I’ve always had an eye for detail. My husband has to continually remind me how old I am, and what year we were married. He thinks this is ridiculous. But he’s a numbers guy, I’m visual. I remember what it all looked like. I can tell you what everyone wore the day I was married, and what necklace my grandma was wearing at my graduation. There were purple paisley drapes in the restaurant, on my first date with my husband.
With this newborn session, my brain went blank. Driving home, thinking about my time with them, I couldn’t picture a single thing about their home. Not the pictures on the walls, or the pattern of Maggie’s little dress, or the color of the blanket that baby Greg was wrapped in.
My memory kept “looping” on how many times since I’ve known her, that I’ve heard Carly say, “What a blessing!”It is invariably in reference to a small kindness from a friend, or a funny story about one’s children, or an invitation to a family party; something small, that someone else might not even acknowledge. She’s like that. She’s finds the good in everything-appreciates what she has been given. Always has, as long as I’ve known her-since at least a hundred years ago when she first came to my house to play with my youngest sister, Trisha.
Carly’s no longer my sister’s friend, she’s a part of our family. Given that, I guess I should remember how her house looks. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been there. But I guess my memory became a little side tracked. It forgot to notice what everything looked like, because it was too busy concentrating how everything felt. And it pretty much felt like a giant embrace. Always does. Carly and Matt have a home so filled with love, it’s hard to leave. What a blessing.