No offense to great photogs, but it’s possible to love a crappy photo

IMG_0045I know a good photo when I see one. This is a crappy photo. Here’s why I love it:

There snoozes, Auggie, my hyperactive grandpup. When he’s not channeling his inner greyhound doing laps around the house, he catnaps. The space between my mom’s socked feet is his new go-to spot for some shut eye. Mom doesn’t notice because she’s napping, too, a frequent habit with the lower energy level of the last few weeks.

A baby blanket drapes over Mom’s stiff knees that stay cold even when Phoenix temperatures hit the 100s. My daughter used that blanket, a handmade gift from a cousin on her dad’s side, well beyond her baby years. (I was surprised she didn’t take it to college.) It still gives comfort, repurposed for elder care.

The tiny rocker in the background is from my childhood. Mom kept it for me until I was ready for it. It was shipped from Ohio 22 years ago when my daughter was old enough to use it. I’ll keep it until she’s ready for it.

I wasn’t thinking of any of this when I framed the photo. (My photographer friends, whose images really do speak a thousand words, would say I wasn’t thinking about framing or composition at all.) I was just capturing a moment to share in a text message to my sister.

It’s not a pretty picture, but it speaks volumes, if only to me, of a moment that tells a story of the past meeting the future. Of what I have, of what I’ll lose and of what, perhaps, I’ll gain some day.