Yesterday’s post included a photo of Bec, around 11; this blogger, around age 6; and our baby sister Jen, 18 months or so. We’re guessing on the ages. We’re also guessing on what exactly it is that Mom or Dad felt necessitated the need for celluloid permanence…..
It seems clear by the looks on Jen and my faces that Mom or Dad said, “Look at the camera girls.” And the photo was shot before we could even smile. As for Bec, Jen and I concluded that she might have been performing a dance of some sort. Perhaps she was imitating Salome, the daughter of Herod II, who asked for John the Baptist’s head on a platter. We reached that conclusion because we can’t figure out what else was going on. It was Christmas season, because I can see a wreath on the front door. We are very gussied up, so it must have been a Sunday and we were preparing to go to Mass, hence the Salome connection.
I have mentioned that I lost the book that contained many photos of myself as a child. I’m very thankful that my siblings still have their albums. Otherwise we wouldn’t have this classic photo of my brother Dave, who, gauging from the look on his face in the photo, already believes that trouble lies just around the corner, and it ain’t good…..
He’s clearly thinking, “Does Mom know I can reach the door knob to the basement and this contraption is on wheels?” He retains this “It’s just a matter of time” attitude to this day.
I also stumbled upon this classic photo of the three sisters in our backyard…..
Another holiday photo, or so I believe. This one appears to be Easter Sunday, judging from the way we are all dressed. Clearly Bec and I had recently been to see Mom’s hairdresser Fay, probably getting our Easter haircut. Fay was one mean son-of-a-gun. She used a razer to cut our hair. I’m pretty sure she left the razer out in the rain where it got nice and dull and rusty, because it hurt like hell as she yanked it through our hair. And while our bangs were short, I assure you they were crooked. She had to have done it on purpose. Oh Fay.
Mom got professional photos of all of her children as infants and at three years old. They were those beautiful pictures taken in black and white, and then touched up in color. In my 3-year-old photo, I have long hair that is flipped. Mom must have taken me to Fay shortly after that photo was taken, had her chop off my hair, and I never again had long hair until I was old enough to yell, “Mother! Stop the madness. It’s the 60s!”
I love looking at old photos. What I like most is trying to figure out the story around the photo. When we all get together, we can do a pretty good job. The wall photo, however, has me eternally stumped.