Today a few of the two dozen family photo albums made the move from old house to new. When a matched set labeled "France" surfaced from their long exile in a garage cabinet, I couldn't resist cracking them open. 1985. Paris. The Loire Valley.
Bretagne. Normandy. The vacation that yielded our first daughter. I flipped through the pictures not really giving a damn. It occurred to me that I could, right at that moment, toss the damn things into the trash. I love France, but I don't need a bunch of old photos taken by Mr. Ex to remind me of that.
In the end I put the albums in a box in my new garage. C can have a look. If she wants a bunch of pictures of her dad in a beret, she can have them. As for me, the only photo I want out of the bunch is this one. I loved the ocean even then.
You look happy, but you're not looking at the ocean. I think you're smiling at Gerard Depardieu over beyond the dunes and wondering why the hell you're with the guy taking the photo.
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean.
ReplyDeleteYou loved the ocean even then. And look where you are now! This is a great photo. I am so glad to hear that you looked at the other photographs and didn't feel a thing. That happened to me recently and I knew, I knew what progress I had made. But you my dear, are living your dream, are you not?
ReplyDelete