“Cattle die, kinsmen die
all men are mortal
Words of praise will never perish,
nor a noble name.” ~ Havamal
The wall as it stands now. I’m missing my uncle — I had a photo of he and my grandparents, and it did not make it to the store to get printed. I also want a photo of my father as a grown-up, but they are hard to find with 1) by himself or with other also deceased folks and/or 2) sober. He may not LOOK shitfaced, but, when I can tell, it does not pass my scrutiny. So there. Also, I need to get a photo of my mother’s father up there, too.
My grandparents. Why, no, they never did grow up . . . Who says you can’t blow a kazoo at ninety?
They’re wedding day, at the church.
My grandma was a hottie! Or, sea sick . . .
Gippy’s service photo.
Little baby Gippy. He’s in the middle. The Ears! *dies* All his younger photos Kev and I went through, including the service albums, we were all, gee, I wonder if we’ll recognize him, I wonder which one hello ears! I don’t know who all else is in this photo. Family of his, obviously.
An awesome photo that covers my great grandparents, my great aunts and uncles, and my grandmother. Woot!
Top is my father, his sisters and my Nanna and Papa. The lower one is my father looking way too young. I’m having weird moments lately realizing that he died so young. He was 68. So, not *way* young, but you have to understand that, from my point of view at the time, he was *old*. The nurses in the hospitals when we’d go see him would try to insist that he was our *grandfather*, all the time. Mind you, too, his youngest child was 11, when he died. 12? Turning twelve. So. Not old, but old to have kids that young. It’s been an interesting shift.
Like I said, so not done yet. I want to get a rosary to hang up in the center of the photos, there, and there’s noise about a few saint images to get placed about. I really don’t know how I over-looked my uncle’s photo, but I had this deadline, see, and I’m still so overwhelmed by their being on *that* shrine, so . . .