Mother's Day and Father's Day are approaching, and if you are fortunate enough to have your parents, grandparents, or elderly relatives nearby, what better time to capture some priceless memories?
Last year before Mother's Day I visited a number of memory care patients and took a printout that I titled "Stories That Built Me." I sat with each patient and asked them if they would like to answer the questions on the printout. Most of them were delighted to...
Holiday
time usually means extended family time. If you are getting
together with family this year, why not take advantage of that
opportunity to capture some priceless memories? Here are some
ideas:
Open Sharing
Grab any recording device (cell phone, digital recorder, pen and paper), use the following questions (or your own) to explore...
My blogs have been on hiatus for months. As most people understand, life has a tendency to draw your attention to more pressing matters, and I sadly report that one of those matters was my dad.
We lost Dad to cancer over the summer. Our larger-than-life dad who counseled, coached, corrected and coddled us is with Mom now. And while I feel blessed...
Reading to
groups, especially to those in nursing homes and assisted living
facilities, is a rewarding way to volunteer your time. If you
wish to get involved as a reader, here are a few tips:
Ask the staff what time of day their residents are most alert and the distractions are at a minimum. Try to ...
When
I was thirteen, my mother became obsessed with genealogy. She
dragged me and my sister and our grandmother on a tri-state trip
through time, ticks, and mountain women. We rifled through dusty
courthouse records and stumbled through overgrown, dilapidated
graveyards. I assure you these are not activities on any
thirteen-year-old’s bucket list, but regardless of how I felt in
those early days, genealogy was a part of my life from that moment
forward.
Mom’s enthusiasm never waned, and through the years she constructed beautiful binders chocked full of family trees, copies of old records, and entertaining stories. But the contents of those binders were scattered throughout her...
My
mother read plenty of books to me as a child, but never at bedtime. If I
couldn’t fall asleep, she would lie down next to me and tell me a story
about her childhood. I had no pictures to look at as she shared her
tales, but I could paint those pictures in my mind.
On occasion,
I would still be awake late enough to hear my dad coming up the
stairs. After calling out my request for a glass of water – which he
always brought me with a sigh – I would ask him to share a story,
too. He would tell me he didn’t know any good stories. I would argue
that he did. And then he would recall an incident that was usually
pretty exciting and adventurous since he had been a country boy...
