sifting through boxes of lives well lived.
i read my great grandmother's diary entries today. i've been cleaning out my parents stuff (again) for them to do (another) move in which most likely they can't fit all of the things they own. the entries were.. they were mundane. they were normal. they were full of life. everyday life that falls through the cracks that we forget to document. she literally wrote the temperature and weather report. this seems so much less personal than doing something along those lines; no pen or paper. nothing concrete to find later in life. perhaps our next generation will stumble upon this on accident. in honor of grandma irene: today was sunny and warm, got up to 86 degrees!