Half My Lifetime Ago

I woke in the night a little while ago thinking of some old photographs taken half my lifetime ago. Mostly I remembered the cloud photograph, but the other two were taken the same day. It was 1982, I was 30 years old, going to the university and working for the City of Boulder, while my husband was the production videographer for the local CBS affiliate in Denver. It must have been a sunny weekend day (because we were always busy with work and school during the week) and we had gone out exploring west of the city, on the road to Nederland.

There was something about these photos that reminded me that I have essentially always been who I am. I see me pointing, and I know it must be toward something beautiful. Or, I'm standing in the blazing sunlight at the water's edge, wanting only to build a little cabin and live there forever. I've always been that dreamer.

And then, my first husband (the professional photographer) must have handed me the camera so I could photograph the clouds, after I had said excitedly, "Hey that looks like a goose, take a photo of it, honey." But that wasn't his artistic niche, so I clicked the pic. I've always been that person, the sky watcher, lover of atmospheric optics. This is probably the first photograph of clouds I've ever taken.

Last Monday, May 13th I celebrated my 61st birthday with my twin brother, sister-in-law, and Roger. When I look at these old photographs I see the ageless part that informs me and spans the years like a message inscribed in my genes. I really like remembering this continuity.