My father’s office in his home, with its shelves of books and documents lining the walls, is a scrapbook of images from his life. For decades he had a picture of me when I was 10 walking on a frozen Minnesota landscape.
I always admire this picture for the snow bears marks of sleds and skis, things that animated my mind at that age. Also, what the land looks like under snow and in the high contrast of a sunny winter day is indelibly etched in my mind – a specific acknowledgement of the timelessness of winter.
The second photograph is a picture of my daughter which rests near the one of me. My father likes the juxtaposition of the different generations in a similar pose.
I have an office in my home as well. I don’t like putting up pictures as I appreciate the serenity of blank space. I do have a burning desire to curate the images of my life which is why I slavishly post to this blog. This is my scrapbook.
I spent plenty of mental calories thinking we are not alike, but perhaps I deceive myself.