~ Easter 1968 ~
I'm eleven years old in this
picture; my brother Dickie is ten. Grandma Vert made my dress (I hated
it) and brushed my hair back into a severe ponytail (I hated it) and
stood us in front of the rose bushes for the annual Easter morning
photo (I hated it).
(Come to think of it ... I wasn't all that crazy about my pesky younger brother right about then, either.)
Thirty-three years later, of course, I look at this photo and I think Grandma made that dress for me by hand. How special is that?
I look at her roses and I think Geez, I grew up in a really beautiful place, didn't I?
And I look at my little brother,
standing there looking so spiffy and stylish, in one of Grandpa's bolo
ties ... his hair slicked back with Vitalis ... and I think I wonder where Richard is today, and how he's doing?
Funny how you see things differently through the filter of time, isn't it?
(But I still hate my hair in this picture. Gack.)
Happy Easter, everybody!