Sixty-two

I arrived back from St. Lucia with a suitcase of photo albums from my mother's house, and I haven't even brought half of the total of them. I guess my desire to see my life in pictures comes from somewhere. When I was 14, for some reason I became obsessed with making lists of things I would rescue in the event of a fire. The list only had three items on it that truly mattered to me: My journals, my Nikkormat camera and my photo albums. Is it any wonder I found blogging?

Here is a photo I rediscovered on this trip. I love this photo of my mother and me, which was taken one New Years Eve in Antigua. I was not yet married but had already met my husband to be, so I guess I was about 26 in this photo, which would make my mom 62. She and my dad had recently moved to Antigua from our native Jamaica. They would live there for three years, long enough for me to meet and get to know my future husband, before they moved to St. Lucia for the duration. My parents rediscovered their romance when they moved to a new country together. I think you can see that in a certain girlish aspect in my mother in this photo, which was snapped by my father. 

By the way, my mom crocheted the blouse I am wearing here. Crochet and embroidery were just two of her arts before arthritis crept into her fingers. I have a drawer full of the sweet tops she made for me, and linens she expertly embroidered, and the blankets and afghans she made for her grandchildren. The kids are just starting to understand how precious these items are.