Painting Photographs

This has been the most beautiful winter ever. The cold, the snow, just the perfect amount of each. And now it is February. The icicles are dripping like rain. If you didn't know they were icicles you would think it was raining outside the window. I am wondering, I am hoping, I am dreaming of an early spring. But unlike last winter, I don't feel bone weary of winter. I can handle another month or two.

Today I spent some time with my mother's photograph album. I was delighted with the pictures of her past life. I wish my mother was here to tell me about them. I would write everything down. There are pictures of the farm my mother lived on when she was growing up. There are pictures of her away at college, pictures of her friends, pictures of her mother and father, pictures of her sister, Genevieve and her children, and of her cousins. They are all pictures before my mother met my father. I carefully lifted each one trying to find some information on the back of the photos. There was little to help me, just the occasional date. Perhaps my sisters remember more than I do.

Earlier this week I spent some time painting a picture of my mother when she was about five or six years old. If I remember correctly she was the youngest person chosen to be in the school program because the teachers could trust her to remember her lines. She always was a good little scholar. It seems like she told me that the bloomers she is wearing are made out of dotted Swiss. Why do I remember that? I don't even know if it's true. Maybe I am making this all up.

Anyway, here's the picture. It was very enjoyable. I think I would like to paint some more photographs.