"Those who are determined to forget the past live only on the shallowest shorelines of the present and have little hope of discovering the deepest depths of every distant dream in their future."~ Bob Buddha
A Parcel Of My Past ...
Last night, I was looking through old photographs. Not the digital kind, but the kind you actually hold in your hands, the ones that have faded a bit and are a little dog-eared at the corners.
And there it was. A paper parade of the images of my past — the good, the bad and the ugly.
I shuffled through the years when my sisters and I were just kids, found photos of my grandparents, whom I loved more than life itself, saw my mother before she was married, even found one of our first dog, Lady. I noticed that I had no photos of my father and understood why, no photos of my ex and I wasn't sure why. Photos from my working years, photos of my son and daughter ... the late-night meandering through this museum of memory went on and on.
I suppose my happiest times were when I was in my early thirties. I had two young kids scurrying around my feet, and I guess seeing the world through such young eyes was special in a way I will probably never know quite so clearly again.
It's funny how old photographs can allow you to drift back to another time and recapture some extraordinary emotions. I laughed, gasped, and kept getting something in my eye as I travelled back and forth through time. I had moments when I thought to myself, "What were you thinking?" and I had other moments when I was simply silenced by what was and is no more.
Now, don't think for a minute that I'm some kind of sensitive guy. I'm not. I swear.
It's just that, well, sometimes the past reminds us of what we were and what we are because of what we were. That's a bit convoluted, I know, but I can't imagine or write what I mean any other way.
Last night, I was looking through old photographs. Not the digital kind, but the kind you actually hold in your hands, the ones that have faded a bit and are a little dog-eared at the corners.
And there it was. A paper parade of the images of my past — the good, the bad and the ugly.
I shuffled through the years when my sisters and I were just kids, found photos of my grandparents, whom I loved more than life itself, saw my mother before she was married, even found one of our first dog, Lady. I noticed that I had no photos of my father and understood why, no photos of my ex and I wasn't sure why. Photos from my working years, photos of my son and daughter ... the late-night meandering through this museum of memory went on and on.
I suppose my happiest times were when I was in my early thirties. I had two young kids scurrying around my feet, and I guess seeing the world through such young eyes was special in a way I will probably never know quite so clearly again.
It's funny how old photographs can allow you to drift back to another time and recapture some extraordinary emotions. I laughed, gasped, and kept getting something in my eye as I travelled back and forth through time. I had moments when I thought to myself, "What were you thinking?" and I had other moments when I was simply silenced by what was and is no more.
Now, don't think for a minute that I'm some kind of sensitive guy. I'm not. I swear.
It's just that, well, sometimes the past reminds us of what we were and what we are because of what we were. That's a bit convoluted, I know, but I can't imagine or write what I mean any other way.
It does build our character. The past that is. I know that there's nothing like reminiscing through those old photos. I really like your collage. There is a special innocence in a child at that time of life that was most endearing to you. I fondly recall the pitter patter of little feet, the jumping on the bed "momma, get up!"the big hugs like teddy bears and the crushing tears of disappointment The cute little sayings only out of the mouths of babes "momma why did God break the moon?". It's a special time indeed.
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