Hi all. I've started uploading some of the family photos I took in September for my sister and her family. You can see them on my Flickr page - http://www.flickr.com/photos/carmen_klassen/
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Saturday, November 07, 2009
New Photos on Flickr
Hi all. I've started uploading some of the family photos I took in September for my sister and her family. You can see them on my Flickr page - http://www.flickr.com/photos/carmen_klassen/
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Picnic on a Wednesday Afternoon
An unseasonably warm day + family + picnic lunch = one sweet summer moment
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Wise Beyond Her Years
My niece, modelling her mom's glasses.
July 2006
Found this picture while looking for something else, and my goodness isn't she cute!
Friday, August 14, 2009
My Grandma's Handwriting
(note: I wrote this post awhile back, but needed to give it some time before I could let it go.)
In the course of tidying up the bookshelves in my bedroom today, I pulled down an old cookbook that belonged to my grandma. It's titled The Mennonite Treasury of Recipes. Coil-bound with yellowing pages, I flipped it open to look for handwritten notes, some extra instructions jotted in the margin perhaps. She was in my thoughts, and because the written word holds a great deal of meaning for me, I wanted to see her words. Even if it was only a notation to cut back on the cooking time.
In the notes area of the Butchering section, I found a handwritten recipe for brine for curing beef roasts. I read it through, considering her handwriting more than the instructions she penned. She wrote with flourishes, which surprised me because she was such a practical woman. I think I expected some no-nonsense script - a spartan use of ink and effort.
I realized that there is so much I never knew about my grandma. I wish I could go back and ask her to tell me stories. And to give her one more hug. She always hugged me so tightly, squishing my glasses against her cheek.
Every now and then when the family was visiting, she would catch my eye and give me a knowing look, and even if I don't know exactly what it was she was sharing, it was a special moment between the two of us.
She's been gone for many years now, and I think of her often when I use the kitchen items that formerly occupied her cupboards. Although I may not have known every side of her, I recall with a smile the woman I did know.
And sometimes, like today, I really miss her.
In the course of tidying up the bookshelves in my bedroom today, I pulled down an old cookbook that belonged to my grandma. It's titled The Mennonite Treasury of Recipes. Coil-bound with yellowing pages, I flipped it open to look for handwritten notes, some extra instructions jotted in the margin perhaps. She was in my thoughts, and because the written word holds a great deal of meaning for me, I wanted to see her words. Even if it was only a notation to cut back on the cooking time.
In the notes area of the Butchering section, I found a handwritten recipe for brine for curing beef roasts. I read it through, considering her handwriting more than the instructions she penned. She wrote with flourishes, which surprised me because she was such a practical woman. I think I expected some no-nonsense script - a spartan use of ink and effort.
I realized that there is so much I never knew about my grandma. I wish I could go back and ask her to tell me stories. And to give her one more hug. She always hugged me so tightly, squishing my glasses against her cheek.
Every now and then when the family was visiting, she would catch my eye and give me a knowing look, and even if I don't know exactly what it was she was sharing, it was a special moment between the two of us.
She's been gone for many years now, and I think of her often when I use the kitchen items that formerly occupied her cupboards. Although I may not have known every side of her, I recall with a smile the woman I did know.
And sometimes, like today, I really miss her.
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