freckles

When I was in the forth grade I hated my freckles. I thought they made my face look dirty and I longed for the smooth, dark completion of my brown-eyed friend, Sarah. I wanted to invent a potion that would forever remove them. I told my mom of my brilliant plan and she suggested an easier route. Makeup. Once I was old enough.

Well, once I was old enough for makeup, I didn't notice my freckles anymore. I had moved on to criticizing other parts of myself and that no longer included my freckled face. I have not thought about my freckles in a long time. Until I saw this picture.

This picture says to me, among other things: She is back from the beach.

Now, let me explain. I spent most of my hours on the beach sitting in the sand under cool and shady pier. Which really is more building than pier. And I sat under the building more to shield Isaac from the sun than myself. And, as you can tell from the picture, I was successful in keeping his skin safe. But I left the shore well freckled.

There is something else this picture says to me.
They got a new camera! A serious, step things up a bit, buckle down type of camera. Are you worried that I might drop it in a lake? put it through the washing machine? leave it in my purse outside of Circuit City? You should be and I am a bit. My bleak camera history certainly doesn't merit a fancy pants camera. I was so nervous of it that I refused to touch it for about 12 hours after opening the box. And then I would get very, very anxious each time I picked it up. But here it is. To stay. And I will try my best to avoid destroying it.

And if I do somehow break it. I probably won't tell you.
A girl can only handle so much humiliation.





Here I am with my new toy and my new sidekick. Who appreciates sharp contrast the way all good photographers should.