Last week I told you about the treasure trove discovered in my grandparent's home. Boxes filled with family history, carefully kept for future generations.
Today I'd like to tell you what I am doing with it.
Photographs do not split well. Who has the right to Great-Grandma Laura's school portrait? One of her four children, her grand children, her great-grandchildren, or her great-great-grandchildren? To solve this problem I have hired a company to scan each of these precious photographs and turn them into digital files.
Digital photos, combined with the massive amount of historical information provided by Great-Grandma Henrick, will allow me to create scrapbooks for my entire family. A family tree, copies of memorabilia like the receipt for Grandpa Henrick's first car (a Chevy Roadster purchased in 1929, days before the stock market crash), the newspaper article of a family member "missing" only to be discovered hitching a ride on a train to travel to the next state to enlist in the army. All of these can be added to my computer files, uploaded to a printing service, and bound into a hardback book. At about $40-$50, depending on the type of cover chosen, anyone and everyone will be able to order a copy of this book.
So everyone can have a copy of the picture of my Grandma modeling her first bikini.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Roots
A few months ago my Grandpa passed away. As my Grandma preceded him in death, with this event came the task of sorting through their personal belongings. And oh, what treasures we found.
Albums from the 50's, 60's, and 70's, newspaper clippings of births, deaths, and marriages, aging wedding invitations, and, best of all, boxes of photos in old folders, some dating back to the late 1800's.
In six file folder boxes (you know, the kind from the 60's) are the portrait images of my great-great grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other distant relations. As best as I can tell, the oldest is one of my grandpa's mother at about age 8. She is wearing a calico dress and pinafore, hair plaited in two braids, sitting with 40 or so other children in front of a school house. It may have been a two-room school, as the photo also contains two school masters, severe and demanding from the looks of it.
Also in the boxes are my Great-Grandma's collection of family history. I believe she started with her husband's family and traced back four generations to the Henrick family arriving in America from Alsace-Lorraine. It was fascinating reading, but even more interesting was her own paternal family tree, going back eleven generations to a family settling in the New World in the early 1700's. By the time the family tree arrives at the Revolutionary War, they are third generation Americans (or Britans. Whatever.).
And I cannot tell you how grateful I am. My family took the time to preserve their stories, their photos, their beliefs and faith, their history, and their records for me to see today.
What will you leave?
Albums from the 50's, 60's, and 70's, newspaper clippings of births, deaths, and marriages, aging wedding invitations, and, best of all, boxes of photos in old folders, some dating back to the late 1800's.
In six file folder boxes (you know, the kind from the 60's) are the portrait images of my great-great grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other distant relations. As best as I can tell, the oldest is one of my grandpa's mother at about age 8. She is wearing a calico dress and pinafore, hair plaited in two braids, sitting with 40 or so other children in front of a school house. It may have been a two-room school, as the photo also contains two school masters, severe and demanding from the looks of it.
Also in the boxes are my Great-Grandma's collection of family history. I believe she started with her husband's family and traced back four generations to the Henrick family arriving in America from Alsace-Lorraine. It was fascinating reading, but even more interesting was her own paternal family tree, going back eleven generations to a family settling in the New World in the early 1700's. By the time the family tree arrives at the Revolutionary War, they are third generation Americans (or Britans. Whatever.).
And I cannot tell you how grateful I am. My family took the time to preserve their stories, their photos, their beliefs and faith, their history, and their records for me to see today.
What will you leave?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Luck of the Irish
We all have our quirks. Our idiosyncrasies. Our oddities. And St.Patrick's Day is one of mine. I know it's not Easter or New Year's; no one gives you any presents or sends cards. But I love it.
My name, of course, is Irish. Actually it's a kind of green even. And my birthday is the 19th, which makes it all fun. Spring begins to sneak up on you, somewhere around in here; you can plant potatoes and stuff now. I enjoyed teaching my kindergartners about leprechauns and spending a day out of the ordinary as we built "traps" to catch them in. I'm even looking forward to attempting to cook corned beef and cabbage this year.
And the point of me telling you all this is that these quirks, these idiosyncrasies, these oddities make us the people we are. So I'll snap a few pictures of my corned beef, but most important I plan to journal on my scrapbook page. I'll leave a story and tell something about me. Someday my kids will read it and learn about mom as a person instead of mom as a maid.
After all, stories are the reason I scrap. What's yours?
My name, of course, is Irish. Actually it's a kind of green even. And my birthday is the 19th, which makes it all fun. Spring begins to sneak up on you, somewhere around in here; you can plant potatoes and stuff now. I enjoyed teaching my kindergartners about leprechauns and spending a day out of the ordinary as we built "traps" to catch them in. I'm even looking forward to attempting to cook corned beef and cabbage this year.
And the point of me telling you all this is that these quirks, these idiosyncrasies, these oddities make us the people we are. So I'll snap a few pictures of my corned beef, but most important I plan to journal on my scrapbook page. I'll leave a story and tell something about me. Someday my kids will read it and learn about mom as a person instead of mom as a maid.
After all, stories are the reason I scrap. What's yours?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Confetti!
Last week I posted a blog (I am a Scrapbooker) in which I published a 250 word reply to a writing challenge. Yesterday I discovered, to my own surprise, I won! My attempt at creative writing is now posted at Something She Wrote, along with some very thoughtful comments from Janna's usual readers.
All of which is somewhat ironic to me, because on the same day I wrote this response I also took a quiz posted on another of my favorite blogs, A Classic Housewife. I was unsurprised to learn that I am a very left brained person. (I scored 14 for left brain, 4 for right.) I love order, structure, routine, and guidelines. In fact, when there are no guidelines, I often create them for myself.
So what in the world am I doing in the middle of not one, but two, very creative fields? Scrapbooking and fictional writing?
Ya got me.
But at least you know I'll have your projects finished for you on time!
All of which is somewhat ironic to me, because on the same day I wrote this response I also took a quiz posted on another of my favorite blogs, A Classic Housewife. I was unsurprised to learn that I am a very left brained person. (I scored 14 for left brain, 4 for right.) I love order, structure, routine, and guidelines. In fact, when there are no guidelines, I often create them for myself.
So what in the world am I doing in the middle of not one, but two, very creative fields? Scrapbooking and fictional writing?
Ya got me.
But at least you know I'll have your projects finished for you on time!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I am a Scrapbooker...
not a writer. Just to be clear. But this, well, I just couldn't pass it up. My friend Janna posted a writing challenge on her blog, Something She Wrote. You'll need to check it out before going on or this won't make any sense. (Not that that would be unusual...)
So, as you can see, Janna has a 70 year old envelope addressed to Father Flanagan of Boys Town. And she has asked for a small story to accompany the letter. Like I said, I'm a scrapper, not a writer, but this project calls to the scrapper in me. It asks for a story to be preserved. And you know how I feel about that! So here goes.
Nellie sat against the wall, feeling the icy wind whistle through the cracks and seep under her worn sweater. In front of her were two girls, sisters, playing with a scrap of a doll. The oldest sister tied a handkerchief around the cloth body, hiding the many imperfections. Nellie lowered her eyes into her arms. She wasn’t old enough to know the words, but her heart knew it was hard to watch this small family.
Downstairs the front door hit the wall. A small commotion followed and then silence.
A moment, an hour later--time meant so little here--a woman walked through the girls’ dormitory. She held out a hand to Nellie and the girl took it silently. With soft footsteps the two made their way to Father Flanagan’s office.
Perched on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, Nellie waited.
“Nellie,” Father said. “These are for you.” In his outstretched hand Nellie saw three small packages. Shyly, Nellie reached forward and took the candy. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You may go back and play now,” Father told her gently.
Nellie slid down till her toes touched the floor and scooted quickly from the room. Back inside the office the woman looked to Father Flanagan. “The letter?” she questioned. Father shook his head. “They cannot take her, poor dear.” The woman’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Will you tell her?”
“Later,” Father replied. “For now, let her enjoy the chocolate.”
So, as you can see, Janna has a 70 year old envelope addressed to Father Flanagan of Boys Town. And she has asked for a small story to accompany the letter. Like I said, I'm a scrapper, not a writer, but this project calls to the scrapper in me. It asks for a story to be preserved. And you know how I feel about that! So here goes.
Nellie sat against the wall, feeling the icy wind whistle through the cracks and seep under her worn sweater. In front of her were two girls, sisters, playing with a scrap of a doll. The oldest sister tied a handkerchief around the cloth body, hiding the many imperfections. Nellie lowered her eyes into her arms. She wasn’t old enough to know the words, but her heart knew it was hard to watch this small family.
Downstairs the front door hit the wall. A small commotion followed and then silence.
A moment, an hour later--time meant so little here--a woman walked through the girls’ dormitory. She held out a hand to Nellie and the girl took it silently. With soft footsteps the two made their way to Father Flanagan’s office.
Perched on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, Nellie waited.
“Nellie,” Father said. “These are for you.” In his outstretched hand Nellie saw three small packages. Shyly, Nellie reached forward and took the candy. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You may go back and play now,” Father told her gently.
Nellie slid down till her toes touched the floor and scooted quickly from the room. Back inside the office the woman looked to Father Flanagan. “The letter?” she questioned. Father shook his head. “They cannot take her, poor dear.” The woman’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “Will you tell her?”
“Later,” Father replied. “For now, let her enjoy the chocolate.”
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