Every Picture Tells a Story

So after a weekend of stark contrasts (sad -- my declining, weak, and out of it Mom) and happy (Art Walk and South Miami Dade with the vital and young and happy Ds), D1 drove D2 to MIA for a return flight to Gainesville. D2 has final exams, and is due back on May 5th -- a college senior! Last night Wifey and I engaged in our latest addiction: "Sons of Anarchy." Typical of us, we learn of a good show years after it comes out, and then watch entire seasons of it over the course of a few weekends. And so it is with this great Sopranos meets California biker saga. We're nearly "caught up" with the rest of the viewers now. Wifey is now my old lady, and I'm the president of the outlaw motorcycle club. No ink, though -- we both find that rather revolting... So I woke up this am at 4:30, and checked the latest photos posted on Facebook (tm). Wifey added several from this past weekend. I never take photos -- that's Wifey and the Ds' department. I used to take them when we vacationed, and then Wifey correctly pointed out that I took scene photos -- vistas and buildings -- that gave no indication that we were ever there. Wifey always takes photos of US at places -- so we can remember, in context, our visits. Since she pointed that out, I always chuckle when I see tourists shooting the London Bridge, or Times Square, or any other things that pros have already photographed millions of times. Of course -- the pros, like my friend Dr. Eric, are another story. Eric is a true artist, as is my nephew Henry, and when they take a photo they bring a new dimension to the image. Regular folks with cameras on their phones? Not so much. So I went through some of the Facebook albums -- one is called "We Are Family." Wifey posted shots beginning with the Big One, as Archie called WW II --through the present. There are several photos of my strong, strapping father in law -- movie star handsome -- in athletic poses in Israel. In some, he's hoisting fellow Israeli soldiers above his head, like an old Charles Atlas ad. He looks so vital -- so healthy -- so full of life. I contrast that with the image from last weekend --he's wheelchair bound, mostly, and gray, and confused. As my friend Dr. Vince's father used to always say: Mother Nature is one cruel bitch... Wifey also has wedding photos of my parents -- from Pasadena. My father was in uniform, and my mother looked like a Hollywood starlet out of an Andrews Sisters movie. She was truly a beautiful and stylish woman. Last weekend -- so frail, so gray, so out of this world. A true ghost of who she was... The photos paint a happier trail, too. The Ds were adorable little girls who bloomed into beautiful young ladies. There was D1 -- always poised and posing in the photos -- even as a 7 year old. And D2 -- hair out of place, with an impish smile -- like she had just done something she knew she wasn't supposed to. Wifey and I haven't changed, of course, except for a few things on my part. About 10 years ago I started having my hair stylist add gray to my hair -- to make me look more distinguished. She's been keeping it up all this time. And I've maintained a strict health regimen designed to keep me from looking malnourished. I was just a skinny guy when I met Wifey at 22, and I've been bound and determined to change that. So the photos tell the story -- sometimes of growth, and sometimes of decline and decay. As Tony Soprano used to remark, in one of my favorite lines -- well, hey what are ya gonna do?