Two uncles, two aunts, grandparents (aunt Laurie must be taking photo, or uncle Blen, or uncle Lou?). I copied this photo from a cousin's facebook post.
I don't remember Grandma with dark hair. Or that easy, relaxed smile of Grandpa. I only knew him breifly when he was sick and shaky, once sitting in his chair talking about his pheasants and making divinity. My memories are borrowed from stories I have heard my mom tell about him teaching English, and stories from his mission to Sweden/Denmark, his ability with languages, his days as bishop in Denver, his fishing filling the freezer.
I learned how to fish from his son, uncle Will, the youngest boy in this photo. He took me up the canyons, taught me where to look for rainbow trout, where the German browns were hiding in the shadows of the rocks, how to gut and fillet and pan-fry your catch. Good skills for an awkward teenage girl who didn't fit in well with popular crowds, felt lonely for friends left behind in Iowa.
So today I am thankful for knowledge passed on. For the connection families and friends give us. I can look at this photo and I have a memory that helps me know Grandpa Harold, even though I wasn't there. I can feel nostalgic for a picnic I didn't attend. (Was my mom at school when this was taken, or did she take it?)
Grandpa Harold looks in this photo a lot like what I imagine my brother, John, will look like in 10+ more years.
Can you love someone you barely knew? As I cook recipes of Grandma Laura's, I sometimes think of her family eating them, her husband enjoying her cooking skills. I wish I knew more about him. I am thankful he chose to be married, to have children, to raise them reading the scriptures every night to them after dinner.
My favorite quote of his: "I rather have children jumping on the beds than crying in the closets."
And I know he liked ice cream, the way our Sam loves ice cream!
