Thursday, August 4, 2011

It's A Three-Tissue Kind of Thing

About six weeks ago I was painting our basement. In preparation for selling our house - that still hasn't sold, BTW.  (Lord, please help us out here, m'kay?  Thankyouverymuch).

Why? Why, had we waited to fix up the basement just in time for someone else to enjoy it?  I am a relatively intelligent human being, but this is a concept beyond me.  Makes me wanna throw a temper tantrum over it.  I guess it is a common occurrence to do all the things you wanted to do, but never got around to it, just before you move out.  Small comfort, but small just the same.  Someone hand me a tissue, please?

Anyway, I let the kids embark on an X-box marathon so that I could slap some Kilz on the new drywall without interruption and call it a day (do you wonder which part of that statement didn't work out so well?).  And it did take all day too.  Evidently, declaring a day of X-Box has two things wrong with it:

1.  The Affectionate One suddenly decides that she doesn't like X-Box (or her brothers for that matter, but that's a different post altogether) and so she fills her time with tattling on them.  I think we may have to change her name from The Affectionate One to, The Roving Reporter  -- lemme get back to you on that.


2.  A Day of X-Box evidently also means a Day of Scarfing Snacks.  Getting the snack themselves is a task which they cannot seem to perform, but instead requires maternal assistance.  Every 15 minutes or so.  That all ended when suddenly this mama couldn't find anymore snacks to hand out.  Hmmmm . . . wonder how THAT happened?   

Bad mommy.

In between coping with the wide and varied spectrum of Jubilant Household Dysfunctionality, I was able to trim out and roll on two coats of Good-Gravy!-Somebody-Give-Me-A-Pair-of-Sunglasses-That-Is-Really-White-Isn't-It?! paint and listen to my favorite radio station, K-Love.

Haven't heard of it?  I am here to assist in any way I can:  K-Love.  No, no need to thank me.  Unless it gets you to leave a comment, then yes, you may thank me.  A-hem.

Anyway, the afternoon hosts were talking about a website that I had every intention of looking up and then never did.  Because, oh, I don't know, I happened to be busy packing five people's 14 years worth of junk into a truck bed and a 4 X 8 trailer. 

Fun times.  

I promptly forgot about the site until tonight.  After BooMama reminded me of it while I was catching up on all her bloggy news.  Thanks, BooMama!

The site is called Dear Photograph.  And it is lovely.  Heartwarming and heart-wrenching all at the same time.  If you are prone to tears as a general rule, then make sure you have a box of tissues handy.  If you are not prone to tears, this site may change all of that for you.

I'm just sayin'.

Let's see if I can properly describe it to you.  You have an old photograph, say, of you standing on your front porch of the home you grew up in.  You go to where that photograph was taken.  You hold up the old photograph to the present day front porch and you take a picture of that.  Clear as mud?  Basically, you are showing the contrast between the old and the new surroundings.

Generally, it's a lot of sweet pictures that have deep meaning to the person taking the picture.  There is a caption beneath each picture that begins, "Dear Photograph," and a line or two that tells you something about the person holding the picture or the person(s) in the picture.

There is a lot of vulnerability out there, dear reader.  And it's so moving.  Makes you appreciate what you have, take time to enjoy the moment, and develop a greater sense of compassion for people you don't even know.

One photo's caption in particular made my breath catch in my throat.  It's a photo of two children on a horse while their dad holds the reigns.  The caption reads:

Dear Photograph,
My Dad ran away from home when I was six. Please tell him I miss him & that he can come home now.
Sherry Dulaney

I know! 

I just stared at the picture for the longest time, wondering what happened and grieving with Sherry over the childhood loss of her father.  Powerful.

There, of course, are less heart-wrenching photos.  And yes, a lot of joyful, uplifting ones too.  I spent a long time dipping in and out of other people's lives.  Smiling, tearing up and sighing.  It's better than reality tv, I can tell you.

Kinda makes me wish I had taken a photo of the basement I was working on so diligently.  Just so I could go back in 15 years and take another picture to show how someone else has enjoyed that freshly painted basement.  And then tear up over it all over again.

Counting it all paint fumed joy,


  1. I know that feeling very well. I can't help but look around our house knowing someone else is going to enjoy what we've worked so hard on. Or they'll rip it all to shreds and think we were crazy. Hugs!

  2. Yes! Joanna! Exactly!


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