A notice popped on my phone to let me know that a friend had posted a photo. This friend posts a lot of pictures on all the social media sites. I found myself wondering if they had them saved to a disc somewhere. Or even printed out. I imagined all those photos like leaves strewn across the landscape of the web. Some in places where no one goes.
I had to renew fatshadow.com the other day. I have always intended to have that be the address for this blog but I don't seem to be able to figure it out. I'm sure it's not hard but I just get cross-eyed reading the directions. I hesitated because ... who cares? I don't write often enough to build readership. My posts aren't focused. I spend much of my writing time doing things related to Mom's life. So ... who cares?
But there's all that old writing. I don't read it. I doubt anyone else does. Sometimes I get email telling me about a broken link and a service I can get to repair all my broken links. Uh. No thank you. All that old writing. Sigh.
I now have photos of my maternal family line going back to my great grandmother and grandfather hanging on my wall. I like it. Mom likes it. I think my grandmother would like it until the wedding picture of my mom and dad. Heh. I wonder if my great grandfather and grandmother would like it. Did they imagine those pictures always on a family wall? I wrote about the picture of my great great grandfather. Ahhhh... old writing. Safely preserved. Interest in that line stops with me. I have cousins who have not shown interest in the photos. They have kids who might some day. So...who cares?
I should have pictures of my paternal line and I don't really know why I didn't get them, or if they still exist. And? Who? Cares?
On the same wall is the sibling section. There is a picture of my maternal grandfather's family and my maternal grandmother and her sisters. My maternal grandmother had strong feelings about preservation and documentation. She took a picture of her kids every year for sixteen years. I found them so charming that I framed them. Every time Mom walks by them she stops to look.
I always knew I'd have these pictures some day. Moving Mom to Hood River accelerated the flood of family stuff. Most of it I love but there is a storage locker filled with things I'll need to sort and I am NOT looking forward to it. Some times I look around and imagine the person who has to sort through my stuff.
We are star dust.
Strewn across the landscape.
And still I worry about all those photos. That picture of the coffee and scone in that cafe. The one where the young woman is holding a cat. All those pictures of toes.
Is preservation participation? Or materialism? Or attachment? All of that? None of that?
After natural disasters in which people's homes are destroyed they almost always mention the family pictures.
There is also a picture of me that Valerie took and printed out quite large. I love how she saw me. In it I look a bit sullen. Maybe pensive. Or ironic. It fits the mood of the wall for me. These are my people, my lineage. But I don't completely relate, as it were.