Stream of Consciousness

This might be a big rambling mess... it probably will be - I am not planning to edit, I am just going to write (and write and write.)

My head and my heart are full tonight of all different aspects of stories and I don't really know where to start. There are my thoughts on the book, my thoughts on my own stories, my thoughts on Bob and Emily, on September 11th, my thoughts on "my" Nanny, my friends, the SERVErs, your stories, how stories influence architecture, my thoughts of the Cherokee Indians and their stories (random but relevant because I am researching the Cherokees for my studio project), my thoughts on storytelling and faith, and a million other things. I wish I had the words to make all my observations sound beautiful.

I have loved this book and how relevant it is to me - the main problem is I find myself wanting to hear stories more than I want to do the rest of my schoolwork. One question asked at the end of chapter one, "Choose a family heirloom or artifact and write down as much of it's history as you know," turned into an hour on the phone with my mom then an hour on the phone with my grandmother. We talked about a specific piece of furniture in my parent's house that belonged to my grandfather's mother, then the ring my mom wears that is from my Great-Great-Great Grandmother from Italy, my brother's bedroom set that was my dad's growing up that my grandfather bought the month he got a bonus for being employee of the month at the car dealership he worked at in the early 60's, etc. We talked about the items that had joined our family in my lifetime and how they will now have stories too - the polish pottery I bought for my mom for Christmas one year that started her collection, the antique dresser that we saw on the curb and fell in love with that is now in my room here in Blacksburg, the infamous church pew that is currently collecting dust in my room at home as it waits for me to have a home of my own. These are all just objects - if they were to be gone tomorrow my life would not be any different but yet they are a part of who I am. Our possessions are not significant because of WHAT they are, but because of what they stir up inside of us - the memories and stories of times we won't ever have again. They make our memories tangible.

I read this article about September 11th that contained a story I hadn't heard before - about a firefighter from Michigan who responded to the attacks and spent a week in New York helping on Ground Zero. He found a business card amidst the rubble and decided to contact the family of the man who the business card belonged to. It was amazing to see how much this business card comforted the family of the man who was lost in the attack... this one little piece of his last day on earth. His body was never recovered from the debris but his family has this one business card and the story the firefighter has told them about where he found it, including photos of the particular spot on Ground Zero and the occurrences that led to him finding it. All of a sudden such a small piece of paper became a priceless link to a life lost. Our things make our memories tangible.

September 11th has been on my mind a lot this week. I have recognized in others an utter need to tell stories over the last few days. When September 11th has been mentioned, without fail, someone in the conversation I am in will say "I was on my way to work when I heard on the radio..." "I was teaching in elementary school and got an e-mail..." "I was watching the morning news..." I truly believe there is not a single American who doesn't remember where they were when they found out the planes hit the towers. We all have our stories about different events in our lives, but when it comes to a mutual experience like that - where at the same moment of the same day in history millions of people remember the specifics of their own experience - there is major power in that. It fascinates me that as I was sitting in my 6th grade math class completely unaware of what was going on, my dad was driving on 395 through Alexandria, no more than 1/2 a mile from the Pentagon, watching flight 77 transform from a low-flying plane into a ball of flames. Where were you, Jake? You remember too - maybe even mundane details of the day. It is amazing how tragedy heightens our sense of connectedness - it reminds us that we are all living our stories simultaneously and for a few moments we lose sight of ourselves and our self-centeredness.

On April 16th, 2007 there had been a big rain storm in Northern Virginia that knocked out all power for about 15 hours. I got up in the morning, got ready in the dark, and went to school. I had a stomach ache and so I called my dad to get permission to go home for a little while and take a nap. I left school at 10:16 am (the end of 2nd period) (I couldn't miss the whole day because I had lacrosse practice that afternoon and couldn't miss it.) I went home, slept for two hours (in a house with no power, so no news), and came back to school to hear about the shooting at "my" school, my virginia tech. It's my story about the day... collected as little snippets of what I can remember. In those same moments that I was sitting in 1st and 2nd period, you were on the 2nd floor of Norris Hall collecting your own story about the day. When you shared your story with me, my own story seemed so insignificant compared to yours. I think that's how stories work though (when it comes to tragedies at least). When it happens, you have your one single story - your perspective and memory of how things occurred. As you hear more stories of the same timeline of events, your story changes too. The stories of your friends become a part of your own and you develop a more thorough experience of the event. I still have my own story, and it is still the one I think of first (because I actually lived it) but I have more than that too.

There is a lot more I have been thinking about but I am sure I will get to all of the topics eventually. I am looking forward to meeting with you in the morning and getting to talk (and listen.)