Old photos

I hung some pictures in my stairwell/picture gallery.  (It sounds fancy when I call it a picture gallery even though it's a hodge podge of things, the only uniting factors being the black frames and the fact that I love every single picture.)

My mom sent me these pictures a while ago.

This is my great-grandfather, David Dahl and his family.  (David's standing, the second on the right.)  Seated are my great-great-grandparents, Alexander and Ellen.  The story that has always delighted my sisters and me about Ellen is that Alexander saw her loading sacks of grain and thought she was the woman for him.  It makes me happy to think that her blood is in my veins.   It comes in handy when I'm at Costco, loading my cart.

When I was looking at this picture, I realized that David was the tallest of his siblings.  My grandpa (David's son) was the tallest of his siblings.  My dad is the tallest of his siblings.

I am the shortest of my siblings.

I feel like I failed and I owe all my ancestors an apology.

I told Enoch about this discovery.  He looked at me like I was weird.  (This is not the first time.)

Then I remembered Enoch is the tallest of my siblings.  No wonder he doesn't get it.

(Yes, I think I do have some height issues to work through.)

This is another picture that gladdens me:

My grandpa, Harvey Dahl, is the one on the right.  I can see Tabor and my dad in his stance.  They both rest their hands on horses the same way when they are near them.  I miss them all three:  my grandpa, my dad, Tabor.

This last picture is my favorite of all that my mom sent and makes me unreasonably happy:

On the left are my great-aunt Iris and her husband Jim (Jim was my grandpa's brother who died before I was born). On the right are my grandparents, Margaret and Harvey Dahl.
I love how dapper and happy and young they all look.  I love seeing my second cousins, who I grew up with, in their grandpa Jim.  I love seeing my aunts and some of my cousins in my youthful grandmother and I love seeing my brother Ammon in my handsome grandfather.

I can't really put a name on how these pictures make me feel.  Connected I guess begins to sum it up.  Family resemblances are a delight.  Seeing my grandma and grandpa young and holding hands is a delight.

My grandpa died over ten years ago.  He was a good man. He adored my grandmother.  Seeing these pictures, I think about how happy I'll be to see him again someday.

(But probably not as happy as my grandma will be.)