This post inspired by One Word Sunday
One warm summer day
My grandmother and her mother
Posed on a park bench
Complete with handbags, hats and gloves.
Ankles carefully crossed.
I bet my grandfather said “smile”
Before he snapped the photo.
Old
Tag: family
Photo a Week – Eyes
Nancy Merrill is hosting a photo challenge. The theme this week:
A Photo a Week Challenge – Eyes
IN A NEW POST CREATED FOR THIS CHALLENGE, SHARE A PHOTO OR TWO OF SOME OF THE EYES IN YOUR LIFE.
My daughter was born with the bluest of eyes…which opened and stared into mine within minutes of her arrival. Her curiosity for life already beginning.
Those eyes…she would hold your gaze – even as an infant – without changing expression, as if seriously contemplating the words to follow. Before she knew how to say a thing.
Her right eyebrow arching ever so slightly…posing a silent question we couldn’t possibly know the answer to…
Photo a Week – Things That Matter Most
Nancy Merrill is hosting a photo challenge. The theme this week:
A Photo a Week Challenge – The Things that Matter Most
IN A NEW POST CREATED FOR THIS CHALLENGE, SHARE A PHOTO OR TWO OF THINGS THAT MEAN THE MOST TO YOU.
The things that matter most are not things. At least not to me.
I have heard it said that when you are on your deathbed, you don’t wish you had spent more time at work. More often it is…I wish I had spent more time with my family.
My friends. My kids. My grandparents.
The “things” that matter most to me are the family and friends I love and care about.
And who love and care about me.
What else matters?
That I am fortunate enough to have a roof over my head and enough food to eat.
Play
This post inspired by Ragtag Daily Prompt: Play
Playing music was always front and center in our home.
Whether it be playing a record, a tape or, as years went by, a CD.
But the best playing happened in person.
At the end of one oppressively hot September day in 1988, we huddled around our only air conditioner for an impromptu concert. After a long day of yard work.
The 6 year old playing my old guitar from childhood.
The 10 month old plucking strings on his daddy’s guitar.
And the daddy playing, singing and offering advice on note fingering.
Keeping cool…
This trio played together many times over the years.
Guitar. Flute. Recorder. Clarinet.
Such fun.
Tuesday Photo Challenge – Memories
Here is my entry for this week’s challenge hosted by Frank at Dutch goes the Photo
This was definitely a challenge.
Just choosing one photo. Out of a zillion (well maybe not a zillion, but close)
So many wonderful memories of the last few decades.
When I stumbled upon this photo in my search, I remembered Frank’s suggestion: don’t hesitate to go for the whimsical.
Father’s Day 2008
My two adult children made it a point to be home to celebrate with their father. As they always did – and still do – they let the silliness of childhood surface. My son had recently found this road sign while at his local summer job.
I have no idea why he kept it, except that it became a handy prop. For a photo taken while waiting for the steaks to grill. Creative minds at work…when Mom wanted another photo of the two of them.
Another example of the joyful, silly, irreverent atmosphere that permeated their childhood. And our life together as a family of four.
And their close relationship – even at almost 6 years apart.
Happy Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving
A day – if you’re fortunate – set aside for family.
For gratitude. For sharing a meal.
Usually a massive meal – in our house it was based around turkey, gravy, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, some kind of vegetable. Rolls or banana bread. Every year the “fixins” changed somewhat.
The most important part: many pies. The dinner was basically a stop on the way to pumpkin…apple…cherry pies.
And my personal favorite…playing cards while eating dessert: aka pie.
Dinner was also all about the conversation and stories we shared. So much time and opportunity for prolonged discussion when you are passing endless bowls of food around. Pouring wine. Pouring water. Carving more turkey. I just never knew what subjects would come up; but many became classics.
Such as…
In 1990, my husband and I hosted our first Thanksgiving.
I had never cooked a whole turkey before. An overwhelming task. I had heard horror stories about overcooked turkeys and dried out white meat. That would never happen to me…I’ll cover it! That should do it.
My parents and my in-laws were coming – to join me, my husband and our 2 kids.
I dusted off the big blue covered roaster pan my mother had passed down to me. Coated the fresh turkey with spices and some oil. Tied the legs together.
I put the cover on. It went into the oven. I set the timer. And let it cook. And cook. Many hours later – when, according to the recipe it would be done, I removed it from the oven. Look it’s ready! With great fanfare, I lifted the lid…Oh No!
It looked like a turkey snow angel! All the turkey meat had slid off the bones. We had turkey stew! There was nothing to carve. Legs askew. Wings fallen off. My mother was horrified. I laughed. And laughed.
It still tasted great…and…the white meat was NOT dry!
♥ ♣ ♠ ♦
The following year:
Twelve family members gathered at the dining room table to enjoy our Thanksgiving feast – including my parents, my husband’s parents, my grandmother, my sister and her family.
Upon noticing someone struggling to remove the meat from a turkey leg, my father-in-law shared a memory…a story that has become part of family lore.
He began describing his job at the First National grocery store in the 1930’s. When he helped get the turkeys ready to be sold for Thanksgiving. The turkey carcasses were brought to the store and his job was to pull the tendons out of the legs. Apparently, this made the turkey legs easier to eat. He went into graphic detail. Right in front of everyone. Who put their forks down and stared at him…as he explained this was probably not done anymore. Those pesky tendons still attached.
GROSS! we protested.
Shocked faces…especially those with turkey legs eaten or half eaten on their plates. There may have been some gagging. My big city brother-in-law’s face turned white. He got up and left the room…
♥ ♣ ♠ ♦
Empty nest Thanksgivings…
left more time for documenting…
But traditions remained the same.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Seventy Nine Messages
I woke up this morning to 79 text messages…
Last night was the Fifth and potentially Deciding game of the World Series. The Boston Red Sox vs. The L.A. Dodgers.
Hence the text messages…
Before going to sleep at around 10pm last night, I was in a frantic texting chain with my husband (here), our son (in MA) and daughter (in DC) – starting at 8pm Eastern Time.
Major League Baseball drama in overdrive. As is often the case, it was a family long distance affair.
At 8:00, there was checking in to see if everyone was wearing their gear. Yes for the guys. No for the gals. Uh oh.
And then the play by play got under way (condensed version)…
8:19: Benny!!!!
8:20:29: Pearce!!!!
8:20:40: Pearce!!!
8:25:15: Ok, David. Your turn.
8:25:45: Big chance for him.
8:26:32 Oh yeah.
and Fast forward….
9:36:11: Good stuff, Price!
9:36:29: He has settled down nicely
and…
9:56:19: Mookie!!!!!
9:56:36: He was so overdue.
9:56:45: He sure was
10:05:06: nice catch!
FF…
11:10:26: Sale?
11:10:50: JBJ!
11:11:03: I love having Sale here to close it out.
11:11:07: He can just let loose
11:11:34: True
11:12:40: 2
11:15:47: Yes!!!
FF…
11:18:02: We won!!!!!
11:18:24: We did!!!!!!
About 2 dozen texts later…
11:36:13: I’m gonna miss baseball
11:38:21: Me too
…father and son wound down at 11:43 pm.
This morning, my daughter and I were greeted by over 70 texts that arrived while we slept. 🙂
Another season over. The Red Sox won another World Series!
Still hard to believe.
Growing up in New Hampshire, my husband has the Sox in his blood. He can’t help it. His tattered falling-apart scrapbook commemorating the almost-made-it 1967 season survived downsizing. And now lives on in the storage unit.
I grew up in NJ and neither of my parents followed professional sports. My grandfather was a passionate baseball fan and rooted for whoever he was betting on; but was forever loyal to the Cincinnati Reds – the team of his childhood. As an adult he lived in NY, near our home. He took his grandchildren (including me) to Yankee stadium a few times in the 1960’s. I don’t think we truly appreciated it like he expected. My little brother was more interested in eating hot dogs and visiting the men’s room.
Once our kids were old enough to sit in front of the TV and whoop and holler along with their dad, they got Sox hats and shirts. Red Sox baseball cards. Off they went into Sox fan-land; as was their birthright.
In 1996, the 4 of us went to our first Red Sox game together. Bad news was brewing: Fenway Park might be torn down! (it wasn’t)
“Save Fenway Park” appeared on bumper stickers. We had to get down there before it was too late…despite the fact that the Sox perpetually lost game after game. Or only made it to the first round. Or almost did….
This was before the Big Win in 2004; the end of the Curse Of The Bambino, the dawn of now-anything-is-possible.
Now it’s 2018. My kids are grown and have moved away. But devotion to their hometown team remains strong. And still connects us. Modern technology definitely helps. I’ve got over 150 text messages of loyalty to Red Sox Nation. Including coaching commentary.
My daughter did, however, marry a Yankees fan. How will they raise my now 2 year old grandson…as a Sox fan…or a Yankees fan…? Who knows?
Perhaps he’ll be won over by a Fenway Frank.
Time will tell.
Ephemera
“It’s just paper”
That’s what the woman at the outdoor flea market told me. I asked her about the stacks of postcards, letters and old black & white photographs on display. Bundled in piles or open in plastic bins to thumb through. A musty smell hung over the tables, reminiscent of old boxes forgotten in an attic – or basement – for decades.
Everything for sale.
These collections are personal. Handwritten postcards, in childish script, to Gramma and Grampa postmarked 1945 from a vacation spot in Florida. Carefully posed serious groups of family members circa 1920 (?). A wedding party from the 1940’s (said the seller, based on the suits worn by the men). And letters written home from soldiers during World War II. I started to open one, but when I realized what it was, I just couldn’t unfold it. Put it back. Invasion of privacy.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked.
A shrug of the shoulders. “Oh, everywhere. Estate sales. Other flea markets.”
I still didn’t understand.
“What about the families these are from?” I asked, looking into the smiling faces of women in their Sunday best. Long dresses and fancy hats.
I kept getting the same answers. Families don’t want it. There was no family left to take it.
But every photo has a story! Someone wrote that postcard and I’ll bet someone loved receiving it. It was important. To someone. It’s not just paper.
And now being sold to strangers. To gawk at or buy and sell at a profit. Photos spread outside on tables in the full sun, curling and fading fast. Like yesterday’s newspaper.
I don’t get it. And I don’t have a solution for other alternatives – on what to do with all the…paper.
Today – at the latest flea market – I heard a term I had not paid much attention to before.
We get all kinds of ephemera, one seller mentioned.
Ephemera? I asked.
Yeah, it’s just paper – things that have been around a long time. People collect it.
So, when I got home I looked it up – not Wikipedia, but Merriam Webster no less…
Definition of ephemera
plural ephemera also ephemerae play \i-ˈfe-mər-ē, -ˈfem-rē\ or ephemeras
1: something of no lasting significance —usually used in plural
2: ephemera plural: paper items (such as posters, broadsides, and tickets) that were originally meant to be discarded after use but have since become collectibles
“Something of no lasting significance” – this caught my attention.
Seriously?
No lasting significance? To who?
And…if that’s the case, why collect it?
I also wonder…if someday there is no ephemera to collect, to sell, to display under the hot sun – when postcards and private letters are completely replaced by email. When all photos are digital. And “what is meant to be discarded” is permanently erased by the click of a delete button or a cloud power surge. No going back. No undo.
Because as we know, the “cloud” is just scores of huge buildings with hard drives & machinery humming away somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Full of terabytes of our future ephemera. Which will never end up at a flea market.
But what about our children’s children’s children? How will they know of who came before?
****
I did not buy any photos at the flea market. Or postcards. Or letters.
However – a real family photo – is below. And in a photo album on my shelf.
It is not ephemera.
to thank or not to thank
Apparently it is rampant. Not thanking people.
The advice columns in our local newspapers regularly cover this topic. My grandchildren never let me know they got my Christmas presents....My son/daughter/grandchild doesn’t thank me for the checks I send…I sent my niece a graduation gift and I never heard anything about it. And so on…
The advice usually involves allowing consequence such as don’t send any more gifts! or just send a card. I think I like that second one.
I would love to say I don’t experience this, but sad to say I do. Not with grandchildren (after all he is not yet 2 years old); but with adult relatives who know how to spell and put a sentence together – nieces, nephews, in-laws – and yes – adult children at times as well. Now, I am not expecting engraved or embossed thank you notes written with perfect penmanship (the shock might kill me). Or even ink. Printed with pencil would work. I’d take a postcard. Even postage due. What bothers me the most is that these family members, who I care about deeply, come across as entitled and ungrateful. I don’t like thinking of them that way, because I know what good people they are.
In this day and age of all things digital, an email, e-card or even a text message would be better than nothing. Knowing what little effort it would take to let me know they received/appreciated/liked or didn’t like what I shopped for, wrapped and mailed…the lack of effort speaks volumes. And it makes me sad. Sad for them as well because I imagine this is how they also present themselves to the world.
As I get older, time is shorter. It gets more and more precious. So I ask myself: Do I need to spend my time on people who won’t take 2 minutes to say “thank you” in some way, shape or form? I think not. I was once told by a family member that geez most people these days have never sent thank you notes to family. Really? What kind of reason is that? Doesn’t make it right and harkens back (in a weird way) to the old “if she jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?” Think about it – your family is, well, your family — why wouldn’t you thank them in a special way? If not in a special way, then in some way. There is absolutely no down side.
So there’s my small rant for the day. Sounds like anger, but underneath it is mostly hurt. I am grateful I was raised to acknowledge gifts no matter how small. And that I took it to heart, learning how important it was and is. So were my siblings; who, by the way, always thank me – in writing.
***
My “lessons” began shortly after I learned how to print…
one letter UP ~ diary 2.0 