Blog Post #1

      I think a lot of people don't realize how special one little item can be and just look at them throughout their house as just things they're used to seeing. As I sat here and thought about it I realized there are so many heirlooms in my house that I could choose that are special to my family and I. We have things such as my great-grandma's china from her wedding, jewelry from my mother's great-great-grandma, and even very old photographs in frames that are very special to every one of us. There is one thing, though, that is especially special to me because it is all mine and has been passed down for a very long time now; a silk handkerchief.  The day I was born this silk, white handkerchief was given to me by my grandparents. My grandmother, Linda, received this from her grandmother, and she received it from her grandmother, and so on. She even has a very long story to go along with it that she told me when I was younger. Although I can't remember it now, it will be something I will have her tell me again in the future. 

       I have this container in my basement that is filled with all of the things that have always been very special to me. Ever since I was little, I have referred to it as my "special box." My mom started storing things in it when I was a baby and while growing up I used to look at it every couple of years to remember what was in it. I would get super happy each time remembering all of the things people gave me or I had once played with. I always saw this handkerchief, but obviously since I was little it didn't mean very much to me because I never knew exactly what it was or what it was supposed to be used for.  As I continued to get older I came to the realization more and more as to why this simple piece of cloth was so special to all of these women. This holds a lot of sentimental value and I know it will definitely be passed on several more times for years to come.

     When women get married it is well known for the bride to need, "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue." It is supposed to give them good luck on their wedding day.  My grandmother gave this to me so I am able to consider it my "something old."  Even after having a family of your own, your "something old" is supposed to symbolize continuity to show that you will still be connected and close with your family now. Not as many people use this tradition today, but I know for sure that it will be something I will take part in. Knowing I have this for my special day makes me extremely happy and thankful since it came from my grandma that I am very  close with. Since it means this much to me, it excites me to possibly have the chance to give it to my own granddaughter. 

Blog Post #1

A Home Away from Home

            Nearly everyone has some place they consider to be their “home away from home.” For some, it may be a summer camp, a friend’s house, or a vacation home. For me, it was my grandparent’s house.

            My grandparents are the type of people who genuinely love their family and, like the iconic grandparents, love to spoil their grandkids (which I have never particularly minded).  It was not until later in life, however, that I realized just how important being a home away from home is not only to my grandparents, but to my entire family.

           My understanding of this legacy beings with my great-grandma. Having nine kids of her own, my great-grandma was already a renowned mother. However, anyone who knew her would argue she was a mother to so many more. Whenever someone came to visit her, she would stop whatever she was doing and sit to talk with them. No exceptions. I guess this is really what made her a mother to all. She listened like it was her only job.

          This aspect of her life made an impact on both adults and children alike. One child in particular reported back to his mother after having missed dinner, “I was with Mrs. Thelma eating her bread.” What may seem like such simple gestures showed their impact when people from near and far lined up to say their goodbyes.

          My great grandma’s legacy continued in the fullest to my grandma. When my mom was a child, there was never a time when kids weren’t over. Having a swimming pool made their house the place to be especially during summers.

          Whenever there was an argument in the pool, my grandpa would always make his own kids sit out. When questioned, he would say, “You have this pool all the time, they don’t.” He intended for his home to be any child’s home away from home. The only complaint: one child once gained 50 pounds while staying the summer at my grandparents.
        
         This legacy, however, did not end when their kids were raised. When attending a holiday with my grandparents, it is not uncommon for me to see someone at the table with whom I have no relation at all. These strangers are usually either people my grandparents have employed or helped in some way. My grandma never, EVER, lets anyone go hungry.

         Even now, when my grandpa is 70, they have a relative staying in their home, an employee living in their office building, and a man living in a trailer on their property. They will always be a home away from home to strangers and family alike.

         Although my grandparent’s legacy hasn’t yet continued in its fullness to any one family member, somehow, I know that it will. A home is not something that is easily forgotten nor left. It is more than the walls that make it up; it is the people inside. Someday, as I have a family of my own, I can only hope that I will have the honor of being someone else’s home away from home.

           

My grandparents with my great-grandma at her 91st birthday

Blog Post 1

    I can remember the very first time that I put on my FFA jacket like it was yesterday. A young freshman excited for what all I had to experience in the next four years. The feeling of excitement and uncertainty for what laid ahead as I zipped up that blue corduroy for the first time is something that I wish I could experience again. However, the sense of pride that I got with every time I zipped that same jacket up again is something that I wouldn't trade for anything.
 
  To anyone else this jacket might just be an ugly jacket that the weird ag kids wore, but to me it was everything. It was almost a part of my identity. I was so proud to be a member of the FFA that I wanted everyone to know that I was, and the only way to be sure of that was when I was in official dress wearing my jacket.

  In this jacket I learned so much. I learned about a variety of life skills such as how to speak in public, parliamentary procedure, or even how to keep your panty hose from running. I learned how to interact with important public figures, and to make sure that I represented myself, my chapter, and my organization while doing so.  I learned about livestock in my jacket. I learned that there's a lot more to agriculture than just raising animals and planting seeds.  I think the most important thing that I learned in my jacket was about myself. I learned that I am strong, smart, kind and courageous.

  One day I hope to be able to pass down my FFA jacket to my children. I hope that by doing this they will be able to fall in love with the same organization that I did years before. Also, I hope to inspire a passion for agriculture that they will be able to continue to pass down. I can only hope that they are able to find them self in that jacket the way that I did. I want them to become well educated and confident and I strongly believe that wearing that jacket with pride is the best way to do so. Also, I hope that they learn to take pride in the bigger picture than just in their own success. Yes, it might be nice to succeed on your own, but the memories and skills that come with the success of teamwork are beyond compare.
   
   I fear that by the time I have children agriculture will be even less respected than it is now. That is why I want to pass down my jacket to them. They will be the new generation, and it will be up to them to keep the passion alive, and keep the agriculture industry respected.

An example for workshopping: My Grandmother's Legacy

            My grandmother was the first close loss I can remember. I had never known my father’s father; he had died before my parents even met. But my father’s mother was a different story. Of my two grandmothers, I wasn’t as close to her as to my mother’s mother. She simply lived further away—close enough for easy holiday and birthday visits, but not within walking distance like my mother’s mother. It’s a distance that I realized, later in life, that I had reflected in language: while my mother’s mother was “Grandma,” my father’s mother was “Grandma Hayes.” This incorporation of her last name was a sign of the slightly greater formality, somewhat lesser familiarity, in my relationship with her. In the last couple years of her life, I tried to change that, being sure to address her as “Grandma,” too. But sometimes I forgot.

            I had lost great-uncles and distant cousins, and one first cousin when I was too young to know what that loss really meant. So I wasn’t prepared in any way, not that anyone really can be, for losing Grandma Hayes. I was at my parents’ house, sitting on the front porch, when the call came; my aunt, who had done most of my grandmother’s care, called to say that she wasn’t doing good. We should come over. Even then, I didn’t connect it with ensuing death; surely if she were that bad, they’d take her to the hospital? I didn’t understand that what my grandmother was doing was part of a much older tradition: choosing to die not in a hospital, but at home.

            When we got there, she was unconscious on a hospital bed set up in her living room. But she was still aware. She could squeeze our hands on request, but not speak or open her eyes. Slowly, this awareness faded. The squeezes stopped. We waited, a combination of aunts, uncles, and cousins, for two days. For those two days, I watched. I wanted to be the one holding her hand, but not to speak. My mother told me when we first arrived to say something to her, but trying left me choked and sobbing, something I didn’t think my grandmother would enjoy. Her breath had gotten shallower and softer, until, at last, she sighed deeply, then breathed no more.

            I wasn’t sure what I was seeing. “How’s her breathing?” I asked my cousin, also in the room with me, in case I was wrong and I just couldn’t see the shallow breaths. She looked at me with red, tearful eyes and said, “You need to go get the others.”

            I didn’t cry when I did, or when everyone lined up to say goodbye. It was when the undertakers were zipping her into a leather bag that I ran into her bed room.  It looked, bluntly, like mine: piles of clothes, folded and unfolded, bags half unpacked, and books. Stack of books, lining the walls.

            I couldn’t accept that my grandmother was gone, that no holiday or birthday would ever be the same. She needed to not be gone. I did the only thing I could think to make that so: I grabbed a notebook. “Things she gave me” I wrote at the top. I listed, in no particular order:

            -My eyes

            -My temper

            -My love of staying home

            -My love of reading

            -My quietness

            -My lack of interest in cleaning

While I’m not sure that all of these things are, strictly speaking, genetic, I needed to know that she continued in me, in some way. She would be at every holiday and birthday because I was; she would be there for every day of my life. Because of what she gave me.

It's time for our first OFFICIAL blog entries!

Chapter 2 in Translating Tradition raises the idea that heirlooms and legacies are important for deciding who we are, what we care about, and what our communities care about. In your post, you might address the following:

·       Do you agree that heirlooms are important? Can you think of a case in which an heirloom/legacy could be detrimental?

·       Examine an heirloom or legacy you’ve received and what it means to you.

·       Consider what heirlooms/legacies you would like to receive, or would like to pass down, and why.

Requirements:

At least 500 words, plus image(s), links, video, etc.

Demonstrate an awareness of audience (everyday tone, short paragraphs, etc)

ALTERNATIVE: Blog about an issue or topic that has been discussed in class (same requirements)