When I saw the icons for Bloglandia, Dia de los Muertes, I knew I had to add my little something. As a little girl I remember climbing the stairs in my grandparents' farmhouse, against my grandmother's wishes, and just sitting in the attic among the memories . The windows were that old imperfect glass with bubbles and ripples, and I loved sitting there among the dust-bunnies, wondering about the people who came before me. Since I became a mother I would look at my sons and think about the memories their lives would make for someone someday. I am heartened, and humbled, when I think of the people who link me to the past and to the future, the ancestral spirits and the children. Slainte.
2 comments:
So you were an attic explorer too? I did it at both sets of grandparents' homes. My paternal g-mother had the coolest stuff, from World War I uniforms to 19th century account books. Much of it I inherited. I assume you survived your move?
Yep, despite my Grandma Butler's warnings about hornets' nests I went into the attic. To this day, after gazillions of years and moves I still have a rocker of hers, as well as a doll cradle Grandpa Butler made for me. While our household goods have yet to arrive I have been enjoying myself quite a bit. Fall is here, I procured a library card and a membership to the High Museum of Art, and the train is 1/2mi. away. Life is good:) Hope you and yours are doing well...
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