There’s something about history. Something about the past that draws me in. 
And no, I don’t “romanticize” it, either. 

There’s something about learning and knowing what’s happened that’s gotten us this far. And it doesn’t matter if it’s generalized history or if it’s personal, family history. It’s interesting to me. 

There’s SO much to share about life! So many things we did wrong and that we did right. And it’s all there. It’s all around us. 

There’s history everywhere you look.

My family took pictures. And video. And we told stories. And we saved certain objects and paperwork. Things were collected – sought after and “hunted” and kept in some cases. 

Those types of things are dying off. 
Yes, we take pictures now. And they live “in the cloud”. We don’t print them and put them in albums or scrapbooks and look through them and recount the stories anymore. And when we die, they’ll most likely remain “in the cloud” someplace. 
Sad, isn’t it?

Sad that in our human progression obtain more stuff (oh THERE’S another topic to write on! HAHAHA!), we’ve minimalized memories. 

I have photographs. I have photographs and stories and stuff. And I’m working to learn to properly preserve it all. Why? Because it’s important to who I am and how I’ve become how I am. And it’s important to other members of my family as well. (And, well, I enjoy sharing it with others.)

Boxes and boxes of photos. Enough information on certain topics that I could write volumes (that might be part of the autism though…). Photos I haven’t printed all of yet. 

How do I have time to work through all of this stuff? 
I don’t.
I MAKE the time.

Because history is important. It shows us who we are.