la vie en rose

A couple weeks ago J had a friend in town and we all went to the Museum of Flight. Right when we walked in I saw an old man standing behind a table with some plane parts on it.


(For those who may not know, I have a soft spot for old people. Some friends tell me I'm actually a grandma. I listen to big band music on AM radio, I like vintage clothes, I watch the Retro TV Network - especially "Get Smart," I cook and crochet, I go to bed early...you get the idea. I love history and I get nostalgic for eras that I never even lived in. F. Scott Fitzgerald used the term "old soul.")


I went over to the man and it turns out that he was a World War II pilot. He had written a book about his experiences. Of course I bought it. Just like I bought a bunch of huckleberry honey from a sweet old man at the farmer's market last summer.




He signed the book for me and we talked for a minute about it. I read it over the weekend. It made me miss my own grandparents and it made me mad that my grandpa never talked about his experiences in WWII. I e-mailed the author of the book to thank him for writing his story. He wrote back last week and suggested that I also write my story.


Which leads me here. A couple years ago my friend TF was so adamant that I journal that she took me to a bookstore and made me buy one. I only wrote when I was mad at J. I didn't keep those pages (there wasn't much anyway). So now I plan on writing things down in this format, since I can add pictures, and hopefully my future generations will have the same interest in their ancestor as I do in mine.


Enjoy!