as a teenager measuring old ladies for bras in a department store, the others told about their first times working, or the restrictions they felt in choosing careers, or the experiences as new wives and mothers, or their first jobs. A wonderful chemistry occurred, deep friendships, and an urgency to tell about life as it used to be so their children and grandchildren learned something new about the way things were. These writers wrote about events they hadn’t recalled for years, and the written words became powerful. There will be amazing gifts given to their families and friends, and every one of them is eager to write their third book.
On this, the longest day of the year, their longevity is celebrated in stories of businesses that no longer exist, of little towns that are now big cities, of times when our children could play outside in the summer without worries of abductions or worse, when homemade ice cream was a big deal treat, when no one went to restaurants and families gathered for reunions, and elders always stayed at home in their families’ homes and senior centers were few and far between, and when these wonderful elders grew their own gardens, canned their food, sewed their clothes, used wringer washing machines, walked literal miles to one-room schoolhouses, and managed without cell phones. These strong people fought in wars, sent their husbands and sons off to war, wrapped bandages and knitted socks for soldiers, traveled in the first airplanes (some still haven’t been on a plane), can recall statues that are now disappearing or vandalized being celebrated, and members of our generation remember a week’s wage was $25.00. I remember, for instance, my first year’s teacher’s salary was $6,000 and I was amazed, then, that I didn’t take home nearly that much when all the stuff was deducted from it. And I remember, as do many in the class, that women stayed at home until marriage and our job choices were limited to nurse or teacher or secretarial school.
Much has been improved by some who were suffragettes, some who rejoiced when disabled people received rights to a better life, when segregation was finally dealt with as a national disgrace, and when advancements in science gave us frozen foods, cars we didn’t have to crank, drivers’ licenses for women, and colleges that accepted women as students. These grandmas remember when we were treated as second class citizens in our own homes, called “the little wife” which translated to slavery to the men and children of the families and to elderly aunts, uncles, parents, grandparents and anyone else who needed compassionate care.
Yes, passage of time–the longest day of the year– can be translated to generational change. It’s all a matter of perspective, and when we listen to them, our seniors have remarkable, insightful, funny, and deeply felt stories to tell. And I have been blessed to help them leave their legacies.
Both books are available on Amazon. Incidentally, as author-editor, my usual royalty is thirty-nine cents. Amazon gets the rest. There’s just one more injustice for others to make right.
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