Yáʼátʼééh to everyone!

     Today is a blog about one of my memories as a small child. As an adult, you tend to pick apart your memories in some. It just fades away, and then some memories you don’t want to remember. But being a kid, I was brought up in a traditional sense. I had my great-grandmother that was very traditional, and she had a lot of teachings and a lot of strong opinions on things. So I listened, and I was too young to even do some of the things that I wish she was saying, but I heard her. And so when I got older, all the good memories of being with her and just spending time with her were the best part of being a kid. We had a lot of things that most grandmas and grandch didn’t have, so it was exciting. It was interesting, and it was fun.  

     I feel fortunate to share my experiences with you. Some people believe I should keep my memories private, but I question the value of holding them in. Sharing our stories can uplift others, offering them comfort or insight. If my experiences resonate with someone facing a similar situation, they might find the support they need. That’s why I believe in the power of sharing.

      For a long time, I led a secluded life, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. While there are moments when this tendency can be beneficial, it often isn’t. Writing in a journal, sharing with others, and crafting stories can be incredibly liberating. Perhaps some people have never encountered these experiences and are curious to learn more. Or maybe it’s a wonderful way to connect with grandchildren. Ultimately, the goal is to savor the stories we share.

      I have a passion for storytelling, often reflecting on the cherished memories I created with my loved ones. One such figure was my great-grandmother, a woman full of humor and joy. She wove not for profit, but purely for the love of it. Her life was enriched by her interests—weaving, cooking, and crafting things with her hands. She found pleasure in listening to the radio and taking long walks while herding sheep. Even at her age, she was incredibly active and full of life.

      I was a lively, rambunctious kid, and my great-grandmother kept up with me beautifully; in fact, I often felt like I was keeping up with her. On days when we couldn’t venture outside, particularly those rainy winter days, we would stay indoors, wrapped in the warmth from the crackling wood stove. It’s a memory that lingers in my mind, even in my dreams.

Back then, we didn’t have a proper bed, so I would sleep on the floor. The cold often seeped in, as we relied solely on the wood stove to heat our small room. To keep warm, I would pile countless blankets on myself—an amusing thought today. In contrast to the cozy weighted and warm blankets we use now for comfort, during my childhood, it felt more like a necessity for survival. When sickness or pain struck, it was tough; the cold made it all the more unbearable. Yet, despite the challenges, there was a unique charm in being home with my great-grandmother and grandmother, spending quality time together in a warm space.

     Early days, there was no television to distract us. The sounds around us were simple: the gentle crackle of the wood stove and the rustle of wind against the windows, with the trees whispering outside our little haven. Our home wasn’t particularly insulated—it had a concrete exterior, but inside, there were rough panels and a dirt floor. Over time, we managed to get water and electricity hooked up, and our home was remodeled with a better roof and insulation for the walls, transforming it into a much warmer environment.

As a wide-eyed child, all I could do was trust the adults around me, hoping they were making the right choices for our family.

     Trusting adults was never an option. They were always convinced they were right, and I simply followed their directives. Reflecting on my childhood, I realize it shaped my determination to forge a better path as an adult. I yearned for a different life, and I did everything I could to make that a reality.

      Every moment in my childhood was good from what I remember. Climbing up in age you think back and you make sure you don't raise your children with the same upbringing. You see what was not right, what was not enough and what was not done. As parent you want to do better than what you experienced. I know what I've gone through may not be bad for some but for me, I wanted better for me and my little family.

     If you read this far, I appreciate  your time. Thank you / A'héhéé and have lots Love and Blessings to you!