Generation to Generation

My aunt and her husband are visiting from Texas for a few days, so our extended family got together for some grilled hotdogs and hamburgers tonight.  We ate, shared stories of the old days, stories of missing family members, and laughed.

We’re just an ordinary American family, with roots going back mostly to England, but with a little German thrown in as well.  My uncle’s wife hauled us all out to the yard for photos.  They are just a couple of shots of ordinary people, like you would see in any family album or on any smart phone these days (one’s even a little blurry).  But to me they are special people indeed.

My dad and his siblings.


The next generations, some of my cousins and I.


You hear the best stories from ordinary people. That sense of immediacy is more real to me than a lot of writerly, literary-type crafted stories.  ~Chuck Palahniuk


Letters from Camp

Day 360

My sister-in-law picked up my fourteen-year-old niece from camp today.  Her counselor gave a beautiful speech on how she said such profound things that blew her away in her small group and then gave her the wisdom award.

To which Hannah replied, “Mom! I shot a gun!”

Then and Now

Day 328

I took my parents out to eat tonight and snapped some photos of them.  Those and the pictures I posted of my parents for Mother’s Day and Father’s Day sent me back into the photo archives.











Though there are 52 1/2 years between the two photos, I think one of the most beautiful things I’ll ever see is my mother’s happy smile.  And the guy who makes her smile isn’t too bad himself.

From London Far

Day 315

Fourteen years ago my youngest niece was born.  Who knew the colicky baby in the St. John’s Wood flat around the corner from Abbey Road would grow into a beautiful lacrosse-playing Michigan teen?  Happy birthday, darling girl.


The Lady Elizabeth

Day 295

Tomorrow my sister will wake up without the canine companion who graced her life for more than ten years.  Lizzie was old and in pain, but it still brings tears to the eyes to think of having to say good-bye.  We will miss you, Liz.


Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives. — John Galsworthy