I’ve spent most of two days going through a very large container of snapshots that have piled up over the decades. I have albums full of them, and Kent took most of what we had together to scan for the internet, and despite that I still had about 140 pounds to go through. Duplicates, too fuzzy-too dark-too unidentifiable-too unflattering pictures…gone. All the rest bagged up by subject.
In my last trip to the garage I uncovered more. Yikes. But I do have the time and it’ll feel good to be done.
In my very early teens I was begging for a dog. Begging as I recall. Well, really I had been begging for a horse so my parents shut me up with a dog. Oh my goodness what did I know. That dog Would Not Stop Yapping. 24/7. Most days the Constant Yapping made me cry, maybe the first evidence of my hypersensitivity to noise? at least that I can remember now. I don’t remember how the rest of the family managed. They must have been saints.
Thankfully the old lady who lived next door love love loved this dog. She would come get him and not want to give him back. They’d sit together all day in the old lady’s stinky den watching wrestling on tv while she put bows in his hair. She’d take out her hearing aids and they’d get along famously.
This reminds me a little of the old lady who lived next door to me when I moved to Santa Monica, the ex-nun WWII WASP. She lured my cat into her den and they sat together all day watching war movies.
(Margaret, Samson, self-portrait for search)