Well, I am currently on cria watch, so I am pretty much Night of the Living dead these days. Not fully capable of functioning on a cerebral level. I thought I'd revamp an old post I did over a year ago when I first started blogging.
I really liked the premise behind the post, but thought I could do better. So, I managed to refresh it and here it is.
I hope you like it!
So I am just sitting here thinking about life. I know, I know, deep thoughts for such a... HEY!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ANYWAY?!?! I can read your mind you know.
Anywho- as you know, I love pictures. I hate being in front of the camera, but would hide behind one forever. That said, I don't scrapbook, or have a million photo albums and I have no idea where all my kid's baby pictures all are, I just know there are a lot of them. I like pictures. Taking them and looking at them.
I can go to a total stranger's house and spend hours looking through their photo albums. Weird? Maybe. But there is something very magical about photos. Did you know that in some cultures people believe that to take a picture of them means you are actually taking a part of their spirit? Like a part of their soul goes into the picture, never to come back into their body again. I have read stories about those same people thinking they were marked for death after someone has not respected that belief and taken a photo of them anyway. And of that person dying not long after.
How persuasive are beliefs.
Interesting to me..... when I was a child, I thought that pictures could "see" me. Like the photo was aware of what I was doing, saying, etc... and I would not have any photographs in my room. Paintings were fine, but only if they weren't of people. People in pictures, I was sure of this, moved at will when no one was looking. I spent long hours wondering where they went and what they did when I wasn't in the room. This was long before Harry Potter and the moving, seeing pictures portrayed there in, but when I first read the book it made perfect sense to me.
Two years ago I lost my best friend. She was a wonderful person, a mother of 5 children, wife of 26 years, and she died very suddenly. Jane was, to me, the perfect wife and mother. She made me want to be a better person, and her countenance was dazzling. I can't recall any time when she wasn't positive- even when times were rough. -- sigh-- there aren't words to adequately describe Jane and how special she really was...... She was in the hospital having a stint in her thigh removed- placed there to catch clots after vein surgery- and the doctor punctured her heart accidentally. This was the first time in medical history that this had happened.
When it came time for her funeral, there was a viewing.
I couldn't go.
simply. couldn't. go.
You see, I have a picture of Jane, and she is smiling. Smiling at me, every day... In those first few months when I fully expected her to walk in the door of the church we attend, when I picked up the phone to call her, before remembering that I couldn't do that anymore, I looked at her photograph, and my heart was lighter, even though it was still broken. I still miss Jane terribly, I still cry... although the dreams are less frequent of her waving at me and saying 'hi' like she is still here. This is how I will always remember her.
There is one picture I have of her playing a ring-around-the-rosy kind of game with a group of children. Her husband gave me that picture, and I thought it was a recent one. I found out though that it was taken almost 15 years ago. She looked exactly the same. Smiling, happy, radiant. I will remember her that way forever because of a photograph.
The power of photos is readily evident to me, for it seems in my life there has been much loss. Perhaps this is why photography has been so tightly linked to high emotion for me. When I was fifteen my 21 year old brother committed suicide. No one would talk about it with me, and I wasn't even allowed to attend the funeral. I had to deal with it on my own. To come to terms with the act, without any of the details or any explanation. My father couldn't even speak his name for years, and I do mean years afterwards. It was too painful for him. But here was I, wanting more..... So I cherished his last photo. He was smiling at me. He wasn't sad, or depressed, or on drugs or anything. He was just Jeff, smiling at me like he did when he was alive.
This is how I will remember him forever- because of a photograph.
This is not to say that all photos make me sad. I frequently look at a photo taken when my daughter, then only 2 1/2 years old, got caught inside a tomato cage. Cruelly, I made my husband keep her there while I ran for the camera. A priceless picture that makes me laugh every time I see it, the last time was just a few days ago, with Codi sitting next to me.
It invariably brings the evil eye on from my daughter who can't understand why I tortured her like that just for a picture. She doesn't get it- but she will when she has children of her own.
A picture I have of my son playing his guitar- such a handsome boy. At age 4 he got his first one for Christmas. He thought he would be able to pick up the guitar and play like Raffi on his first try. Little did he know as he was so discouraged after that first attempt he would become a virtual prodigy as a teen. Makes me fit to burst with pride and love. A picture of him with his face all screwed up in that impossible way only a one year old can while preparing to let loose a primal scream... I smile.
Wow, are those my kids? They are so beautiful!! Unbelievable that such children could come from me. Me who is so not perfect, and is actually very much lucky to be alive still. What a miracle.
One of me, in Hawaii in 1988. Young, and was I ever that thin??? I always thought I was fat and ugly. Wow, that was me. The lies planted in my heart at such a young age were truly that, just lies. I was beautiful.
One of my husband, in his leather jacket from Turkey, looking over the top of his glasses at me with that look... -- heart flutter -- back away girls, he's all mine :))
The problem is that some of us don't want to have our pictures taken. I am one of them, but I learned a most important lesson. See, we don't have a lot of pictures of my brother Jeff, and I only have a couple of my friend Jane. There are so many others I have lost and there aren't nearly enough pictures of them either.
Life is short, we are mortal, and the others in our lives go on without us.
I wish I had more....
We get old and cranky, we don't want our pictures taken and hide from the camera, we think it is not that important for crying out loud.
If I can't have more time with those I have loved, then I want more pictures.
So get out there and get in front of the camera. I don't care if you are fat, old, or have a mustache (um, that would be the female persuasion type I am referring to here) I need more pictures, and so do all your loved ones.
Life is short my friends, take lots of pictures, and share them with everyone you love.
Pictures are indeed magical. Perhaps a piece of us really does reside in certain pictures after they are taken. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that is true.
See you next time.