Some people have a ton of pictures on their phones. I have a few, and am constantly deleting them. In the first place, I seldom remember to take my phone to the wedding or graduation and in the second place, I’m likely to cut off heads or focus on the wrong moment. If I have it along, and remember to use it, I tend to take multiple shots and then later on delete all but one or two that actually turned out. When traveling, sometimes I focus on a particular mountain, or flower, but looking back through the files can’t recall where that was and decide it’s not important. Some family members are good about sending pictures of the youngsters and I keep those, but seldom share them with anyone. Most of my pictures are of dogs, sunsets, or fall colors in the yard. If you looked back through my years of albums, for the years when people actually kept photo albums, you’d see as many pictures of horses as of my kids. But those albums are important to me as a record of family history, and I don’t think phone pictures are a very good substitute.
One of my cousins has been sharing old family photos of his side of our clan, and it has been priceless to see those faces again. Each picture brings up a host of other memories so I find myself thinking of those years, and those people, with a special kind of nostalgia and joy.
Another distant cousin, from Seattle, is the keeper of all information about how her side of the family and mine intersected. I’ve been able to see pictures of my grandmother as a young person, and one of her daughters, whom I heard about, but never knew because she died in the flu epidemic. Grandma always said I looked like Christine. The one picture of her that I’ve been able to see is faded and grainy, so features are indistinct, but our posture and bearing are alike. Grandma was gone before I became a young adult, the time of life Christine was at her death, so I’ll never know about any early resemblance. I should have asked questions but, as a child, I didn’t want to make Grandma sad. Now I wonder if she wouldn’t have welcomed a chance to talk about those precious days that ended too soon.
I know folks sometimes print phone photos but I suspect that’s rare. It makes me wonder how our descendants will put faces on family history. Maybe we’ve evolved into a society that cares little to know of our roots, but I believe most of us come to be curious in later life. Like it or not, like the people or not, our ancestors have a great deal to do with who we became, or decided not to become. Some families are storytellers. Mine mostly weren’t so, in the gaps of our history, the pictures that remain are a comfort. As with my cousins, the pictures sometimes spark conversations that generate questions. And more of the history peeks around corners to surprise us, or confirm what we almost didn’t recall.
Meet me here next week and, meanwhile, do your best. Somebody might like it.