What’s a Treasure Chest of Memories?

Treasure Chest of Memories

A box full of photos and memorabilia is one type of Treasure Chest of Memories

You may have noticed that at the end of many of my posts, I refer you to my memory-sharing site, TreasureChestofMemories.com. I figure the time has come to tell you the rest of the story.

The original Treasure Chest of Memories

My passion for telling stories stems from a gift left by my grandmother. Shortly before her death, Hazel Crymes passed on an old spiral notebook filled with a lifetime of memories, which she dubbed her “Treasure Chest of Memories.” Her writings included childhood memories, stories of her children as they grew, good recipes, and wisdom she had gathered along the way. Continue reading

Love Notes (Post # 100)

A 100th post should be something special. Failing that, it should be about someone special.

My parents were into greeting cards. Not the Helen Steiner Rice sweet or inspirational greeting cards—they preferred funny ones or zingers. On a good day, you’d get a funny zinger. (That’s why my husband is in charge of picking out cards for his parents. My choices probably wouldn’t go over that well. )

When I get on my memory-sharing soapbox, one of my mantras is that cards and letters should be preserved because they reveal so much about daily companionship. This exemplar, a homemade card from my mother to my father does just that. It also reveals that there was the occasional snowstorm in South Carolina. (Judging from the fact that it was too bad to drive, the snow must of topped out at over ½ inch.)

Home made valetine's card

Card from my mom to my dad.

(c)Laura Hedgecock 2013

Yearning for the “Rest of the Story”

My passion for genealogy is what led me to volunteer to “key” for the World Archives project in which millions of microfilmed records are being indexed.

A feeling of headiness with my “exceptional” accuracy rating and my German led me to choose to key 1940 – 1941 WWII Nazi records from Kraków, Poland in which Jews applied for permits to remain in the city.

Immersion into this ugly period of history is itself disturbing.  It’s difficult for me to imagine a world in which one, by virtue of their faith, had to apply for a permit to keep a few pounds of their personal belongs and live in squalor.  Looking at the rejections is even more disturbing.  In 1940 Kraków, that must have been terrifying.  Seeing the names and addresses of these individuals, I yearn to hear the rest of their stories. Just because there were so many of them, doesn’t mean each one’s not a poignant drama worthy of being told.

What did they do? Where did they go? Did they survive?  Do they have relatives looking for their records?

Here’s hoping that one day their subsequent generations will hear their stories.

©Laura Hedgecock 2011