They give us those nice, bright colors

There were boxes of old slides sitting out on my parent's dining room table this weekend, pictures of snowstorms and flowers, monuments and cars. My 20-year-old grandmother lounging in a boat in a one-piece bathing suit and white bathing cap; my grandfather as a young lad, snuggling with his dog Sport. Great-grandparents riding past Southern magnolia trees and setting up tripods for more photos. My mother as a bouncing baby, snuggling on her mother's lap; or surrounded by my aunts, a family of curls and ringlets.
We'll digitize these slides, make prints and new slideshows on our laptops, but I love the originals: hold them up to the light, encased in glass, imagine my grandparents and great-grandparents marveling, recalling, laughing, sorting and re-sorting three generations ago, much as I did this weekend.
From the top: the Madison state capitol building, circa 1947; my grandmother Marion and a friend, dolled up for a parade in the late-40s; someone water-skiing up north, who knows when.