9 posts tagged “family”
I may be a little late with the Easter photos, but for family far away, here they are:
Aren't they cute?
Scary. But recently we had a really rare opportunity for the five of us to be in the same place at the same time. Here is proof:
From left to right: Joe, Janet, Dick, Joyce and John.
Forty one years ago today my mother died. March 12, 1967. She was forty-five. I was nine. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her for one reason or another. Today I can't help but think of the fact that I am five years older now than she was when she died. I know that my brothers and sister think of her as well, and that this date is remembered by them too. She was the sun that warmed us. And I can't help thinking that, had she lived a while longer, my life might have been different in a million little ways.
Our relationships with the dead continue to change over years, I've come to believe. At different stages of life we begin to understand things that we couldn't possibly have before we had certain experiences or knowledge of certain things. We forgive, we accept, we grow. But we do not forget. The memories can be cherished without being idealized.
Show us a photograph that best represents you.
Me with two of the things that matter most to me in the world. My camera, and my beloved neices and nephews. Not necessarily in that order.
Yesterday we said hello to the new year, and goodbye to my nephew Ryan, who reported for duty today, and will spend the next three months at Ft. Hood, preparing to go to Iraq. My brother Dick, father of Ryan and Rich, his SO Libby, and Ryan, had just returned from a trip to California to visit Rich, his wife Gina, and their baby girl, Bea. We sat in the kitchen and got a whole slide show of photos of Bea, and when my 2 year old great-nephew Andrew got up on his cousin Ryan's lap, I introduced him to his new little cousin. "Andrew," I said. "Thats your cousin Bea." Andrew responded, "Sss, Bea." Ryan proceeded to tell him that she lived in California, and that she was his (Andrew's) cousin Rich's baby. I don't know how much he understood, but he knows Bea's name, and they're never too young to start learning about family. It will be a year before we see Ryan again, but at least his niece Bea got to meet him before he left, and his baby cousin Jonathan, and hopefully Andrew is old enough that he will remember him when he comes home.
My brother Dick told us something yesterday that I had never known. The reason people eat pork on New Year's Day is that the pig is the only animal (that we eat, anyway) that can't look back. They can only look forward. And for a moment, I, who have not eaten red meat or pork for 30 years, wished for just a little bite of that stuff.
I will leave the posting of details and whatever photos he wants to share, to my nephew Rich. But he and Gina's baby girl was born yesterday, healthy and beautiful, in The City of Angels, and she is welcomed by a large and loving, though slightly scattered, family. Welcome to the world, baby girl.
My 2nd great-nephew, Jonathan, also known as J.T.
I also have two great-nieces on the way. One is due in December, and the other in February. We're pretty excited.
Where do you consider home? Is it the place you grew up; the place you're currently living? Why is it home?
Submitted by uncagedbird.
Ah. This is The Question, isn't it? Since the place I grew up in IS the place I'm currently living, this is what I've asked myself since I returned here from New York 3 years ago. And it's a really difficult question to answer because in many ways, the place I grew up no longer really exists, except in memory. The town itself has grown immeasurably, greedily. New housing developments are pushing out and eating up the farmland that used to surround the town. The commerce here used to be centered in "downtown," what is now called Town Center. But Town Center struggles to survive as new businesses locate out on the other side of town on Stringtown Rd. Walmart, Michaels, Bestbuy, Starbucks.
But the thing that really makes it "home" in it's way, is the fact that the majority of my family is here, and although the old ones are gone, we keep them alive whenever we get together and talk about them, or look at the old photos. And as my nieces and nephews have their own children, even those who only come to visit, there will come the day when those children can listen as we take out our old memories, worn in the creases, and unfold them carefully so they can see, and we'll say, Look. Listen. This is where you come from. These people... these places. This is where you come from. Carry it out there in your heart.
Almost a year ago I received an email from my nephew Rich, who ended the email with the words "Start a blog." Now, people sometimes give you a piece of advice, then sit back and think that you are going to jump on it in the next five minutes, and when you don't, they just shake their heads, purse their lips, and walk away. They determine that you are hopeless. In my family, where attention spans are limited, AND every few sentences start with the words "You should just...", it is not neccessarily uncommon to wait a year before taking someone's advice. And with me, there is always the procrastination factor. And the pressure of doing something for the first time. It is, I think, easier to just read than to make these kinds of decisions, and then take action. But now I've begun, and the next time should be easier. I just need to learn what all these little buttons do, and how to show the books I've read, and the pictures I've taken, and the music I am listening to. After that, I'm sure I'll be less distracted.
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