I think one of my favorite types of history is the small stuff. The really small, everyday things that remind us that our ancestors were humans too.
An example: Aaron Burr (yes, that Aaron Burr) once lit himself on fire not once, but TWICE, because he was trying to light a candle with gunpowder. If that isn’t relatable.
There are medieval manuscripts with paw prints on them where cats walked across the pages tracking ink.
Like this one. That’s sweet and infuriating at the same time, because OF COURSE a cat would do that.
I feel like people today think that the past was just all one big miserable mess, and sure there were dark parts, but people could be happy. I’m sure that they were. I’m sure that there were girls a thousand years ago who liked getting together with their friends and gossiping about the adults in town.
There’s a story about a pot that was dug up, which contained the remains of a dinner charred beyond saving. The owner had buried it in shame. That’s intensely relatable, huh?
I guess my point is just that humans have always been human and have always had weird little everyday things happen to them that we can relate to. Every so often I get with the sudden revelation that I’m doing something that my ancestors were doing a hundred years ago, whether its storytelling or sitting cocooned in like five blankets because it’s freezing or yelling at the clouds because they refuse to rain.
That’s a comforting thought, I think.
Grace's Place 