Behind the Name

Stories and Gooseberries. Stories hold a dear place in my heart. I cannot remember a time when stories were not a prevalent part of my being. Stories were told to me at bedtime, during play time, while I was being disciplined, while I was being taught in the kitchen, at the piano, at my desk, at the kitchen table. Stories were told to me for entertainment, for relaxation, for lessons, life skills, wisdom, advice. Stories were told to me by my mama and my daddy, but mostly by my Grandmac.

Most who know me at least know about my Grandmac - Maxine, Mackie, Mac, Aunt Mac to others. She raised me on stories. She raised me to listen and learn through stories and also to communicate through storytelling. She taught me the importance of storytelling - that is, after all, how our ancestors kept their history alive - by telling their children and their children's children stories of their ancestors. She demonstrated how storytelling can be used to teach and pass on wisdom to others in an empathetic and understandable way - that's how Jesus taught others about His Word - through parables, stories! Now there is the story portion of my title. My DNA is made up of stories. So is yours, and your friends', and your enemies' DNA. We're all stories, woven into a monstrous tapestry of abstract beauty. 

Gooseberries. They're also tied to my Grandmac. She always told me of how she played out "under the gooseberry bush" (as she so entitled her memoirs). You may not have even heard of a gooseberry before. They are similar to a currant and grow wild in many parts of the world. I know they have even been banned in some parts of North America due to them carrying white pine blister rust - but that's just a random factoid tidbit for you. I've had gooseberry jam, and it tasted very similar to the ever delicious Damson plum jam. 

The gooseberry bush played an important role in Grandmac's childhoold - it is where her imagination was allowed to flourish, where she could be in the quiet with her own thoughts, and there was born a storyteller's mind. I didn't have a gooseberry bush to play under growing up...but I had stories and a big imagination. My gooseberry bushes were in the form of weeping willow trees, lilac bushes, and the woods and creek in my neighborhood.  I spent countless hours there, acting out my own stories, or perhaps just thinking and spending time with my own thoughts sometimes.

So what's a gooseberry in terms of my writing? It's different than a story. This particular entry, perhaps, is a gooseberry - where my thoughts run wild and my fingers type with no actual plan in mind. So whether I post a story or a gooseberry, I hope they will be of some sort of value to you. I hope you find comfort or wisdom or laughter in the words. 

 So from me to you, my first official gooseberry. 

 Let your thoughts run wild, friends.

Love, Lynwood

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