All
novels have a story or two of a family, or the reverse, all families
have stories to make up a novel. And the stories, or novels, one can
share their lives through the photos of a family album.
Yeas ago, I was invited by a couple of German friends to spend a few days at their home town, Cologne (Koln- I don't have the facility to put in the double dot above the O). I had a real good time in this very colourful old town. One of the evenings after returning from dinner in town, we sat in the sitting room chatting. I was shown some family albums, dozens of them, lining on the shelves of the bookcase, very neatly arranged, with a clear label marking the corresponding year of each album in chronicle order. I know a lot of people complain about being lumbered with friends' family albums, forced to view hundreds of photos they have no interest in, at some of the relatives or friends they don't even know, etc. Not me. I love looking at friend's albums, especially if these friends are old people, with long years behind them and with a large family. These are meticulously dated, captioned, with a few words telling about the occasions or some significant happenings, impressions of a new place visited, or opinions on something eaten, seen or done. It fascinates me to see the changes of their looks, the fashion, the life style of the past with the present; the family members, the relatives, the friends. Images that automatically conjured up their life experiences stage by stage, telling me stories of their life. To a great extent, without the fine, day to day details. I feel a lot closer to them then, knowing so much more, almost as if I had shared at least parts of it; and their graciousness of allowing me to. |
Current Mood: 
Awake
Awake
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