One of the saddest things about our society is how soon and how easily we forget those people without whom we would not exist. This early 1930s photo of dad's maternal grandparents, the Adams (I am ashamed not to remember their first names!). Both died when I was very young, but I remember that Dad adored Grandma Adams, and that she always kept cookies...ginger snaps, if memory serves, which it often doesn't...in a round tin. I remember almost nothing about Grandma Adams except that he was a crusty old soul who smoked a pipe and didn't say much. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, my dad'd middle name, Guerdon, was the name of the captain of the boat on which Grandma Adams came over from Ireland. Why do I not know more? Why do you not know more of your forebearers?
