Come, look with me inside this drawer,
In this box I've often seen,
At the pictures, black and white,
Faces proud, still, serene.
I wish I knew the people, These strangers in the box,
Their names and all their memories
Are lost among my socks.
I wonder what their lives were like,
How did they spend their days?
What about their special times?
I'll never know their ways.
If only someone had taken time
To tell who, what, where, or when,
These faces of my heritage
Would come to life again.
Could this become the fate
Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories
Someday to be passed away?
Make time to save your stories,
Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
Or someday you and yours could be.......
The strangers in the box.
Anonymous Author
GRANDMA AND THE FAMILY TREE
There's been a change in Grandma; we've noticed her of late,
She's tracking back the family; we'll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma's got a hobby; she's climbing Family Trees.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can't be bothered; she's busy as a bee
Compiling genealogy -- for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit; the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Granddad's shirt, the flowerbed's a sight.
She's given up her club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.
She goes down to the court house and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty; they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you're climbing Family Trees.
The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worth while avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.
Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went on west to stake their claim, some stayed near by the sea,
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.
There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin.
But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook
And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee,
Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.
To some it's just a hobby; to Grandma it's much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, and they wept, and now lay forever
still,
But they will not, be forgotten as long, as Grandma climbs the family tree
Author Unknown
When I'm an old Lady
When I'm an old lady, I'll live with my kids,
and make them so happy, just as they did.
I want to pay back all the joy they've provided,
returning each deed. Oh, they'll be so excited.
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
I'll write on the wall with reds, whites and blues,
and bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes.
I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out.
I'll stuff all the toilets, and oh, how they'll shout.
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach.
Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head,
and when that is done I'll hide under the bed.
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
When they cook dinner and call me to meals,
I'll not eat my green beans or salads congealed.
I'll gag on my salad, spill milk on the table,
and when they get angry, run fast as I'm able.
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
I'll sit close to the TV, thru the channels I'll click,
I'll cross both my eyes to see if they stick.
I'll take off my socks and throw one away,
And play in the mud until the end of the day.
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh,
and thank God in prayer and then close my eyes.
My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
and say with a groan. "She's so sweet when she's sleeping."
When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
Redneck Family Tree
Many many years ago when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed. This made my dad my son-in-law
and changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother, for she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
although it brought me joy.
I soon became the father
of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
a brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
then that also made him brother,
to the widow's grown-up daughter
who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father's wife then had a son,
who kept them on the run.
He became my grandson,
for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
and it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
she's my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
then I am her grandchild.
Every time I think of it,
it simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
the strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!!
The Recording of a Cemetery
Today we walked where others walked
On a lonely, windswept hill;
Today we talked where others cried
For Loved Ones whose lives are stilled.
Today our hearts were touched
By graves of tiny babies;
Snatched from the arms of loving kin,
In the heartbreak of the ages.
Today we saw where the grandparents lay
In the last sleep of their time;
Lying under the trees and clouds -
Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.
Today we wondered about an unmarked spot;
Who lies beneath this hollowed ground?
Was it a babe, child, young or old?
No indication could be found.
Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay.
We had been here once before
On a day we'd all like to forget,
But will remember forever more.
Today we recorded for kith and kin
The graves of ancestors past;
To be treasured for generations hence,
A record we hope will last.
Cherish it, my friend; preserve it, my friend,
For stones sometimes crumble to dust
And generations of folks yet to come
Will be grateful for your trust.
by Thelma Greene Reagan
