Editing these photos, I couldn't help but think about how I see my erstwhile hometown through very different eyes in recent years. I suppose I see all of life through different eyes, after all...I'm a big fan of aging, which may sound odd in this day and age, and coming from an American. Americans don't value age, but I think they should. I heard my mother say it long before I ever experienced it myself - that each decade was better than the last. From my perspective now, I'd have to say that's true, and I hope it continues to be true.
In my very young years, I was too preoccupied, too caught up in some image of the glittering unattainable to see the beauty in what lay all around me, in the cracks of a sidewalk, in the arch of the eves, in the rustle of dry leaves on the snow.
I dearly appreciate these fresh eyes that maturity has given me. There were so many details I missed, so much splendor in the moment.
This place is the Gilded Carriage, which I spoke of in a previous post. It was a favorite haunt from my childhood, and still holds all the wonders of those early years for me.
It's still a beautiful place full of treasures.
This window on the side of the building, for some reason, is the one that has always held the most magic for me...gazing in at all those translucent, crystalline rows of fine glassware, so artfully arranged. This is an image I see echoed time and again in the years that make up my past.
And then there are the details that I only notice now with my more careful eye.
There's a great joy in layering the experience of a child, the next generation, over all those layers of memory from the past. It's funny to say that I never understood the "attraction" of having children until Q came along. I just didn't get it. It all seems so obvious now.
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