I found this photo of me when I was sixteen. My dad took it at our house in Carmel. The sea shell necklace was made by a boyfriend, who dropped me at the end of a summer romance because I wouldn't 'sleep' with me. I didn't feel ready and I stuck to my guns. He didn't want to wait. Oh, hormones.
This photo is my mother in 1960, when she was twenty-five. They already had three children by then. We were living on Rio Road, just down the street from the Carmel Mission.
I forget how beautiful she was. The last twenty years of life were hard on her. Parkinson's is a terribly cruel disease. She had beautiful handwriting which deteriorated significantly. She loved to read books, making regular trips to the library all throughout my childhood. Her eyesight failed her for her last decade and that delightful past time was lost to her. It helps me to remember that she once was young and strong and led an interesting life. She had smarts, and talent, and being a young mother in the 1960s was restrictive. She took the traditional role of wife and mother, and wasn't always very happy about it. They played bridge with friends, took us kids on a lot of field trips, and did a fine job overall even though they were excessively young.
Going through all these old photos makes my mind reel a bit. Have all those years really flown by so quickly? Still many boxes to go, and who knows what other gems I will find.