Making the World a Better Place

We may not all achieve success

That brings us wealth and fame;

We may not set the world afire

Nor win world acclaim.

We may not blaze a glorious trail

That will live in history,

Nor perform great deeds of daring

For sake of chivalry.

But each of us can surely try

To win what hearts we may,

And make this world a better place

Because we passed this way.

I did not write this poem and I was unable to find out the author's name.  The poem was included in a scrapbook given to me by my sister Rande when I was twelve years old.  To me, this is what life is all about.  Making the world a better place.  Not only for ourselves and those we love, but also for those who come after us.

Curiosity

Great-Great-Great Grandparents
Hachaliah & Harriet Cain

There are times when I would like to have a time machine.  Not so I could change history, but because I would like to meet my ancestors.  I have been researching my family tree since I was 16 and the facts and stories I learn about them only whet my appetite for more.  It is almost an addiction.  It is certainly a life-long hobby.

I was born into a white, middle-class family in the mid-1950s.  I never had the chance to know my father very well since he died when I was 10 years old, but one of my fondest memories of him involved a Christmas tradition.  Since I was the youngest child, he and I would always go to pick out the family Christmas tree together.  To me they were always the most beautiful trees in the world, but the rest of the family had a different opinion.  Looking at the old pictures now I have to agree with my family that 5-year-olds simply don't know what a beautiful tree is.  But the memories of that tradition are still precious.

My mother was the one who brought stability to our lives.  I don't ever remember a time when she wasn't working, yet she was always there---guiding us, disciplining us, baking bread, taking us to church and making us a family.  Even after my father died, she continued to work, raise the four of us children and she started going to college part-time.  I have always respected her for that.  One of my favorite memories of her involved helping her at work.  She was a clerk at a dime store and every year just before Easter, I would help her unpack the candy in the stockroom.  Any of the chocolate Easter bunnies that were broken could not be put on the shelves, so, of course, I got to dispose of a few of them.  It was a delicious job.

Family was very important to my mother and I can see how her actions instilled that thought in me.  The family gatherings we had during my childhood will be remembered throughout my lifetime.  I had lots of aunts, uncles and cousins in the area.  My maternal grandparents lived close by also.  Every Thanksgiving we would get together for a big family dinner and always after dinner we would draw names for the Christmas gift exchange.  It was always fun to hear the squeals of joy and see the rolling of eyes as everyone peeked to see whom they had to buy a present for.  Next there was always whisperings of suggested gift ideas and occasionally someone quietly pleading for a trade.  It was all so very fun.

Along with all the eating and catching up on daily activities that went on at these gatherings, stories of the "old days" were always told too.  My grandparents and aunts and uncles were always talking about things that happened in their childhoods.  I think these stories planted the seed of interest in me which grew into the study of genealogy.  I find it all quite fascinating.

One of the most intriguing stories I have heard, I have not been able to verify, but I am inclined to believe there is, at least, a little truth to it.  It goes like this......One of my great-great-great-great-grandfathers was found abandoned in a boat off the coast of England.  He was just an infant and no one could find out who his family was.  After an unsuccessful investigation, the Queen of England herself gave the baby the surname of Skidmore and the child was raised in England.  He eventually immigrated to America and had a large family which I have been able to trace to me.  I admit that this story sounds outlandish, but after I moved to Phoenix I was able to get a slight form of validation for it.  One day, while working on my genealogy, I decided to go through the Phoenix phone book and call some of the people with the last name of Skidmore.  I didn't know whether these people were relatives or not.  As I was talking to one gentleman, he related this same story.  The only difference was that the baby was found off the coast of Sweden, not England.  All other details were the same!  Amazing, isn't it?

I have many other stories equally interesting.  A great-great-grandfather was an inventor and also worked with a circus for awhile.  A great-grandmother traveled from Wisconsin to Nebraska in a covered wagon as a child.  A great-grandfather immigrated from Denmark as a young man, got married, had three children and when his oldest child was only five years old, his wife contracted pneumonia and died at the age of twenty-two.  For the most part, I believe most of my ancestors would not say they had lived extraordinary lives.  But just their day-to-day existence is extraordinary, in my opinion.  I am equally sure that they would be amazed at my day-to-day life.  It is so different from what they experienced.

All in all, studying my family history has been both frustrating and exciting.  It helps me to find my own identity.  It also makes history come alive when I think about my own relatives and how they related to the current events of their time. What about you?  Do you ever wonder what your ancestors' daily routines were like?  Why they made the decisions they did?  Why they traveled to another part of the country even though they knew there were dangers and they may never again see the family they were leaving behind?  If so, try doing a little family research. It may open up a completely different path in your life.

Childhood Friends

Me and Larde

What is your earliest childhood memory?  How old were you when that memory was made?  3 years old? 4?  5 or older?  However old you were, I hope the memory is a good one. Some of my earliest and fondest memories are when I was about three or four years old.  I lived in a small house with my father, mother and three siblings.  A few houses down from us on the same block lived an elderly gentleman who I called Larde (pronounced Lardey).  A nickname I gave him because I evidently could not pronounce his actual last name.  Yes, I was living in a time when children actually called adults by their last name, prefaced with Mr. or Mrs.
Larde was a wonderful man, he treated me kindly and I loved him.  He was a widower and a retired gardener who loved flowers.  African Violets were his favorites.  I remember he had several small flower gardens in his front yard and many more flower pots on tables inside his screened in front porch. Our friendship took place in his front yard.  It was there where I learned how to do somersaults and cartwheels with him cheering me on after every little accomplishment.  I remember he always shared peanuts with me.  Next door to Larde lived another family who had a little boy about my age.  Joey and I spent hours in Larde's front yard playing all sorts of games while Larde watched and made sure we didn't get hurt.  It was a very enjoyable time in my life.  My family moved to a bigger house in a different neighborhood after a couple of years and I met new friends and had new adventures.  But, I never forgot the times I spent in Larde's front yard.

I think it is important for all of us to keep our good memories alive.  Whatever they may be.  We can still stay focused on the present and plan for the future, but by recalling a pleasant memory or two occasionally......well, it helps make it easier to keep a more positive outlook on life.  And that is a good thing.

A Promise Assured

Uphill

Written By 

Christina Rossetti

Does the road wind uphill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

Have you ever traveled in a strange city or country totally by yourself? Did you ever have any misgivings about the reception that you would find at your journey's end?  This poem is about that very thing.  The traveler in this poem is taking the one journey that we all will eventually take, one that we must ultimately take alone. The journey from life as we know it, through death, to another life which we can only imagine and take on faith. Wouldn't you like to ask some questions, to be assured of what your new life will be like?  Listen in and then know that the poet and I believe the promise of eternal life will not be broken.

This is a poem with two speakers.  I have named them "The Weary One" and "The Comforter."  The poem starts with a question from "The Weary One" and is immediately answered in the next line by "The Comforter."  The conversation continues in this manner throughout the entire poem.  First a question, then an answer.  In this way "The Weary One" is assured over and over again that he will find rest and comfort at his journey's end.

In the first verse, "The Weary One" asks if "the road" or journey is all uphill. "The Comforter" confirms that it is.  To me this is saying life will always be a struggle.  The question is asked if the journey will take the entire day. Symbolically speaking, "The Weary One" is asking if he has to really go through each step of his life.  Is there a shortcut?  The answer comes back that there are no shortcuts in life.  The journey must be completed in its entirety. This verse is the only one which does not give straightforward comfort to "The Weary One." In a way though, it is comforting because it lets "The Weary One" and the reader know that everyone must live through his or her entire life.  There are no shortcuts for anyone.  We are all equal.

The rest of the poem is very comforting.  For every question "The Weary One" asks, "The Comforter" has a positive answer.  In the second verse "The Weary One" asks if there will be a resting place for the night.  What he is saying is, when life is through will there be a place for me?  "The Comforter" says yes. "The Weary One" is then worried if he will be able to find his resting place and "The Comforter" assures him that he cannot miss it.

In the third verse "The Weary One" is worried that when he arrives he will be alone, but "The Comforter" tells him he will meet others who have gone before him.  Next comes the question of how to gain entrance to this resting place and "The Comforter" assures "The Weary One" that he will not be kept standing at the door.  This is telling us that no matter when our life's journey is over, our place in heaven is already reserved and waiting for us.

In the last verse "The Weary One" asks if he will find comfort and ease from all the pains of his labors through life.  The answer given is "Of labor you shall find the sum."  This means, in essence, that you will reap what you sow.  If you have lived a good life and kept true to yourself and God, your reward will be great in Heaven.  The final question that is asked is will there be enough room for everyone who wants in?  "The Comforter" simply says yes, enough beds for all who ask to come in.

This is a very symbolic and comforting poem for me.  It gives me the assurance that at the end of my journey through life, there will be a comforting and restful place waiting for me in heaven.

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What is written above was an assignment for an English class back when I was in college.  I decided to include it in my blog because even after all these years it is still a very comforting poem for me.  I know some of you reading my blog may hold different beliefs than I do on the subject of death and the eternal life that follows.  That is okay.  I am not trying to challenge or change your beliefs. I am simply showing you, through this poem, why my faith in God and my religious beliefs are comforting to me.  When life gets chaotic, it is good to stop and take a moment to remember what is important, what makes you happy, and what brings you peace of mind.