We were so little when this photo was taken on a chilly winter's day in Boston, 1989. It was our first week there. We were staying in a beautiful brownstone (complete with grisly green closet monster) and on this morning, we were so very pleased to be in a new place. For us, it was our first big adventure and although the image you see here is of a poor quality, I think this is evident on our faces as we clutch our little bears with excitement.
This photo stamped the beginnings of three especially idyllic years in Massachusetts, with our loving Grandma behind us pulling her crooked smile. It seems symbolic to me now that she should be standing behind the door, just out of reach but with her warmth, her scent and her memory ever present and lingering on. I never need to look far to find Grandma in my life.
We weren't to stay in that brownstone for long. Instead, we moved to a small town by the name of Carlisle where hundreds of photos were to be taken, but none as lovely as this.
Whenever I look at this photo, it reminds me that once, I was very young and with a blank canvas to work upon- my first memories are from around this time and it's as if a new city and new air pulled me into consciousness and prompted little roots in my mind to flower and to look around them and see the world and to draw my own conclusions from what was there. To make my own garden of thoughts and dreams. And what a beautiful place to do it in!