I am curious how this will compare with my 2007 poll. Of course it is not at all scientific, purely for amusement.
“To be ignorant of what happened before you were born is to be ever a child” – Cicero
Helping a 1982 Indiana born Easter House adoptee.
Need Indiana adoption info, search angels, etc.
Please write me at bluestokking [at] gmail [dot] com.
“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.” ~Ansel Adams
Did you have a nice Christmas holiday?
Mine was okay. Not good. Not bad but this is the usual with me. The ambivalence comes from the frenetic nature of it all and that I am easily overstimulated which turns into irritability as I fail at my attempts to handle the frenzy.
My fiance overindulged me with many lovely gifts. He presented me with new pandora beads, my tiffany perfume, candles, mugs, necklaces from Brighton (actually from my sons but purchased by my fiance). It was very touching to me. Its been years since someone bought me so many gifts and particularly such thoughtful ones. The best gift he gave me this year is without question himself, our love, our engagement. He makes my world a better place.
My sons were relatively pleased with their Santa stash with my oldest sons ipod touch being the biggest hit. Our family time was limited due to having to get my sons from their father (divorce and shared custody wreaks havoc with holidays), spend a few hours with my extended family and then drive an hour back home to celebrate with my fiances sons (see previous note on divorce and custody). Crazed. Good but crazed. And mostly good.
I took lots of pictures as I always do. I am the family photographer/historian. I enjoy it. For the most part.
The picture to the left (click to make larger) kills me every year. My mother will scream above the crowd. Beckoning to all (?) her grandchildren to line up for the yearly photo op and then she will call for me.
And I will go, dutifully, even somewhat gleefully and take the photo of most of the grandchildren.
One is always missing.
This is never lost on me and for seconds, sometimes minutes, I must pause and collect myself. For taking a picture of all the grandkids minus one slices a paper cut in my heart. I will wince quietly, gasp for air, and shoot away.
One is always missing.
(Photo has been blurred to protect the privacy of the individuals. The goofy looking visible one is my youngest son. Cameras to him equal the best time to make to most peculiar face possible).