 |
| my family circa about 1988 |
Yesterday, Linnie was up to visit, and had in tow a decade or two of photo albums. Some photos showed the likeness of ancestors whose names I've only heard in story. Others- these were the more humorous of the lot- proved once and for all that I was the most unfortunate looking of all babies. According to Linnie, I "grew into my cuteness," but not before looking like one of the three stooges for a period of time documented in far too many photos.
I promise here and now that if I have a child with a forehead the size mine was, I will make sure they are clad in a hat concealing said forehead from all documentation.
Nonetheless, looking through those old photos was a gift. That my dear mother, broken wrist and all, is taking the time to organize and share them with us is an even bigger gift. I love the presence of ancestors, and the chance to acknowledge those who have gone before us. I'm thankful for the chance to see mushy-gushy photos of my parents from the 1970s- and to know we could probably catch them in those same mushy-gushy poses now if we wanted to. I love seeing the faces of family members who have past- my mother's parents, great-aunts, uncles and grandparents- and know that life keeps going, and those gone are not forgotten. Their lives keep with us and keep effecting us.
“We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you’d be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There’s something way down deep that’s eternal about every human being."
-Our Town, by Thornton Wilder
 |
| photo booth love- a younger version of my still in-love parents; linnie and a much littler me at the beach; me on my late grandfather's lap (my James Dean) |
No comments:
Post a Comment