I look like my maternal grandmother. There was a picture of her, as a little girl, that I asked my mother for. I'm guessing she wasn't much older than six in this picture. It was in a gold oval ornate antique metal frame ... the original I am sure. I look like the girl in that picture.
When I moved from a larger house to this smaller one, I stored boxes of things in my ex-husband's basement. The picture was carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, then in a quilt, placed in a zipper plastic storage bag, then into a box. I forgot about it.
He cleaned his basement last summer and brought over all my things and put them in my garage. Last fall I was going through the boxes and found it.
His dishwasher line had burst the year before and it flooded through the floor to the basement. He never checked my boxes. When I opened this box, I saw rust and knew what happened. I took the frame off, well it fell apart, but thankfully I was able to save the convexed glass and picture. It has started to slightly mold on the edges.
It isn't a photograph, or a painting. It is a chalk type medium, when I touch it, it rubs off. Now here is the unexplainable part. My grandmother's name was Bernice Gizara, she went by the name Bridget, and she was born in New York, 1910. I turned the picture over and it says N Gizara, Amsterdam, 1755. I am Nancy, born 1955. I have to think about this more.