Old Pictures

My mother scanned a bunch of old family pictures and saved them to discs.  She then gave them out as Christmas gifts, and we all treasure them.  There’s a few of my dad’s baby pictures that I just love.  There’s a few pictures from my parent’s wedding.  There’s some of my grandparents as young parents.  There’s also newer pictures.  When we were growing up, my mom made collages and used them to make (I believe it was) a calendar.  Here’s my page.There’s a couple pictures of my larger-than-life glasses.  If you look at the one on the far right, you’ll notice a crater of a pimple on my chin.

Truth: I practiced my flute so much that the pimple really never had a chance to heal.  Ever.  It once got so big that one of my sixth grade classmates asked me what happened to my face and I lied, “I fell down.”

Wow.  That felt good to get off my chest.  I’ve been harboring that sin for years.

I love the picture of me with the olives on my fingers.  I’ve convinced my own children that when you put olives on your fingers, it gives you “IRON MAN” fingers.  They’ll eat a can of olives all on their own and chant “Iron Man, Iron Man, Iron Man,” the entire time. Victory.

There’s a couple pictures of me sleeping.  I wonder why I didn’t enjoy that as much as I should have.  *yawn*

Please excuse the picture in which I am not wearing a shirt.  Please.

There’s one of me on the classic Jackrabbit that lives in, well, Jackrabbit.  Across the street from him in the classic “HERE IT IS” sign that was featured in the Disney movie, “Cars.”  Only this “HERE IT IS” sign has a Jackrabbit on it (not a tractor).

I’m really rather fond of the picture in the middle of the page of my Grandpa holding me on his lap.  Twenty years later, he gave me organ lessons.  I didn’t sit on his lap, though.

In one of the sleeping pictures, I’ve got a copy of the book “Sleeping Beauty” between my feet.  It always has been my favorite story.  Down with ee-vill.

There’s also a picture of me in one of my Easter dresses.  Every year until the I entered full-blown adolescence, my parents, AH-HEM, the Easter Bunny brought me an Easter Dress.  I looked forward to a brand new dress more than anything.  That year, the dress came with a matching straw hat.  I had my mother french braid my hair into two braids and I wore that outfit to my grandma’s famous annual Easter Egg Hunt.  While there, my aunts told me that I looked like my great-grandmother.

“When she was my age?” I asked, flattered.

“No,” they replied.As much as I love my Nunna (far right), I didn’t sport the straw hat anymore.  And look how little my sister was!  Age has not changed that brilliant red hair.  Love, love, love it.

And love love her.

Speak Your Mind

*