Family History

I read a poem the other day by Pamela A. Harazim called Strangers in the Box. The poem references the old photos that get passed down that nobody knows anything about. She ends the poem with our photos one day could be the strangers if we don’t leave our stories behind. Letters, scrapbooks, photo albums, journals are all ways of leaving our stories for those that come after we have shucked our mortal coil. 

Another facebook post was from the IJ page about the 52 Questions in 52 Weeks Challenge.This challenge is a starting point for writing your story. You take one question per week and write as much or as little as you want. The questions cover topics about your childhood, family, work and what makes you unique.

Both poem and challenge are timely, I have been struggling trying to put together a family history that I could gift to my mom, my uncle and sister. These books are going to be part memior, part photo album, part scrapbook and I want it to be in a binder so pages can be added as time goes by. A big task to be sure however I feel it is a worthwhile endeavor. I have two nieces and two nephews that never had the chance to know our grandparents. Grandma is lost in a Aletimerz daze. And Grandaddy pasted away three years ago. They don’t know the vibrant people that Grandma and Grandaddy were back in their prime. That said me and my sister don’t know what they were like as a young couple or parents. And I don’t want them to become lost in the mists of time and strangers in an old dusty photo album. At least with these books there will be stories to connect them no matter how much time passes. And if they are added to then the story continues with them. High hopes for a family history treasury becauae that is what I want it to become. A treasure trove of family memories. Priceless.

Since I found the 52 questions I am going to given them to family and ask them to fill them out and give them back so I can incorporate those memories with mine. I mourn the loss of my grandparents’ memories and wisdom, but I know they live on through the ones left behind that knew and loved them. 

Cheers on this chilly Sunday evening, james

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