I have a couple of rolls of film from the time I spent at my grandma’s last month, but other than that, this is it. I photographed the things my mom sent me that I wanted and I scanned the paper things I took with me. It’s amazing how much meaning these objects hold. I’m fascinated by the things my grandma saved and how she organized her life. My task for the weekend was to clean out the master bedroom, the room my grandma shared with my grandpa nearly her whole life and her bedroom until about the past five or ten years. (I’d stay in the master bedroom from about high school on, and that little stuffed lion sat on the nightstand every time I was there for as long as I can remember.) I emptied the desk in there, and the many compartments within it and the storage containers in and around it, and in every little space, I’d find a random tiny note, like a statement of something that had happened to remind herself of later or a one-line diary entry. It was heartwarming and saddening at the same time.