I
had no idea I would be writing a biography of my mother when I found
myself in a memoir-writing group a few years ago, but it has come in
handy.
It
began with loudmouth, opinionated Barbara. She started conversations
with other exercisers in the deep pool at the Berkeley YMCA and pretty
soon it was like a cocktail party every day from nine to ten a.m. but we
were in liquid instead of drinking it. Sometimes all in one
conversation, sometimes in little groups, treading water or doing more
structured exercise. Then we started having now-and-then potlucks. Then
Barbara
got Lou Gehrig’s disease. We became a support group, having potlucks
every week, with slide shows of our travels or readings of our poetry as
it became harder for Barbara to take part in conversation. At Barbara’s
memorial service, we found out a lot about her life we didn’t know,
heard about the compassion under her boisterous surface, and somebody
said, “Let’s not wait for one of us to die to get to know them
better.” ‘Barbara’s Salons’ evolved into a twice-a-month memoir-writing group.
Then two of us got the idea to put on a garage sale to raise money for MoveOnPAC.
We tapped into the pool group and our other connections: one of us was
active in the Unitarian-Universalist Church, the other was in a book
group and the Threshold Choir (which sings for people dying or in coma).
With stuff and help from our friends, leftovers from two previous yard
sales for MoveOnPAC, and yummy baked things donated by Homemade Cafe,
Market Hall and our neighbors, we made $2835 for
MoveOnPAC,
and that doesn’t even count a check for $1000 a guy bicycling by at the
end of the day gave us. I’m sure he was going to give money to
MoveOnPAC anyway, but maybe seeing all us exhausted folks inspired him
to give a little more. Some of our customers came the 21st century way,
seeing the notice on Craig’s list, and some came the old-fashioned
way--they were just walking or bicycling by. Many were as
delighted
as we were to be contributing to the outing of George W. Bush as a liar
and a thief. I got the extra delight of introducing people from my
separate worlds to each other as we worked. And, this being Berkeley,
some of them knew each other already and I didn’t know it.
All
this is by way of saying that the fanatics and terrorists don’t have a
corner on dedication or networking. Barbara started more than
conversations in the swimming pool. In her raucous and persistent way,
she started a community. It could happen to you! Start a conversation.
No telling where it will end up. Maybe, if we all get together with our
friends and neighbors and do whatever we can think up, we can build
democracy right here at home in our spare time.
©2007 by Nancy Schimmel
Comment
ckhelbig
It’s
7,30 in the morning in Germany, I am 55 and just woke up with fragments
of the rain song lyrics in my mind. Why? I think because it’s the song
had accompanied my life and has—unfortunately—lost nothing over the
years—but no-one sings it anymore. What a haunting melody. I love
“Little Boxes” and will be eternally grateful for Napster because I
found Womenfolk
while it was still the original Napster a few years ago—but the rain
song is something different. There’s actually a nice German version from
the sixties.
Saturday, mrch 3, 2007 - 10:40 PM
Monday, February 26, 2007
BIRTH OF A MEMOIR-WRITING GROUP
