I have a certain fondness for things of the past. I can endlessly peruse old sewing patterns, old cookbooks, and old photos; I've always had an attraction to old black and white pictures.
Growing up, there was a closet in the basement (now my sewing closet) that contained an old gray metal shelving unit. On the top of one of those shelves was a painted gray crate with piles of old photo albums and stacks of single photos. Every so often, I'd finagle that crate from its shelf and look through its contents. Even though I'd seen and studied each photo countless times, I'd still concentrate on each picture. Trying to somehow force myself into it. In my imagination, I could go into those pictures and meet my young parents. (With my present knowledge, there's a lot I could say!)But, in the idealistic daydreams of my youth, I always wanted to go back into the 1940s, to see my grandparents get married, to wear one of those beautiful dresses, to be a part of something that seemed both romantic and comfortable. *sigh*
Almost four year ago, my cousin bought our grandfather's house. He left his old photo albums there. Recently, my cousin let me borrow those pictures. I scanned some. I tried to wish myself into the photos. I know it's not going to work, but I'm happy that I can still daydream.