A Walk Down Memory Lane

     My son’s fiancé asked me to send her some pictures. You know the kind—photos of when my son was young, of us as a family, even the dogs we’ve had over the years. So last Saturday night, I sat down and started going through the two big bins I have to try to pick out pictures I thought she would like.

     Oh my gosh—so many pictures. So many memories! A flood of warmth, a few laughs and yes, a few tears, too.

     Birthdays and holidays and weddings shared with family and friends (some of whom are no longer with us, but never far from my thoughts), camping trips and school pictures, candid shots of goofing around, hazy photos of places we’ve been and people we’ve met (I’m a really lousy photographer, but I don’t care).

     Some of my favorites? My son, age two, in his feetie pajamas, grape jelly all over his face; sleeping with our first German Shepherd, Maggie, who didn’t move the whole time he cuddled against her; in his Little League uniform, all smiles beneath his baseball cap; dressed as a pirate (complete with plastic hook) for Halloween; laughing with Goofy and Mickey Mouse at Disneyland when he was six; all bundled up and playing in the snow before we left New Jersey for the warmth of Arizona.
      Other favorites? My husband before he was my husband, sitting on the couch my grandmother had given me for my first apartment, wearing the Andy Capp hat he was fond of (and still has), grinning that grin I fell in love with; then later, on that same couch, holding our son only a few days old, the expression on his face one of pride and happiness.   

     Pictures of the house we bought on the day we moved in (eighteen years later, we’re still here).   

     I even found a photo I hadn’t seen in years—me and my girlfriends, dressed to the nines (hair, makeup, nails polished to match our outfits), ready to embark on an adventure. We were eighteen (so young and my gosh, I was so skinny) and heading to New York City (only thirty-minutes away on the other side of the Holland Tunnel) to see a movie at Radio City Music Hall then dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. We were so full of dreams (mine was writing…still is), so full of the promise of a life ahead.

     By the time I was done, I was grinning like an idiot and feeling so….blessed (it’s the only word I can come up with) and lucky—that I had these photos to remind me of how good life can be. And it is good.

     What are some of your favorite memories?
As always, happy reading (and walking down memory lane).
Marie