Time it was, and what a time it was

I was laying in bed last night, struggling to read my book (John Irving's new novel), and despite the amazing writing, it just didn't hold my attention.  It wasn't the book's fault, my mind was just elsewhere. 

I kept flashing to my grandparent's basement.  It always had that certain smell, and it was cool and dark and it was filled with junk.  And I never, ever, understood it.  By that, I mean, I never figured out what room upstairs was over which part of the basement.  It never made sense to me.  So I lay there, in my mind, trying to remember it all.  Every last detail.  Including the smell, and the feel, and the stuff...  remembering it all became so insignificantly important to me. 

As I was trying to "map it out" in my mind, half tempted to get up, grab a piece of paper, and draw the darn basement, once and for all...  my mind wandered from it's wanderings.  The thought of that, in and of itself, amused me for a minute, which became a third wandering!  But what I started thinking about were all of the pictures that my Pop-pop had taken when I was little.  He was one of those in-your-face-documenting-everything type of photographers.  At one time, he even had a dark room in the basement (insert irony here!).  I didn't realize until that very moment last night how precious each and every one of those photographs really are.

So, my mind wandered to a specific photograph that my Pop-pop had taken of me when I was maybe 3 years old.  I was wearing an itchy dress and itchy tights that my mother had dressed me in.  I was sitting on the tile in front of the fireplace because it was always hot as hell in my grandparent's house and the tile felt cool, and I was playing with a stripped ball.  I was so young, but I remember when my Pop-pop took the picture.  He climbed down on one knee, then the other, then he lowered himself forward onto his elbows, getting all the way down to my 3 year old level.  I gave him a little wave and a big cheesy smile, being more annoyed by it all than amused, and he took the picture. 

The 3 year old me had no idea that 43 years later (well, almost 43!), that photograph would be so important to me.  It's a picture of me, but that's not really the part I cherish, it's the memory of my Pop-pop taking that picture that's so absolutely precious.  I had to sit there, patiently, waiting for him to lower himself to the floor, then I had to wait for him to focus, get everything just right.  It was so important to him that this photograph be perfect.  It was an old Argus camera, I believe it was a 35mm, film was expensive, developing fluids and paper, it was all expensive.  He went to great lengths to make it perfect, because having a perfect picture of his one and only granddaughter was priceless to him. 

The photo of me with that cheesy smile in that itchy dress with those itchy tights, that is how my Pop-pop saw me.  That photo is of me, from his vantage.  That picture doesn't only capture me, at 3 years old, in my grandparents house with their ugly sofa in the background, it captures my grandfather too.  His pure love and adoration for his grand daughter.  I need to buy a frame for that photo, I just realized how absolutely priceless it is.

So, I never finished reading my book.  I still haven't taken out a piece of paper to map out, "once and for all", the layout of my grandparent's basement and their house.  It's still something that will bug me, being a wee OCD and all, but maybe I'll just leave it like that.  Now, every time I start to think about it, it'll bring me back to the memory of my Pop-pop taking that photograph, which isn't such a bad place to be.  <3

Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends":

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you