In Memory

 A photo album my mother gave to me on my 16th birthday had these words that I've always loved:

People we have known and loved,

Places we have been--

How beautiful in memory

to see them all again.

Maybe those were the first seeds sown of making me a scrapbooker.
A desire to not only hold them in memory,
but record them for others.

We are well into Sept, heading towards October.
The weather has turned cooler, the leaves are beginning to fall.
There are brown tinges on the grass, leaves & plants.
The corn is being cut.

It all reminds me that this is the time of year that my grandmother died.
October, 1993.
It brings tears to my eyes realizing it's been (nearly) 20 years ago.
I have four children that never knew her.
One that would barely remember.

Today as I was going thru things; sorting out to move,
I came across this poem written in my grandmothers handwriting.
She loved poetry and I've come to really enjoy it too althought
it took me quite a few years to appreciate it.

 Let me Grow Lovely

Let me grow lovely, growing old,

So many fine things do;

Laces and ivories and gold

And silks need not be new:

And there is healing in old trees,

Old streets a glamour hold;

Why may not I, as well as these,

grow lovely, growing old?

Karl Wilson Baker


My grandmother was truly a lovely person.