Some days whiz by, with sunrise almost meeting sunset in passing. But then there are those days that stagger past: a slow unraveling of time. Clocks tick louder and taunts with enjoyment of lingering seconds.
What day is this? Fast or slow? How to measure?
Is time measured in chores needed to be done? Is it counted out by songbirds in citrus trees?
Is time meted step by step from start to destination? Cars passing on their way to and from?
Such weariness is passing of time when it is slow and reluctant.
Such exhilaration when whirling creativity stirs up wells of thinking.
Great-Grandma Annie Praul Shive Johnson A creased and tattered photo-- Held, shown, and stored in a shoe box for decades. Hard evidence of a life lived and remembered
Around in a circle on Christmas morning at Grandma's house, that is snapshot where I still see my family, frozen in time. Photos have a way of capturing the smiles and memories that cannot be stored on a chip, flash drive, disc, cell phone... A photo brings back sounds of laughter, of dishware placed onto the stretched out table. Then it would have said the table was a mile long and the browned turkey as big as the sun. Lots of children noises filled the room, children laughter and some tears. Just a quickly as they started, they stopped when grace was said and dishes filled. A photo inhales wafting mashed potatoes with gravy cascading down the mountain and onto stuffing. Creamed, buttered, fragrant, never-ending--amazing food, enough to feed entire towns. Then pies. Queens of homemade pies, that's what Grandma and Mom were. Name any filling and these queens could whirl to place perfect pies, steaming hot, crust golden brown on the table.
Front row: Robert, Bill, and me (with my new doll) Don, Mary, Dad and Mom Christmas 1959
A photo can be held, placed lovingly an album, where smiles and bright eyes will look at it, talk about that day. Remember...Mom nearly spilled the gravy...apple pie was...
A photo is taken of people of people frozen in time. "Hold still. Bill, stop it..." Click and wind. Click and wind. Then the roll of film would be put in an envelope, sent off, and returned. Open the envelope. And Christmas is re-lived over and over.
Food and family without end
A photo will travel across decades to find its way into hands of one who calls back that day with all its senses. One who will caress faces of those long gone, saying, "I know when this happened."
Grandma and Grandpa Cardiff at home
A photo kept safe for decades in a box emerges into my hands. I can still smell the pies and feel the love all around us. Can one do this with a digital? Can one hold the photo and feel all that?
