You know you've been sick when the grandchildren come for the holiday and you don't take one photo.
3 hours ago
| ||My glasses give you an idea of the album's dimensions. |
The leather binding is embossed. It is in dire need of gentle repair.
I have no idea how much that will cost.
Note the interesting clasp. The other one is in worse condition.
Do you want to see the inside?
Below are tin types of Augusta, her first husband Chester, and her father - my great great grandfather Norman, 1821-1903. Normans photo is terribly scratched and tarnished.
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There are tin types of her babies , of her mother, and of her brother and his wife and child.
I am careful not to allow the tin types much exposure to light. They really need to be
professionally restored. I hope that I find the money and the service before passing them on
to my daughters.
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And then there is this --
something that came into our
possession this week:
my husbands Great Grandfather's (Papa George) "fiddle."
This is a different George then mentioned above. (1873-1966)
Unaware of the obbligato springing forth from the heavy underbrush, they miss the evasive fluttering of a Bewick's Wren. I watch it pause from its busyness and I sigh as it tilts its head back to sing with enthusiasm. How can such a loud trill emanate from so tiny a creature?
They do not discern the performance of the wind symphony.
Sometimes it plays a legato breeze in the bending trees.
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A Kingfisher's frenzied capriccio is most likely drowned out by their nano speakers. His irritated complaint draws my
attention to the object of his rebuke –
the blue heron. (I felt the same when the long-legged thief feasted in our fish pond.)
As my car comes into view, the distinct timbre of raindrops begins a pleasant rhythm that hasten my steps.
When the crescendo suddenly swells, I laugh as a drenching concert falls from the sky.
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The Dust Will Wait