Earlier this year, I attended the celebration-of-life service for an old friend. Hazel had died at age 103, but I first met her in 1943 when she was a young married woman and I was a 12-year-old new in town. Her passing meant the shuttering of yet another window through which I once could see “way back when.” The last living person who knew me during my childhood.  

My mother, in her mid-90s, complained, “Son, all of my friends are dead.” That is, all but Hazel. Mother and Hazel were best friends for decades, even though Mother was some 10 years older. Both of them were very active in the Association of American Baptist Women of Kansas, with each serving a couple of times as president of their region. Neither of them left any of their stories in their own hand.

I am one of the surprisingly large number of MLH residents in their 90s, and many of them are older than my 93 years. Thus, I sometimes hear some version of that “back when” lament, and I sometimes join the chorus. We reminisce about that time when we, our siblings, cousins, and friends knew each other on more of a day-to-day basis, when we both joked and argued with each other, and learned to make up. When we took pleasure where we could find it and struggled with —and survived—that minefield called youth. We were busy polishing our skills not only for surviving but also for how to push parental buttons to achieve some desired reaction. We were alive!

We joined clubs, classes, or teams with the hopes of attaining certain goals: championships, skill with some idea or activity, maybe some measure of local fame, or to get to know better a certain female or male. We mostly cheered each other on, sometimes finding dear friends or even sweethearts in the mix. By the time of graduation from high school, most of us had heard of the idea that “Life is for the living.” Most of us were privileged to reach retirement age, and some of us chose life in a retirement community. 

We all have dear friends at Meadowlark, but very few of us know any other Meadowlark resident from way back when. Nevertheless, each of us has a rich history, and can recall many  events that (to paraphrase Walter Cronkite) have altered and illuminated not only our times but also the times of those around us! We should make a point of encouraging each other to share those histories, while at the same time, being open to listening to the lives of others. We are alive, and we have stories to tell! Yes, MLH would benefit from a storytelling activity. 

We might fall into the trap of feeling that we’ve not done anything that others might find interesting. We might feel that others have led interesting lives but that ours has been lived out in Dullsville, USA. You just might be wrong! You just might be too close to your own life to think outside of the box. Just maybe, many of the situations you’ve met in life, the reasons why those situations developed, and the ways in which you’ve responded to them just might make for fascinating tales.

So, before it’s too late, get out pad and pen and write down a few notes about some events that have been worthy enough to be remembered by you from decades past. Don’t worry about your writing style or the words chosen; your style and vocabulary are part of the real you. Make certain to include any expressions, slang terms or nicknames that were part of the environment in which you grew up or are part of your adult existence. Tell your story.

And you just might consider sending one or two of your stories to Sarah Duggan, Editor of Meadowlark’s newsletter, Meadowlark Messenger. Based on things Sarah has said in the past, I think she would love to hear from you. I suspect that most of us would love to get to know you better. It is always a good day when we find that we have something in common with someone else. And learning how someone got through a sticky time in life always increases our respect for and understanding of the teller of the tale.  

Please don’t shy away from tales that involve some animal or plant, wild or domestic. These living creatures have been a valid part of our life experiences. I vividly recall that my now late brother, Earl, during the wake for my dear late wife, Imogene, told the story of how he wondered just how Imogene managed to have such good luck with her African violets. One day Earl heard her singing to her violets; then, in his mind, he knew!

I suspect that most of us have had a pet cat or dog, maybe a goldfish. Maybe some wild animal that grew to trust us enough to come close, maybe to take food from our hand or allow a good cuddle. It is a sad fact that most every wild animal, if given the choice, will run from us. Nevertheless, for many of us, although we may have to scratch our memories to bring them to the surface, there was a time when one critter or another did, in fact, play a role in our lives, did alter the shape of our days for a time. 

Studies have shown that quiet time in a woods, along a stream, or out on the prairie — a relationship with some part of the natural world — is good for our vital signs. Perhaps each of us carries a thread of angst that is assuaged only when we rub elbows with a part of our ancestral home. After all, we once did live much of our lives outside or at least we spent a large part of our time outdoors. Being outside is part-and-parcel of our ancestral hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Crop cultivation began only rather recently, somewhere around 10,000 years ago. And only a few early humans had caves for shelter. We must remember that comfort and convenience do not always equal progress or ease of mind.

We are blessed that not only Nature but also friends and loved ones, and pets, are great moderating forces in our lives. Together they are one of the best medicines around, and never more so than when love and a zest for life are shared.  It is said that to know love we must learn to give ours away. I wish you a warm, rich Christmas season and a love-filled new year. Both Nature and people respond to love and care. We are alive, and we have stories to tell!