by Zina Abbott
In some of my dreams, when that happened, my angel was resting on a lush carpet of tall-bladed grass sprinkled with tiny flowers in pastel shades. Her arms and legs were sprawled. I sat next to her talking and playing. Sometimes, her eyes were closed; sometimes, they were staring off into space. Sometimes, she would not say anything, not even when I shook her and jabbered into her ear. Other times, she would sing-song silly words that made me laugh. But I could tell she did not know I was there.
When the pretty woman in my dream was like that, I accepted this as part of her natural state. I somehow knew that if I waited next to her, she would eventually come back to me, her eyes once more connecting with mine and her smile shining only for me. While I waited for her to return, I amused myself by picking small flowers or blades of grass and scattering them like a veil over her arms and face, watching as she sometimes shook them off to catch in her hair or create a floral ring around her body.
Other times, when the rain was pounding down upon our world, she would slip away into her other world inside a house with lots of painted wood and faded wallpaper where there were stacks of jars and boxes overflowing with beads and seashells. I often separated the beads into piles by color, or placed them end to end to create shapes. Sometimes I would pretend that the shells were people and animals and flowers from our yard while I patiently waited for the vacant stare to end, and for my angel wearing her happy face to come back to me.
More and more, I had to wait for my angel to come back to me.
Sometimes, my dreams ended while I was playing, or just as the woman’s eyes returned to me, laughing and happy. Other times, strong arms scooped me up and carried me away while I looked back with a sense of wonder at the motionless, pretty angel with her blank stare.
I stopped dreaming about the woman as I grew older. However, the memory of those dreams has stayed with me. I hear that dreams can have a meaning. If so, I had no idea what those dreams meant for many years. I only knew I used to dream about the pretty lady—my angel—quite often when I was very little.
Chapter 5 - Jennie
“Mrs. Moore, this is Jennie Howell,” Jennie said over the phone, her voice quavering. “Are you busy right now?”
“Not really,” Mrs. Moore replied.
Jennie cleared her voice.
“First, I want to thank you for your help at the library. My instructor made a note on my paper saying I used excellent sources.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Jennie. I’m so glad I was able to help.”
“Also, I asked about my grandparents’ names.” Jennie continued. “You said to let you know if I found anything interesting. To tell you the truth, things did not turn out like I planned. I think I stirred up a hornet’s nest at my house.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
“Would you like to come over to my place and tell me about it?” Mrs. Moore offered.
“Thank you,” said Jennie with relief. “Just let me gather up my papers and I’ll be right over.”
****
Jennie followed Mrs. Moore into an office just off of the entryway to her house. She noticed that the most prominent piece of furniture in the room was a wrap-around computer desk. On top was a desktop computer with two monitors attached. One wall was lined with bookshelves. The space set aside for a closet did not have doors or a clothes pole, but was lined with file cabinets.
Jennie sat down in the chair at the end of the desk. Mrs. Moore cleared some papers from the desktop next to Jennie so she had a place to spread out her papers.
“I did what you suggested, Mrs. Moore,” Jennie started. She shuffled through the papers she brought with her to find the one she wanted.
“Dad was pretty open about his family. He gave me my Granddad John’s full name. He didn’t know where he was born, only that he has lived most of his life in Modesto. His mother’s maiden name was Walding and she was born in Gustine, California. That’s my Nana Graves, whose given names are Amy Renate.”
Jennie picked up another paper, the one with the questions she had jotted down at the library.
“Mom really didn’t want to talk about family. Before she got upset and left the room, she did say my Grandpa Mike’s real name is Michael James. My Grandma Jan’s name is Janice Kay. Her maiden name is Reed. But, when I told my parents I also was interested in finding out birth and marriage information, that’s when my mother started getting really upset. She said this was all in the past, and she didn’t see any reason for me to be digging it all up. Her feeling is, only how things are now is what matters.”
“What do you think, Jennie?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about these details before. As I was growing up, I just loved being with my grandparents and playing with my cousins on the holidays or special get-togethers.”
“You’ve never had a desire to learn more?”
“No. Like most kids, I guess, I mostly thought about me and what I wanted. Besides, our family is so ordinary, writing a history about us would be incredibly boring. But, I have always had a sense that my parents, my grandparents and therefore, I guess, my family back through time are a little bit a part of me. I mean, we inherit physical characteristics and talents from them. I believe people tend to pass along their values and opinions to their children. But, I never felt the need to analyze it before. I will admit…I’m starting to get curious about a few things, especially with the way Mom reacted when I started asking a few questions.”
Mrs. Moore scrunched her face thoughtfully as she considered Jennie’s words.
“It does sound like there’s a family story there,” she finally commented. “But, your mother evidently doesn’t want to talk about it right now. You may need to wait until later, or you may need to talk to someone else.”
“I don’t know. Mom was pretty insistent that I not cause trouble with my grandparents by asking them questions about a lot of facts. Even my dad said I need to back away from this until I work things out with my mother. I wrote her an apology letter, and now everyone acts like they used to before I asked my questions. But, I don’t dare bring it up again for fear of upsetting my mom.”
“Hm. But you indicated that your father didn’t seem reluctant to talk about his side of the family.”
“No, he was open—up to a point. He watched Mom pretty closely and took his cues from her.”
“It definitely sounds like she’s not comfortable talking about her family right now. You don’t want to hurt your relationship with your mother by confronting her with something that is painful for her.”
“Frankly, it bothers me that my parents don’t trust me enough to talk to me about it. I’m no longer a kid. I’m a married woman with a child of my own. With all the different relationships and family situations out there in the world these days, what could have possibly happened in her family that she thinks would be too shocking for me to know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she really think that I would be judgmental or think any less of her or my grandparents if I were to learn their lives were less than perfect? I’ll always love them, no matter what.”
“It may not be a case of your mother not trusting you,” Mrs. Moore said carefully. “Sometimes, when things happen to people, they end up carrying around a lot of extra emotional baggage. If that’s the case with her, she may need to get to a point where she can work through some of it before she can trust herself to open up to others.”
Jennie turned her head and stared at the shelf of books across the room. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Donna Moore or say anything in response. Her thoughts immediately went to her own situation. Yes, she already told her parents the key points of her situation with Gerald. She had to, in order to explain to them why she wanted to return to college in California instead of staying at base housing at Ft. Drum. But she didn’t share her current marital situation with anyone else. For one thing, it was no one else’s business.
Besides, she was having a dif
ficult enough time holding herself together emotionally without worrying how to respond to the different reactions of friends and acquaintances. The last thing she needed was pity, or someone treating it casually, or someone offering unwanted advice, or, worse yet, having people judge her and wonder what she did wrong to cause Gerald to want to leave her.
Did her own mother face the same kind of situation at some point in her life?
“You know, there’s more to family history than names, dates and places,” Mrs. Moore continued. “If you really are interested in learning more about your family, focus on those areas that are open to you. Talk to your grandparents. Encourage them to tell you stories from their lives or the lives of their parents. As soon as you can, write down those stories so you won’t forget them. Especially if you have older relatives, you want to ask them if you can interview them. We never know how long they will remain with us. You can also write your own story so your son will have it when he gets older. You can organize your family pictures in an album or scan them into your computer and save them digitally. There are a lot of things you can do and still avoid asking for those details that your mother seems concerned about.”
“Those things all sound like they would take a lot of time. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Usually when people start, they get as much information from living family members, which you started to do. But, after that, maybe you can do a little record research on your own as you have time.”
“I have no idea how to do record research. Besides, between my son, school and work I have no time to fit it into my schedule.”
“Well, here’s a thought. What is your family doing for Thanksgiving?”
“We’re going to my grandparents on my mother’s side for dinner.”
“A lot of people like to reminisce about the past during family holiday dinners. Maybe you can stay away from dates and hard facts and just ask them to share stories during your visit. Just one or two things from each of them will get you started. Make a point to really listen. You understand the concepts of active listening, don’t you?”
Jennie thought back to her conversation with Quinn at the library the same day she and Donna Moore had started this whole project and nodded.
“And, if you’d like to learn how to do a few things like record research, I’ll be happy to show you how to get started.”
“Are you sure? Since you do this for a living, I don’t feel right asking you to help me for free. I’m afraid I can’t afford to hire you at this time.”
Mrs. Moore smiled. “I’m not doing your research for you, Jennie. I’m just being a good neighbor by giving you some ideas so you can find out about your own family. Come over anytime to ask questions or to show me what you find.”
Donna snapped her fingers and then said, “That reminds me. I promised you some pedigree charts and family group sheets. I’ll also write down a few sites where you can get some free databases for recording your family information on your computer.”
Donna collected some forms and wrote down some web addresses on another paper before handing them to Jennie.
Then Donna wagged her fingers in the air as a thought occurred to her.
“I know what you might enjoy attending if you can fit it into your schedule. I’m part of a little local group here in Golden Oaks that shares an interest in preserving all things family. We support each other by sharing our works in progress and taking turns to give little presentations on our specialties. We meet once a month in a member’s home. I’m inviting you to visit our next meeting since our topic just happens to be on how to conduct successful oral history interviews.”
Jennie immediately envisioned a group of gray-haired old ladies in various stages of dementia sitting around on sofas and chairs while they rattled papers and rambled on about their dead relatives.
“Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Moore, but I really don’t have the time or desire to join a genealogy club right now.”
“Oh, it’s not a genealogy club. We call our group GOFT. That stands for Golden Oaks Family Ties. My husband likes to tease me by calling us the goofy ladies, but we are the GOFT. We have women of all ages who come. For example, Kaylee is about your age and has a little girl and a new baby. She just brings them along. I think you two would enjoy getting to know each other. Her area of family focus is putting together scrapbooks of her pictures, although she has started branching into digital scrapbooking. Sandy’s a little older, but not nearly as old as me. She does a lot of needlework. Her latest thing is memory quilts, but she likes to make little framed counted cross-stitch baby announcements, too. I and a couple of the others like family history including traditional genealogy research. There are a variety of ways we find to preserve and share the importance of our families, whether it’s through photographs, heritage appreciation, mementos, histories or whatever.”
“That sounds a little bit intriguing,” said Jennie. “But, once again, it’s the time and energy issue with me.”
“Oh, I understand, believe me. But, just keep GOFT in mind. A word spoken from experience, Jennie: When you have a busy schedule like you do, you need a short break from the usual demands so you can do something just for yourself.”
Jennie knew that what her neighbor said was right. Between the time constraints of school and her job, plus feeling guilty about being away from Garrett as much as she was, she didn’t allow herself any quality recreation time. The past few weeks, especially, she had felt the pressure building up inside of her.
“The GOFT group might be the means for you to get away and take a little break,” Donna continued. “We meet on the second Tuesday night of the month. In addition to sharing ideas and learning skills, we have a lot of fun socializing. And, it just so happens that with Arlene giving her presentation this month on oral histories, you might pick up a few ideas that will help you feel more confident about asking your family to share their stories with you this Thanksgiving.”
Jennie laughed good-naturedly at her neighbor. Was she willing to meet the goofy ladies?
“Mrs. Moore, I think you missed your calling. You should be in sales, not research.”
“Not on your life. Doing what I’m doing now is too much fun. Besides, I’m not trying to sell you something, Jennie. I’m being a friend who is offering to share something with you that I think you’ll enjoy. Tell you what—put the GOFT meeting on your calendar for now. I’ll check with you a day or two before to see if you want to come. If so, I’ll pick you up. If not, I understand. And, if you decide to join us, feel free to bring your son or leave him home, whichever is more comfortable for you. No obligations, just an invitation, okay?”
Jennie mulled the invitation over in her brain. The Bedazzled Boutique never scheduled her to work on Tuesdays. Her school schedule was light on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Yes, Jennie decided, she would think about it, at least for this one time. She would like to hear some tips on how to ask her family for information about the past without distressing everyone like she had managed to upset her mother.
Chapter 6 – Christy
My first real memories are of Dad and Mom taking me to a park. I remember Dad used to push me and several other children on the merry-go-round, running so fast he would almost trip and fall before he would let go of the bar and let us spin by ourselves. He would laugh almost as much as we children did, even though he did all the work and didn’t get to ride. Mom used to push me on the swing so that I flew high into the air. It was a quieter kind of fun, but I begged her to push me on the swing every chance I got. I liked to fly high into the sky like the birds I saw overhead. Of course, now that I’m older, I realize that Mom didn’t really push me very high. It only seemed that way to me, as small as I was.
I remember Mom’s dark brown hair being cut into a smooth neck-length bob most of the time as I was growing up. Sometimes, when we were outside, I would see Mom’s hair backlit by the sun. It had a warm shine about it that made feel like I wanted to re
ach up and stroke her hair. At the same time, I had a sense that it didn’t have the same vibrant glow as my dream angel’s hair.
I loved being around my mom and dad. I worked hard to please my parents. I remember being truly happy with my family until my brother, Kenny, came along. That was such a traumatic event for me. I understand now why I felt that way. But back then, I only knew that my world was coming to an end and I didn’t know what I had done wrong to make Mom and Dad want to bring home this new child to replace me. From the time Kenny came home, I was no longer the center of attention. Even with Mom making a big fuss about me being a big girl going to kindergarten, it didn’t help me adjust any faster to having to share my parents’ love with a sibling.
Perhaps it was because my brother and I were too far apart in age to have much in common for play that I never grew close to him as a child. Instead, I felt that there was always this competition between us for our parents’ affection. I was determined that, as the oldest child, I was going to win. No matter how much others fussed over Kenny as the “baby” of the family, I was going to win. When we did play together, I made sure I always kept the upper hand. I was the one in charge. If we played school, I was the school teacher dictating his lessons to him and finding reasons to scold him for real or imagined failures and misbehavior. If we played hospital, I was the nurse making him take bad-tasting medicine and subjecting him to a pretend shot, making sure I poked him extra hard with the play syringe.
Master Kenneth Michael responded by doing whatever he could to make my life miserable. He teased me relentlessly, especially in front of my friends. He preferred to hang around me when I was with my pals instead of playing with his own friends just so he could pester us. I never was willing to take him anywhere with me because he always found ways to embarrass me.
