I have been trying to get photographs moved from photo boxes to albums for 20 years. Really. Twenty years.
They haven’t been spread out all over the whole time. I have gotten them out, sorted, discarded some, and boxed them back up more than once. I couldn’t find photo albums I wanted until two or three years ago. I got the albums and additional filler pages. Eventually, I started loading photos only to find the first groups were too small to stay in the pockets. I got black acid free paper and cut it to fit in the pockets and stabilize the photos. Sometime in August, I set up the folding table and cleared the kitchen table and went at things again. I have made very slow progress. Slow progress is still progress.
I find the task of sorting and deciding how to load them and the actual loading into the pockets tedious. The real challenge is seeing my tiny children in the prints. I miss those little people so terribly much.
I am trying to get this task complete because I do love mine and Rock’s two people and I want them and their girls, the Duchesses, to see all these pictures.
I want all of them to see all the grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, friends, too. The family connections and where we come from. Roots matter. That is one of the major lessons I learned from Granny Sally. She taught it through family stories, through visiting cemeteries and explaining the family behind the names carved in granite, through cooking her mother’s dumplings for me when she could and pinto beans when she couldn’t.
Mother was always pulling all of us together. Family ties matter. Something about knowing our people creates connection. I try to get our children together whenever we can. We have several friends who are closer than a lot of our family members. They create an even richer connection for us. They are included in my party tribe these days.
I don’t remember to take pictures enough when we are all together. I am in very few of the photos scattered on the table because I was always behind the camera. We all have phone in our pocket to take pictures. Yet, I forget to do it. Another thing that I don’t like is having everything digital. I would like to have a lot of the photos saved on the computer or my social media account or a thumb drive printed into those ready-made photo books. One of my sister friends is scanning her old prints of photos on to her computer. It’s all a bit overwhelming for me. There seems to be no end to this project.
Oh, well. I will keep progressing. Slow, no doubt. Slow progress is still progress. I will keep reminding myself.
This past weekend, I had time on my hands. I spent most of Saturday sitting in a deer stand and part of Sunday afternoon, too.
It was raining Saturday. The woods in the rain are lovely to experience. The rush and patter of the rain. The whoosh of the wind. The dance of the trees and swirling of light over raindrops. The noisy quiet of nature.
I spent time trying to focus the vision. I know one thing for certain. I am a home keeper at heart. Everything seems to come back to home. I love to travel. But home is my vocation. I expend a great deal of energy and thought on my home. Trying to figure out how to make it better. How to make it stay cleaner. How to make it more comfortable and user friendly. How to make it kid-friendly, both crawler size kids and grown, married size kids.
If I move this over there and rearrange this closet. If I get rid of this and try to find something like that? So it goes with me. Drives him crazy. I don’t mean to make him nuts with all my moving and changing. Sometimes I get things situated and think it will work and it doesn’t. Or something changes. Or it doesn’t fit the way I thought it would.
I do the same in my deer stand. I have three chairs in each of my stands. Each chair serves a different purpose. It took me a bit to work out the best arrangement. I like to be comfortable. It is a long time sitting.
But the reward of the confined space in the open woods is great. I have to sit still and let my mind be my occupation. I take my journal and write page after page of gibberish. But, amid all the static, I hear that voice telling me this is the way. I see the light for the next step. The fog clears from the vision for a moment and I have a chance to make a note on my pages before it is shrouded again. But, this time I am not in despair. I have captured a glimpse of the vision on paper. I have words I can refer to when I get unsure again of the next step.
Take the broom and sweep. Put away the paraphernalia let over from the past days’ adventures. Clean the fish tank. Pull a few weeds. Cook a good pot of tortilla soup. Get the coffee pot ready for the morning. Figure out what tomorrow’s chores will be. Decide what closet needs attention. Another page in my life has been written. Today was a good one. A good one preceded by good ones.
I just realized I am doing what my mother and her mother always did. My mother’s sisters do the same thing, too. That constant moving and rearranging in our homes. And so the family connection flows.
I love hunting season. One of the main reasons is the time to unravel my mind. And let Him show me wonders of his world. And have time with him adventuring in the mud and rain.