As I type, my mother has been gone for 16 years; her mother, for 14.
But because of the haphazard ways they brought to some things, my sister still occasionally finds a box of photos we haven’t been through. This most recent one we’ve examined might be the best one yet.
If I’ve seen the photos before, usually I can remember going through them, even decades later. I pick up the narrative of the collection and start remembering other photos that I’m about to encounter that I haven’t yet; stuff like that.
But this box has a lot of photos I’ve never seen, including a truly amazing photo of my parents, as well as photos of my childhood home under construction.
I’ll begin sharing them with you in an upcoming post. Tonight I am finding them incredible because they’re supercharging the reordering of things in my mind that was already underway. I have some rooms I’m trying to expand. I have others I need to keep around, but move some things out of. And finally, I have some I need to brick over and forget about.
I guess that’s not really all that novel. But I’m badly overdue, so it feels so.