Generations

Child of my child

Lies in my arms asleep,

There, my father’s brow

Here, my mother’s smile.

Her father’s chin and her mother’s hair…

Generations and generations

Warmly wrapped in a

Soft

Pink

Blanket.

A Different Family Reunion

Amy Nichols Peck going to work at the Drug Store.

Family reunions were the annual event of my childhood.  On Labor Day weekend, Mom would snap the whip, and all of us crammed into the old Ford and drove.  The 'whip' was used to get my father to go; he hated all social events like this.  He hated going to his own family’s reunion, so he truly despised going to Mom’s family reunion.  He went; he knew life would be total misery if he didn’t.

John and Mary Nichols, Milford, MI

We always went to Pere Marquette Park along the Illinois River, close to Grafton, Illinois. The park was huge, and for a child, it was an unending adventure.  There are so many stories to tell about that time of my life.

However, I will instead focus on a current family reunion, of sorts.

When my parents died, gleaning through boxes and boxes of stuff became a huge task.  This may take years to do.  I finally opened a gray suitcase that was from my own Grandma Amy, and found such crazy wonderful items.

Art and Marion Nichols Fagan, little Barbara, Neva Stockings

Grandma was a quilter, I knew that already.  Here in this cheap suitcase was a stack of hand-stitched four-square blocks.  

 The fabric was summer-weight voile, which folded over my hand like silken strands.  Neat regular stitches were woven along.  

 I can picture Grandma Amy sitting in her rocker, listening to a record, and stitching carefully.

Great-Grandfather Nichols

Then there were the photos, handfuls of photos.  Some were old, taken before the turn of the 20^th century.  Ladies with Gibson Girl hair styles, white high-necked blouses, and long black skirts, children in sailor suits with knee stockings and high button shoes—most of all they were all smiling, with their eyes and their mouths.

Some were posing in stiff awkward poses.

Older photos had trained them to not move no 

matter what.

My grandmother was laughing with her sisters, 

posing and being silly.  She was unlike the Grandma Amy I knew.

Looking at them, I almost was there with them, on the grass, leaning against the porch post, or catching fish.  It was all so real, so familiar.

Milford, Michigan where Grandma Amy grew

 

A few have names on them.  Most of them do not.  But I see their eyes, and note a similarity with my siblings’ eyes.  The shapes of their faces are like my family’s faces. 

I am attending a photo family reunion.  None of us know each other, but with a little work, I might find out who they were and who they are.

For details on Pere Marquette Park, go to:

http://www.greatriverroad.com/courtesy3.htm

http://www.cityofgrafton.org/

The Bottles on the Topmost Shelf

1st Writes Photo

Over the years, Helen had dusted the shelves for her Great-Aunt Elspeth.  At first Helen could reach only the bottom shelf, and Aunt Elspeth had praised her. 

“Oh, what a magnificent job you have done!  Someday,” Aunt Elspeth had pointed to the very top shelf, “you will reach that shelf!  I will let you choose the bottle you love the most!”

Each time Helen polished and cleaned the shelves, she gazed at the bottles so far out of her reach.  ‘Someday…’  One time Helen would favor the green bottle, but the next time she dusted, she desired the pink bottle.

Years stacked up in numbers as Helen grew and she could dust the next shelf, and then the next.  Which one would she choose?  The blue?  The violet?  So lovely, so hard to decide.

When Helen could just almost reach the shelf, Aunt Elspeth dropped dead right in front of her.  By this time, Helen was now grown as much as she ever would; she was a mother and a grandmother.  As she closed the eyes of her now-deceased aunt, Helen smiled gently.

Then Helen found a sturdy stool, and a box.  She stepped onto the stool, and stood level with the shelf.  Gazing fondly at each bottle, Helen sighed.  Reaching tentatively, Helen spoke, “One?  Hell, I’m going to take them all!”