Preserving Your History

The National September 11 Memorial and Museum is collecting history by archiving stories from September 11, 2001. Everyone has a story from that day. Everyone was touched in some way, no matter where in the world they were. Add your story and make history.

Make History! Share your 9/11 story

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Has the Mutual of Omaha Aha Tour come to your hometown yet? Check out their tour schedule to see if the van is going to be near you. They are going around the country recording people’s aha moments. Do you have one you’d like to share?

Here’s their definition of an aha moment: ” a moment of clarity, a defining moment when you gain real wisdom – wisdom you use to change your life.”

You don’t even have to record your moment in their van. You can record it at home and simply upload it to their site. Join hundreds of others and share your wisdom with the world.

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My Words Are Gonna Linger

Do you have a story to tell? Have you thought about writing it down but talked yourself out of it? “No one would want to hear my story.” Not true! Maybe you just need some help to get started.

I would recommend you pick up a copy of “My Words Are Gonna Linger – The Art of Personal History” the anthology of life stories put together by the Association of Personal Historians (of which I’m a proud member). There are 49 stories gathered or written by the members of this organization. These tales range from lighthearted to deeply moving and personal. All show why it’s important to tell your story. (While you are at the website ordering your book, you can also pick up some practical tips for writing life stories. )

Your story is important. Get busy.

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Papa with his granddaughter on his 90th birthday

My great-grandfather, Ed Rinne, was born in 1880 in Illinois.  As  a young man, he spent a short time farming with his father in Alabama.  I am lucky to have an audio interview with him done sometime in the late 70’s when he would have been 90+ years old.  But I was shocked when I listened to him talk about his time in the south. He uses the the word “nigger” repeatedly in telling this story.  I vacillated about posting it.  Would listener’s understand the language usage in the era he grew up in?  He clearly is not using it in a pejorative sense. As a matter of fact, he has scorn only for the white southerners.  But it is shocking to hear, nevertheless.

This has been an issue in the past with Twain’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. As well as Shakespeare’s language in The Merchant of Venice that is derogatory toward Jews.  Are we using any language today that will be shocking to our great-grand kids? Should we, or even could we, hide or sanitize our past use of language?  Here is his story as he told it, warts and all.  (Note: The “they” he refers to at the end are the white towns people.)

Papa Rinne on working in Alabama

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This is one of my favorite essays from the NPR show “This I Believe” entitled Listening is Powerful Medicine.  It reminds me of what a gift listening can be and how hard it is sometimes to just be present and let someone’s tale unfold. We need more people in our lives to say, as the old woman does in this piece, “Sit down… This is my story, not your story.”

When we interrupt or stir restlessly in our seats, we are taking our attention from our subject’s story and focusing on our own. We think we are just helping them along by filling in a forgotten word or asking them to jump ahead. “Cut to the chase”, I find myself thinking. But we are denying our subjects our full presence, our undivided attention.  And our desire and ability to be fully aware and present because our gift to the story teller.

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This is a lovely tribute by Keith to his mom. She was the ultimate baseball fan.

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Mutual of Omaha is running a series of ads about people’s “aha” moments.  This clip is about Bob, a man finally writing his memoirs.

“I always wanted to be sure the truth was told about my life. And I realized, the only one who was going to make that truth was me.”

Watch Bob explain his “aha” moment.

Do you long to tell your story?  Do you have a story that you would like to tell?  Make this moment your ‘aha’ moment.  Write your story, tell your story, leave your story for your family and friends.

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After reading several newspaper articles recently on vaccinating children for every disease known to humankind, I found my thoughts wandering to what life was like for us as children in the 1950s, when getting measles, mumps, chickenpox, and flu, were  rites of passage. Not only that, but antibiotics were not available in pill form, and I clearly remember only three medications: Cheracol (for coughs), Paragoric (a narcotic for pain and really bad coughs), and St. Joseph’s aspirin for Children. If you were so sick that the doctor had to come to the house, he often administered penicillin in the only way he could – by injection. How come we’re still alive?

We weren’t allowed to stay home from school for vague discomforts such as “my stomach hurts,” or, “my throat feels funny.” Upon a complaint like that, my mother would check for a fever, using the most reliable instrument she had, her hand. She would place her hand on your forehead, and close her eyes, channeling generations of motherly nursing, and make her decision.

If no fever, she would give your head a slightly dismissive shove and say, “You don’t have a fever. You’ll feel better when you get out in the fresh air.” “The fresh air” meant the mile’s walk to school. If your forehead was so hot that she had to plunge her hand into cold water to ease the burn, she would say something soothing, like “You may have a slight fever. Go on back upstairs to bed.”  I can still feel the relief of hearing those words. Because it was then that the fun began…

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