I just finished reading this book called ROOTS, and although I turned the last page several days ago I can't stop thinking about it. It's a beautifully written compilation of several generations beginning with one African- Kuntay Kinte and finishing with the authors fond memories of his ancestors and his search to connect the dots. Enter...Alex Haley and this book. The timing of this book has been interesting for me. As much as I initially refused to get caught up in American Politics I have watched the election this past week with a lot of interest. You know it doesn't matter if you are Liberal, Conservative, or in between, there is one fact about this election that resounds and brings hope to my heart. This week, one of the toughest, strongest, and at times aggressive countries in the world just elected a black man to be their leader for the first time. After reading about the generations and generations of people who were treated as slaves, given no rights, and forced to do as the white people said, I find it monumental that we've come this far. Now it could probably be said that their is not a group of people who have not experienced racism or prejudice and certainly America is not guilty of distributing it all. I am not trying to knock the states (LUCI: I love the states) They have amazing gas stations, and we could learn a thing or two about patriotism from watching them. I'm not even saying that I would have voted for the democrats if I could have voted. I'm not voicing any political beliefs here, I am talking about one thing only. A few generations ago, in that very country the thought of a "Black man" being more then a slave working for his
owner was unthinkable. That's all I'm talking about. Progress.
I also found another little thread throughout this book that has affected me so profoundly this week. Stories were told, from one generation to the next, so that over a hundred years later the youngest baby knew about their great great great great great grandfather. They were proud of their history. Do you know in Africa tribes have a griot. An old man who's job it is simply to remember. To remember stories, genealogy and history. They don't record data, they treasure it up in their minds, and then pass it on to the next griot.
It was a year ago today that John's mom died. It was a year and a half ago that my Dad died, and it has been almost 23 years since my mom died. After each one of their passings I remember thinking, "I will never forget who they were. My kids will know their grandparents even if they can't get to know them." I remember stubbornly planning on keeping their memory alive as if they were still here, yet I look back and wonder how I've let myself forget to do that. I want my kids to KNOW their grandparents. I don't want us to just wallow in our losses and pity ourselves. I want us to honor these people who always put their family first. I want my kids to know how rich their heritage is. I have stories about their GREAT grandparents that I've not sat down to tell.
I don't want Abigail forgetting how much her Grandma Hardy loved to sit with her and read books, or how she was always waiting at the kitchen window whenever we'd come to visit ready to feed our hungry tummies and be the grandma that she was so good at being. I want my kids to never forget that they knew someone who was perfectly kind to others,and it is possible to be that good. I want my kids to remember her pumpkin pie (that's really made with squash), the bags of cheetos, the classical music that filled her home, and her sweet disposition that always made everyone feel welcome. I see so much of her in John. He's good just like her. I see her in Jessica's dimples.
I want my kids remembering that they had a Grandpa who LOVED being their grandpa. I need to tell them about times growing up when that man had NO MONEY but could still pull a meal together when the fridge was bare. I want my kids to know how he owned one pair of shoes for a large part of our childhood, yet we always had what we needed and in some miraculous way, we even had what we wanted. My Dad was a biker, a police man, a private investigator and at times a bit of a rebel. He once grew his grey hair out long and wore it in a ponytail- and I think it was to just get a stir out of us. He was a joker, and he had the most giving heart and deepest laugh ever.
I want my kids to remember the stories of my Mom. Their Grandma Rausch who by all description seems more perfect then anyone I've ever known. I want my children to know that a day doesn't go by that I don't wish they knew her, had heard her laugh or seen her smile. I want my kids to know that every memory I have of her was a good one. For almost 5 years she fought a disease and our 5 year old minds hardly even knew it.
I want my kids to know that their GREAT grandparents were equally amazing. Some were immigrants from Germany, some were farmers and gardeners, a few were converts, some were noble latter day saint pioneers, some were like parents to me, a few fought in wars, all of them good people who contributed to how we live today.
I want my kids to know these people, to love them as much as we did. As much as we still do. I want my kids to desire to be like them, and to pass on their stories to their kids. Why am I not doing that for them? I love to go to my sister Jewel's house and look at the wall of photos she has of my Dad. I LOVE that!
Sometimes I feel hesitant to talk about great people who I love and miss, because I sense that talking about them would be wallowing or self pitying. It's almost as if we think that
moving on will make us stronger then
holding on. WHY? I don't think it is stronger, I think it is stupider:) If we don't wallow in the memories of those we need to remember we won't give them the time in our minds and hearts that they deserve. If we forget about the atrocities some groups of people have had to endure then we will never learn to treat people better. We can move on from our trials, our experiences and past hurt, but we can't, we absolutely can't forget.
So those of you who are still reading this long post, Thanks for sticking with me. Those who tuned out- you can wake up now and go on with your day. Rant is over. But I'll tell you one thing. With this Remembrance Day coming up I plan to do just that. Not only will it be a great chance to celebrate this amazing, free country we live in and express gratitude for those men and woman who made Canada what it is. In addition to that, I feel there is so much more to remember and pass on as well from my own heart and mind.
And of course what would a party be without a picture with Santa! If you cant' tell in the photo- Jessica would have been fine without that traditional visit. I swear there hasn't been a year that I haven't held my children forcing them to "be happy- it's SANTA!" Maybe I'm just trying to live through them, but honestly why WHY do kids cry at the sight of Santa? Jessica climbs to the TOP of the kids' bunk bed and leans over the railing dangerously without any fear, she runs out onto a busy street and thinks she's playing a game. Bring her near jolly old Santa though and the girl falls apart. 
The sleigh ride was a favorite for all of us, and I've decided that the ONLY thing I want for Christmas is a horse. Oh and a barn to put it in. ...OK on second thought... how about, just a farm. 
They had a dutch-oven cook off. I LOVE dutch oven cooking! John and I enjoyed samples of turkey, goose, hasty pudding, roasted apples, praline sweet potatoes and more. It made me feel all warm and cozy inside as we filled our tummies and then settled down with the kids to watch a Christmas Carol in the theatre. 
