Baby Elephant

Something you should probably know about me, is that I’m the baby in my family. I’m the youngest of two siblings, and the youngest of all my cousins. Being the baby in the family is sort of a blessing and a curse all at the same time. The blessings are obvious, as the baby usually gets, well… babied. The flip side, is that if you play your cards right and fate is on your side you wind up being the one who’s left. What I mean to say, is that being the youngest often means that as we all get older and things happen, you slowly but eventually become the last elephant in the herd. A bit dismal to think of, but it is something I’ve had on my brain for many years now.

As with any family, my family has stories, LOTS of stories. Stories of all shapes and sizes. They are the aural history of my family. Now, the thing with an aural history, is that it only lives on if the stories keep getting told. When people stop telling the stories, people forget the stories and lose track of the memories attached to them. Which means, that SOMEONE has to take it upon themselves to keep that history alive and remembered.

(L to R) Nana, Kevin and Wendy Summer of 1991

So, back to the baby elephant in the room. I have a PRETTY good memory, better than many of my friends I’d wager. I can tell you what piece of music I sang in what concert ten years ago, and who the director was. I remember things, its what I do. An elephant never forgets, you know? So, over the years I’ve taken it upon myself to listen carefully to those stories. I’m usually the first person to ask my mom, my aunt, my grandmother (when she was alive) about the stories and memories they have. I’m the story keeper for my family, and I’m proud of that.

Now, with as good as a memory as I have, eventually my  repository of stories will get full. Once its full, new stories take the place of the old, and the old stories get forgotten. This is not something I want to happen, especially when there are so many things to be learned and shared from this history. Which brings me to this blog. I know it’s a crafting/knitting/fiber arts blog. However, often times there is an occasional anectodal story that even though you don’t think it relates to knitting, it definitely can and often does.

So, you’ll occasionally see those stories from me on here, because often I find that those life lessons can also apply to my crafting adventure. Interestingly enough, some of my inspiration for my designs has been known to come out of this as well.

As a friend once told me, after the death of my grandmother: “What is remembered, lives”. May the sharing of the aural history of my family, keep the memory of the herd alive and well for many years.

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