What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
When I was small I wanted to be a paleontologist...or an astronaut. I gave up flying to space but could never let go of the bones and dirt.
For some reason, maybe it is encoded in my DNA or it is just something I came to earth with, I have always loved bones and digging stuff up! I was not the typical 'Barbie Doll' girl. I would rather watch "He-Man" and get rewarded with Muscle Men.
As I got older the love of Dinosaur bones faded as a new passion for human bones grew.
I remember spending many a late afternoon walking through cemeteries and wondering about the lives these people led and the stories they left behind.
My love for cemeteries has never faded. I love them to this day. They are my favorite places to visit on earth. I still love the feeling there and I still wonder about the people who have been lovingly memorialized. I wonder even more about the people who do not have proper head stones or who's head stones are broken, their names fading. I feel desperate and want to reach out to them and help them find their place in the world again...to be remembered.
As a youth, I helped out a prospective Eagle Scout clean a cemetery. I was in heaven! I knew that my heart was forever tied to the dead and their stories. The feeling reminds me of a line from the story "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte, "...it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame." The pull was and is often unbearable to ignore.
Fast forward to the present...I finally found my way back to my love. I started my Bachelors Degree at Oregon State University (all my classes are online) and decided to Major in Anthropology. The idea was to go on and get a Master's degree in Archaeology. However, I am not sure if that is the right path. I may decide to get a Masters in Biological Anthropology or Biological Archaeology. Still working out the kinks.
I had to take a break starting this semester. The hubster needed me to be mentally and physically present for our kiddos while he prepares to take his board exams for Osteopathy. I look forward to hitting the books again soon. Some days the waiting is almost unbearable.
Like the other day...my brain started to itch a little as I found...well, the hubby found...an awesome article in The Denver Post about a school for wayward boys and the death scandal surrounding it. The headline read:
"From 1900 to 2011, a home for wayward boys became synonymous with beatings, forced labor and even death. Now, its unmarked graves are being combed for answers."
I literally started shaking and gesticulating exaggeratedly to the hubby and immediately had to tear out the article for saving. Here is was, right in front of me, my life's work being done by other people! UGH My time will come...I told myself. Each day since, I tell myself the same thing.
I know that someday, I will be the one on my hands and knees carefully digging up bones of a loved one and finding their story that needs to be told. I just know I will. And when I find that person...and I will...I will say,
"Hello friend. Let's tell your story!"
As I got older the love of Dinosaur bones faded as a new passion for human bones grew.
I remember spending many a late afternoon walking through cemeteries and wondering about the lives these people led and the stories they left behind.
My love for cemeteries has never faded. I love them to this day. They are my favorite places to visit on earth. I still love the feeling there and I still wonder about the people who have been lovingly memorialized. I wonder even more about the people who do not have proper head stones or who's head stones are broken, their names fading. I feel desperate and want to reach out to them and help them find their place in the world again...to be remembered.
As a youth, I helped out a prospective Eagle Scout clean a cemetery. I was in heaven! I knew that my heart was forever tied to the dead and their stories. The feeling reminds me of a line from the story "Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte, "...it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame." The pull was and is often unbearable to ignore.
Fast forward to the present...I finally found my way back to my love. I started my Bachelors Degree at Oregon State University (all my classes are online) and decided to Major in Anthropology. The idea was to go on and get a Master's degree in Archaeology. However, I am not sure if that is the right path. I may decide to get a Masters in Biological Anthropology or Biological Archaeology. Still working out the kinks.
I had to take a break starting this semester. The hubster needed me to be mentally and physically present for our kiddos while he prepares to take his board exams for Osteopathy. I look forward to hitting the books again soon. Some days the waiting is almost unbearable.
Like the other day...my brain started to itch a little as I found...well, the hubby found...an awesome article in The Denver Post about a school for wayward boys and the death scandal surrounding it. The headline read:
"From 1900 to 2011, a home for wayward boys became synonymous with beatings, forced labor and even death. Now, its unmarked graves are being combed for answers."
I literally started shaking and gesticulating exaggeratedly to the hubby and immediately had to tear out the article for saving. Here is was, right in front of me, my life's work being done by other people! UGH My time will come...I told myself. Each day since, I tell myself the same thing.
I know that someday, I will be the one on my hands and knees carefully digging up bones of a loved one and finding their story that needs to be told. I just know I will. And when I find that person...and I will...I will say,
"Hello friend. Let's tell your story!"
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