Some photos cry out for help, others are content in their own space. No matter, I make the decisions. For better or sometimes worse. In the case of these two suspects, I thought I might change my mind by cleaning them up – but they still look guilty.
A day at the lagoon turns woodsy.
When I was six weeks old I was taken in by a family of six. At the time, my foster mother was fifty-five years old, had two sons and two adopted daughters. The siblings were all much older than I was. Later in life I found I was never legally adopted. So many secrets about who fathered me, an unwed mother and hush hush all my life. To this day, it’s still a mystery.
The only photo I have of this woman is just a paper copy of her when she was very young, and recently married. She could not have been more loving and kind if I had been her own. When my brother’s wife left him, he came home with two babies just four years younger than I was. Once again, ‘Nana’ as she was called took on more responsibility.