A lot.
I think of my grandkids reading it.
How cool is that? The ability to read family history first-hand?
How I would have loved for my ancestors to have had this ability.
My father's father was a master at telling stories, but so many of them now are blurry in my memory.
There was some tale he loved to tell about taking the train to the Jersey Shore and departing for home on the same railway, toting a bag of live crabs caught in the bay. Apparently, the bag wasn't secured, and the crustaceans escaped, crawling among the passengers with clicky-clacky indifference to the mayhem they created.
It wasn't Snakes on a Plane but, rather, Crabs on a Train. Coming soon to a theater near you.
But the details are gone, taken with him.
Same with his story about getting a ticket down the shore for appearing on the beach without a shirt on.
And his recollection of the common practice of renting a bathing suit when he'd go on a day trip. Not only was hygiene not much of a consideration then, but neither, apparently, was comfort. I remember him telling us these suits were wool and that they never quite dried out from the swimming activities of the prior occupant.
Ick.
But the thing I find cool is that unless this whole interwebs thing collapses in a heap of 3G junk, my words will stretch forward into history.
An electronic message in a bottle.
So hello, Weckerly grandkids. Enjoy the year 2050. I'll be 87, Lord willing. I may ramble with my stories by then. Or I may be gone altogether. But they'll be here. Waiting for you. Stop by and listen to my voice.
Before you hop in your flying car.
...lucky stiffs!
