This month had everything to do with my grandparents. I mean, yes, September has thrown a few wonderful experiences my way (though we both need to be patient and wait for my annual Disney’s Food and Wine Festival blog post for the full scoop!). And I’m also proud to say that my revisions for LOVE FORTUNES AND OTHER DISASTERS are finished. That charming manuscript is in copyediting right now.
But as 2014 creeps closer to its end, I find that my grandparents have invaded my mental bubble with their antics. Consumed by memories that are not my own, I’ve felt slightly dizzy. Daydreaming a little more often.
Due to a series of events, we have hundreds of old photographs from when my grandparents were little. My mom and I were practically swimming in them as we sorted them as best we could. A kiddie pool tub of photos. Most of them are tiny, with scalloped edges that make it hard to turn the pages of the booklets my grandmother saved from her grand European tour when she was in her 20s.
I’ve always found old photographs to be inspiring and fascinating (yes, I have read and enjoyed Random Riggs’ work), but there’s something strangely muted and mysterious when it comes to family photos. You feel like you should know these people, even though most of them died before you started walking. Overexposures. Blurry arms and legs. So many blinking eyes. Strangers in long coats and hats. Ladies who pose better for a camera than I ever could (just how do they look so graceful all the time?). There were even photos from a World’s Fair – that much my mom knew, and I geeked out and hugged the copies.
I’d like to share a few of the photos I found: of people who will always be strangers to me, of places I have yet to see even in current time and space, and unknowable stories.
And here's my grandmother as a teen. Way more dapper than me!