I know, I know —by the time I get back to a timely posting of my week of photos, it will be time for my Christmas Photo a Day! But, better late than never! Here are the last two weeks selections.
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Because this came up earlier today, I thought I would repost.
…Except when it isn’t. When you can’t put your hands on a photo when you need it, does it exist? (If a tree falls in the forest….?)
I am many things—(Mom, wife, Gigi, quilter, genealogist, photographer),— as well as a picture framer. The genealogist in me gets crazy when old photos are not preserved, when names and dates are not recorded or when people don’t respect the treasure trove of history they possess. There is hardly anything sadder than wandering through an antique store, and coming upon boxes of old studio portraits, being sold for a buck or two.(That could easily translate to old quilts made by long ago family members that end up under cars, under dogs or in the Goodwill bins, I suppose.)
The first photograph was taken, with an eight HOUR exposure, in 1824. We’ve come a long way, baby. Now we take photos with our telephones—an…
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THIS is my scrapbook link:
https://www.rteest42.com/Imagestoown/September-11-2001
There really are no more words, so I will let this stand as is, and repost. My September 11 experience. (It doesn’t get easier to read 14 years later, and the photos aren’t fuzzy yet with the gauze of time. Warm, healing hugs to all who were affected in any way. ) (((hugs ❤ ))”
(The following is LONG. It is emotional and it is depressing. Since I started blogging, I have written something about the events of 9-11, and I have linked to a website where a very small part of the following is posted. This year, I have simply consolidated the entire scrapbook and writings that are in it, and created a new gallery on my photo website so all is viewable and archived.)
Wishing you all peace. Hugs to you, Kerin. Jessica. Arlie. Anoki. Love you.
I was a writer who couldn’t write, a photographer who couldn’t record images. A crier who couldn’t cry. The events of September 11, 2001, had such an effect on me that my normal outlets—tears, hysteria, the stability of an ordered sentence, the capturing of my impressions on film, all proved elusive.
My tribute to 9-11-01 quilt. Around the edges are the initials of people I…
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