It's been raining for days and I can hear the cycling of our sump pump even in my sleep.
Restless kids, faced with keeping themselves occupied indoors... sometimes without devices [GASP]... struggle, cry, complain, sigh...
...and every now and again a surprise -- middle man reading to little man.
When I was little, I'd find treasures like this photo in the liquor cabinet. No, I wasn't searching for booze (yet) -- that came a few years later. The liquor cabinet housed the bottles that my parent's won at bull roasts and never drank. More about that some other time. Below the alcohol were a number of drawers/doors that stored a little of this and that -- treasures of all shapes and sizes...but most importantly, photos.
Prints were in. I can remember riding in the car with my mom and picking them up (typically from a Kodak Fotomat kiosk in a parking lot or at K-mart). While my folks weren't really into albums...you could be sure to rifle thru years of memories, roll after roll of film (alongside their negatives) nestled in their original packaging...stored in shoeboxes. Every now and again, you could find us on the sofa in the basement with those boxes alongside us...soaking in those everyday moments. Laughing. Reminiscing. Telling stories.
Those were the days.
So are these.
Cheers to more shoebox memories...