David is a photographer; he always has at least two cameras on his person. Usually more. Sometimes he takes pictures with all of them at once, or at least that's how it looks to the naked eye. I guess if you run it through instant replay you can see the lightning-fast lens changes and such, but the end result is the same.
We have a lot of photos.
There are at least a million of them that are my favorites, too, for different reasons. There's an entire album full of photographs of the Lake, for instance, and each one thrills my soul in a different way. Then there are all the pictures of our kids. Each one is a precious memory. So I decided to choose my favorite photo of myself.
I am not a photogenic person. Take ten photos of me, and I'll be making a weird face in at least nine of them. I'm not just being self-deprecating and coy; really, I just take awkward photos.
There's a verse from the Ani diFranco song, "Evolve," that goes:
it took me too long to realize
that I don't take good pictures
cuz I have the kind of beauty
But it doesn't stop my husband from trying. And sometimes, he gets lucky.
He actually took two good pictures of me on this day--except the other one is actually a picture of me from behind, hugging a birch tree. I was having a good-looking ass day, and that made me think, for a long time, that when I became a highly successful author, I would use that tree-huggin' nice ass photo on the dust jacket.
The exciting thing about this photo is knowing now that I was about two weeks pregnant here with my first son. My good, good friend and pseudo-Sister "Flutterby" had come to stay with us all the way from Texas. She was born and raised in Los Angeles, and hadn't ever really been around snow. It was April, and when she got here, we were locked in ice. It was freezing cold, covered with snow, and the normal April melting had resulted in everything being coated in a thick icy film.
A couple of days later, the April sun shone down with all its might, and we went for a walk in the neighborhood. Flutterby was amazed at the sound of water running everywhere, underneath the ice, down the streets in rivulets, an exodus of ice, flowing downhill to the Lake.
We went on a drive up the Shore, doing a big circle, and this picture was taken at the Baptism River, where ice flows broke free and sailed off while we watched, wearing short sleeves and blowing bubbles. It was a perfect day, all around. Well, except for the inexplicable case of car sickness I thought I had. Ha!