Connected Legacy #14 #cong24 #legacy
Synopsis:
We all have a legacy because we all impact by just being. We are tied to others and even if we are not very connected, our existence has an effect. We do not have to be the stuff of legends to leave an imprint. Often we are oblivious to our own legacy.
Total Words
Reading Time in Minutes
3
Key Takeaways:
- You will have a legacy without any effort at all.
- You may be conscious of a future legacy now or oblivious to your impact.
- Others see you now in a different light than you see yourself. Others will remember you in a way that you might never imagine.
- People will tell stories about you and have quiet memories they cherish.
About Ang Duffy:
I’m sitting up too late this write this post. I have a need for good sleep.
I have a positive outlook and probably a growth mindset.
I love to learn. I love to draw. I’m a scientist, an artist, a teacher, a futurist.
I am addicted to dark chocolate.
Contacting Ang Duffy:
You can contact and by email.
By Ang Duffy
My breadth escapes as a wisp in the December light. It’s bright, really bright, like the heavens are open. It’s quiet, a pause in time especially for her.
I’m on the front doorstep, surrounded by people. I am alone and together with all of them. They are all my people as far as my arms could possibly reach. It’s comfortable and warm to be there like that, surrounded by my family, happy and in awe on this sad, beautiful day. To my right, left, straight ahead, they are entirely of her making.
Resourceful and responsible, nothing went to waste. Sacks used for flour made perfect pillow cases, soften with washing and imprinted over time.
Every piece of clothing meeting with loving hands against a rough washboard. They were always well turned out, her five boys and three girls. Pride of appearance instilled young.
It seems she spent a spell in Dublin, working in her youth. Herself and my grandfather migrated gradually closer to home. At one stage they lived close to where I now do. Our firstborn’s looking out on the same world almost eighty years apart.
Her husband was local and rarely local, in England to earn for the clan. She was always there and more. In charge in the homestead like so many mothers.
A fail-safe system for guarding the kids; the youngest in a bucket, the next on a harness and everyone else taking pride in their accountable chore.
Famous flour bread fed dozens per day, in her day and mine. Flour bread for generations. Puddings in battered tubs each Christmas mixed in a bathtub on bended knee. Even the neighbours were never hungry. Four families of eight looked to her aid.
Christmas was twice over each year. The evening gathering at Granny’s the tale of movies with finest finery and new toys. Turkey, trifle and tricks at the card table. My uncles turned to boys again and their sisters abetting the card game deceptions. Every one of us in our perfect role at her table. That’s eight by two and each with a brood.
Annual correspondence and many foreign guests because she penned letters to family and friends scattered for years in various places. Letters and cards came all through December. Strung up alongside paper decorations, rows and rows of Christmas cards. She sent warmest ripples far and wide.
The telephone was useful but not overused. A link to old friends she had chatted with for years. A connection for us children studying away from home to an anchor of our youth.
With respect, us children peaked in the cupboard where the treats were stowed. It was never empty. Rarely removed but anticipated and gifted. So much love given in so many ways.
She smelled of wild roses, graceful with gentlest touch. A lady. The only tension that gripped her was in the grind of a game. Picking and side and staying so steadfast to support every move. Reveling on Sunday over Match of the Day.
Her own progeny well known on the field. There were jerseys and shorts, sticks, skirts and balls, quiet encouragement and passionate regret.
In between seasons her staple was snooker, watching Irish players on the world stage. She had her favorites. Her patience even greater than theirs.
Soft hair, soft hands, softest heart, so capable. Eight children, eight couples, twenty four grandkids, forty eight great grandchildren and counting……
….many more lives enriched….a legacy.
We all gathered in December when she said goodbye. In the sunshine, which seemed fitting. To my right, left, straight ahead, family, friends, people as far as the eye could see in front of the doorstep of home.