Dear Diary, Life has settled down again ~ thank goodness. All the excitement of the past few days left me breathless, which is not a good state for a lady of a genteel nature to be in. For one thing, if I am breathless I am unable to communicate; by speaking. A quiet Aunt Alice is a rarity!
In an effort to keep myself quietly occupied I searched the bottom of the wardrobe for the tins of photos. I really must take scrapbooking classes and learn how to store photos of not only my childhood, but also photos of great grandparents. Once Niece asked me about family history, but when I began relating what is a rather long genealogical line her eyes became glazed over; I quietly ran the conversation to an end without telling her any of the exciting events prior to either of our births.
She has yet to learn that great, several times over, grandfather, was a whaler and sealer, how his parents were Australian convicts; she does not know the trials and tribulations other ancestors had after leaving the hills of Scotland to embark on a life as farmers on farms that were not broken in. How their lives slowly became better, how their crops and animals held the family on the land, nor of how they carved a niche for themselves in a foreign land.
Perhaps I could make a scrapbook relating some of these fascinating stories, and include photos that are stored in the old biscuit tins in the bottom of the wardrobe?
Dear Diary, I wonder how the women managed with no shops? They would have sewed garments by hand, they grew gardens, and raised large families by today's standards. Some lived to an old age, which I guess does show that hard work never killed anyone. Then again, maybe I won't mention that last fact to Niece ... she might take that as an invitation for me to consider helping around the house!
Harold hasn't been in touch since yesterday's fiasco Dear Diary. In fact the day is dragging. I am beginning to wonder if I prefer a life of excitement to the sedate life of an elderly lady, not that I am that elderly, but I am a Lady.
In an effort to keep myself quietly occupied I searched the bottom of the wardrobe for the tins of photos. I really must take scrapbooking classes and learn how to store photos of not only my childhood, but also photos of great grandparents. Once Niece asked me about family history, but when I began relating what is a rather long genealogical line her eyes became glazed over; I quietly ran the conversation to an end without telling her any of the exciting events prior to either of our births.
She has yet to learn that great, several times over, grandfather, was a whaler and sealer, how his parents were Australian convicts; she does not know the trials and tribulations other ancestors had after leaving the hills of Scotland to embark on a life as farmers on farms that were not broken in. How their lives slowly became better, how their crops and animals held the family on the land, nor of how they carved a niche for themselves in a foreign land.
Perhaps I could make a scrapbook relating some of these fascinating stories, and include photos that are stored in the old biscuit tins in the bottom of the wardrobe?
Dear Diary, I wonder how the women managed with no shops? They would have sewed garments by hand, they grew gardens, and raised large families by today's standards. Some lived to an old age, which I guess does show that hard work never killed anyone. Then again, maybe I won't mention that last fact to Niece ... she might take that as an invitation for me to consider helping around the house!
Harold hasn't been in touch since yesterday's fiasco Dear Diary. In fact the day is dragging. I am beginning to wonder if I prefer a life of excitement to the sedate life of an elderly lady, not that I am that elderly, but I am a Lady.
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