Tag Archives: photos

No Address


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I enjoy writing about the places I’ve lived. Every location is a challenge and a pleasure. Some memories are evasive: the shape of a room, the location of a door, the color of the walls. Others, though, seem so firmly attached to a place, they spring to mind as soon as I start describing a floor plan, and the feelings of comfort, fear, resentment or joy are as fresh as this day, though the walls that caused the remembrance are decades in the past.

I still have a long list of places I’ve called home, before I finally arrived at this place. A daunting number. I wonder how I found the energy to move, again and again: packing and unpacking; changing addresses with the post office and the state; finding schools and stores; getting to know the neighbors. How did I muster the enthusiasm to arrange my belongings time after time in a different space? I don’t know. I don’t have that kind of stamina today!

Today, I’m overwhelmed by the chore of just writing about the next place! I started out with good intentions. Up by seven o’clock, I had the title typed before I poured my first cup of coffee. As I have a long list of writing and editing to get done today, on my day off, I wanted to get this one thing done early, so I wouldn’t have the distraction of it pulling me away from other tasks.

The search for a photo slowed me down. I have two albums, one small hinged cedar box, and two metal tool boxes all filled with photographs. They are all in a stack on the floor beside my desk, and have been since I started this endeavor of writing about addresses. They used to be in order, divided by index cards or placed in envelopes, just waiting for the time when I’d finally arrange them all in albums. Over the years, I’ve gone through them – always under pressure of some deadline or another – to find photos for a baby book, cook book or funeral board, or to illustrate a point or prove a memory. My children have gone through them, and so have my grandchildren.

One album is mostly photos I took when I was sixteen and seventeen, with my Kodak Instamatic camera. All of the others are a jumble. There is my youngest daughter when she was two years old, right next to a cluster of snapshots of my oldest daughter’s first apartment, on top of a few pictures of a trip I took to northern California, a Christmas at Mom and Dad’s when all of our kids were so small, my newborn granddaughter, Jen dressed for the prom, Kate with her first born son when he was just a toddler, and on and on. I kind of sort them as I go, but then everything has to go back in the box. When it comes time to find a specific photo, or a photo of a certain location, I have to go through everything.

Now, having gone though a pot of coffee while wading through memories, I have a pathetically small stack of photographs taken at Charbridge Arbor, my next address. It is 10:45. I have a mound of work I haven’t even begun. Charbridge will have to wait. No address today.




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I was planning to write a quick, short post this evening, then turn off the computer.

I worked today. I’m tired and still have lots to do.

Besides, I’m off tomorrow, and will have time to write a longer, more thoughtful post then, as the finale to this month of daily writing.

That was my plan.

I thought I’d download my latest pictures to have a current image, at least, for tonight’s meager posting.

I can’t find the camera!

I took photos just last night, in the side yard with the dogs. It was dark, and I was trying out different settings for the best effect. I was sure it was in my coat pocket…then figured it was in the other coat…then scoured counter, tables and desk to find where I’d mislaid it. Nothing!

I put on boots and coat and went outside to retrace my steps from last night, in case it had fallen out of my pocket into the snow. I searched the car, too, just in case. Then I came in and repeated the search I’d already done. I emptied my purse. I looked in the insulated bag I use to carry my lunch to work. I looked through every other room in the house.

No camera.

I could have selected one of over a thousand photos already downloaded onto this computer.


By that time I had decided they were all too dated. If I was going to use an old photo, it may as well be special.

I pulled out four albums, two metal boxes and one small wooden chest, all full of photographs.

What followed was an hour and a half of reminiscing.

“Oh, my daughters when they were tiny!”

“There’s Katey, right after Michael was born…”

“One sweet, beautiful grandchild after another!”

“…What holiday was that?”

So much for my quick bit of writing this evening!

I’ve decided on – then rejected – several different sets of photos with several different directions to write about them.

I could have written more about my five-day sail; I have photos to accompany that story!

I could have illustrated – with photographs – my time on Grand Turk Island, and many of the characters I met there.

Sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews, friends, parents and grandparents, my pets, my gardens through the years…there were too many possibilities.

I had to pause to feed the dogs.

It is getting late.

I still have lots to do, and I haven’t had my own supper yet.

I settled on this sweet photo, though I have no particular story to go with it.

I like it because we all look so much like ourselves.

Brenda, always glamorous (and in charge), looks directly into the camera.

I look a little bit serious, a little bit reserved, and am wearing almost the same identical hairstyle that I have today!

Teddy (though he’s just “Ted” now) often wears that same expression in conversation today! I am in love with his choice of clothing in this picture, but am happy to report he’s gotten better about [not] mixing patterns.

I adore Sheila’s small face, round little belly, and the fact that she is shirtless, while Ted is not.

I don’t know that he sunburned easily, but I have seen several old photos of Ted with his sisters where he is the only one with a shirt on!

And Laddie…a good old dog!

And now I’m off to finish my evening.