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Your story started before you.

In this photo, there’s an angelic little girl seated on a woman’s lap. That little girl is my grandmother Louise.

She was the most loving woman I have ever met. She was my safe haven as a child; she lived on a farm and it was a magical place.

She taught me about gardening, the real way, the old way. She taught me Breton, a Gaelic dialect spoken in Brittany, France.

She taught me about life and humility. She taught me to sit in silence and listen to the world around me. She made the best crêpes in the world.

Best of all, she taught me about love – true, authentic love.

This beautiful little girl in an old photograph grew up to be someone’s Saint.

My Saint. ~ shared by @hoopgirlatheart

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Never forget that the quietest moments often sing stories of resounding love. Photos help us hear those tunes.

One year ago yesterday my Grandfather passed away suddenly.

I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the way this man always pulled me aside and said, “Honey, I’ll tell you something; you are quite a beautiful young lady.” I found this photo among some postcards to my Grandma from his service in WWII.

On the back it simply says, “me, writing you a postcard from Switzerland.” ~shared by @growsweetjoy

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“To collect photographs is to collect the world. Movies and television light up walls, flicker, and go out; but with still photographs, the image is also an object — easy to carry about, accumulate, store.” – Susan Sontag

They are artifacts of our existence. They are moments, memories and meaning.

Here’s a simple but wonderful example.

This is my great-grandparents getting goofy in a photo booth.

It was taken in a matter of minutes in the 1960s, yet the image is as alive today as it was back then.

I am so lucky to have it. ~ shared by @evangeline_thefallofeve

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My grandmother was a true classic.

She didn’t want to be called Grandma. Her name was Barbara, but I couldn’t pronounce it properly as a child. So, she became “Baba.” She died when I was very little so I never got to know her as well as I would have wished. But my Mom shares with me the memory of Baba taking her and her sister to San Francisco for the day. In the early 1950’s, the city was a much fancier place, so they would get dressed up in their nicest clothes and take the F train across the single-story Bay Bridge from Berkeley, where they lived.

They would go shopping at Macy’s and get ice cream sundays at Bloom’s in the basement.

After exploring the city, they would finish their day at the Top of the Mark with a dinner overlooking the entire city.

This simple story means so much to me because San Francisco will always have a piece of my heart. I lived there for five years and I consider it my second home. There’s a piece of Baba there too, and a piece of our family legacy. ~ shared by @sarah_inpursuit

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“Human beings need to tell stories. Stories are not simply nice things to have; they are essential survival tools. And yes, the stories we tell ourselves are just as important as the stories we tell other people.” -Hugh MacLeod

Meet my great-grand-uncles, John and Patrick Murray.

In 1886, John (left) sold some of their father’s cattle and ran off to New York City with the money. He opened Murray’s Hotel on 42nd street, then married, had a family and died in 1916.

Murray’s Hotel is long gone, but Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum is located on the former site of the hotel today. ~ shared by @davidlewisgunning

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How cool were they?

The “Pan-man” and artist (my Grandfather) with the Tailor (my Grandmother). This photo was taken in Trinidad, circa 1959.

My Grandfather played the Steel Drum, or “Pan,” which is the reason for the name “Pan Man.” The first steel drum, or pan, was invented around World War II in Trinidad.

My grandparents are the reason I draw, design, love fashion, menswear, music, and play pan and everything else. ~ shared by @ms_natalya_m

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