Installment #1: Driving Into Town

Family is hard to write about. The point of view is skewed, emotional, and is supported by old memories from childhood and not always fact. Yet I find myself compelled to share and write about a group of photos I took in my great-grandfather's old workshop. If memory serves me correctly, he passed away when I was 11 years old and after that I came to identify the workshop with my grandfather. It is a simple place; two stories connected by a wood set of steep stairs. The top floor, containing mostly old family relics or odds and ends, was the area I knew least of. The first floor contains the workshop, a paint room, and a barn area. It has been around quite a bit longer than I have and has the character to show it.

So trepidation aside, here comes a slice of my ancestry, family history, and childhood memories.

There were usually two times of the year that we would be guaranteed visits to Hoyleton, IL: Christmas and Easter. There were others, but these were the staples of connecting with my dad's side of the family.

Taking I-57 south to, what seemed like to my childhood brain, a labyrinth of state and county roads, we would then arrive on the north side of the tiny community of my dad's hometown. When making our entrance into the village (yes, that is its official classification), we would always pass by my great-grandfather's old workshop. A structure with nothing but a wood stove to keep the worker within from freezing during the winter. And until the age of 11 we would look to see if the light was on in my great grandpa's house, which was no more than 60 feet away from the workshop. It was one of the first landmarks which denoted our arrival. It was the first memorable sight for us kids as we came and the last one we bade farewell to as we left. And though I didn't grow up in that town and spend endless hours working in the workshop, it is one of the first tangible locations I can attach to the people from whom I came. So here is a simple shot of the front of the workshop; a common sight even today.

Great-grandpa's Workshop

Hoyleton, IL

Don't Take Yourself Too Seriously

While my wife and I were still dating, we made a trip up to Bloomington, IL to see my family. While driving we talked, laughed, argued, sang and pretty much had an all-around jovial time. As is evidenced by the photo that follows, we were very willing to take silly photos and, strangely enough, are just as willing to broadcast it for all to see. This photo most likely does not mean much to anyone else beside my wife and me, but I wanted to display it simply for the reason that we should not take ourselves very seriously.

Most people I know, myself included, care a lot about their image. But why do we care? At the end of my life, I will not look back and wonder how cool someone thought I was, think about when we forgot that important person's name or wish we had won that argument with our spouse. We will, however, look back and consider what impact our lives made, if we loved our family and friends enough, or if our lives brought joy to others.

When our short existence here on earth is put into such blatant terms, I think it becomes clear that we are not as important as we think we are. Our daily troubles will cease to be so daunting, our arguments less pressing, and our worries less consuming. But on the flip side, our relationships will be more meaningful, our laughter more enjoyable, and love more intense.

This picture was taken on I-74 westbound in between Champaign and Bloomington, IL. My wife was laughing and I was happy. And when I die, I don't think I will be worrying about who saw it.

Silly Faces on I-74, Illinois