How on earth do you come up with a blog name? Well, if you live in my house, most big decisions are made with a dry erase board and a marker. The ease of writing the words as they glide across the slippery board... the pure joy of easily erasing the crazy idea. Many a great idea, thought, or next step has come from the dry erase process here.
Would you believe that Baking Cookie was the winner? It's catchy and has many hidden meanings. Intriguing isn't it? I'm wondering who can guess the what it might mean. Since only family and friends will be here reading, I bet someone can guess.
I love to write. I think it is deep in the roots of my being. I believe that the Lord gave me a desire to put words on paper long before I could pick up a pen. It started early. I lived five minutes from both sets of my grandparents. I spent quality time with the prior generations of my family. I grew up hearing stories. My grandmothers were both amazing story tellers who had such rich stories. The best part? The stories were true. They were stories of their lives and their families. And while it was really just fifty to sixty years prior to my birth, the stories they told were of a time when things were so very different. I was intrigued from the start and would listen with my whole heart and soul. I remembered every word and stored it in my brain. I realized the value in these stories they told, so I started to write my stories down. Diaries, scrapbooks, anything to make a record-- a stamp on paper that said-- I was here!
My grandmothers lived long lives. Maw-Maw lived to be 99 years and 11 months old. She passed away when I was 41. I was blessed beyond measure to hear her stories for so many years. But beyond the blessing of knowing her and having her in my life was the treasure I was given when she passed away-- boxes and boxes of photographs, diaries, journals, letters, and scrapbooks from my grandmother, great grandmother and great-great grandmother. My heart still skips a beat as I ponder the magnificence of these stories and words that have been left for me. My ancestors whisper to me from a different time in history, and I cling to their wisdom, trials, and triumphs.
My Grandmother Faith lived to be almost 94. My mother was her only daughter, and I was her only granddaughter. The bond between the two of us was God-given and precious beyond my ability to capture with keystrokes. I loved her with my whole heart, and she loved me without condition. It's good to have someone from an older generation love you for exactly who you are. It gives you confidence and wings. Grandmother had a remarkable mind. She remembered everything. She shared her history with my brother and I through stories told over and over again. We used to get frustrated thinking... why is she telling that story again?? But we realized as adults that she was leaving her stamp. She was saying, "I was here.' She just did it through stories told aloud. She knew we would not forget. She knew that we would tell her stories to our children, and the legacy of her family would be passed on. Her legacy was love! And I am passing it on to the next generation.
So... I begin this blog with so many stories to tell. Not just my grandmothers' stories but the stories that I have been created through my life. You see my family shaped me and molded me. Their stories are my stories. My stories are my children's stories. I can no longer keep these stories to myself, and my fingers are itching to tap out the tales.
I have been mixed, shaped, molded, and BAKED by the legacy of love that came before. Can you guess what my nickname was when I was a camp counselor? If you do, you will understand my blog name. Thanks for reading!
Love it! Great story!
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