My family has a rich family treasure trove, going back four generations. If you are into that kind of thing and I am, I have just realized how much those boxes mean to me. I began to miss them almost immediately after Kate loaded them into her car. I realized that at the end of each day I spend in Seattle visiting family, I return to this house of Mom and Dad's and open a box to pour through its contents, be it pictures or letters or random memorabilia.
The good stuff is now all over at Kate's house and I miss having it right here to dip into and sort through. We've sorted thought a lot of possessions this week, but for me the real treasures are the stories and the pictures. It's not Mom's silver tea set or a Royal Copenhagen china platter or a piece of vintage crochet.
It's the 1950s photo of the vintage crochet on Gramma's cherry library table that draws me in. It's the letters my brother wrote from Haverford College in 1964. For me, these are the things that tell our family's stories.
I believe I'll be spending more time at Kate's when I am next in Seattle. It's about those boxes in her basement.
And just look at this photo of Dad, taken around the time that Caroline was born. Pretty fine looking fellow. I put his photo on Facebook today. George Clooney, move over.