This journal and this book end about where they started, in my parents' youth with people that I don't recognize. Here is a page with my parents, and their friends, and some random shots from my own childhood. School pictures of my cousins whom I have not seen since they were the age in these photographs. There is a page of city scapes, at last well framed, well lit, and well composed, so I have to make the assumption that my father did not shoot them (or is that mean!).

I will leave this last entry without a photograph, because I think, in the end, that the photos should not be the memories. The memories should be the words and the sense. Before I started this journal I thought that I did not remember my life, but it turns out that all I needed to do was talk about it in a systematic way. I didn't know when I started this that it would become my gift to you, but I hope that the words here, and the pictures, help you to understand my history, and to remember the stories of my parents and theirs, and that you will share the book, and the blog, and the stories with your own children.