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.
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
Women of the world, this is the year for you to write your story! You’ve heard how so many brave women have come out and confessed the wrong doings of others-meaning the men who have abused, taken advantage of, or made women in business (and private life) bend to their selfish wishes.
This doesn’t mean only the women who have suffered so in that way. I’m talking to all women. Write the wrongs that have happened to you, no matter how slight you think they were, along with the good, happy right things that have made your life a joy. It’s like remembering so you can finally put it to bed and never have it drag you down again. It’s like wiping a slate clean and starting over. It’s like forgiving those who have hurt you. It is starting fresh.
When moments of severe disappointments as well as people who have disappointed you are written down, the severity of it goes away. Follow that up with the accomplishments in your life and the people you have met that have turned your life onto a new, positive path. It’s a pity that often the failures faced are remembered, not realizing that they were lessons to learn from, while the happy times in between were accepted without particular notice.
This is the time to pick up your pen, start writing about your life, for you, for offspring that come after you, to publish, or not. Let them know about your experiences.
There are still a couple of spaces left for TELLING YOUR STORY workshop.
Saturday, 21 April 2018 WOMEN ONLY!
10 am – 4 pm
South Hill, VA
$65.00 includes box lunch
to reserve your spot now,
send an email for Paypal directions, address of workshop, & choice of lunch
checks accepted, too
LIMITED SPACE ~ 12 women
This will be an intimate group, writing our stories like NO ONE else can do. It’s time
to get your story down on paper as only you can tell it. Your story is unique whether
you want to publish or not, whether you are writing for someone else to read or not.
You will be guided in the best way to make it easier for you. This is a workshop. You
will leave at the end of the day with an outline filled with your memories, emotions,
and images in words. Get to know yourself by writing it out. Be amazed at the person
you are and the life you have lived.
Reserve your spot! Email: arlenebice1633@gmail.com
The photo shows Grandmother Elizabeth Urbanski Daniels (my mother’s mother) holding me approximately one year before she passed away. No stories have come to me about anyone before her in her birth line being psychically developed. She certainly was. My mother didn’t tell me about this until I was nearly 30 years old. I’d had some out of body experiences of my own, but Mom didn’t know that. She never knew it because I never told her. Mom had a habit of belittling me, so I wasn’t about to confide anything at all to her.
Grandmother Elizabeth (as she was referred to, never Grandma) read tarot cards. She was good at it. My mother was developed as far as my two brothers and I was concerned. She always knew before I did, when I was pregnant. I’m talking about within days. With my brother Bob, it was instant. In her later years, she lived in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida but knew instantly when Bob’s car was in an accident in New Jersey. She called on the phone within minutes after it happened. The car was empty. Bob was in the house with me at the time.
Appalachian high school senior Annie Caldwell talks to the animals and they talk back. She’s a quiet girl who keeps to herself until she decides that she wants to be as normal as other kids, the ones that don’t even know about the gift of being able to converse with animals of all sorts. But plans can go array as hers does when a high school cheerleader goes missing.
While she keeps abreast of all the changes going on around her, quilting comes into her life. As her Aint Lulie teaches her, she also learns much about traditions, family genealogy, being psychic, and secrets.
Them That Go is a wonderful story peeking into the mountain way of life of the 1970s. I LOVED THIS BOOK!
Grandfather Harry Daniels, Rachel Ann Daniels Philkill, Mahlon Philkill
WHO I AM & WHERE I COME FROM
Arlene Sandra Bice
Pre-internet years-chasing down the paper trail;
census, taxes, death certificates, birth, marriage,
and divorce. Name changes for many reasons.
Finding parents info, for they’ve been gone,
rarely spoke of their parentage or heritage;
information long gone before me.
Their grandparents-an interesting layer of ancestry,
coming & going, who is who, enlistments, uniforms,
cavalry, War Between the States; desertion, why?
A few stories remain, questions stay unanswered;
family secrets hide in dark corners. digging, digging, digging,
Filling in details, personalities emerge, talents, failings,
lies told, for what reason, what were their lives like,
what was happening in their world to influence their
decisions.
Ah-h-h, history revealed, folded into daily life as it was.
I found a source of my genes, a mirror to hold up,
career, marriages, adventures, a survivor of life, self-made,
keeper of the keys.
It was in a public library, where the original Wills & Testaments
of Rachel Ann Daniels and her mother Sarah Ann Martin
were brought forth; holding the original documents in my hands,
touching the paper they held a hundred years ago.
Unembarrassed, I wept; tears streaming; my roots exposed at last.
This is who I am and where I come from.