My father was a hoarder. His house was not as bad as those you see on television, with stacks of newspapers lining the walls and furniture balancing on top of each other in the corners, but he certainly kept stuff. So much so that, when he died, I threw out
I have decided to write my memories of my youth, my life and now my “senior” years so that you will know your mother better. So begins the memoir my mother started but never finished. It is handwritten on just three pages of a notebook which was once thick. I
I was excited when I found several books at my local library on the Russian Revolution, including a few memoirs. I recently began to write a historical novel, set during the Russian Revolution and loosely based on the last couple of years of my maternal grandmother’s life. As some of
This is a picture of my paternal grandmother. She married my grandfather on 20 November 1912. She was 31, my grandfather was 36. By early twentieth century standards, and for a first marriage, they were older than the norm. My grandparents had at least five children between 1913 and 1919.
Being married more than once seems to be a familiar pattern for the males on both sides of my family. On my father’s side, my great grandfather, Otto v. Fircks, was married twice. On 10 January 1854 he married Catharina Hilda v. Oelsen, who died in 1868. On 29 April
“Story is the song line of a person’s life. We need to sing it and we need someone to hear the singing. Story told. Story heard. Story written. Story read creates the web of life in words.” Christina Baldwin As a child and even as a teenager, I remember asking