That's my father, William Hale Lindholm, and his dog, Shep. I have quite a few stories about Dad when he was a boy and living on a chicken farm in Donaldson, Indiana. I also have stories about my maternal grandmother, my Grams, and her childhood in St. Louis living above a Chinese laundry.I have Aunt Elsie stories, Mom stories....
I wondered why, after I divorced, I got rid of almost all my possessions with the singular exception of boxes of old photographs, letters, a huge old scrapbook of my grandfather Lindholm's (half of which the contents are in Swedish), and odds and ends - momentos - of the lives of my family. Most all of whom have passed over 20 years ago at the least.
I toted those boxes from one place to another for eight years and now, since I've settled, I've the time to sift through them. I've sorted and scanned photos, some of which I swear I'd never seen before. I've read letters I know I'd never read before - had no idea existed and certainly not that I was in possession of them.
And now my genealogical authority marvel of a daughter-in-law has me hooked on searching online through files to put some order to the stories - the connections, the skeletons. My stories are beginning to flesh out in the most remarkable ways to me.
And it hit me - that's why!!
I have been given care of these historical wonders for a very specific purpose. Me - the one who writes! Hah!
Ohhh...now I have plans! First it will be my grandmother's story. I'm already diving into the history of St. Louis and the "Kerry Patch" Irish neighborhood.
I'm excited! Oh, yes. I'm excited.
