All over the world there are people like me. I am not a photo collector, a memory hoarder, a collector of personal history, a person devoted to rescuing artifacts from the past. Though I’m grateful other people do.
But when it comes down to me having to do the storing of old stuff, family trees, photos, relics, I am less than devoted. I don’t care to be honest. It’s just junk to me. One of the Furlong daughters who has the biggest house and more interest does the job.
The dead Furlongs take up a lot of space!
The Furlong Family has had some notable members, that’s the problem.
And I still don’t care.
My sister is moving house. So she has dumped a pile of stuff on me. When we moved here over two years ago, I got rid of tons of stuff, including giving her photos of interest to her. They are all back here again!
I have no photos around this house. I hate photos. They bring out the morbid in me. I never look at one and think “Oh, wasn’t that a wonderful moment.” I think ” Oh no, another moment gone!” In my life, a photo should be no more than 24 hours old….
Today I found a photo of my mother that I’d never seen before in an old press cutting. It moved me. She looked vulnerable and lonely which is how I knew her.
As for the rest? It’s all fake.
I’m going to toss the lot.