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This Day in My History

I Gotta Get a New Hobby
  Finding the Bare Bones
 Hat Hair
2003:  Fool Me Once, Shame on You
2004:  'Tis the Season 



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That little pipsqueak is finally gone and I got my bone back!


Latest entries:

(the latest entry is always on top,
and earlier entries are below)

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Please read about Schuyler's Fund.


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4 April 2005

What was I thinking back in 1953 when I got my very first Brownie box camera and set out to make a photographic record of my life?  I can remember eagerly rushing a roll of film off to the drug store to be developed and the one thought in my head was that I was "making memories."

When the prints came back, I would rush home and put them in an album immediately (often to the consternation of my mother, who wanted to see them before they got put in a book).  It was just so important to me to "make memories."

Through the years, I became the person with the camera, the one everybody could count on to record all the events in which we participated.  The camera became my prop and I was almost more comfortable with a camera than without one.

And always there were the books to put the photos in.

Do you know how many photos that can be over 52 years???

We are NEVER painting the family room again.  I spent the better part of Saturday afternoon moving scrapbooks from the family room to the living room so that Ned could help Walt move the larger pieces of furniture.

You don't realize how many photos there are here until you actually try to physically MOVE them.  And that doesn't even count the albums that are in my office or the slides hidden away in metal boxes that nobody has seen in decades.  (One of those "someday I'll scan them" projects that will probably never happen.)

My initial plan was that we would try to find someplace upstairs for this huge bookcase and move all the scrapbooks up there.

No way.   I'm not going to climb those stairs forty bazillion times to cart all these albums to the second floor.  I'll just have to continue to live with a "bookcase wall."

I've been trying to gradually fill from the wall to the inside of the living room and as I look around I am amazed at the number of books there are. 

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Who in the hell is going to want these when I'm gone?  It's the sort of thing that you no longer want/need, but can't possibly throw away because it's part of your life.  We should leave the house to the kid who's willing to keep the scrapbooks!

I frequently "mine" these books for photos to scan for this journal, but I don't dwell on the photos any more.   The colored photos are fading and the pictures are of a happy family all enjoying each other's company and they make me feel sad. 

There are several boxes of photos which haven't made it to scrapbooks yet, which never will now.  They are all taken prior to David's death.  I can't see putting pictures of David and Paul, vibrant and alive, into books.

So I'm left with a 50+ year collection of photos that hardly anybody looks at any more, but have to be put somewhere.   Once these books go back into the bookcase from which they have come, I suspect I will never, ever move them again!

Thank god I've gone digital.   Now all my photos can be stored on a few CDs and I probably could put a 50 year collection in a shoebox.

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Demetrie found Kimba's bed right before he left.
Kimba was not happy about it.


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