My big brother and me. I am not sure why we are all dressed up. I think it might be his first communion. We both look so serious. I must be very proud of my purse because I am holding it in front of me to show it off. Totally love that I am wearing sneakers. I hope I wore them to church. I probably threw a fit to wear them.
Looking at these old photos has me thinking a lot about the square format. I will write more about it tomorrow.
A month ago this newspaper clipping mysteriously appeared attached to my locker at work. From this article I learned that the Sandy Historical Museum has taken over the care of the Cherryville Cemetery and they hosted a cleanup day last Saturday (Read this post and this post for background on this family mystery/saga. Preita has some nice photos of it on her blog, too. ). I was so incredibly stoked! Unfortunately I had to work that day. I was seriously sad about that because I feel like I have some kind of family duty to the care of that place (having cousins buried there). I think I will see how I can get involved, though, in the restoration. It’s an important piece of local history that was almost swallowed up by the Oregon wildness. How sad!
One our way home from our (kinda depressing) hike yesterday we decided to stop by the cemetary to see how the cleanup went. I was rather skeptical that they would get anything done with it. That place was seriously in need of major work. A simple cleanup in which people bring their garden tools wasn’t going to do the trick.
I was so wrong!
They did an AMAZING job! It looks really good. It’s not completely cleared out, there is still ivy growing all over the place (that I tripped on, of course. The oregon forest is trying to kill me.), but you can actually walk up to the grave sites. I am so pleased!
We walked around and snapped some photos. I found my cousins’ graves and put a makeshift bouquet of flowers on them.
A nice ending to the day!
My little Crackers. She was the family dog when I was a kid. We got her when I was in kindergarten. I even named her! We were trying to figure out names for her when we brought her home, sitting at the dinner table. Me, being a silly little girl, was calling out foods that I saw on the table. “Crackers” popped in to my head and that name stuck. She was the best dog ever. Here she is on my messy bed when I was in 6th grade (or thereabouts).
My brother shared a great story about her when I posted this photo on Facebook. I hadn’t remembered it:
She was a good girl. Remember the time that she went missing for a few days because she tried to follow me on one of my late night bike rides to see a girl. I felt so bad, and then a couple mornings later there she was at the front door. She had found her way back home.
This was taken when I was 8 (I think) years old in Victoria, B.C. My mom is in the picture with me. This is the only picture of us together from when I was a kid because she was always the one doing the picture taking.
This would be the last vacation we took together as a family. My parents would divorce not long after this. I remember bits and pieces of this vacation. We went on a road trip from our home in Spokane.
Our first stay was in Kelowna B.C. I remember swimming in the motel swimming pool and I vaguely remember visiting Flintstone City. I rode a scary rollercoaster in Vancouver in which I screamed the entire time.
Victoria was beautiful. I loved the Buchart Gardens. This photo was taken on the ferry ride from Victoria to Seattle.
We stay overnight in a hotel on the ocean. I remember waking up to a foggy morning and walking on the rocky beach.
We drove to Portland to visit my Uncle Will. This might have been the trip where my mom’s suitcase flew off of the top of the car in the middle of the Interstate 5 bridge (crossing the Columbia River), which scattered all of her clothes all over the highway.
We stayed at our friend’s cabin in Rhododendron on Mt. Hood. This is the part of the trip that I don’t have any memory of. And this is weird because I live near Rhododendron now and have been there many times yet my memories of being there are still locked away somewhere in my head.
However, Mt. Hood and Oregon in general had a huge impact on me. I came home from that trip with a love for this place that is still there.
I found this old photo of my younger brother and me the other day. It is interesting to look at. My brother doesn’t look comfortable at all. He is probably looking at my mom thinking, “can I get off of this stranger’s lap?” I seem very serious. I am holding a card in my hand, one that I was going to give it to Santa, most likely.
I was thinking about the facade of Santa. Did you believe in Santa as a child? I completely and totally did. I fell for the the whole delusion hook, line, and sinker. Christmas morning was always magical. My brother, whose bedroom was downstairs in our split level house, would sneak up to my room, peeking at the living room on the way up to see what had been left there. Then he would give me a report. We both would be so excited we could hardly stand it, so we would sneak down to the living room and find our presents. We were very good about not opening them. I would feel around the wrapping and try to guess what the present was. Finally my family would get up, my dad being the last. Then the fun would begin. It was always a very magical and fun morning.
The day I found out that Santa didn’t exist I was in 3rd grade. Somebody on the bus had just found out the truth and decided to spoil it for the rest of us. I couldn’t believe it. It just couldn’t be right. Santa wasn’t real? no way. I don’t remember being upset or angry at my parents for lying to me, though. It was more like the feeling that you get when you have an awakening. The blinders come off and you can see the truth. The facade crumbles and the reality is revealed. It was disappointing. But learning the truth also meant that I was getting older. And feeling older, when you are in elementary school, was always a good thing. ♥