I spent the evening last nite scanning my “baby pictures” and putting them in a gallery. My intial reason for doing this was because a lot of the pictures are turning a really dark orange or purple. So I whipped out my trusty scanner, threw everything in to Photoshop CS2, and went town with color correction and photo correction (sad how many scratches are on those things).
My ex-step-grandmother (who is now dead) started keeping a “baby book” for me when I was kid that all my school pictures and such in it. Apparently at some point, I added my baby pictures to it that they never had. So — I spent a good amount of time last nite looking at myself — thinking back to how things were — thinking about what an absolute complete bitch my step-mother was and how much I regret having had her in my life. Made me think alot about my grandmother (who died when i was 21) and my aunt Brenda (who died two years ago). I don’t think I have any pictures of my grandmother … and I wish I did. I’ll have to ask my dad. A few pictures of Brenda — and my grandfather (who will be 80 this June).
But it amazes me how many destict environmental memories I have. Like, I don’t remember so much events as I do *things* about where I grew up. Like I remember the carpet at the church where I grew up (it was blue and green — how could i not remember that…) But I remember this one pillow on my grandmother’s couch that was white and brown. I remember the green velvet wallpaper at their house. The wooden slate columns in her kitchen. The microwave with the clock that had a weird constant hum-buzz. And of course, I remember her piano. My grandmother was quite the pianist, and I think she was always thrilled that I took up piano. (I was the first grandkid, and always a favorite.) I spent a lot of time in my life on her piano — but when they lived in Deer Park and when they moved to Idaho.
I also remembered a lot of … details … about where I lived in Friendswood with that bitch. I remember the china hutch with drawers that were always crammed full of crap. In fact, it seems like every drawer in that house was stuffed with some type of crap — cards, old pencils, weird pieces of different weird things that no longer work (perhaps because the piece was in the drawer). I remember the tacky ass wallpaper in the dining room that had copper kettles on it. I remember the bitch ironing clothes in her bra and slip in the kitchen every morning while we kids ate breakfast at the bar. I remember the yellow tupperware containers in the kitchen. I remember the monsterous heap of clothes that lived in the garage in front the washing machine (I still have no idea why that was like that. The pile was seriously at least 4 feet high, 4 feet deep, and at least 6 feet wide. I don’t miss my ex-step-mother. At all. It’s sad to think that she was in my life for 9 years and that her behavior had such an impact on my life. Goes to show how impressionable children.
Anyway — I put the first pictures up that I scanned last nite in my gallery. There’s no direct link from my site to it (except for this one here). I didn’t design the site to have a gallery in it, so I’ll have to figure something out.
So — I think I was a terribly evil looking baby. Look at how *black* my eyes are as a tiny kid. And then look at how my hair seemed to ignite as I hit about 2 years old. Thank god it got somewhat darker as I got older. I still hate having it — but perhaps the proof of color as a child will provide some sort of justification for my issues…