Stories I Forgot to Ask For
I cannot count the number of times I've shared with others how I wish I'd asked my parents or grandparents questions that now must go unanswered. Almost everyone agrees with me, so many that these missed opportunities seem to have cultural, not just individual, significance. I did ask questions, of course, but they weren't the questions that I'd ask if I could do so now. I asked about events, about lifestyles, about the differences between then and now. So far, so good. But what about people? I seem to have had no interest in asking about their relationships with family, with friends, with colleagues. It's relationships with family that intrigue me now, having built family trees with genealogy apps, and wondering if relative x ever knew relative y, or who exactly is in a wedding photograph where I can only identify perhaps 15 of around 30 people. My great-grandmother, not the nicest person from what my cousin remembers of her, is nevertheless a heroine in my eyes because she saved newspaper cuttings, bills and invoices, and a notebook of whatever facts she wanted to record, enough for me to put some flesh on the bones of a genealogical chart. My great-great grandfather, a barge worker on the Thames, died after a fall into his boat. My great aunt (sister to my grandfather) died at 11 months, suffering from a host of ailments that might not affect her in this day and age. I know what my grandfather's wages were for operating the projector in the cinema. I know the names of her dogs. In fact, I know the name of the dog in the wedding photograph I mentioned when I don't know the names of most of the people. The moral of this story, then, is to widen the questions you ask of people you want to remember. Don't just ask what you think is important; ask people of different ages and different backgrounds what THEY would ask. And then listen to what they suggest. Stories are forever; their tellers are not.
By Clare
A Day at the Beach
I remember a day when I was little and I was playing at the beach with my friend and I came across the most amazing rock, and when I turned it over and removed it from the sand it had a fossil inside! This isn't a long story, but it is something that makes me smile because it reminds me of when I got really interested in paleontology.
By Anonymous
"Carrying the Fire" - An Apollo Story
I always want to share the story of a very important but easily forgotten astronaut. For Apollo 11, while people remember Neil and Buzz walking on the Moon, they seemingly forget that the mission would not have been possible without a highly skilled, knowledgeable command module pilot - Michael Collins!
Collins started his career as an experimental flight test officer at the Air Force Flight Test Center at Edwards Air Force Base in California. In 1963, he was accepted in the third group of astronauts, and later assigned to the Gemini X mission with John Young, becoming the first person to perform two spacewalks on the same flight. After some delays due to a spinal injury, he was chosen for Apollo 11 as the command module pilot. Collins was instrumental in the final design of the iconic Apollo 11 mission patch. During the Moon landing, while Collins was alone in the command module, he later wrote: “I am alone now, truly alone, and absolutely isolated from any known life. I am it. If a count were taken, the score would be three billion plus two over on the other side of the moon, and one plus God knows what on this side.”
Apollo 11 was his last space flight as he wanted to spend time with his family, even though he was slated to command Apollo 17. After leaving NASA in January 1970, Collins served as the Assistant Secretary of State for Public Affairs under President Nixon for a year. He then served as the third director of the National Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C. Thanks to Collins and Senator Barry Goldwater, they secured funding for the new museum building on the National Mall, which opened in July 1976 and saw one million visitors within the first month. Not only did Collins secure the funding and oversee the construction, but he also played a crucial role in hiring staff and presided over the creation of the exhibits. In 1978, he became an undersecretary of the Smithsonian Institution. Collins wrote several incredible books about his experience and the history/future of America’s space program. Along with writing, Collins was also a watercolor artist. He passed on April 28, 2021.
I cannot recommend his biography, “Carrying the Fire” enough. There is one line in the Preface that easily explains why it has my highest recommendation: “Being an astronaut was an exciting a job as anyone could ever have, and I hope I have conveyed that excitement. I bore easily, and I have written for people who bore easily.”
By Anonymous
Small Sketchy Roads
I think one of my best memories was driving down these teeny tiny roads in Ireland with my friend in search of castles and ancient buildings that tour buses simply weren't going to reach. We were usually the only ones on these roads, and wondered if Google Maps had led us astray. Or smoosh our rented car into a bush as another car came our direction. And we'd be on these roads for an eternity, but in the end it was always worth it. We would stumble upon a castle that had been empty since it had been destroyed by cannons... 400 years ago. Or come across an old village or fort that was used 2000 years earlier. And I'd stand in those places in awe, knowing that so much work was put into these structures. People used to stand where I stood, and then sleep and eat at these places. I appreciate those that preserve the stories of people before us. We're just a speck in time.
By Anonymous
From Alone to A lot
Moving to Seattle was a rite of passage for me. It meant leaving the comfort of my hometown and taking the biggest risk I had ever taken for myself. Leaving everything I knew and loved was terrifying, but in my heart, it was a necessary step. Staying in my comfort zone meant relying on others to carry me forward, and I needed to prove to myself that I could “make it on my own.”
The journey didn’t start easily. Soon after my move, my partner and I parted ways, and I was left broken and alone. I was alone with my thoughts, my feelings, and a deep sense of dread that I had made a wrong decision. I had read a book about the loneliness epidemic and its link to mortality, and I knew that living this way wasn’t healthy. For the betterment of my life, I had to make an effort to connect with other people.
That effort began with meetup groups and happy hours, but nothing ever seemed to stick. It was the same conversation with different people. It also felt like high school all over again, where only certain archetypes were loved and accepted while everyone else was left out. I was missing a deeper sense of purpose and connection. After much reflection, I decided to start a group of my own: The West Seattle Social Guild.
The guild began as a fun idea to find new friends, with the added bonus of helping others do the same. If I was feeling this way after moving to Seattle, I figured others probably were too. And they were! Within a few short months, it was clear that I wasn’t the only one looking for deeper connection. After a year of consistent meetups, I found myself truly connecting with people. It’s remarkable to think that with consistency and intention, I went from despair and a lot of free time to being so busy that I had to start putting things on my calendar!
I am grateful every day for the people I get to celebrate life with. Through activities, banter, and growing together, I have built a lot of friends I can call up and talk to.
By Christian