Being remembered, does it matter?

I have been thinking about what pushes me into action, like why do I paint or write, is it because I feel the urge to leave some kind of Legacy, a sign that I was here, that somehow I mattered?

I heard Jean Pascal the Boxer on a radio talk show, and he said "some people read or write about history, I want to make history!" Obviously not everyone is called to make history, some of us disappear leaving nothing behind. It is a bit like if a tree falls in the forest did anyone hear it? What compels us to leave our mark, and what if the world ends, then who would remember any of us then? Does it matter?

In some ways this urgency to leave our mark propels us to action, to create or do something that we hope will last the passing of time. Our ego needs recognition and appreciation, this makes us believe we are worth it, it boosts our self-esteem.

This brings me to my family, I remember my grandmother and some stories about my great grandmother, but really, I know nothing of her family and friends, none of them did anything worth remembering them for in history books.

I have my grandmother's old pictures in a box, filled of her people that I don't know and, there is no one left to tell me about them, none of them made history, yet I am sure they wanted to leave a Legacy or be remembered like the rest of us.

They only came to life when my grandmother and her siblings would tell stories to each other about them, I am afraid that back then, when I was young, I lost interest during some of the story telling because I did not know them. Today I wish I had paid attention.

One of my great aunt was exceptionally good at story telling, but her stories were mostly make believe, she lived in a magical world of her own, and I loved her for it. She made my every days special days, she would foretell how my day would unfold, how I would go to the pond and run into a frog, how I would build castles in the sand, and play house outside with some old blankets and chairs, or how I would play cowboys and Indians with the neighbor's kids. I was in awe that she knew all that I would do before I even knew it. She did not make the history books, but she lives in my memories, memories I have to share of this incredible joyful woman that made living a fun adventure.

She was an animal lover and she talked to them, somehow they seemed to understand her. She would talk to birds and would give them rides on the clothes line. She would guide the bees to pollinate certain flowers. She even had a pig as a pet that followed her around. She was the clown of the family, I remember a certain car ride with her, my grandmother and their friends, she had us all in stitches we were laughing so hard, she was the light of the party and she did not even drink.

Nora liked to cook and bake and she liked having her family around her table. She made her own jams and pies to the delight of all. And, one of her money making hobby was to pick up worms to sell to the local fishermen. She would leave with her sun hat, her bucket and her shovel and walk into the cow field and dig for the wiggly worms. Also, during the strawberry harvest season she initiated me to the art of strawberry picking, I worked along side of her on our neighbor's strawberry farm. My aunt would sing and make jokes as we worked to the delight of everyone in the field. These were the best summers ever.

There were people in my life I wish my children had the chance to meet and know because they made my life so much more happier. Aunt Nora was one of them. You can see her on the left of the black and white picture, I am sitting next to her with my grandmother and my brother, my fifth birthday. And, in the color picture she is holding my son, unfortunately she left us not long afterward.



I guess it is up to me to keep my family history alive by writing about it so that my children can learn about all those incredible people that have shaped our family.