~ The pieces are all sewn together, stitched with love.........and a quilt tells a story and the story is our past ~
The Arrowood family immigrated from England to Maryland in the 1700's. They went south, eventually settling in the mountains of North Carolina. Later , some went further south, into the Piedmont of North Carolina, in search of work and a better way of life.
I am in search of my family.
I search for those that came before me, and lived their lives as best they could. I am in search of their stories, how they lived, and how they loved.
I shared this love of seeking the past with my Dad, sharing each new finding with him, the thrill in his heart intermingling with mine. I continue this search in his honor, and hope to know these people of ours when I join up with them all in heaven.
~ Steve Lewis Arrowood 1932-2008 ~
Come with me, back to a simpler time and place. A place far removed from the hectic pace of today. To a time when life was hard, but the rewards were great. When your quality of life was determined by your own sweat, your own toil, and your own ingenuity.
Would you like a glass of sweet tea? Let's sit out on the porch where we will catch the sweetly scented breeze of summertime. Maybe Grandma will fry up some of her wonderful chicken... Time slows here.
"We shape our lives not by what we carry with us, but what we leave behind."
~You live as long as you are remembered.~
"Our most treasured family heirlooms are our sweet family memories. " Author: Unknown
"But those who came before us will teach you. They will teach you from the wisdom of former generations."
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Arrowood In Me
Never really liked the dimples. They were the instant target of the little blue haired ladies at church that would home in on them and pinch the fire out of my cheek, while remarking how much they “loved dimples”.
My Dad told me once that I should be glad I had the dimples. I wasn’t really sure because he was also “blessed” with them and therefore I felt he could not offer an unbiased opinion.
The dimples come from him. A small part of the man that was my father, tucked forever and inexplicably into my puckered cheek.
Every time I look in the mirror, most times not really liking what I see, I see that tiny part of my father coming out in me. I am liking the dimples more and more. A tiny reminder. A wistful thought crossing my mind with each fleeting glimpse. My Dad. Still here in a small way, forever affixed to me.
That thought helps me sometimes, when I am feeling especially low.
Absence of someone you love is so hard to endure. Separation from those you would want to be with is hard. Death is so final and so in your face. There is no way to “fix” the hurt. It is there until you heal, whenever that is. Until then, you simply endure and try to keep living.
I know where the shell of what was once was my father is. I go there often and sit and visit with his spirit. I place flowers in remembrance at his graveside. My father is not really there..just the worn out shell that housed his ‘happy- most -of -the- time’ spirit. He has gone on to a better place..a wonderful place.
If you stand there, and let the wind and your thoughts carry you back…you can almost hear him whistling softly.
He would tell me..“Now, don’t you go to crying over me..we will be together again soon enough.”
"Now you, just get on with living."
And I am getting on with it, I just miss him.