Photo realism.

2005-01-03 at 6:19 p.m.

I've been having my own private freak-out over being unprepared for tomorrow. My school district does this sweet sweet thing wherein today, Monday, is a "Teacher Work Day", and the students come back tomorrow. Thank the sweet baby Jesus they do, too, because as much as I lugged my teacher's edition textbook around the midwest, I didn't do a goddamned thing until Sunday. And not much then.

Today, though, I was a paragon of work and preparation. I have my geometry schedule sketched out for the entire! term! and I have all my handouts copied for this week and tonight--well, my plans are to write the chapter quizzes and tests for both the algebra and geometry classes, but let's wait and see how that goes, shall we?

Christmas break was good. So good. No family drama, no marital discord (and some fine marital accord, if I do say so myself), no missed flights, and only a few craze-inducing circular conversations with my grandparents a la:

Mom: We're going to the yarn store, should we stop by the grocery store and pick anything up for you?

Grandpa: Oh, I thought we were eating at the restaurant tonight!

Mom: We are, I just thought I could pick some stuff up for you for tomorrow.

Grandpa: You need to ask Grandma.

Grandma: What?

Mom: We're going to the yarn store, should we pick anything up for you at the grocery store while we're out?

Grandma: I thought we were going to the restaurant tonight!

Mom: We are, but this is for tomorrow.

Grandma: Maybe we should have something here in case the weather gets too bad to go to the restaurant tonight.

Mom: Oh, no, we'll go to the restaurant, we need to get back to our hotel tonight.

Grandma: I could fix everyone some chicken.

Mom: No, Mom, you shouldn't be cooking for seven, we'll go to the restaurant.

Grandma: I'll just see what we need.

Mom: Mom, we're going out to the restaurant tonight.

Grandma: I need to go to the grocery store if we're going to fix dinner tonight.

Mom: No, Mom, you don't need to cook for us.

Grandma: Oh, where are you going then? I thought we were going to the restaurant tonight.

I love my grandparents dearly, and my grandfather has the patience of eight saints for being able to answer the same question over and over.

I did have a major score, though, while there. There were three giant boxes of family pictures in the basement that they didn't even know they had. Pictures of Grandma as an adorable four-year-old, Grandpa and his sister as wee kidlets, my great-grandparents as teenagers, real honest-to-god tintypes, a veritable treasure-trove of family pictures. I pulled a bunch out and asked Grandpa if he knew who they were. I wish I could have done this a dozen years ago when both Grandma and Grandpa might have remembered more, but as it is, they told me so many stories--of Grandpa trying to impress his dad at Christmas by buying a bottle of scotch, and his mom being furious (it being Prohibition and all)--of Grandma winning a dance contest--of my mom being afraid of Santa Claus--Grandma's best friend Betty and "Oh, the trouble we used to get into!"... I wish I could have three weeks of just recording my grandparents telling stories.

One of the most mysterious parts of my newfound Photo Project, though, is the pictures they couldn't identify. There's one, faded into beige and taupe, of two women, one in a wedding gown and veil with a bouquet of carnations, and the other, her hair wavy and bobbed, dressed in a tux. What were they up to? Was it a play? Was it a joke? Was it a secret? There are others, of couples looking defiantly at the camera, standing on a wooden plank in front of fields of corn. Who brought a camera out to a cornfield to take this picture? Who was it for? What did they think of taking this picture in their work clothes in front of the corn? There are others of Gibson Girl era women, elegantly draped in front of random pieces of furniture, and the mats they are mounted on have Norwegian script on the back, and are marked Hammar, Norway. Where these my great-grandfather's family, brought over to remind him of those he'd ultimately never be able to return to see? Or where they sent, to try to give him a glimpse of those who missed him and still thought of him? Where they girlfriends? His brothers' girlfriends? Were they a comfort, or were they a reminder of what he'd never see again?

It all reminds me of the other stories I know just enough of to really want to know more. What about my Grandma--I know she was engaged to somebody before Grandpa, what happened there? Who was he? Why did she marry Grandpa instead? And my great-aunt, who never married. Did she want to and never find someone? Did she not want to? Did she find someone and something happened? Did she find someone and couldn't marry?

I can't wait to put these pictures in an album. I can't wait to put down the stories I do know. I can't wait to pass them on, either. My mother's family is compact, small, not a major contributor to the history of the world, but good people for all that, with their own stories.

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