drivin' and listenin'...

... when I drove to Valdosta and back yesterday while listening to a book I grabbed off the shelf at the library for entertainment on the six hour trip to south Georgia and back. The process of sorting the auntie's  household continues, with taking several items that had family history and memories attached for donating at the local history museum and cultural center. Due to the fact that I did not want these items and had no idea what else to do with things that were over one hundred years old.

There was a large framed collage that had marriage certificate for my grandparents, along with an invitation to their fiftieth wedding anniversary party that was held at my parents house. You would not recognize me in the photos: I was a bleach-y blond due to the influence of college room-mates. Guile-less, naive, young innocent who was lead astray in a number of ways when sent off to college: receiving much more of an education than my parents would have intended or suspected. 

That framed assortment included the blouse my grandmother wore when they got married, I assume at the courthouse in northeast Georgia where she was born and raised. The blouse was dark brown, a surprising color for a blushing bride. I expect she made it herself, and put many hours of tedious hand stitching into the manufacture of her carefully chosen attire. The fabric was a very thin, diaphanous material that looked like organdy you often would see curtains made of years ago. Almost transparent, nearly see-through, that would have required layers underneath to preserve modesty. I wish I had known about her choice for wedding wear, as I would've had to ask: why dark brown?

Interesting the things that end up framed and hanging on a wall when you think they need to be preserved for posterity, but you don't really know what to do with them. The other item of note that went to the cultural center was also framed: my auntie's baby bonnet. Another item that was made of delicate, with meticulous hand stitching, as well as tiny embroidery rose buds for trim. My grandmother was an expert seamstress, made many practical items of clothing for me over the years, as did my mom: who claimed to not have the needle work skills of her mother. In reality I think my mom chose to not take the time, devote her hours to the finer points that were more tedious and required painstaking attention to detail.

There were also some smaller items: photos of a class at the school where my mom attended, with dozens of unidentified faces. Several picture postcards of points of interest from 'back when', of buildings that no longer exist. A photo of the church my parents were married in, that was torn down in the middle of the last century: a beautiful building, with dozens of hand made stained glass windows, irreplaceable beauty now gone. Sorry I did not take pix. of the postcards to share...