Dear "Family" Photographs

So, this Dear Photograph project I started has been a really great distraction from doing my homework...who really needs homework in grad school anyways.

This particular post is going to be entirely dedicated to my grandparents (at least on my mom's side...I don't really have any pictures of my dad's parents I could use for this). Grandma and Grandpa Mac...where to begin.

 Let's start with Grandma: I don't think I've ever met a more selfless, kind and loving person...ever. And I'm not just saying that because she's my grandma. She's your typical small town woman. A retired Postmaster that everyone in town knows, does volunteer work for her local Baptist church, and bakes lots and lots of chocolate chip cookies. She has 8 grandchildren (I'm the only girl) and 4 great-grandchildren. If you ask her, she'll say she's the luckiest person in the world. And I love her laugh.

Dear Photograph,

My mom has that exact same beady-eyed smile.

Maybe some day I'll be lucky enough to have it too.

Amanda

Alrighty...on to Grandpa. Two words: Self-proclaimed Grouch (and yes, it's two words because of the hyphen). When I say self-proclaimed I mean it. He even had a sign outside the house that said "Beware, Grouch Lives Here." We all loved him regardless. He died almost 5 years ago. If I have one regret in life, it's that I didn't give him more hugs. I used to be afraid of him when I was younger because he was so loud. And I mean loud! His stories usually involved yelling (at no one in particular) and cursing (never the F-word though). He was a lot more caring than I think most people realized. One time, he and my uncle found a calf stuck in the mud during a rainstorm. They pulled the calf out and Grandpa actually brought the calf inside the house so it would stay warm. A farm animal inside the house...seriously?! And we always had to be extra careful when we played on the hay bales in the yard, because Grandpa was convinced us kids were going to fall between 2 bales and suffocate...which never, ever happened. But you bet your behind that every time we hear the door open we hid!

Dear Photograph,

My mom tells the same type of long, drawn out stories he did.

Secretly, I love listening to them.

Amanda