Objects of memory, III

This is the last post of things I found in my dad's house that I wanted to remember, but did not want to physically own. All these are made of paper.

This is a note in my grandmother's handwriting (my dad's mom), listing contact information for her husband Frank's relatives. I'm guessing this was for Dad to contact them when Frank died. Frank was the only grandfather I knew on my dad's side; my father's father died before I was born.

This note is a mix of my grandmother's flourishy cursive and my father's streamlined italic handwriting. This is information about Frank's burial. (I whited out his social security number. Does that matter when someone has been dead for twenty years? Well, just in case.)

My dad kept these simple weekly calendars meticulously for many many years. I love that he had dinner with Harris on Saturday, and Sunday brunch with the Walkers. The fact that July 31 fell on a Sunday makes it either 1988 or 1994, from what I can figure out, and it must have been 1994, because I was traveling around the world with Dale that year and scheduled a call every other weekend. In July we were in southeast Asia.

In this one (also 1994) he had a busy work schedule but also a Warriors game on Thursday, a dentist appointment on Friday, and maybe dinner with cousin Henry, who sometimes passed through town. Saturday another phone call with me; this is February so we would have been in India.

Drawer full of calendars and checkbooks.

This is a doodle of my mom's (you can see her initials in pencil on the right). She used to sketch while she talked on the phone.

Another mom sketch.

This one is me (my initials on the left just under the thumb), imitating my mom.

I found one of those "about me" books that I filled in as a kid. I refused to identify as eating like a horse, or eating like a bird, insisting that I eat like a GIRL. Heck yeah. And I did love macaroni, oh my goodness. I frequently had macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

Apparently I was six and I wanted a dollie for my birthday. Something tells me that I got one, and that her name was Molly, Molly the Dolly. She had yellow yarn hair.

This would have been from sometime around fourth grade, I'm guessing: a book report.

And this was high school French. I was darned good in French (or at least pas mal, in the eyes of my teacher). "She had been walking alone under the moon for almost an hour, saying nothing. She was not sad; on the contrary, she was totally happy at last. Everything was going to be resolved."

This is an evaluation of a math course I took through a Center for Talented Youth thing, which was completely awesome. When I was sixteen I went away to a college campus and learned number theory and set theory and game theory from enthusiastic grad students, and saw how much fun math could be. "I will remember this course for the rest of my life," I wrote, and it's true. Jeremy and Dominic, I wish I could find you now!

And this, finally, is the page from the glossy magazine offered to prospective students by the UW physics department, which is how I learned about physics education research. The thing that really grabbed me was that picture of a ball on a V-shaped track, with a graph next to it and the question, "What reasons might a student give for drawing the incorrect graph shown?" Such a great question!

This is the facing page, with Arons still the lead faculty member.