It’s dark and raining, there’s a chocolate sour cream bundt cake cooling on the counter, a pumpkin spice bundt cake in the oven.  When it comes out, it’s time to go to my parents’ for potato soup and then church.  The dishes are done, the needles have been swept out from under the tree, and my cup of Earl Grey is steeping.  It’s time for some old family photos.

This one just kills me.  It’s the only picture I’ve seen where my dad and sister really look alike (although she is, thankfully, mustache free).  See?

And as though my grandmother’s hair weren’t tall enough in that photo, check this out:

And lest we leave my brother out, here’s one of Dad that screams “Joe.”

Lean in close and you can hear it.

We’ve also got my grandmother’s diary (see bouffant photos above) which she wrote in occasionally, mostly in 1934, her freshman year of high school.  It was a world full of the weather, skating, dances, and card-playing, with remarkably little else.  Of course, that’s understandable once you find the entry where her mother (top photo, right hand side, lived to 94 or some similarly remarkable age) wrote a little note to her “dear dear little girl” who she’s so proud of for finding time to write in her diary.  Just, you know, keeping tabs.

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