Makes me wonder about our own pictures. Years from now, will my family be flipping through photos on their 19th generation IPads wondering who the heck that is holding grandma's legs in the air while she's doing a keg stand. Or why there are so many pictures of two orange and white cats that look like the same cat, but aren't? And who is that standing around the table playing beer pong during New Year's Eve celebration 2011?
Talk about motivation to go back and label all of my pictures with at least dates and places.
You know, in my spare time.
The best part of looking at all of those old pictures though was seeing the black and white images of my grandparents, great-grandparents and other relatives in their younger days. And realizing that no matter how much I deny it, there is definitely some of that DNA in this girl. I especially love the pictures of my pappy. Bernard W. Miller, Sr.
And my grandmother, Verna Miller. She's still alive, but the woman you see now isn't really her. My grandmother is goofy and fun with a treasure trove of silly, sometimes off color jokes (ask me about the bear in a bar in Billings gem). She makes a mean baked macaroni and cheese (my mom and my aunt's come close) and kept her snacks in the oven for easy access. My grandmother now lives in an assisted living facility. Dementia has stolen her recent memories. She wasn't sure who the people were in the copy of my wedding picture my mom took her. Thankfully though, she still has her longer, older memories. When I think of my grandmother, I think of her like this (that's my great-grandma, Mamie behind her):