Abe's Thanks

I have been photographing old photographs, documents and pictures, many of which have faded, been irremovably glued to some crumbling board or just didn't make the cut. It's a good way to save them so they don't deteriorate further, and they might be able to be revived or resurrected at some later date.

I spent ages practicing with my new camera on this old, faded certificate of thanks for my great grandfather's service in the volunteer service. It's probably the 19th century version of docusign, something with which we became all too familiar during our house buying and selling, but it's still Abraham Lincoln's signature at the bottom, and he's all the rage here right now with the release of the Stephen Spielberg movie, Lincoln.

I love these old documents and diplomas, of which we have quite a number. I have my grandmother's diploma (on real sheepskin) of graduation from the University of California in 1899. Even my grandfather's diploma of graduation from Colusa Grammar School in 1889 is far grander than either my diploma from UC in 1963, or John's Master's degree from California Institute of Technology in the same year, which are quite cheesy by comparison.

My father's family were great savers--we have books of ancestral details going back for centuries, old letters, even some snapshots of the Berkeley campus, which consisted of two buildings. We have the ancestral silver, and a box full of hand sewn, elaborate, long lace christening gowns, and the pictures of the unfortunate infants who had to wear these delicate and unwieldy garments, albeit not for long, I feel. There are handmade quilts, a clay "bullet" from the Civil War, which lived somewhat incongruously in my grandmother's clock for decades before disappearing, not to mention the Victorian rosewood furniture which came around the horn. I treasure all these items because of the family history they represent.

Sadly, my mother's family left virtually nothing. I have a portrait of her older sister, Elberta, who died in the Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1918, a cracked jug and a faded sepia picture of a family gathered around the typical "surrey with the fringe on top". I choose to believe that these are her ancestors (else why would they be in my possession?) although I actually have no record of who they are....

I will doggedly hang on to some of these items, despite the fact that my children, busy with their own young families, have no time for them. Perhaps when they are "orphans", as I think of myself since the passing of my parents, the remnants of our existence will be of some value to them. It's surprising how much I enjoyed reading some of those old letters, imagining simpler times (or were they?) that they describe.