And so the photography project keeps chugging along.
Part of the problem, of course, is that I get sidetracked by the pictures themselves, because really what else can you expect? I end up wondering about how things ended up in just that configuration, and what happened right after the photo was taken. I suppose this is one of the dangers of being a historian – you want to know the rest of the story.
Take this picture, for instance:
It’s 1963, in the kitchen of my grandparents’ house on Willows Avenue. It’s a party, because my uncle has just graduated from college. All parties end up in the kitchen eventually. My uncle is off in another room somewhere being sociable, perhaps – he shows up in some of the other photos doing that – or maybe he took this photo himself.
My grandparents are the second and third people from the left. The two on the right are my parents. They’d been married about a month when this was taken. In between is a family friend named Annie, and I don’t know who the person on the far left is. It was a party. People drifted around. There is good food on the table and good company around it, and it looks like everyone is enjoying the moment.
There is a story in this photograph, an evening spent together, an achievement celebrated among family and friends.
How can you not get sidetracked by such things?