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Chronicles: {please feel free to add on}
page: 10
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(I want to say that I am glad to be a part of this forum. My writing lacks many things, an eye for details is one, and filler. My daughter writes some
of the most facsinating, detailed pieces of work, with great imaginary qualities I have ever seen, and it comes so easy to her. Thanks for letting me
join in, I hope it greatly improves my skills) Here Goes:
The sun is magnificently shining in all its glory on this pleasant spring day. I can’t recall when I’ve ever felt so content with the life I’ve lived. All I have left are the memories. As long as I have the memories, I can keep reflecting on them, re-living them in my mind for hours at a time. That’s the only way I can go on without my darling Jonathan. He was everything to me. The most astonishing, adoring man I ever knew. Although he had been troubled with misfortune, he was never bitter, never hateful, and always happy for everything God had blessed him with. I’ve had an amazing life full of friendship, trials, disaster, and love, love being the greatest of them all. All formed the character of my being, and without any I would not be the sensible elderly woman I am today.
I’ve had friendships that were so powerful I thought they were real. I don’t know how I came to have such a vivid imagination as a child, but all in all everything I lived was real, and very rewarding to me. It’s still fresh, and almost unfeasible for me to believe that Amanda, my dearest friend in the whole world was just a fabrication of my own imagination. I’ve often wondered why I created her? Why did I need her? Why did I not know she wasn’t real? But, I tell you the truth when I say, She was as real to me as the sparkling sun and spring flowers I see out my dining room window today as I write the memoirs of my life.
When did she disappear from my life? I believe it was the summer of 1926 when Amanda went away. Maybe I didn’t need her anymore after I met Archie, and Ida? I only know that’s the summer Amanda stopped coming to see me. Maybe she was just a substitution for me, until I had someone in my life that I really felt loved me for who I was, and not what I had. Everything I had as a child was nothing of my own merit. Nothing I asked for at that, just material things that meant nothing to me… nothing at all. Amanda didn’t care what I had; she was my bosom friend through thick, and thin.
I recall these material belongings meant everything to the girls I went to school with. Maybe that’s because they didn’t have anything special, I don’t know?
Funny, when you have all these things, they mean nothing to you. They are just another burden you must bear, while others desire them so. I would have gladly given everything I had away to live the simple life I desired. A simple life was what I craved, what I needed! I just wanted to be normal, poor, and happy, not from a wealthy well-known family. The old saying is true! Money doesn’t buy everything.
My father was to a certain degree proud of his wealth; it was something very desirable to him.
My father grew up with a terrible misfortune. He was the son of an emigrant family from Ireland. Grandpa and grandma O’Malley came from Ireland in 1885.
My father Paul was born in America in 1887. He was the baby of the family; he had five siblings. You can imagine how dirt poor his beginnings were, that’s why his wealth was a milestone in his life. Of course my father’s wealth was certainly not of his own merit, had he not married my mother, from whom his wealth came, he would have nothing- nothing that money could buy that is. That’s the difference between my father and I, he wanted it, finally acquired it, and appreciated it… I had it, never wanted it, and loathed it… I always wanted less than I had. There is a certain superior heir that the affluent enjoy, an heir that deeply saddens me.
My mother is the one that came from wealth; she was the daughter of a prominent Boston family. Her father was disappointed with her, for falling in love with the son of Irish emigrants. Had it not been for my grandfather loving her so, she would quite certainly have been shunned for having done such a reprehensible thing as marrying a grubby Irishman. But in the end, my grandfather is the one who funded my mother, and father in their business endeavor. That’s how my parents came to be proud owners of the mercantile to which they owned. Now they were by no means wealthy like my grandparents, but in the small town, which we lived, they were the richest of the rich!
Such as life, I only recall meeting my wealthy grandfather, and grandmother a few times in my life. I do not know how often my mother had contact with her folks? The whole subject was very undesirable amongst my parents. One of the times I did meet my maternal grandparents, I remember going by rail with my mother, and my siblings to Boston. My father did not accompany the family to Boston. He had stayed behind to manage to mercantile. He preferred not to be around my grandparents anyhow, as they did not care for him, even though they never took the time to get to know him.
What a fancy, extravagant mansion my grandparents called home. I had never seen anything of the likes before, or since then. Boston was quite a flourishing town, very much contradictory to Oregon. I recall a few fancy gatherings during our visit, none of it meant anything to me. I would have enjoyed it had my grandparents came to Oregon in the summer to visit us, but I suppose that would be unsuitable for them to have to experience. One thing I know for sure, had they taken the time to know my father, they would have love him as one of their own. He was an amazing man, an exceptional father, and a loving spouse for my mother. Anyhow, I don’t know much about that side of my estranged family. I can only record what I know, and I have now recorded what I know of them.
The year I turned thirteen seems to be the year my life began, it’s also the year I lost Amanda, but she departed without ever saying good-bye to me. I’m not sure I have forgiven her for that, but then you must realize… I created her, and I ended her life when I was sturdy enough to make it without her. So, really how can I be upset with her? Nobody can be at fault but I. That’s something I still have to bear. I don’t recall dismissing her, and for years I felt like she threw me away. Who knows… maybe she was real? Maybe she was an angel sent from God to comfort me until my life had meaning. One day soon, I’ll know for certain….
As I try to recall everything in its order, and place, needing to leave this legacy behind for my children before my mind departs from me, is rough going. Some of the stories are etched in my mind; I can recall them on demand, while others are beginning to fade away fast. So, I race against the clock; precisely jotting down the most amazing tales of my life and how fulfilling they were. Even some of the smallest, insignificant things were so fulfilling. Things others take for granted. The fondest memories I have are from my thirteenth year onward.
[edit on 8/23/2006 by jensouth31]
The sun is magnificently shining in all its glory on this pleasant spring day. I can’t recall when I’ve ever felt so content with the life I’ve lived. All I have left are the memories. As long as I have the memories, I can keep reflecting on them, re-living them in my mind for hours at a time. That’s the only way I can go on without my darling Jonathan. He was everything to me. The most astonishing, adoring man I ever knew. Although he had been troubled with misfortune, he was never bitter, never hateful, and always happy for everything God had blessed him with. I’ve had an amazing life full of friendship, trials, disaster, and love, love being the greatest of them all. All formed the character of my being, and without any I would not be the sensible elderly woman I am today.
I’ve had friendships that were so powerful I thought they were real. I don’t know how I came to have such a vivid imagination as a child, but all in all everything I lived was real, and very rewarding to me. It’s still fresh, and almost unfeasible for me to believe that Amanda, my dearest friend in the whole world was just a fabrication of my own imagination. I’ve often wondered why I created her? Why did I need her? Why did I not know she wasn’t real? But, I tell you the truth when I say, She was as real to me as the sparkling sun and spring flowers I see out my dining room window today as I write the memoirs of my life.
When did she disappear from my life? I believe it was the summer of 1926 when Amanda went away. Maybe I didn’t need her anymore after I met Archie, and Ida? I only know that’s the summer Amanda stopped coming to see me. Maybe she was just a substitution for me, until I had someone in my life that I really felt loved me for who I was, and not what I had. Everything I had as a child was nothing of my own merit. Nothing I asked for at that, just material things that meant nothing to me… nothing at all. Amanda didn’t care what I had; she was my bosom friend through thick, and thin.
I recall these material belongings meant everything to the girls I went to school with. Maybe that’s because they didn’t have anything special, I don’t know?
Funny, when you have all these things, they mean nothing to you. They are just another burden you must bear, while others desire them so. I would have gladly given everything I had away to live the simple life I desired. A simple life was what I craved, what I needed! I just wanted to be normal, poor, and happy, not from a wealthy well-known family. The old saying is true! Money doesn’t buy everything.
My father was to a certain degree proud of his wealth; it was something very desirable to him.
My father grew up with a terrible misfortune. He was the son of an emigrant family from Ireland. Grandpa and grandma O’Malley came from Ireland in 1885.
My father Paul was born in America in 1887. He was the baby of the family; he had five siblings. You can imagine how dirt poor his beginnings were, that’s why his wealth was a milestone in his life. Of course my father’s wealth was certainly not of his own merit, had he not married my mother, from whom his wealth came, he would have nothing- nothing that money could buy that is. That’s the difference between my father and I, he wanted it, finally acquired it, and appreciated it… I had it, never wanted it, and loathed it… I always wanted less than I had. There is a certain superior heir that the affluent enjoy, an heir that deeply saddens me.
My mother is the one that came from wealth; she was the daughter of a prominent Boston family. Her father was disappointed with her, for falling in love with the son of Irish emigrants. Had it not been for my grandfather loving her so, she would quite certainly have been shunned for having done such a reprehensible thing as marrying a grubby Irishman. But in the end, my grandfather is the one who funded my mother, and father in their business endeavor. That’s how my parents came to be proud owners of the mercantile to which they owned. Now they were by no means wealthy like my grandparents, but in the small town, which we lived, they were the richest of the rich!
Such as life, I only recall meeting my wealthy grandfather, and grandmother a few times in my life. I do not know how often my mother had contact with her folks? The whole subject was very undesirable amongst my parents. One of the times I did meet my maternal grandparents, I remember going by rail with my mother, and my siblings to Boston. My father did not accompany the family to Boston. He had stayed behind to manage to mercantile. He preferred not to be around my grandparents anyhow, as they did not care for him, even though they never took the time to get to know him.
What a fancy, extravagant mansion my grandparents called home. I had never seen anything of the likes before, or since then. Boston was quite a flourishing town, very much contradictory to Oregon. I recall a few fancy gatherings during our visit, none of it meant anything to me. I would have enjoyed it had my grandparents came to Oregon in the summer to visit us, but I suppose that would be unsuitable for them to have to experience. One thing I know for sure, had they taken the time to know my father, they would have love him as one of their own. He was an amazing man, an exceptional father, and a loving spouse for my mother. Anyhow, I don’t know much about that side of my estranged family. I can only record what I know, and I have now recorded what I know of them.
The year I turned thirteen seems to be the year my life began, it’s also the year I lost Amanda, but she departed without ever saying good-bye to me. I’m not sure I have forgiven her for that, but then you must realize… I created her, and I ended her life when I was sturdy enough to make it without her. So, really how can I be upset with her? Nobody can be at fault but I. That’s something I still have to bear. I don’t recall dismissing her, and for years I felt like she threw me away. Who knows… maybe she was real? Maybe she was an angel sent from God to comfort me until my life had meaning. One day soon, I’ll know for certain….
As I try to recall everything in its order, and place, needing to leave this legacy behind for my children before my mind departs from me, is rough going. Some of the stories are etched in my mind; I can recall them on demand, while others are beginning to fade away fast. So, I race against the clock; precisely jotting down the most amazing tales of my life and how fulfilling they were. Even some of the smallest, insignificant things were so fulfilling. Things others take for granted. The fondest memories I have are from my thirteenth year onward.
[edit on 8/23/2006 by jensouth31]
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