Where I Was From.


This Easter Moses went to Los Vegas to celebrate a bachelor’s party and Alice and I decided to visit my family in Missouri.  Growing up I spent an incredible amount of time pretending I was someplace else.  As a grown up who’s lived in (almost) all of the places I pretended myself into, I can see the charm of where I actually was.  Of course, I like where I am–it’s equally important to understand you can value something but “not go home again.”  But it is a wonderful place to be.ImageImageImage

Alice and I spent long, sunny mornings in the park or longing in the den with toys.  When Alice wanted to play we walked across the narrow road to play with the family across the street and there was no shortage of spring flowers to see, cook books to peruse and kitties to chase.ImageImageImageImageImageImageImage

We made tons of granola, some scones and the paper thin, delicate oatmeal crisp cookies my grandmother made (confession: we made them three times) and lots of simple dinners once the baby had gone to sleep.  My mother and I had some nice glasses of wine, talked and read some A.A. Milne to Alice (and each other), and I got to visit with my childhood kitties (now totally on their last legs).ImageImageImageImageImage

My parents bought our house in the early 70s–before my brother and I were born.  Both of us grew up in the house and while it’s been remodeled and things come and go, the bones are the same.  It’s amazing to put your baby to bed in the room that was yours when you were a baby.  I can remember waking up and crying for my mother in the same room Alice woke up and cried in this time around (working hard to see the charm in that).  I loved getting Alice ready for bed and saying goodnight, knowing she was hearing the same muffled noises I heard when I was put to bed at night.  The circle game…ImageImageImage


Easter Bonnet

I’ve never cared much for candy, so Easter was all about the dress.  My mother, who had been a child of the 40s and 50s believed Easter meant pastel dresses and tights with gloves and lacy hats that looked a little like eggshells covered in lace.  I also was entitled to the purchase of one mock-patent leather plastic “purse.”

Each dress is carefully documented in front of some seasonal neighborhood scene—the neighbors’ azaleas or Mrs. Callahan’s tulips.  The year my brother turned fifteen we got no further than the driveway before he decided he’d done his part of Easter festivities.  My white hat, gloves and tiered dress match my mother’s Honda Accord.  My brother’s scowl matches the slate gray sky.

But my favorite image is from years before, when I’m still a baby and my brother is a little kid, too.  My plastic purse is slung over the handles of my big wheel and the crotch of my lacy tights is drooping past my knees.  Chris’ hair is cut short, styled into a spike he was too young to feel self-concious in, and our giant tom cat, George is lurking behind us both.  I don’t remember actually being there, but I think the purse-big wheel placement says a lot about two-year-old me and those first Easters.