Taking Care of Business

That is what we Americans do best, isn't it?  We 'take care of business' with all our hearts, but sometimes we leave a mess in our wake and forget about some of the important things like personal histories. 

Some people care, of course.  There is always the aunt or uncle on Mom or Dad's side who knows all the names and birthdates.  And then she dies and nobody knows where that old bible went or it rots in somebody's attic through the next generation. Then that house is sold and by then nobody is left to identify who the people are in the old pictures. If they are lucky enough to make it to the new garage, they are of no more interest to the newest generation than random old postcards would be.

So I've come up with a concept for our town. I want to give people a chance to step outside of their normal experience.  I want to do a sort of historical barn-raising. In fact, I am launching the Ridgefield Living History Project on Tuesday night. I've tried to lower my expectations, but I do hope to have a crowd at our first information and organizational meeting. I've gotten some pretty good press from the local newspapers, so we'll see. If nobody shows up, I guess I'll just write a book about Ridgefield and interview the oldtimers and newtimers myself.

For instance, I know a wonderful fellow originally from Iran. People here know him as "Cyrus" but I know him (phonetically) as "Seer-Ruse" with the accent on the second syllable. His daughter shared some precious saffron with us that her grandmother brought. As it is outrageously expensive to buy in the United States, I was ready to faint.  After all, you can't make that delicious Spanish rice and fish dish, paella, without it, folks.

And who could ever forget Claudia, who used to work at the City Hall and who ruled that building department for years. She is descended from some of the first white settlers in the area who homesteaded here, and she still lives on a street that bears her family name. My land was owned by my neighbor's grandfather, who didn't leave it to his daughters as they were... daughters. Instead it was eventually short-platted into five and ten acre parcels and what wasn't given to the family men was sold.

Did I ever mention how much I love this town and our five acres?  Just to give you an idea, the only way I plan to leave here is in a plain pine box.:) Oh, instead of a funeral, I'd rather have my family sponsor a concert with Jazz Musicians in the local park when the weather is really nice and then all go out and eat in an expensive restaurant and talk about how much 'Mom' would have loved the food. Maybe in June on my birthday for the concert but anytime for the restaurant.

Oh come on.  Anybody who has to dye their hair has earned the right to talk about their own post-mortem arrangements.  Oh, ashes, by the way.  That's how I would rather end up, and then sprinkled on my land somewhere pretty. Or if nobody owns it anymore, then along the Salmon Creek trail would be nice.  I wouldn't mind spending eternity around there as I burned a lot of calories walking that thing with my descendants and friends.

Well, we'll see next week whether I make a lot of new Ridgefield friends or start writing that book. I know not everybody thinks genealogy and personal history is worth preserving for the less-than-famous, but that's my point. In our own minds, aren't we all the real protagonists in our own stories?  If not, I want to help people get there. Every person's story does and should matter.