We Are Our Ancestors.

We are out ancestors; I feel them, they live inside my flesh and bone. They are me,  I am they,  They still speak in my mind.  They are encrypted in my DNA.  They are the reason that I have green eyes, that I dream of the sea and that I like to putter around the garden.  I can no more escape them then I can escape breathing.  Some times I know things with out knowing why. It is they speaking though me.  One day I expect I will go to them again. 

A few years back I was blessed to have correspondence with then one of eldest relatives. She lived in Norway. She was in her late 80s at the time. She was my grandfather’s first cousin.  As a little girl she had wanted to keep in touch with her American cousins so she learned English and wrote letters to them.  They sent letters back and the family was able to keep in touch through 3 generations.  Dagny Magnuson was her name, 

Our family was strewn throughout the United States.  My Great Grandparents had 12 children.  The two girls died as children back in Norway but the other ten, all boys, lived through ripe old age,  Their dad, my Great Grandfather died a few years after arriving.  He was bitten by a rabid dog, Story is that he tied himself to a tree to avoid attacking his own children. leaving them alone with their strong but over worked Mom and the boys pretty much raised each other.  I am told that they either grew to be extremely devout clergymen or wild young things. 

My grandfather was a wild young thing.  Free as the wind, did as he wished.  He was not so good with money or responsibilities. Oh but he did love life and the adventure of it. Years later, when my Grandmother died my Grandpa did the same; finding himself again free of responsibilities and with what little money he had left he traveled America.  He went door to door, asking the lady of the house if there where any knives or scissors to be sharpened for a small fee.   He raised the money as he went, and then back to Norway twice for visits with the family. 

Somehow, my Grandfather must have forgot to tell my Dad of how to get in touch with the family, or perhaps my Dad had forgotten it, Not thinking it was so important as he was busy making ends meet.

I wish I had known about Dagny earlier in my life.  I was in my thirties when I found out through a cousin of mine.  “You know you can still write Dagny” she said,  “Who’s Dagny?” I asked. so I was able to communicate, however briefly with a woman who had very old memories of our family and of the time and place they had lived in.   Her letters took a while to get back, and they were painstakingly written, very detailed, still maintaining the singsong inflection of Norwegian through her translation.  And hey were a window into the past that I never forgot.

I could have talked to my surviving grandmother and aunts and uncles when I was younger but I didn’t. I was too busy living life and finding my wings.  You never think those people will die.  They should still be there later, when I have more time, I will catch up with them. If I had I would have learned, these were not just some tired old stories about dead relatives no one cared about any more, I would have learned about myself.  . Talking to Dagny inspired me to learn more,  And I never regret the time I spent listening to the stories of my parents that have now passed, and what they remembered growing up and about the family and times they grew up in.

Now I am the aunt, with young nephews and nieces who think that I will live forever.  I am 45, I am truly blessed by having a husband who fits me just so in our thoughts and day to day lives.  We live a good life.  We don’t need for much.

But I have stories to tell and I have no children of my own save the cats.  Cat’s don’t particularly care about anything but a soft tummy to cuddle on and that I remember to feed then and change the litter box.  They are cat.  I am warmth, companionship, and safety to them.  They know that their ancestors were gods of course and that’s all they need to know.

.So with that said, I will tell these stories and share with you,  I will leave a window open so that these stories might not be lost and forgotten with time.

Blessed Be, Grumpy Olde Krowe