Turn Around

Hello, WordPress, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again. (Simon and Garfunkel anyone?)
To those of you who’ve stopped by the past couple months to see if perchance you might find a new post, thank you for not giving up on a very distracted first-time grandmother. True, while reveling in all things Harper Sparrow, I did manage to pop in on occasion with pictures and links, but that’s about it. Now that I’m back in Texas, trying to re-establish a semblance of routine, I’ve been hoping to rev the old blog engine. But every time I think about posting, too many recent scenes collide and it’s story gridlock in my head. I don’t know where to start, so I don’t start at all.
Solution? Baby steps. (Get used to lots of baby-related illustrations.) Just write, right? I’ve always considered this the place to share what’s on my mind, and lately I’ve been thinking a lot about life seasons, so that’s what you’re getting today.
When my sisters and I were little, Mom taught us a song. We sang it as toddlers. We sang it again during a slide show at one of my sister’s weddings. Now that my daughter has a daughter, I’m reminded of it yet again.
Where are you going, my little one, my little one?
Where are you going, my baby, my own?
Turn around and you’re two, turn around and you’re four
Turn around, you’re a young girl just going out the door.
Turn around, turn around, turn around and you’re a young girl
Just going out the door.
Where are you going, my little one, my little one?
Pigtails and petticoats, where have you gone?
Turn around and you’re tiny, turn around and you’re grown,
Turn around, you’re a young wife with babes of your own.
Turn around, turn around, turn around and you’re a young wife
With babes of your own.
There are two framed portraits in my parents’ house. Enlarged black and white photos of my mother and my younger sister as a newborn. Mom is wearing an elegant gown and robe, the one she wore on her honeymoon. She’s young–just turned twenty-seven–and gorgeous. But don’t take my word for it. See for yourself.

Before I headed to Seattle in April, I photographed the portraits and packed the robe and gown. Then, on a sunny May day, fifty-one years and two generations later, my daughter (who turns twenty-seven this month) and I recreated history.

Another Simon and Garfunkel song comes to mind. “Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph. Preserve your memories. They’re all that’s left you.”
I wouldn’t say our memories are all we have in the end, but I’m thankful all the same for photographs and the heritage they represent. Meanwhile, time passes, generations come and go, and God gives a greater grace. “Where are you going, my little one?” Wherever it may be, go in His peace and joy.