Here I am with my mother’s father, Hoho, at what seems to be one of my very first Christmases. That’s a photo of Mom with her cat Smokey on the shelf beside us:
Nana and Hoho had their Christmas tree in the front parlor, which had 7 foot high windows and a beautiful fireplace. I recently made the mistake of stalking the house on line, and discovered that egregious renovations had been done to its Victorian magnificence, but the beautiful fireplace remains*.
This time, Daddy’s Daddy is holding a fancily dressed me:
For some reason, I seem to think that this is my third birthday party. Daddy’s Daddy is looking at me like I’m from another planet. Maybe it’s my freakishly square, yet blobby head. I once told my Dad that I thought I was an ugly baby, and he responded matter of factly, “Yes, I felt quite sorry for you.” Side note: I bet that plant on the sideboard didn’t make it.
This is Jonathan and me at a house we rented in Kent before Megan was born:
Even then, we loved cats!
I’m in my early 20s here. I still love that hair! Even though it’s my natural color:
You might think I’m wearing jeans, but they are actually linen pants which I dyed. I’m looking up a profiterole recipe for Megan’s birthday.
My dear friend A, she of the near-fatal illness a few years ago, took this picture of me not far from her 17th century home in the red light district of Amsterdam:
We always had such a great time together. One of these days, I hope to get to London to visit her. A girl can dream. And remember the past with love.
*The attic also remains untouched. When I was a girl, Smokey’s bed was still up there, though Smokey himself was long gone.
A YEAR AGO: Clyde is a merry little outlaw.