On my bedside table, I have a beat-up red file box filled with photos. This box has lived next to my bed for years. I don't remember when it took up residence- I don't remember where I got it. I'm not sure how so many photos have ended up tossed into one silly little box. I hardly even notice it.
Today I fled to my bedroom for a little mom-time-out (tantrum-induced. theirs, not mine) and I suddenly had to find out what was in that red box.
I'm looking through the box, attempting to find something. Anything. How deep do I have to go? Will I know it when I see it? Can I find myself before? And before what, exactly?
I have a few questions for these photos, but I doubt they will answer. I'm tempted to throw them all up in the air, Las Vegas Winnings style, just to see where they land. Will I find something then? Maybe I should build an enormous zoetrope and force them to come to life.
The photos are a mess, thrown into haphazardly, mixed up like amateur stir-fry. In some cases I can relive the moments captured in those photos almost instantly. The where, who, why, how, and what come to me right away. Others are fuzzy, stirring up tiny birdies of memory and not much more. Some photos I honestly can't place. Whose kid is that? And why would I want a picture of that sofa, for pete's sake? And not a one is in any kind of order.
Here's me when I was three, wearing terrible overalls.
Here's me when I was 17, in Hawaii by myself.
Sunset at Golden Gardens.
My childhood best friend with a potted plant on her head.
Glacier National Park.
Some guy from QFC.
Diamond Head.
My cat, Pooka.
The Church of Elvis in Portland.
High School graduation.
Mazatlan.
Deception Pass.
The feral cat I brought home from Montana.
Eastern Washington?
Moscow, Idaho.
New Years Eve Y2K.
Here I am in a wig.
Here I have green hair.
Here my hair is an inch long.
My high school band teacher.
Floral curtains in my bedroom.
Nine years old. Purple bathing suit.
Boston.
Wilmington.
Ashland.
Somebody's baby.
Dancing with my sister.
Anna.
My uncle.
Me singing.
A wet dog.
A pink kitchen.
Here I was four.
Here I was 14.
Here I am.
You know, I hopped back on blogger after not doing much here, and noticed this post that I didn't see before. I am laughing. "My childhood best friend with a potted plant on her head."
ReplyDeleteI have not changed one bit. I did this at a Guild Wars release party a few years ago, too. It's funny how much things change, but somehow stay the same. :)