The Crab Chronicles

The Past Lives in Us

Many years ago I was watching the documentary The Civil War on PBS, and Writer/Historian Shelby Foote said "The Southern Man doesn't live in History. History lives in him." 

I LOVE that quote.

The Civil War lived in my father. I spent my childhood trooping around Civil War battlefields, visiting historic sites like the Appomattox Court House, and watching my dad pull the car off the road to read historic markers.

I learned many years after visiting Appomattox, that one of my ancestors was there that day, the day General Lee surrendered and the South conceded defeat. No wonder a feeling of sadness had crept over me that day.

I am fascinated by my ancestors -- how they lived, how they died, what they endured. It's one reason why I love old photographs, particularly old photos of people I'm related to. I look in their faces and get a strong sense of who they were, and I feel connected to them.

Left, my great-great Hasty grandparents, John T. Hasty and Sarah Mahalie Nelson Hasty, who was half Native American

One of my cousins posted a photo this morning of an old mill, and I shared this: I always loved visiting the Old Mill in Pigeon Forge TN. A few years back I found out some of my ancestors on Mom's side ran a mill about 200 years ago.

I started thinking about many feelings I've gotten in my life, strong feelings upon visiting a place, or seeing film or photos of a particular place.

I think this started many years ago, when I was in middle school in Knoxville, Tennessee. My class took a field trip to beautiful Cades Cove, in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. My ancestors never lived there but it was fascinating to me. It's one thing to read about life in the 19th century, quite a different thing to walk into a cabin with newspapers on the walls, dirt floors, and no electricity or running water. Outside, beautiful peaceful views of the mountains. Inside, dire poverty. The expression "dirt poor" took on new meaning. Some years later my parents and I visited a history center where there were furnished cabins like the ones pioneers actually lived in, small rooms with single boards for walls, tiny beds in the corner, fireplaces for cooking, and a table and maybe two rough chairs. Being in those rooms felt more meaningful and sacred than any church or cathedral.

 

There are many lakes in East Tennessee. When the South was starting to get rural areas hooked onto electricity grids in the 1930's and 40's, the Tennessee Valley Authority [TVA] created many man-made lakes where towns are once existed. Rivers were dammed and the resulting hydroelectricity brought electric power to many places.

As a kid, my family had a little cabin on Douglas Lake, one of the TVA lakes. My dad told me the lake was created by damming a river, but I never thought about the flooding that resulted. Years ago I read a book called Under the Lake, by Stuart Woods. That got me to thinking about families and communities that disappeared under lakes in the name of "progress."

Then I found out that some of my my mother's family lived, for generations, on land that was flooded to create Lake Allatoona in North Georgia. My ancestors had lived literally under the lake.

Creepy.

I believe we are all products of the generations who went before us, and so we have a genetic inheritance that impacts our lives.

Sometimes it's obvious. My dad loved history, and liked to tell me and my brother stories that had a basis in historical fact. My mom loved classical music, and I love certain classical pieces, and even some opera. They both loved to grow vegetables. I love that too.

Some connections many not be so obvious, however.

When I grow food or flowers in my garden, my soul feels at peace in a way that I cannot explain. Generations before me farmed to live. A good harvest brought joy, a lessening of anxiety about the winter,

I knew my grandmother as a dignified, proper old lady. She always wore dresses, makeup, and jewelry. She stayed inside most of the time. She got her hair "done" at the beauty parlor weekly. I never knew the young girl who bobbed her hair and liked to climb trees. Then I saw a photo of her -- many years after her death -- and I felt this familiarity that made me miss her terribly. She was a tomboy. I was a tomboy. Then I understood our deep connection.

When I was in England in the summer of 1988, studying with a group from my university, I felt this profound sense of sadness one day, on a bus traveling through the lush and lovely English countryside. I think my ancestors were stirring, deep inside me. I wondered what had motivated them to leave such a beautiful place in the 18th century and go on such a perilous sea journey to live in the wild and unknown new world? A place that promised freedom from a monarch's whims, but little else?

When my family moved to East Tennessee in 1971 it felt like we were leaving everything right and familiar, including extended family, and moving to the moon. East Tennessee was a lovely place but it wasn't home. I always felt like a visitor there, even though I lived there more then twenty years.

You see, Georgia and South Carolina feel like home. For many generations, my ancestors have lived, worked, and died in Georgia and South Carolina. They grew food in the soil, and ate it. They drank from the rivers, and were sustained. Their bodies literally were made from that soil and water. When they died, they were placed back into mother earth and the cycle continued. My people were not part of East Tennessee, and I came back to Georgia as soon as I could get a job here. Then I felt like I had come home.

I've been reading a book called Good Energy, about all the highly processed foods out there and how they make us sick. When we grow our own food, without chemicals, it nourishes and sustains us. Eating well is a way of honoring our ancestors.

I live in a very modest home, and sometimes I feel a bit sorry for myself, honestly. I try to remember this, though: my modest home is incredibly luxurious compared to how the vast majority of my ancestors lived. My floor isn't dirt. Animals don't come in and threaten me. Insects don't fly in and bite me. Thunderstorms are not a big deal. I don't have to worry about light, or food, or staying warm or cool.

Life is infinitely longer and easier for me. I have a tiny device in my chest that keeps my heart beating steadily. I can hear the voices of my friends and family members just by pressing a few buttons. My son is going to do a video call with me this afternoon so I can see what he sees as he walks around Piedmont Park, at the Dogwood Arts Festival. That's the same park where my grandfather held my small hand and walked around with me more than half a century ago.

I say these words to myself, out loud, every day: All is well. I am safe. I am strong. I am healthy. I am lucky. I am loved. I am blessed.

I do not live in the past, but the past lives in me, and my heart is better for that.

#livinginthepast, #honoringourancestors, #understandingdnalegacy

Paralegal Communication

One of the biggest lessons to learn in your professional life is the importance of clear and effective communications. It took me years to learn what to do, and more importantly what NOT to do.

In my first paralegal job I got reprimanded by one of the law partners for spreading gossip about one of the lawyers getting a divorce. I had no business doing it but I was young and stupid. He wasn't getting divorced. I am pretty sure the office manager overheard me chatting with someone and told my supervisor, who told me in no uncertain terms that if he ever heard of me spreading gossip like that again I'd get fired. Lesson learned.

Learning what to say and what not to say, and when, is critical in any job. It's really critical in law firms, where client confidentiality is very important. People who are getting sued, or who have been wronged and are suing, have entrusted the lawyers to represent them with tact and  discretion. That extends to staff.

Here are a few tips to make communications better in your firm or company:

Treat everyone with respect and courtesy, whether they are a clerk or a senior partner.

Do NOT refer to clients by their first names unless they explicitly tell you to do so. Mr., Miss, or Ms. [last name] should be the rule otherwise. It may sound old-fashioned but it's respectful, and good manners never go out of fashion.

Do not talk on your cell phone while at work, or text. It just looks bad.

Always make email communications neutral, because they can easily be misinterpreted.

General rule: don't chat with lawyers. Most lawyers are hyper-focused on time because that's how they make money. Chatting with you doesn't pay. Now, if they initiate the chat, fine. Questions like "Where did you grow up?" are such an invitation. Just don't launch into a long recitation. Keep it brief.

If you don't know something, tell someone. Then make it your business to learn it as quickly as possible. Example: I thought I knew Outlook really well, but a few years ago I got a job where the firm rules for using Outlook were extensive and allowed no room for error. I spent a lot of my free time trying to get up to speed quickly.

If you didn't get enough sleep, or aren't feeling well, or you've having boyfriend issues -- too bad. Those are not excuses for being grumpy. Tell your friend at lunch but otherwise, be professional.

Document everything you do. I use a variety of programs in my current position but I also have a Word document called Assignments where I make notes of everything I do on every case. This is important. Do not rely on Slack, or Teams, or Outlook, or any other program. Keep YOUR OWN NOTES. You will have to refer to them at some time, so you can be certain you did [or didn't] do something.

For more tips and ideas about communications and other work tips, check out Paralegal 411: Tips, Tricks and Timesavers for the Litigation Paralegal.

#paralegalcommunications, #paralegaltraining, #workinginalawoffice, #workcommunications