

The most obvious association I make with photos and other items from my parents' archives is the memory of my mother's home. My mother brought my sister and me there twice a week all through our childhoods. Sometimes they brought out photos to to look through at the kitchen table, or other memorabilia. This hundred-year-old post card on it reminds me first and most importantly to me, of my mother's home, where it was first stored.
For my father, his photos' location was a different matter. All the photos left by my father must have been stored with his brother, Uncle Fred, while my father was in
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