Relative Something

When the project is to write stories and the time to do so is very limited, getting sidetracked down a rabbit hole of long-lost images for hours on end can be an exasperating diversion, despite the value of memories it rekindles. It’s both good and bad, all at the same time.

I can’t help myself from sharing a few random gems discovered in the archives. To be honest, it feels a little like preparing for my own funeral slide show. Maybe if I share them now, these won’t be so shocking when they eventually appear in a memorial service someday.

Who am I kidding? I’m not going to show any of the shocking ones while I’m still alive.

Before I even get to photos of me, here is a wonderful, candid capture of my father, Ralph, at Christmastime in our old Intervale Ranch farmhouse on the edge of Edina and Eden Prairie, MN.

I’m not sure what he is saying, but I would rate his expression as leaning more toward amiable than not, which was a precious thing due to the preponderance for his attitude to be otherwise. When I miss my father, it is his good moods I like to remember. This shot does a good job of causing me to miss him.

I found this gem of me sitting on Cyndie’s bed in her bedroom in their house in Edina.

I would tease her today about all the myriad clutter adorning her walls and on her bed, except it happened to be strikingly similar to the way my teenage bedroom looked. Maybe that is one of the reasons we felt that early soul connection. For all our outward differences, the most intimate parts of ourselves were a good match. Our bedrooms were a manifestation of who we were becoming as we careened toward adulthood.

Here is one of my early visits to the northern Wisconsin vacation lodge club, Wildwood, which the Friswolds and a group of like-minded other Twin Cities families shared as an Association.

With my trusty old Alvarez guitar.

Finally, a shot of me modeling a birthday gift of new waders, while sporting one of my father’s old bowling shirts.

This was during my brief period of dabbling in the art of fly fishing. I think I was feeling pretty chuffed about my birthday haul.

For the record, that is the pre-remodeled kitchen of the Friswold’s home on Comanche Court as a backdrop.

*********

Hmm. Composing all that wasn’t too hard. Maybe I will succumb to the ease of narrating photos for my vacation-week posts. It’ll be like the old (dreaded) vacation slide shows people would foist upon unsuspecting family and friends.

“Here we are, standing in front of Niagara Falls…”

Time –or lack of it– will tell, …whether text or images will dominate.

.

.