What really happened to Beauregard

What do you do with pictures of people you’ve never met but who were special to someone you loved? It’s a icky, sticky, wicket to those of us who inherit our grandparent’s photos and memorabilia and guess what folks?  As the eldest grandchild on my mother’s side of the family all those boxes and albums are in my possession and my siblings and cousins couldn’t be happier! 

Hello people I don’t know. You seem fine and dandy and I do love your photos but I can only guess at who you are. Or were. Or are.

So what will I do with all these pictures of folks I don’t know?  Invite them to some ghostly Thanksgiving seance so they can tell me their stories?  What would you do?

And now – the truth about what really happened to Beauregard

I tried to think of a funny Thanksgiving story to tell but the only thing that came to mind was the year my father decided to confess at the dinner table.  I believe his aunt Katherine was in attendance as well as his cousin Jim and recently widowed sister Helen Betty.  And of course, his adult children. The table was set to perfection. The entrees ready to go.  Everything … but the scalloped potatoes. They’d been delayed by Dad’s two inept and half-drunk divorcee daughters and we were in Deep Shit. The air was icy; the perfect dinner ruined and so Dad in some half baked attempt to save his daughters from eternal damnation rose and admitted he’d lied. On a recent hunting trip, Beauregard, his wife’s favorite basset hound, hadn’t been hit by a car and killed.

Dad had mistaken the dog for an elk and shot him dead. We tried not to laugh, we really did. Poor Dad. The things parents go through for their children.

Happy Thanksgiving – and please remember to turn on the oven before you start drinking the wine.

25 thoughts on “What really happened to Beauregard

  1. Hi J.,

    Typical THs coincidence…right when I got this post, I was writing to an old friend who had sent me a photo of people he couldn’t remember and ask me what I knew. The people in the photo looked happy, smiling, hands in the air. One couple was dancing. We both somehow were related to that moment, but like him I couldn’t remember who the people were. I told him photos like these were signs along our journey home. We seldom remember them. I guess these sort of photos are dreams and we should cherish our dreams, good or bad. They are mysteries after all. Thanks. Duke

    P.S. I’m still waiting for California to slip into the ocean. When will it happen? I’d like to be there.

  2. P.S.S.,

    I forgot to mention. I have the same type of photos. Hundreds of them in a cardboard box. The photos are faded black and whites and seem to be the same people, same clothing, same faces. We might be onto something…something mysterious, alien perhaps.

    • We are Duke, we are. WordPress is doing really strange things with comments. My responses to you keep disappearing. You don’t want to stare at old photos too long. Don’t know why – just not a good idea.

  3. Oh! I really enjoyed this ! So you guys in America are as much prone to messing up the important dinners.
    We don’t do Thanksgiving here in the UK but can remember getting the pudding for Christmas dinner, my sister in law and I fortified with a couple of glasses of wine had three attempts at making the custard, wasting 4pts of milk and half a tin of custard powder! No one saved us. God bless your dad he went above and beyond.
    As for the photos keep them love them they are history 💜💜💜💜. Happy Thanksgiving 💜💜💜

  4. Wow, Jan, the Beauregard story is is a perfect Thanksgiving story. Your humor is fantastic, and your writing is super. As for the photos, I love old photos, I loved looking at these, too. I’m the middle child so what I had were 50 years of my own family photos, and then they burned up in in the 2017 fires. But I still prefer just to look at the ancestry photos at my oldest sister’s house, rather than have them in my home, to store and move. I’d say, donate your family photos with a hug and a kiss. People collect them. Cheers for a Happy Thanksgiving.

  5. I can see how that’s sad and also funny. It’s one of those awkward truths of life.
    As for the photos, I’m the keeper on my mother’s side, so I have gobs of photos of people I do not know, but then some real gems as well. I say what everyone says, which is that I should take a day to label them all as much as I know… and then likely never do it. Sixteen years ago I would have said I could never mix up pics of my babies, but there have been a few I’ve had to use clues for — even ones where I wasn’t sure if they were us as babies or our babies as babies — and my memory is not going to get better.

    • My sister and I had both had rotten years and we don’t often get together – still we should not have ruined my step-mother’s attempt at the perfect dinner party and forced Dad’s confession. Ah well, it’s those imperfect moments we remember.

  6. oh wow – thanks for the funny story – you told it well – short and detailed enough to get the humor and experience – could imagine your dad coming out with the confession.
    🙂

    and with the photos.
    laughed at:
    Invite them to some ghostly Thanksgiving seance so they can tell me their stories?
    and re: What would you do?
    I would not toss them quite yet.
    If nothing else – put them in photo safe boxes and wait to see if anyone has interest in the future.

    and one time – I had a box of someone’s journal notes and all this memorabilia (incloduign a young man’s funeral card and the young lady’s thoughts about his death) – it tugged at my heart – but could not keep the items – so I took photos and made a video. Not everyone loves the videos – but it was special to me.

  7. Poor Beau. I’m also the oldest granddaughter—on both sides of the family! I didn’t inherit a whole lot of photos, wish I had more! I do have two sets of china, lots of jewelry, and even my Granny’s old hope chest. Oh, and I have also been a divorced daughter at the Thanksgiving table 🤣 Happy holidays, Jan.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s