{"version":1,"type":"rich","provider_name":"Libsyn","provider_url":"https:\/\/www.libsyn.com","height":90,"width":600,"title":"Leena's China","description":"A family tree of photographs is at the top of the stairs at my father's house.  ----- A picture hangs at the top of the stairs at my parent\u2019s house. It\u2019s of my mother\u2019s grandmother, my great grandmother. I think it\u2019s Grandma Leena. My father and I were trying to figure out who it was. My mother had told me about the picture and about Grandma Leena for years. I never listened. There are a bunch of other pictures. At the top, near the ceiling, are pictures of my mother and father\u2019s family and they form a family tree, coming together, picture by picture, generation by generation, to a picture of my father and mother with my brothers and me. It\u2019s nice. It\u2019s my roots. My mother\u2019s family was from the upper peninsula of Michigan. The cities of Ontonagon and Rockland come to mind. Her grandfather\u2019s corner drug store. Another\u2019s cattle farm. Mom wanted me to know about all these people. \u201cYou\u2019ll want to know, someday,\u201d she said. Mom told us that the happiest times of her life were her summer visits to her grandparents when she was girl. She wanted us to know this. She wanted us to carry her summer memories on . Afraid that with her death they\u2019d be gone. And they are. She died a while back. In a box in my father\u2019s attic is Grandma Leena\u2019s wedding China. It\u2019s carefully wrapped in brown paper. Each piece brittle and delicate. Mom loved it. My father and I looked at the box. \u201cIt\u2019s all hand painted,\u201d he said. My mother\u2019s handwriting across the top. Some of the China visible inside. \u201cYou want it?\u201d my father asked? \u201cNo. I don\u2019t think so,\u201d I said. \u201cBut don\u2019t throw it away. Maybe I will someday.\u201d That China just sits in the box. I don\u2019t know the last time the box was opened. A decade, maybe. If I were to take it, I\u2019d put the China in my attic where it may sit for decades more. Prior to my mother\u2019s death, she shared a lot of stories with us. And when she could no longer talk, she asked us to tell her stories of our memories of her. Our favorite days. Our funny adventures. She wanted to know she wouldn\u2019t be forgotten. What is it in us that makes us want to be remembered so badly? And why do we hold on to things cherished by our loved ones that mean so little to us? I don\u2019t know. We were around the Thanksgiving table at my parent\u2019s cabin in the woods a few weeks back. Lots of food. Lots of smiles. It\u2019s a special place. My mother came to   mind. But I wasn\u2019t remembering her. I was feeling her. She was there with me. In me. I don\u2019t know. It sounds so strange to say. It wasn\u2019t a memory.  It was better than a memory. Again, I can\u2019t explain it. But I suspect it was it was the same way my mother felt when, every now and then, she opened the box, removed the paper, and held a piece of Grandma Leena\u2019s China. I\u2019m Cam Marston and I\u2019m just trying to keep it real.         ","author_name":"Keepin' It Real with Cam Marston","author_url":"https:\/\/cammarston.com\/keepin-it-real-with-cam-marston\/","html":"