Back in the Saddle Again- A.K.A. New Tricks for Old Dogs

I’ve been spending the last several weeks recuperating from back surgery.  It was much more invasive than I had anticipated, and although my recovery has been steady, it has been much slower than I expected.  Before surgery, my plan was to spend a few days resting, and then the following weeks reading and writing.  I was disappointed to find that my body needed every ounce of energy just to heal, and I felt exhausted and ill most of the time.  Books didn’t hold my attention.  I couldn’t sit for more than a few minutes at a time.  Even conversation was difficult, and putting words to paper impossible.  So I napped, watched snippets of daytime television, and dabbled on the internet.  The worst part is that I’ve barely been able to string three sentences together. It is as if the part of my brain that translates concepts into words seeped out with the excess spinal fluid.
 
Numerous times I have tried to post on my blog and become frustrated with how clumsy my writing has become.  My WordPress account is riddled with abandoned paragraphs waiting to be expanded upon.  Stories are left untold.  Opinions left unstated.
 
But we all have times to start anew, and now that I have left the confines of my apartment and returned to work,  I know I must post again.  But where to start?
 
This evening I read a blog written by a photographer.  Her post reminded me of one I crafted as a guest blogger on the website of my photographer friends in 2011. (http://www.dachowskiphotography.com/
 
As I read her post and re-read my own, I was reminded of the common truth both posts hold, and how timely a reminder right before the Christmas holiday.   I thought that for me, my new beginning as a writer might be to rework something done once before.  So, dear reader- enjoy, but be gentle.  The saddle is not so easy to climb into once again.
 
Photographs
 
family photoI don’t usually categorize myself as an old dog, but I’m thinking it’s time to learn a new trick.

I’m one of those people who hates to be photographed. In snapshots, I always seem to be caught at the exact moment I look my worst. When I look at them later, I always cringe. I focus on the bags under my eyes, or the way my chin looks like it has doubled, or how much heavier I seem than when I last looked in the mirror. In fact, the photograph to the right is probably the last candid one taken with my family, and it was 1991.  Consequently, at family outings I am the person who is nowhere to be found when the cameras come out. I was okay with this until the winter when my mother died.

After the funeral I sifted through piles of photographs- black and whites from the fifties, colored ones that had yellowed with age, even faded Polaroids from the seventies.

Images of my mother smiled back at me from all stages of her life- Mom swollen with pregnancy. Mom dressed in a black lace party dress and red lipstick. Mom disguised as Elvis for Halloween. Mom digging in her garden.

Some of the pictures are flattering. Some are not. In most of them, she is surrounded by her family. There she is with Dad. Here is one with my siblings. And in this one she is with all of her grandchildren. However, there were no images of my mother and me together. There are no reminders of how close we were, of how we laughed together, and worked together, and loved each other.

I realize that this is because I avoided having my picture taken, and now it is too late. I wonder if I will remember, and if my children will remember. And I wonder how their children will know.

When I look at photographs of my mother, I don’t see the lines on her face or that her chin had doubled. I see the love in her eyes, and the laughter in her heart. For me, looking at her images is comforting, and uplifting, and precious. Her images warm me and make me smile. mom beach

They remind me of how capable she was, and how she enveloped me in her long arms and how she was strong and gentle at the same time. I look at the gray eyes in her photographs- eyes that were stern when I was disrespectful, and steady when I was afraid, and soft when I was sad. I have the same gray eyes. Someday, my children will need to look at my picture and remember my eyes. But just as I cheated myself out of photographs with my mother, I have cheated my children out of the same thing. 

So I’mcamera rethinking this camera-shy thing I’ve had going on. Maybe  this Christmas I’ll consider sitting in front of a camera- especially if the photographer can disguise my double chin and baggy eyes. After all, even Momma G can learn a new trick or two.

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