Writer. Educator. Artist.
Brother Bob & Me
Childhood Pictures ©arlene s bice
Dad, an amateur photographer
of curious mind to satisfy
equipment was plenty; quality
developed his own negatives
chose favorite spots
now remembered
cozy bookcase corner
backyard pale pink rosebush
front porch entry
dressed in holiday clothes
church steps next door
on ground donated by
great grandmother Rachel.
Photo by Gordon Williams on Unsplash
Alternate poem from Na Wri Mo Po
a poem that recounts the plot, or some portion of the plot, of a novel that you remember having liked but that you haven’t read in a long time.
Across Time and Death
In this springtime when death and rebirth
are prominent thoughts with many
I think of Jenny Cockell and her memoir:
Time and Death, remembering dreams
of an earlier life, of leaving young children
behind, without
it brings to mind my own earlier lives
lived and passed, loved and not
times throughout the ages to learn
but have I remembered the lessons
did I carry them with me or not
where, when
Write a poem inspired by the colors and sounds of spring.
Spring to Me © arlene s bice
To see the first brilliant yellows
burst from the ground in clusters of jonquils
to see the soft pinks gracing tree branches
in surrounding gardens of the neighborhood
to see the lavender of red buds grace the highways
stirs the soul, faith overflows, birds come back
to sing that Spring has not deserted us
but returned to restore and rebirth us all.
If you are writing your story and having trouble starting it, just begin by writing anything. Your mind and hand will take over and move you where you want to go. There may be times when you think you have written everything. That is the time to bring out the music you used to adore. Or revisit the photos stashed away like hidden money.
The more you write down, the more memories will come to you. It works like a chain reaction. Before I began to write about my childhood, I couldn’t really remember much before riding the new bicycle my godfather Curley Plumeri bought for my 7th birthday. A photo of me at 3 years with a book on my lap brought back the hours I spent looking through my father’s set of Encyclopedia Britannica Jr. seeing sketches of women in history. I wonder if those early times spent with books created the love of history I still enjoy.
As I wrote, more of my earlier years came to me. Again a photo, black and white of those days, showed me in a walker, under 1 year old. I remember that it was pale blue and cream and there was no holding me back. I wanted to go places!
One memory comes to mind and several others follow it. When you sit quietly after returning to your youth, your mind will release earlier and earlier memories. For some, the actual birth moment comes to them, too.
Overlooking My Ancestors
You know, we all have one. It’s different from everyone else’s. When I first began to write down my story in 10 years of writing classes during the IWWG (International Women’s Writing Guild) Annual Conference, I begrudgingly let out one incident at a time. Like I was sharing a favorite candy bar as a kid. Not wanting to give away too much. Things I hadn’t talked about in years. Things that were stuffed way down inside me like I was hiding a treasure that no one else knew was there. And no one did because I never talked about those things. Hah! Once I began writing, all those stored up memories came tumbling out. Boy! Did it feel good! Like unloading a heavy sack of potatoes off my shoulders.
Has anyone informed you how satisfying it is to write your story? It’s wonderful to write about your ancestors, too. You will get to know them, especially if you have never met them. Unfortunately, there is a lot you can only surmise between the recorded facts. Their personalities will show up as you write. Information may even come to you in dreams where our loved ones sometimes place ideas and messages. Really. It is true. Trust it.
But it’s also true that you are the only one who can tell your story as you experienced it. Your thoughts, impressions, joys and sorrows remembered as only you can. It is a trip back into your past where the pains aren’t so awful as they once were, and the joys are even greater. If you don’t know how to start or where to begin…just write anything, the ABC’s even and your pen, pencil or computer will take over. It’s like opening the flood gates. Remember to write how you felt. I had trouble with that one. I’m still shy about it sometimes.
Are you old enough to remember American Bandstand? Talk about a memory! I was 14 when my girlfriend Asta Fruscione’s mother drove 4 of us down to Philadelphia from Trenton (NJ) where huge warehouses filled block after block. We walked into the dark TV studio of American Bandstand with no problem. We were surprised that the spotlighted area gave only a tiny area to dance. On TV it looked really large. Bob Horn was the host at the time before Dick Clark later took over.
My mom was thrilled to see me dancing on TV!
We thought we were so clever calling in sick at Kuser School Annex (jr. high). Hah! The school secretary pulled me aside the next day. She saw us dancing away on TV like we were regular participants. She was cool and wouldn’t rat us out though. It would be our secret.
If you still have CDs (the kind you listen to, not savings) or any music still hanging around from the good old days, bring it out and take a listen. Relive your life through memory. Remember to dance in between chapters while the music is carrying you. No one is watching! Let those feet jump into the air. Whoee! Jitterbug or Watusi! Whatever your teen dance was, remember?
If you don’t know where to begin writing your story, pull out the photos that you have hiding in your drawers, under the bed and behind the couch in an album collecting dust. Just start writing.
If you aren’t clear about a memory and you ask your sibling about it, keep in mind that you may have both been involved in an event, but you have your own emotions and thoughts. Which means that if you remember a moment in a different way, it is because you looked through eyes that interpreted what you saw otherwise than your sibling. You may have reacted or remembered differently because it was different for you. Often siblings disagree on a particular memory not realizing that you were all right, just experienced the same moment differently.
We all have family stories. Some funny. Some tragic. All worthy of telling. One of my grandmothers was born with a veil leading her to be an intuitive tarot card reader. The family story came to me that one day she was reading for a client, when all of a sudden, she yelped, “go home. Go home immediately! Your house is on fire and the baby is sleeping in his crib upstairs!”
The lady rushed home to find her mother dozing in the living room chair. She raced upstairs where her 4 year old, playing with a pack of matches, accidentally set the curtains on fire. The woman doused the fire easily and checked on the baby sleeping peacefully in the crib, unaware and unharmed. My grandmother prevented what could have been a terrible tragedy.
If you don’t have exact dates or certificates, it’s okay. It helps if you have general time periods. Imaging your story is easier if you do. Did you have a favorite aunt or uncle, maybe a grandparent story? How about someone in the family that brings a smile when you think of them. If so, write it down. Enjoy yourself as you write it. Your smiling shines through your words. It’s like being entertained by a movie you are writing. And the truth is, I’m seeking submissions for this year’s Ancestor Anthology. Send me a message or go to my website contact page.
Photo thanks to petr-sidorov @unsplash
Now, you’re thinking about your name and maybe thinking about where it came from. You know it is easy to find your ancestors and you know where to go to find your ancestors. Now let me guide you a bit on what you want in your story.
My father told me his people lived in New Hope, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I knew from records that my gr. grandfather Addis was born in 1842. I read about the call to arms from Pres. Lincoln and that it would make him a ripe age for enlisting in the fight to keep our country from breaking into pieces. His tombstone told me of his love for Annie. Research online told me what was going on in New Hope at the time. The newspapers, trains, canals, and local factories were alive with action and movement. It was easy to put it all together and come out with a picture of the day.
I found Addis’ army records and followed his footsteps, not using everything I found but choosing what would flush out his story. Newspapers carried the stories of the army hospitals and sometimes the shenanigans of the soldiers. Records reported weapons. Descriptions of battles are listed on-line.
After the War Between the States ended, records continued to lead me through his life, its triumphs and its trials. I came to know who he was, what he thought and how his life came to an end. Yankee in Blue published in Rumors and Other Short Stories.
photo thanks to Robert Linder @unsplash
Photo by Ryan Searle on Unsplash
I tried possible spellings. Really, how many ways can I spell my four letter name? Byse, Bise, Bicé with an accent, Von Bicen (?) von Bisen (?) with no success.
I traveled to the UK a few times and once, after visiting Hay on Wye first, I drove through Cornwall stopping at Fowey. With Daphne du Maurier’s home in mind I pulled off the road onto the one that led down, down, down to the Channel. Whoa!!!! The road was so steep I felt like I would tumble head over heels, or trunk over engine. I spotted a street to my right that was kind of level and wrenched the steering wheel to get onto it. When I reached another street, it led back up to the main road, I took it. The engine of my rental with the gear shift on the left, was grinding all the way to the top! Whew!! I made it. What was I thinking?
I pulled off the road and looked down at the beautiful town where I yearned to go. I’d read about it but couldn’t see any other way to get to it. Other people must drive that road down, but I couldn’t make myself drive it. I gazed until I had enough and drove further west to Truro and Redruth when I decided I had enough and backtracked. I really should have found a place nearby to stay but didn’t. Oh regrets. This was Bice country and there were many connections to follow that I was unaware of. It was still early internet days. At least I was here and at least I discovered where my Bice family came from.
Finally when the internet came into everyday homes and Bingo! I sent out the plea and received a whole bevy of replies from Cornwall, England. “C’mon over! We have a history of Bices and tons of Bices still living here!” said the emails. I didn’t get back. As usual in my life, I seem to live it in reverse. Yet I found my heritage! Thanks to the internet, I learned that we (Bice folk) in our country, fought in the Revolutionary War. . .against England, that is so American.
Family Search and Roots Tech have been part of my life for many years. They are non-profit organizations that are free for you to use. Really free. Honest. They also help you get started and help you place names on your family tree. They believe that we are one, big family in this world (where have you heard that before? Love it!) and are anxious to help you find your family’s place in it. I’ve even, like so many others, volunteered to decipher the federal census. Why? Because they have been instrumental in helping me find ancestors that were lost to me. Maybe I should tell you about beginning the addictive, crazy search I started 50 years ago.
We were a mixed group in the neighborhood where I grew up outside of Trenton, New Jersey. There were many Italian families, some Scottish, Jewish, Polish, Mexican, German, Irish, a few Black families and even a Southern family. Since we all carried names that reflected our heritage, I wanted to know who I came from and where did they originally come from. Originally meaning the place they left to come to our country. Besides all that, it was a homework assignment from my third grade teacher.
Hmmm. I asked Mom because all the older family generations passed on before I arrived. “I don’t know” Mom replied. “They didn’t talk about those things back then.” Dad was in the hospital but did give me a few clues when I was five, before his illness took over. They came from New Hope in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Dad even took me there. Fifteen miles north of Trenton. That wasn’t exactly what I wanted now. I managed to learn that my grandfather met my grandmother at the roller skating rink in Trenton. She was the daughter of German immigrants and he was an all-American son of a wealthy mother. That was the subject of my first written story.
Add a few school years to my age and girlfriends whose very names announced their ancestry, made me curious. Bice. Had there ever been a Von in front of it? Hmmm. That name told me nothing at all. Add a lot more years when school was in the past and I started digging. Many letters were written and dollar bills enclosed for copies of birth and marriage certificates. Those were pre-computer and internet days. My digging began in libraries. When I traveled, the local telephone books got a thorough thumbing through. Never did I find another Bice.
Computers and the internet grew from babyhood to expensive Ancestry.com and finally free Family Search and Roots Tech.
Have I got stories to tell you!
Photo by Eilis Garvey on Unsplash
