Framed Memories

The walls and shelves of my study abound with framed pictures, paintings, collages, prints and family photographs. Oh, there is open space; I don't mean to imply that I have covered every inch of pastel plaster and dark wood surface with a visual image. (For that experience, one would have to visit my husband's art studio upstairs - a great room to lose yourself in).

The organizational side of me has grouped the hangings into themed arrangements. There are the photos of me during my Disney entertainment days beside a photo my husband did of me during that period, and a trio of Snow White illustrations. Another section of wall holds a collage of my theatre performances with certificates of my acting nomination honors. A third grouping includes pictures of my parents from their wedding through their 50th anniversary alongside needlework poems I did for them that used to hang in their home.

Desktop photos feature my grandsons, my husband, the annual family posing, and other favorite images of my nearest and dearest, some unfortunately gone from my life now, including several canines that have enriched my surroundings over the years. Among the many family photos, I have two special favorites; one shows a generational impression of my grandmother, mother, daughter and me. The other is a double frame of our daughter asleep beside her new first-born son, and our daugter-in-law in the same pose with her son. Both were happy accidents and evoke strong maternal feelings every time I look at them.

I'm not going to describe every image I gaze upon daily. (Besides, there are a couple of standouts that deserve a blog post all their own.) My purpose in detailing the ones I've noted is to help you understand how these framed memories influence my writing. I am a sentimentalist and don't apologize for it. The times when I create essays about my past or my family are my favorite moments at the keyboard. There is all too much cynicism and harshness in most of what we read; everyone wants to rale and rant and predict gloom. I think my purpose as a writer is to escape that whenever possible, resulting in how I've chosen to decorate my work space. Each of these recollections is a happy moment that can spur my brain into positive action. A memory, said one of my favorite authors, James Barrie, is "what God gave us so that we might have roses in December" and that certainly says it better than I ever could.