In my paternal grandparent's house, every room, and almost every wall, is covered with pictures of family members and church documents. On end tables and on tops of dressers rest family artifacts. There are also clocks, some working, some not, along with collections of old books. Next to some pictures are little framed descriptions of the person depicted, which give them the feeling of a museum piece. There are histories behind every object and every picture but when you look at them, you want to see the stories. How did he treat his grandchildren? What did she struggle with?
These are the kinds of stories my mother tells about her family. They don't always fit into the neatly framed church membership document, but they feel alive. You can see them happening.
At my house, the most visible family artifacts are the round dining room table and chairs from my mom's parents house. It's something that connects us to the past moments of family togetherness in my mother's family and continues in the present whenever we gather to eat. You can't get more familial than a dining room table. It doesn't fit in a pretty frame. It is just there, ready for a quiet breakfast or a rowdy game of Trivial Pursuit.
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