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Vintage content about families throughout history; all about ancient ancestors, heirlooms, royal families and beyond.
A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
A 60's Tale
A 60’s Tale 1962, Friday, 2:15 pm. Barbara sits in her car, her long dark hair hangs limp in front of her face. She stares out the window at nothing as she replays that last forty five minutes in her heard. She walked into her estranged husband’s offices, as she walked through the beige, dim lit corridors towards his office she noticed the sympathetic looks from the secretaries, even other business men. How could they know? Did they really know who Stanley is? She reached his office. Time seemed to warped and grow foggy. The words “keep the damn house, do what you want with it, sell it. But don’t contact me again” ring and blast through her ears. A traffic warden taps on the hood of her car, bringing her back from her thoughts. She begins the slow drive home. In her rearview mirror she looks at her son and daughter’s clutter on the backseat, wrappers from rhubarb and custards litter the floor and sandy footprints line the interior. Barbara smiles to herself thinking the freedom they must feel, her smile fades when she thinks of them for too long.
By Charlotte Gould5 years ago in Families
The Good Name
John Cody Wallace III Arizona, 1872 He crawled over cool red rocks and into the sun, and suddenly he was in the open and could see for miles. The dust and wind howled around him, and the shades of morning painted the canyons in soft hues of red. "I think I see it," Tom Kelly said on his stomach beside him. He was holding a pair of wood and brass binoculars tightly to his eyes, his floppy hat blowing in the desert wind. "Way out there, just to the left of the horizon," Kelly handed the binoculars over to Wallace.
By Benjamin Cooley5 years ago in Families
What we carry inside
I sat on the floor of the basement, my hands covered in the thin layer of dust that comes from looking through old photos and letters. Happily strewn across my lap were the treasures I’d found in this box: grandpa’s harmonica, amber jewelry galore, a handwritten log of winning lotto numbers from the 1970s - my grandma’s doing. She died when I was young.
By Karina Palukaitis5 years ago in Families
Familiar Places That You Feel As If You've Seen Them Before In Your Dreams or Childhood
Lately, there have been these "nostalgia-core" or "dream-core" accounts on the popular app Tiktok, and they post videos of picture compilations that show places of odd areas that we might have last seen when we were children. But it does not just show ordinary pictures of places, they are commonly known as Liminal Spaces. When you look at these pictures, they might give you this nostalgic, odd, yet comforting feeling that you have seen that place before whether it was in a dream, or even in your childhood.
By Salaar Khan5 years ago in Families
Tales My Father Never Told Me
I guess my earliest recollection of my father's exploits occurred when I was about eight or nine. As was the family custom to always sit down to dinner promptly at 6, I can remember in joyous excitement when my father recounted the days when he was young. The "good old days" as my father so fondly recalled. There was this one evening when the dishes were cleared as my father lit another Camel cigarette leaned over and said let me tell you a story of how I managed to get through school. Leaning back in the comfort of his high back chair as he exhaled smoke, " Son, back in the fall of '23 was the best year yet. I still have my raccoon coat upstairs in that closet to the left. The one I wore to all the football games that my roommate Red Grange played. The galloping ghost they called him." As I sat quite still leaning forward to here every word I remember how the gleam in his eye shown as he remembered his glory days of a bygone era.
By Dr. Williams5 years ago in Families
