The Family Albums

Several months ago, my mother came to me with an issue. Several years ago, my grandfather lived with my mom and stepdad, until he became too incapacitated to be left home alone. My grandfather left a ton of crap in my mom's guest room closet, and my mother just recently went through it. And in the closet was an old Rubbermaid container with 15 family photo albums, dating from the 1940s all the way up until Grandma died in 1993. My mom called Grandpa to see if he wanted them, and he said "no." All they did was bring him sadness, seeing pictures of his wife and family members no longer with us depressed him. And my mother didn't want them, because they smelled so bad (my grandparents both smoked, and then someone decided to put mothballs in there too...trust me, the smell lingers.)

Enter Sarah.

They're mine now. I kept them in the funky container in my room, hoping it would air out, but it didn't. I took the opportunity last night to go through the albums during the Superbowl. As Arizona got robbed, I gently pulled each photo from the damaged page, trimmed the tape off (my grandma decided to scotch tape every picture into the album, and if you pulled the tape off, the picture disintegrated) and filed them in my Creative Memories organizer. I got through five of the albums before I felt like I had done permanent damage to my eyeballs. There are some pictures that I don't know who the people are. Are they relatives, friends? I love looking at the old cars in the background. And although Grandma had seven children, there is not one single pregnant picture. I guess Grandma didn't want proof of her sex life! I will scan some pictures so you can see, but I can't right now, because I'm supposed to be working! Maybe later today...