ever mystified over the lack of photos, video, journaling, whatever that exists from my sis & i growing up as babies & then girls & young women. did our parents not have paper? no caves or sidewalk chalk to jot down our funny quips or expressions? were we terribly hideous? or were parents simply not as easily impressed with their own offspring as we all are now? i get the no Facebook then. the no blogging day & night about spit-up incidents or school projects gone amiss. but to have nothing? i’ve said various times,
“I’m lucky to even have a birth certificate.”
such is the life when you come from a minimalist mom, where the chant, “What is this & can we throw it away?” resounded through our halls like a loud Citizen clock.
I get the lack of technology, but without jotting, without the trusted, leather-bound journal, what will we remember? it all becomes a soft, albeit beautiful blur.
More on all of this later.
I have some remembering to do–of my own days as a child and how i got here & now, so that I will be able to lay back with my own & tell them of when they were kids, that is right now. so that we may talk of those funny words and how they couldn’t say something quite right, how it became the funniest joke, a new word planted in our Uchiyama dictionary, how everything turns out alright.
how each birthday candle shone some beautiful light.