I have been holed up in my writing cave for the past few weeks, barely coming up for air let alone those gorgeous meals I love to share. Today I sat down to write this post and I found myself kind of wordless. I know, hard to believe, right? I’m rarely at a loss for words.
Add to that, I have a program launching shortly. Not the best of times to run out of words. So, I decided to treat you to a visual display, a ‘slice’ of my own Luscious Legacy Project and how it has evolved.
This will be the only online version of LLP that I run in 2016 so if you have been ‘meaning to do this some day,’ be sure to grab your spot. It’s a lovely space to set an intention around your writing (or your art) and then be warmly supported by someone (that would be me!) who tends deeply and holds a very sacred space for both writers and artists who want the experience of creating something tangible in which to curate and hold a collection of stories (slices or snippets, past or present). And whatever else shows up!
Winter is the perfect time to ‘cosy in’ and create, don’t you think? Registration closes on Sunday night, January 31st, at midnight.
So here we are, a picture walk, with slices and snippets of my own personal journey through the Luscious Legacy Project … a warm and safe and luscious container where just about anything can happen. You may write a few slices and snippets like the ones below. You may create an ebook … or an iBook … or a gluebook. Or … no book.
You may even find that the writing you do here seeds the memoir you are hoping to write someday.
Enjoy.
… the house on 10th Street, chestnut trees, my grandmother’s devotion to her faith, the wafer-thin pages of her prayer book stuffed with holy cards, how she lit candles on her counter for loved ones and prayed the rosary in Italian every single night. What it must have been like for her to travel to the United States on a ship, a young woman with three small children, one of them just a babe. How she never again saw her parents. How she survived the Great Depression with Grandpa digging ditches for a living and so many children to feed yet no one remembers her ever complaining. And how sometimes in the wee hours of the morning when restless mind keeps me from slumber, I picture her sitting on her burgundy mohair couch, a pile of knitting warming her lap, rosary beads in hand. And, if I listen closely enough, her voice once again sings me to sleep.
Imagine this. It’s 1947. Salvatore walks through the doors of the Dellwood Ballroom. His buddies most likely pay his way because he doesn’t have two nickels to rub together (my mother’s description of him). He spots Assunta (Sue) and he’s smitten. He grabs the ticket stub and a pencil and he starts sketching her face. The band pauses; pages turn as they cue up their next number. Salvatore approaches this striking young woman but not with the confident swagger you might imagine. He’s rather shy. He hands her his ‘dance card.’ She sees her own face looking up at her. She accepts his hand and they dance. After the dance they go to Decos for coffee in his ’39 Buick. Assunta Sue has to pick up the tab because he’s a starving artist and he’s broke. Two months later, March 3rd (her birthday), they’re engaged. Eight months later they’re married.
A Sift of Lost Faces
Inspired by the poem: Where I’m From by George Ella Lyon
My Godmother Rose is there, a huge pot of tomato sauce simmering on her stove top. Her famous Sfinge flecked with tiny candy dots of red and yellow, purple and green sits on the counter beside it. Aunt Jenny is there, too, flipping wafer-thin crêpes in miniature cast iron skillets in a kitchen so tiny you could reach every cupboard and appliance without leaving the stove. And don’t forget Aunt Pauline: colossal cakes, the perfect apple pie, a dusting of flower on her apron, maybe even her nose. And then, there’s Grandma with her big old tarnished knife, chopping carrots, fennel, peppers and onions, chicken roasting in her garlic-infused kitchen. And me … savoring the mouthwatering flavors and aromas that remind me of my roots and what it really means to be fed.
He was a design draftsman/technical illustrator by day, constructing detailed schematic drawings of things like the innards of a radio or television set. Then, on the weekends, he would sketch or paint or create one of his infamous ‘spit drawings.’ That’s what he called them: spit drawings. He carried a little tray of watercolors in the glove compartment of his car and whenever he saw something interesting he would pull over to the side of the road and start painting. I’m sure as I child I would be rolling my eyes saying, “Not again!” But today … what I wouldn’t give to see him pull out those paints and create that magic right before my eyes.
I can’t wait to see what shows up next.
The ‘classroom’ opens Sunday, January 31st.
Kickoff call is Tuesday, February 2nd
You can register
right here.
I’ll provide the space, prompts, guidance and support for you to complete a personal legacy project that has meaning for YOU. Sometimes the form shows up immediately and you’ll know exactly what you want to create. More often, it’s the container, the generative process that arises when we create something like this in the kinship of community, that helps us decide what to create.
It’s almost as though we’re each making something that we need to create in this space and time. At least that’s been my experience and that of so many of the women who tell me why they keep coming back for more.
Okay, your turn. What stories do you hold dear? What would YOU create if you joined this gorgeous group of legacy crafters?
22 thoughts on “Wordless”
wonderful memories, sue ann. i wish i’d paid more attention to my grandparents’ stories when i’d had the chance – living right next door. i’m afraid many have been lost with them. my 85yo dad is still full of them though. i just heard one a few months ago that i don’t think he’d ever told (it was quite juicy!).
I just heard a juicy one from my aunt this past week that I had never heard before, April. What a hoot. Make sure you write it down! xxoo
I always love reading that story of how your parents met. No matter what you write, it always comes to life in full sensual technicolour. These books you’re creating are a work of art and a legacy for your family, but they’re also a legacy for the nation – reminders of who we all are as Americans/Canadians – a patchwork quilt of stories and flavours and memories and traditions. Such bravery and ingenuity, not to mention creativity and spontaneity have gone into building this new world and shaping us as people.
Thank you, Cathy. A luscious legacy, indeed. xxoo
You are such a treasure, Sue Ann. Truly. You have such a unique and beautiful way about you that shines through your writing.
I wish I could enter a time machine and go visit your Grandma Rose’s kitchen right now. I can practically smell the delicious aromas. Mmmm….
I think I may have to just recreate that kitchen experience, yes? Maybe we can meet up in your uncle’s kitchen the next time you are in Long Island. I’ll make the sauce. xxoo
A treasure indeed. I read your memories with a lump in my throat and a smile on my face.
It always warms my heart to see your smiling face here, Carina, thank you. xxoo
I love how beautifully you have brought life back to these photos Sue Ann. I have boxes and boxes of old photos from my Dad’s house, they are safely tucked away until my boys leave home and I have the time to spend with them. Thank you!
Oh Angela, don’t wait, love. Bring your boys into the experience. It’s a rich, rich, rendering of legacy making and keeping. xxoo
Hi, beautiful ! I also have wonderful memories with my dad and every time i think about him, it just lightens up my day. As they say, when someone dear to you becomes a memory, then that memory becomes a treasure. Thanks for sharing. Great Read.
Thank you, Sherill, it sounds like we have a similar treasure chest. xxoo
Love the vibrant descriptions of the tiny kitchen, the tarnished knife, etc. These women created magic with just a few basic utensils, how much we could learn from them today! The story of your parents meeting is so romantic X
Thank you, Penny, and yes, I am slowly but surely paring down my kitchen contraption collection, in the spirit of Marie Kondo … “Does this bring me joy?” xxoo
These are so beautiful, Sue Ann. Clients who have lost dear pets, four-legged children, came to mind… I know they would absolutely love a space to honor their memories and stories, especially since it feels as though not many people understand the depth of their pain because it was an animal. I would love to send them your way.
Thank you lovely one and yes, what an awesome idea. Why wouldn’t we honor our little four legged family members in the same way we honor our loved ones ‘passed.’ We should talk. xxoo
You have such a wonderful way of putting beauty into words; your clients are so lucky to have you guiding them through this. And after reading this post, you make me want to start questioning my relatives and getting down the stories that will all too soon be lost.
Oh Laura, yes, start now. Don’t wait. Trust me on this. xxoo
Luscious indeed, Sue Ann. I always thought of my own family history as dusty and boring — my parents couldn’t wait to pull up their roots and I took their word for it. But in your hands the stuff of every day life, which becomes history, lifts off. Thank you.
What a gorgeous way to articulate that: “the stuff (and dust) of every day life” becoming elevated by the art of reminiscence, yes? Thank you, Allison. xxoo
Wonderful memories , I could savour the kitchen smells right along with you – and inspires me to return soon to my own luscious legacy, thank you.
Thank you, Mary. I know we are nourished by many of the same practices. xxoo