The best Mother’s Day gift ever: memories

Moms want memories. To know that they are loved, and considered. Why not give her what she wants this year?

We're all about preserving your most precious family memories in the most grand style. From a family history book to a tribute book in honor of a deceased loved one, our heirloom books make the most unique gifts. 

To get you started thinking about the best Mother's Day gift for your mom, we've put together five ideas for Mother’s Day books. Choose one of these to make you the hero this Mother's Day, or be inspired to create your own idea for a tribute book for the most special woman in your life.

1  Taste of the Past: Family Recipe Book

Here's one of our most straightforward book ideas! Handwritten recipes passed down through generations, plus stories of family meals, celebrations, and treats, artfully packaged for a truly sweet gift. The tastes and aromas of our favorite foods stir the memory, and provide an excellent jumping-off point for sharing family stories.

Don't worry, you don't have to do the legwork: Buy your mom (or another beloved mother in your life!) a gift certificate, and we'll lovingly package a beribboned wooden spoon with our “Recipe for a Successful Mother's Day.”

2  Love Letters: Tribute Book to Mom

Let’s get letters­­—written by hand, not via text­­—with notes both funny and poignant addressed to Mom. We will craft a mini­-tribute in honor of the holiday, or spend considerable time perusing old journals and letters to flesh out a more substantive story.

This book is a wonderful option for large or scattered families, and can be put together more quickly than some—so for you last-minute holiday shoppers out there, get on it!

3  Wedding Book Redux

Is your parents’ wedding album dated or damaged? It’s almost certainly not digital. We’ll scan, restore, and color correct their wedding images, then design a modern coffee table book with a digital companion for posterity. Turning your parents' fading wedding album into an archival heirloom book—now that's a Mother's Day idea we bet you hadn't thought of yet.

4  Conversations with Grandma

Wouldn't you love to know your mom's and grandmom's stories? In their own words?! Beyond the few tales you may have heard around the dinner table 20 years ago...? We’ll conduct the interviews, gather memorabilia, and find the narrative thread that resonates. The resulting book promises to be beyond your (and her) dreams.

For this Mother's Day gift idea, we suggest you get your loved one a gift certificate that will get her started on the journey of sharing her stories. Because honestly, it's that journey that your grandmother (or mother) will enjoy as much as the final book: Sharing stories and memories can be wonderfully gratifying, and often healing.

5  Favorite Photos Through the Years

Why let all those amazing family photos and #ThrowbackThursday posts flounder on social media? The flood of “likes” are gratifying, but they lack permanence. A series of nostalgic pictures will be a brag book for the ages, especially for the grandmothers on your list. Check out this Instagram book we did for one New York City mom for inspiration, or gather a random array of old photographs that have been sitting in drawers and boxes for far too long (trust me, they don’t need to have been posted to social media at all!). Honor your photographs and memories of motherhood by preserving them this Mother's Day!

How to get your Mother's Day gift from Modern Heirloom Books

Mother's Day this year falls on Sunday, May 9, 2021.

If you are interested in preparing a book that you can actually gift to your mother, grandmother, or other special mom in your life on that day, it's crucial that you contact us now to get the ball rolling. While we can work fairly quickly, all of our books are handcrafted and take time to create.

A gift certificate with details about the project can be elegantly packaged for a Mother's Day gift that holds the promise of even more to come.

1. Call our founder Dawn Roode to discuss what Mother's Day gift book option you are interested in, learn about next steps, or to purchase a gift certificate now.

2. Or fill out this quick form to set up a free half-hour consultation to discuss your questions, time frame, or project ideas.

I look forward to helping you celebrate the special mothers in your life!

Bonus: More Mother’s Day book ideas—for “special” moms

In addition to the ideas above, which may be appropriate for a wide spectrum of mothers, we've also come up with a few ideas for particular women in your life—adoptive mothers, moms-to-be, and moms of twins.

*The original post was published before Mother’s Day 2017. It was updated for timeliness and accuracy on March 31, 2021.

The tyranny of the family heirloom

“Sorry, Nobody Wants Your Parents’ Stuff,” reads the Forbes headline. The article explores how so much of what we inherit from our parents does not get saved, but rather donated, sold, or trashed.

“If you’re thinking your grown children will gladly accept your parents' items, if only for sentimental reasons, you’re likely in for an unpleasant surprise.”

I get it: Most of us aren’t buying fine china to entertain with, and we don’t want to be weighed down by more stuff. But despite this article’s pessimism (“‘I don’t think there is a future’ for the possessions of our parents’ generation”), I have faith that we can find creative ways to preserve the heirlooms that matter—and still donate most of their STUFF to charity.

So, which heirlooms matter—and which ones are even ‘heirlooms’?

Just because your parents left you everything in their house doesn’t mean you need to keep everything. Or even half. Or any of it. But while you’re assessing their possessions for potential monetary worth, I beg you to spend some time with those things that hold memories.

Consider the historical value (I'm talking family history here) and the sentimental value (and by that, I do not mean feeling guilty that you should hold on to something, but feeling a poignant tug at your heartstrings when you think of a particular item).

Did your father sit in “his chair” to read the newspaper à la Archie Bunker every day? Was that cushioned window seat your mom’s favorite reading nook? Is the painting on the wall an original passed down through generations?

Many of our things are just that—functional things that make our lives comfortable or easier. Many of our things, though, hold stories. Those, in my opinion, are the best heirlooms.

Find treasures to keep as keepsakes. 

Pick one or two things (more if you’re sentimental) that hold special meaning for you, and keep them. I recommend choosing items that you can keep close in some way:

• a painting, blanket, or piece of furniture that you can incorporate into your home and use on a regular basis;

• an item of jewelry, a shawl, or some other accessory that you can wear;

• or something practical that your loved one used that you can, too—such as their e-reader, favorite books, or a kitchen appliance.

Having something tangible from your loved one’s life nearby can be consoling, reassuring, even healing.

Give new life to old items, guilt-free.

Do you adore your dad’s chair in theory, but think it’s ugly as sin? Love the idea of cuddling in your grandmother’s sweater, but hate the style and musty smell? 

Allison Gilbert had her father’s collection of silk neckties woven into a wall hanging, and her grandmother’s handwritten coffee cake recipe memorialized on an everyday plate. She has made an art form out of transforming our loved ones’ STUFF into something meaningful, and details 85 very specific ways to do so in her book Passed and Present: Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive.

It’s the memories of the things that matter, after all.

A thing is only special if we have enlivened it with some special meaning. It is an heirloom when it has a story to tell—and someone (you?) tells it for posterity.

So once you narrow your lost loved one's belongings to those precious items that hold some emotional value, do something with them. Check out Gilbert's book for ideas (there really is something unique to suit everyone's tastes and values, in my opinion) or come up with something on your own.

Whatever you do, let the stories of those things shine through.

In her family history book, Kathleen Rath Smith remembers how her father would always read in “his” chair next to the radio. “When he came in, we got out of that chair!” We used photographs to show her parents' home and surroundings, and Kathleen as narrator recounts the stories of her childhood.

Tell the stories of their stuff.

How can you maintain the specialness your loved one's things convey without inheriting the bulk of all that stuff?

How can you transform their things into cherished family heirlooms?

Take pictures of the items before donating them.

Why not consider having your most special items professionally photographed, whether for an heirloom legacy book or for an impactful wall hanging? 

A professional photographer such as The Heirloomist's Shana Novak can turn an artful lens on everyday items, imbuing them with a graphic punch that can be surprisingly emotional. Check out how Bob Woodruff's wife, Lee, turned a pair of her husband's combat boots into a meaningful work of art shot by Novak; or read stories of such seemingly mundane items as a cassette tape, a stuffed bear, and even a set of yellow pencils, brought to life through heirloom photography. The resulting pieces of art preserve your loved one's things visually, and moreover spark conversation so that the stories can be told and retold in the future.

You can now keep these images in remembrance of the loved one you have lost and wish to honor—and unburden yourself of the items themselves.

Don't just capture the stories of your heirlooms, but write them, too.

Whether you jot down memories on an index card and tape it to the back of your photograph or go the extra mile and create an heirloom legacy book from your stories, do tell your stories. We've offered advice on how to use old family photos as memory prompts; so now we thought we'd share examples of how to tell the story of a THING.

Here are two spreads from two different client books, both works in progress. The stories of these things are short vignettes that add insight into the subject's broader stories, but each can stand alone as a short read that honors their memories and begins to create a unique family legacy.

As you can see, the stories of these heirlooms are not really stories of things at all; rather, they are the stories of those who held, touched, and lived with those things. Your heirlooms' stories are the stories of your loved ones.

What things in your life have a special story to tell? What has a deceased parent or grandparent left you that might lend itself to sharing a wonderful story?

“Billee’s ‘Famous’ Foods”

Gramma Billee kept a jar for bacon drippings on her stove; she used it liberally and kept it full. But one of the most important ingredients she cooked with was intention: She knew everyone’s favorite foods and provided them. Often. Decades later, her granddaughter shares remembrance and recipes so that Billee’s descendants may nourish their own families with her “famous” foods.

As I have written about before, tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).

In this latest contribution in our series, A Taste of the Past, we are treated to one family’s “famous” foods, as skillfully and lovingly prepared by Gramma Billee—and now, her descendants.

A Taste of the Past

Gramma Billee, the writer's baby brother, and the writer as a little girl, 1982

Billee’s “Famous” Foods

By Melissa Finlay

I visited my grandmother Billee in person for the last time when she was 90 years old. I spent several days interviewing her, recording her memories and anything else she wanted to leave for posterity. She told me plenty of stories about her life and details about our ancestry, but she most wanted me to record her recipes, to pass her food legacy on to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Her recipes were close to her heart, full of memories of friends and family, and preciously held knowledge of who loved which food the most. 

Stories of struggle, and hope

While I recorded her recipes, I was the fortunate recipient of my grandmother’s stories, as each dish sparked memories anew.

Billee’s dishes were famous among everyone who knew her. Her recipes came to be referred to as “Billee’s Famous Enchiladas,” “Billee’s Famous Cherry Pie,” “Billee’s Famous Hummingbird Cake,” even “Billee’s Famous Hot Cocoa.” Not that her dishes were necessarily original—she liked to collect recipes from newspapers, magazines, and friends—it’s just that she made them so well, and shared them so generously. She cooked for family get-togethers. She brought overflowing platters to church potlucks and work parties (I think they may have held extra work parties to score more of her foods!). Billee knew everyone’s food favorites, and provided them. 

Her life wasn’t always full of ample food, though. During the Great Depression, Billee’s father struggled to find work and her mother suffered from serious health problems. Billee’s maternal grandparents stepped in to help the family get through these lean years.

Billee recalled walking with her younger sister to their grandparents’ corner grocery store each morning on the way to school. Her grandmother gave them each a “store lunch” to take with them. After school, Billee returned to the store to work for a few hours to repay her grandparents’ generosity.

Billee’s own young family moved from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, to Lake Jackson, Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico, in the mid-1950s. Here she learned how to cook with seafood, not as a premium ingredient but as an affordable protein to feed her growing children. When Billee was widowed at 47, she struggled financially while training to enter the workforce. She did her best to nourish herself and her youngest son during this difficult time.

A granddaughter’s perspective

By the time I came on the scene, Gramma Billee had a steady career and an active social life. She was constantly in the kitchen. As I watched her cook, I asked her plenty of questions. She answered every one, but never invited me to pitch in; she did the gourmet cooking and baking herself. She was the master! Cinnamon rolls filled with pecans and raisins. Shrimp quiche. Stuffed mushrooms. Tender brisket. Squash casserole. Molasses cookies. Pie, pie, and more pie.

When I was a child, her dishes always seemed luxurious to me—indulgent even. She used copious amounts of seafood, avocados, cream, pecans, butter, and shortening, ingredients not commonly used at my home. Billee kept a jar for bacon drippings on her stove; she used it liberally and kept it full. Dessert was a standard course on her menus. Yet, for all her decadent cooking, she always watched her own portions and remained slender throughout her life. 

Gramma Billee introduced me to many new southern foods. I knew if Gramma made it, it would be delicious, so I tried every strange new thing she offered me. I loved so many! Billee made the only liver and venison I would ever eat, the texture and flavor superb with bacon and onions. Shrimp Victoria became a favorite with tender, succulent shrimp swimming in a rich sour cream gravy. Gramma knew it was my favorite, and made it for me often. I enjoyed the crunchy, salty bites of her fried okra. I can still recall the smells of apricot fried pies bubbling in the cast iron skillet. Nothing, however, could tempt my sweet tooth more than Billee's sweet-tart cherry pie.

I have begun to record the recipes for many of grandmother Billee’s “famous” offerings, transcribing her hand-written (often butter-stained) notes for other members of the extended family. So that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can choose a favorite dish. So they can make it often and think of her. So her nourishing legacy can live on.

Recipes from Billee’s repertoire

I will start by sharing my favorite dishes that she made “just for me” every time I visited. These dishes still bring me the comfort of being with my gramma every time I eat them.

An array of Billee’s handwritten recipes—well-loved and well-used, all!

Shrimp Victoria

1 pound shrimp, peeled and de-veined
½ pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
½ cube of real butter
1 tub of sour cream
Salt, to taste
Red pepper, to taste
Sauté onion and garlic in butter until softened. Add mushrooms and spices and sauté until soft. Add shrimp and sauté until just pink. Take off the heat and stir in half the sour cream. When dished up over a hot bed of rice or egg noodles, top with a dollop of sour cream. Serve with a salad and a nice loaf of French bread.

Orange-Avocado Salad

1 medium head lettuce, torn, about 6 cups
1 small cucumber, thinly sliced
1 avocado, peeled and sliced
One 11-oz. can mandarin oranges
2 tablespoons sliced green onions

In large salad bowl, combine lettuce, cucumber, avocado, oranges, and onion. Just before serving, pour on dressing and toss.

For dressing:
½ teaspoon grated orange peel
¼ cup orange juice
½ cup salad oil
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoons lemon juice
¼ teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in screw-top jar. Cover tightly and shake well.

Cherry Pie

1 can unsweetened cherries
2 tablespoons tapioca
¼ teaspoon almond extract

Mix above ingredients and let rest while making pie crust.

For easy pie crust (makes two crusts, top and bottom):
1 cube oleo, melted (Gramma’s name for shortening)
1 cup + 2 tablespoons flour
2 tablespoons sugar

Mix ingredients until they form a soft ball. Roll, and form half in pie plate.

Pour cherry filling into unbaked pie shell. Sprinkle filling with 1 cup sugar, generous dots of butter. Place top crust over filling. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

Home video clips from the mid-1950s of Billie Kathryn Barton in the kitchen

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Melissa Finlay is an avid genealogist, a garden guru, a homeschooler, mama to 7, and wife to the love of her happily-ever-after. She and her husband recently created an app, Little Family Tree, to introduce children to their family history.

“Mom’s Spaghetti and Meatballs”

Red sauce may have run in her grandmother's blood, but every member of the family would come to know the recipe by heart (even if the size of a "pinch" of this and a "dash" of that differed depending on who was making it)...

Smells—in this case, of garlic and oregano—and tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).

In this second contribution in our series, A Taste of the Past, a family passes down the secrets to their own version of spaghetti and meatballs, never writing down a recipe, but always cooking with love and remembrance. Join me in raising a glass (red wine, of course) in honor of Kaitlin Ahern's shared food memory. Cin cin!

A Taste of the Past

The family behind the red sauce: the writer’s mom, Darice, in her mid-twenties, with her parents, Martin and Veronica Smith. Circa 1975

Mom's Spaghetti & Meatballs

By Kaitlin Ahern

I have few memories from childhood more vivid than watching my mother cook dinner. The sight of her standing at the stove in our small kitchen, wooden spoon in one hand and glass of wine in the other, creating a meal for our family of four, is easier to conjure than what I had for breakfast yesterday. And although she passed away when I was barely 17, I’m lucky enough to know many of her recipes by heart.

Mom was the dinner-maker in our household, a task she loved or lamented, usually depending on how stressful the workday had been. She was happiest to cook on weekends, when the hustle of work, sports practice, and homework died down and she could take her time with a meal. That’s when she’d make spaghetti and meatballs—a staple she made so often that she could have made it in her sleep; now I can, too.

I think she loved that meal so much because the two key ingredients tied back to her roots. It all started, of course, with the sauce. Mom’s mom, my grandmother Veronica, was 100 percent Italian; red sauce ran in her blood. When I picture our kitchen from my childhood, I see a pot of sauce simmering on the stove, filling the downstairs with the delicious scents of garlic and Italian spices. The mixture of crushed tomatoes, onion, garlic, basil (fresh from the garden when we could get it), oregano, olive oil, and salt would cook slowly for several hours, covered except when one of us peeked open the lid to scoop up a taste with a piece of crusty bread. The recipe was never written down, to my knowledge, but each member of our family knew it by heart—although the size of the “pinch” or “dash” of this and that was different depending on who was making it.

The other ingredient was ground beef for the meatballs. Our family has always made all-beef meatballs, despite the Italian tradition to mix beef and pork. The preference was really born out of convenience—Mom’s dad was a beef farmer, and he passed that passion down to his oldest son, who still supplies our growing family with grass-fed steak, ground beef, and stew meat. Mom would combine the pound or so of Uncle Marty’s beef with one egg, a splash of milk, parsley, and just enough breadcrumbs to hold it all together, but she always let the flavor of the meat be the star—a small way of showing how proud she was of her big brother’s hard work. After browning the meatballs in olive oil, she’d cover them with the sauce and let them simmer away for an hour or so, or until we were ready to eat. Leftover sauce (if there was any) was tossed in the fridge and saved for Friday night, when Dad would make pizza.

Mom never went as far as making her own spaghetti, so that part of the meal came from a box. But she’d always make a big salad tossed in a homemade Italian dressing with olive oil, vinegar, garlic salt, and dried basil and oregano.

“I didn’t fully realize the gift my mother had given me by teaching me her recipes until I moved out of my childhood home.”

I didn’t fully realize the gift my mother had given me by teaching me her recipes until I moved out of my childhood home. Her spaghetti sauce comforted me when I was far from home studying in London, and I basically lived on salads with her homemade dressing when I was just starting out in New York City after college and could afford little else.

I miss her terribly. But when I’m in the kitchen, tunes cranked up, simmering a pot of red sauce on the stove and making meatballs with Uncle Marty’s grass-fed beef, a glass of wine in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, I know she’s there with me, as present as the smell of garlic in the air and the recipe in my heart.

-----------------------

Kaitlin Ahern is a writer and editor who grew up riding horses and now rides the New York City subway. She enjoys running, traveling, cooking, and all things animals, because you know what they say about taking the girl out of the country. You can follow her on Instagram.  

“Pop’s Pie”

Maybe it’s a grandfather’s love that is the missing ingredient to the best key lime pie...

Smells & tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).

In this first contribution in our new series, A Taste of the Past, a young mom remembers her beloved grandfather, and the sugary treats he often made just for her. Oh, how sweet the memories...

A Taste of the Past

The writer's first birthday, Oct. 29, 1981: Three generations—grandparents Catherine & John, their daughter Joann, and her daughter Christine—celebrate with one of Pop’s pies (rest assured, there was a first birthday cake, too, as Mom is quick to point out!)

Pop’s Pie

By Christine Tarulli Mugnolo

I’ve always been a sweets person. That is to say, I’ll be happy with dessert for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I believe I have my grandfather partly to thank (blame?) for that…and for my own sporadic hobby of making delectable treats. 

My grandfather and grandmother eloped to Colorado in 1942. Soon after, as an officer in the army, he was stationed in Anzio, Italy, for the remainder of World War II. In between the fighting, Pop did what he did best—he cooked. He became the chef for his fellow officers and higher-ranked officials. And when he was finally home, he was head chef for his family.

There was nothing that Papa loved more than watching us devour what he made on any given day. And he never, ever forgot dessert. 

I always felt Pop made dessert especially for me, his chubby, sweets-loving granddaughter. I would sometimes catch him beaming at me, all messy-faced and sticky-fingered. How his smile and hearty laugh would light up the entire room!

While I loved his cookies and his pretty lattice cherry pie, Pop’s key lime pie was my absolute favorite. It was always amazing: thick, buttery graham-cracker crust, sweet yet tart filling, and just a few twisty limes on top as garnishment. 

As I got older, the pies seemed to get even more delicious, prettier, and, ultimately, simply perfect. 

Pop passed away on December 16, 2001, when I was a senior in college. I was—I still am—devastated. I always will be. We lost our family’s heartbeat, our core, and I lost my Papa.

I think that’s when I started to bake. And I baked all the time then—for my family,
for my friends and boyfriends. I adored watching them taste all the goodness that
I (lovingly) shoved in their faces. 

I don’t remember when my grandmother gave me my grandfather’s key lime pie
recipe. But when she did, it was as if she were handing me the damn Holy Grail. It’s been about 14 years, and I still cannot get it just right. I make the pie once or twice a year; it’s my special time with him. No TV, no one else in the room...just the two of us. How I curse that Pop didn’t write down what he really did to make his pie so great! 

Eventually, I made my own tweaks. While my pie is good, it’s not as good as I remember his to be…and not nearly as beautiful. But that’s okay; it doesn’t have to be.

I have his—our—faded and butter-stained recipe, which, to me, is more beautiful than any pie. And I take it out every time I make it.

If I could have a few more hours with him, I’d introduce him to my daughter (oh, he would just eat her up!); I’d dance with him and not give him a hard time about it; and we’d bake together, so I could finally learn his secrets to the best key lime pie I have ever had.

Love and miss you always, Papa.

-----------------------

Christine Tarulli Mugnolo is a wife to a traveling husband, stay-at-home-mom to a very active toddler and two rescue pups, and in her spare time, a freelance editor. She thinks there’s no better smell than that of an old book from the library.

Pop’s Key Lime Pie Recipe

Crust
1 1/2 packs graham crackers, crushed

2 tablespoons margarine 

Filling
8 eggs, separated (yolks only)

2 cans condensed milk

6 ounces lime juice (from about 6-7 limes) or Nellie & Joe’s Famous Key West Lime Juice

green food coloring (optional)

To make crust:
Combine graham crackers and melted margarine in bowl, then press into pie pan. Chill 30 minutes before pouring in pie filling.

To make filling:
Preheat oven to 350°

Combine egg yolks with condensed milk in medium bowl.

Mix well. Add lime juice a little at a time until smooth and creamy. Add a touch of food coloring until filling is desired color. Pour into pie shell. Slice a lime very thinly and add slices to top of pie before baking. Bake at 350° for 20 minutes.

The writer’s grandfather, John Carl Esposito (April 25, 1922 - December 16, 2001), in uniform in Pueblo, Colorado, where he was stationed before going overseas; 1942

A taste of the past

Smells and tastes conjure memories in a most primal way, and can transport us right back to our childhood kitchens. As such, they are excellent jumping-off points for writing or talking about your memories and crafting them into a story for generations to come (not to mention, the kids will be thrilled to have those cherished recipes actually written down).

Delve into your food-related memories if...

• you have a living relative who can be equated with the family hearth: recording those recipes, techniques, & special foods while you can is an invaluable gift for future generations

• family holidays center around the table

• milestone celebrations come back to you in waves every time you smell a certain dish

• you want to preserve your culture

Foods Stir the Memory

On Tuesday we will be launching a new series of posts, A Taste of the Past, in which food plays a starring role, leading us down a path of reminiscence and reflection.

In the first contribution, Christine Mugnolo recalls her grandfather's singular key lime pie: Why can't she recreate it just so? 

“It’s been about 14 years, and I still cannot get it just right. I make the pie once or twice a year; it’s my special time with him. No TV, no one else in the room...just the two of us.”

In another post, Kaitlin Ahern pays tribute to her mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, and you'll raise a glass with her to toast the memory of a mother gone too soon (and I guarantee you'll be uncorking a bottle of red, picking some basil from the garden, and putting on a pot of red sauce yourself—and, if all goes well, you'll be conversing around the dinner table about your own favorite handed-down recipes).

In “Billie’s Famous Foods,” Melissa Finlay recalls how her Gramma kept a jar for bacon drippings on her stove, used it liberally, and kept it full. “She knew everyone’s favorite foods and provided them—often.”

I hope these and other upcoming stories will inspire you to want to record your own memories. When you've gathered enough, or decide you'd like our professional help in recording them for posterity, an heirloom book is the perfect place to preserve them.

Related Reading:

If the idea of bottling memories of your ancestors' foods appeals, you might also want to check out:

• Grandma's Project ("Sharing the World's Most Delicious Heritage"), in which filmmakers from around the globe cook with their grandmothers—and elicit evocative stories of the past along the way
  
  

• Dinner: A Love Story, a so-much-more-than-a-blog compendium of recipes, kids' lunch ideas, and more from book author Jenny Rosenstrach; she occasionally hones in on the power of food as love, too, such as in these three lovely posts: Sense Memories (her husband's recollections of the birth of their first child and chicken salad, not necessarily in that order); The Napkin Note (about her mom and lunchbox missives); and Absolute Value (about her dad, Oyster Bar, and chocolate marzipan bars)

• The Dinner Party, a glorious, long-time-coming community of mostly 20- and 30-somethings who've each experienced significant loss, who get together over potluck dinners to talk about the ways in which it continues to affect their lives and how to thrive in #LifeAfterLoss—an inspiring, real-life example of the power of a shared meal to heal and create community, even (maybe especially) after the death of a loved one.

“His are the sepia eyes that passed through me.”

When it comes to writing your own life stories, sometimes what's called for is inspiration, plain and simple. Sure, you can get plenty of tips on how to approach the process; there are some notable books that can guide you on the journey, and our blog regularly offers advice on the topic. But beautiful words, strung together like pearls and simply telling a story, may be a far richer bounty.

With that in mind, here is another installment in our “Pictures Into Words” series, contributions from other memory-keepers who know the joy and process of using a photograph as a prompt for writing. Each provides not only a wonderful short read, but a fine and unique example of how you too may approach telling the stories behind your family photographs.

This short piece by author Beth Kephart has been previously published; it was the opening to her 2002 memoir Still Love in Strange Places. In her poetic contribution, you'll find inspiration for writing about a photograph that holds more mystery than memory; sometimes it's the wondering, the imagining, that brings life to an old photo—that carries your ancestors from the past into the present and finds the narrative thread in our connected lives. 

Pictures Into Words:

Photo courtesy Beth Kephart; pictured on right is Carlos Alberto Bondanza, the grandfather of Kephart's husband, and the man whose stories captivated her imagination

“Torn Photograph, Sepia Stained”

By Beth Kephart

The tear runs like a river through a map, hurtling down toward his right shoulder, veering threateningly at his neck, then diverting south only to again pivot east at the fifth brass button of his captain's uniform. Below the tear, two more brass buttons and the clasp of his hands, and below all that, the military saber; the loosening creases on his pants; the shoes with their reflections of the snap of camera light. He is one of three in a sepia-colored portrait, and someone had to think to save his face. Someone had to put the photo back together—re-adhere the northeast quadrant of this map with three trapezoids of tape so that his left hand would fall again from his left elbow and he would still belong to us. We suppose he is the best man at a wedding. We suppose that it was eighty years ago, before the matanza, before he was jailed and then set free, before he saved the money to buy the land that became St. Anthony's Farm. 

“Did I ever tell you what my grandfather did the year the farm first turned a profit?” 

“No.”

“He threw the money into the air, the bills, and they got caught up with a wind.”

“And so?”

“And so he ran after those colones through the park. Chased his own money through the leafy streets of Santa Tecla. Imagine that.” 

I do. I am often imagining that. Imagining that I know him—this man whose likeness is my husband's face, whose features are now borne out by my son. His are the sepia eyes that passed through me. His is the broad nose, the high cheekbones, the determined mouth, the face not like an oval or a heart, but like a square. He died long before I'd ever meet him, but I carried him in my blood. Just as the land carries him still, remembers. Just as St. Anthony's Farm will someday, in part, belong to my son, requiring him to remember what he never really knew, to put a story with the past. Words are the weights that hold our histories in place. They are the stones that a family passes on, hand to hand, if the hands are open, if the hearts are.

“You look like your great-grandfather.” 

“I do?” 

“Yes. Come here. See? That’s him, in the photograph.”

 “Him? My great-grandfather?”

 “Yes.”

 “But he looks so young.” 

“Well, he was young once. But that was a long time ago, in El Salvador.”

 We remember. We imagine. We pass it down. We step across and through a marriage, retrieve the legacies for a son. 

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Beth Kephart is an award-winning author of 21 books of fiction and nonfiction, including Handling the Truth: On the Writing of Memoir, which we recommend in a previous post. Her current book is This Is the Story of You (Chronicle). The above was excerpted with permission of the author from Still Love in Strange Places: A Memoir (W. W. Norton, 2002).

Kephart has recently launched Juncture, writing workshops where the locale plays an integral role in inspiring and enabling the writing process. Sites have included
an experience-enriching Pennsylvania farm and, in the fall, a sunny gathering place along the coast in historic Cape May. “Participants will learn what memoir genuinely is—and what it is not. They’ll study the words of the greatest memoirs ever written, respond to daily prompts, and work toward a fully developed memoir prologue that summons both the themes and tone of work yet to come,” details her site.
And they will enjoy the unique surroundings of their chosen environs, gathering formally and informally for readings, conversation, and inspiration.

Sign up for Beth Kephart's memoir newsletter here.

“Honoring Mamita”

You don’t have to call yourself a writer to write meaningful vignettes about your life. There are some notable books that can guide you on the journey of writing your life stories, and our blog regularly offers advice on the topic. Sometimes, though, all you need is a little inspiration.

With that in mind, here is the second contribution in our “Pictures Into Words” series, vignettes from other memory-keepers who know the joy and process of using a photograph as a prompt for writing. Each provides not only a wonderful short read, but a fine and unique example of how you too may approach telling the stories behind your family photographs.

Since it's still May, we’re proud to feature recollections of another strong matriarch in honor of Mother’s Day. In her piece, Yuliana Gomez Delgado reflects on a favorite photograph with her grandmother, a shot that has taken on new meaning now that Yuliana herself knows what it is to be called Mother.
 

Pictures Into Words:

The writer, Yuliana Delgado, with her maternal grandmother, Mother's Day, 1996

Honoring Mamita

By Yuliana Delgado

I keep this picture in a safe place because of all that it represents to me. It was Mother's Day 1996 and we were visiting my Mamita (what I called my mom’s mom, my abuela or grandma) after church that Sunday. I was hamming it up for the camera, but I can still feel the scratchy icky-ness of those seldom-worn pantyhose on my legs and how silly I felt in my beige suit. What can I say, I tried to dress up a little since I lived in sweats and tees pretty much all the time (I was in college after all!). Beyond how I felt about my church garb on that day, what I remember clear as day is the incredible love and gratitude I felt for Mamita, whose health had been declining rapidly over the previous months.

Holy crap, that was 20 years ago! I was in my teens and a sophomore in college. And yet, despite my relative youth, I think I knew how little time I had left with my incredible, wonderful, always happy, always positive Mamita, María Noemí. In the days that followed that weekend, we visited her Queens apartment as much as we possibly could, to spend time or just to help around the house after her grueling radiation sessions or after those exam days, when the poking and prodding she had to endure at the hospital left her exhausted.

Almost two years to the day that this picture was taken, Mamita left us, finally succumbing to the cancer that had ravaged her body. Despite the fact that I knew it was coming—and as I think is always the case—her death was beyond painful, surprising, crushing. It didn’t matter that I knew the day would come, it had to come; knowing she was gone forever still destroyed me. Burying her was saying goodbye to my childhood—it was the first time I realized time went forever forward, and so many happy memories were destined to stay behind.

I found this photograph about two years ago, when I was pregnant with my daughter. While we had decided upon Sofía as our girl’s first name, we were struggling with a middle name. The picture brought inspiration. I would honor Mamita in a most special way, one that would keep her ever-present in my life: We would give our baby Mamita's middle name. It was the best way I could honor her, so many years after she left us. And Sofía Noemí is in, so many ways, a little bit like Mamita.

I hope Mamita’s great-granddaughter can carry on her spirit and legacy. Her name is a way to have her again in our lives. And whenever I look at my Sofi, I know we chose the name well.

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Yuliana Gomez Delgado is the managing editor at MamasLatinas.com. She lives in New Jersey with her hubby, 4-year-old son, 20-month-old daughter, and two cranky Chihuahuas, Pablo and Arnie.