This is something I’ve been meaning to blog about for quite some time. As I went to put thoughts to words I realized I had already done so….I wrote the passage below during a Business Boot Camp in December 2007. When I think back I realize these albums first instilled in me the love and respect of photography and it’s ability to preserve memories.
The carpet fibers scratched at my knees as I sat down in front of the cupboard but the discomfort was worth the trip I was about to take. My Mom opened the doors and carefully pulled out the thick leather volume engraved with my initials. She placed it on my lap and sat down beside me. Long ago she had taught me to always wash my hands before touching these books, and only to turn the pages from the bottom right corner so as not to bend or distort them. As I pulled the heavy page across in front of me, my eyes traveled over a familiar site – my hospital picture, my birth certificate, my hospital bracelet, all painstakingly glued in with meticulous writing beneath identifying the date and circumstance – any captions were humorous, informative, but always timeless. “Tell me about the night I was born” I said, as I turned pages that showed my first meeting with my big Brother – my mouth open wide in a scream. “The night you were born we went to the Sirloin Saloon with Stevie and Deenie. As we were walking out the door I could feel a shift in my body – I had eaten so much that it caused you to move around inside me. I said to Deenie before she got in her car to stay by the phone – I had a feeling that something was to happen that night. And sure enough in the wee hours of the morning my water broke. Deenie came over to stay with Jon, and your Father and I rushed to the hospital.” As she spoke this story I was traveling through a time that I have no memories for, other than the stories she has woven. Sometimes I think that my earliest memories are actually just stories told over a photo album, pictures concocted in my brain because I’ve heard the words so many times. To me though it matters little. My history, my legacy, my story are preserved in the pages of those albums, so carefully created by my Mother each winter since that cold April night after a big dinner out.
I didn’t say I was a pretty baby…..I had many chins.
My Brother is thrilled with the new addition
What can I say? I’ve loved chocolate from an early age 🙂
Santa Claus is terrifying.
I am so cool.
I don’t know what to say about this one but it makes me laugh 🙂
This was my outfit for a “dress as a teenager” party. Thankfully the high quality heels survived the party but broke as I was walking home
Chicken pox and a rocking hair do – an awesome combination
The morning I first left for summer camp. I had begged to go two years before but my parents thought I was a bit too young…I think they were right 🙂 I was homesick for the first week and a half but then was ok. My guinea pig Pretzel is what I missed the most.
Have I ever mentioned that I was ALWAYS the boy when we played dress up – what’s the deal with that?
This is from the height of my awkward stage. I was Conrad Birdie in the school play (yes…a boy….it was an all girl’s school).
You gotta be sincere…..
Clearly my organizational tendencies were already well ingrained in middle school 🙂