Grandma’s Chair is Empty Now–Where Are The Stories?

Quotes and Notes #292, August 23

Grandma's chair is empty now. Who will take her place?

Grandma’s chair is empty now. Who will take her place?

“No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.”—Lewis Carroll, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”—

“After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.”—Philip Pullman—

My mother told me about her grandmother who would sit in a massive wooden padded rocking chair—with the cat calmly resting on her ample bosom—while she knitted and told stories. Grandma’s chair is empty, now, and her stories have all been told. Do you remember any of these stories? Have you shared any of the stories? Do you tell stories of your own to the youngun’s?

Yes, Grandma’s chair is empty now, but I find it almost as sad that the technology revolution is causing us to find the living room empty, also. Are we losing the living room? Have we prodigally traded Grandma’s stories for stories that come out of a box with swiftly moving pictures and advertisements?  Sometimes I look at Grandma’s chair and think of all the questions I never asked.

Perhaps, if you haven’t already, it is a good time to start your memoir. You are never too old for this task. Actually the older you get, the better the stories. Write them down.

And share a smile with Grandma, sitting there in her chair
Everything is going to be all right.
John P. Schulz—“Sweetie Drives on Chemo Days.”

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Tara @ I Might Need a Nap
    Oct 22, 2015 @ 09:52:48

    This one breaks my heart. After Daddy slowly became bed-ridden (less and less time out of his hospital bed until eventually…..), I went over with my computer, ready to type out some of his stories that he’d told us over the years. I wanted to get them down word for word as best as I could. I type faster than I write, so that was my reason for the keyboard. I sat in the chair at the foot of his bed, and I told him my plan. He shook his head and looked out the window. I’d missed the opportunity. And now I can’t remember all the stories. My heart is broken. I think that’s why I write. Trying to get all the ones I do remember and the ones I’m living now DOWN. For my children.


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