I am younger each year at the first snow.
When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am
in love again and very young and I believe everything. - Anne Sexton, 1958
This photo, via my best friend from home Erin (the one in the middle, with her hat tied around her face), instantly evokes the simple joys of winter as a kid. Icicle as snack, hanging out in warm clothes (and not caring if they matched), and prepping for some yard-skiing: nothing says "winter in 1990" more-so. My brother, the little pumpkin-faced kid on the far right, has since quadrupled in size. Erin is on the west coast, and while we don't talk regularly, when we do it's as if we haven't missed a day. My childhood partner in crime, Erin and I roamed our neighborhood creeks and streets, pranked our siblings, and shared so many meals at our respective families' houses it seemed natural to set another place at the table. In high school, Erin was my carpool buddy and ski season teammate - we shared after-school snacks of pickles and pudding before practice, marathons of trashy movies and junk food, and teen magazine-fests. I think about those days often - even just yesterday, after hearing of Leslie Nielsen's death. "Airplane" was our consistent pick for movie night at her aunt and uncle's house in Saratoga.
Going home always provokes the past. My bedroom is still intact, almost like a time-capsule of my adolescent/teenage years. I love sifting through piles of old pictures and remembering smells, the light, other people present, what I was wearing. I'm thankful for developed camera film. There is nothing like sitting down with a closetful of photos from the 1990s.
