When I came home from Japan, one of the first things i did in that freezing cold winter was spend a morning looking through my Mum's oldest photo album. I guess she made it when she'd just married my Dad, in the five years they waited til my eldest brother came along and Mum had a cat she used to take everywhere. Her surrogate cat baby.
The oldest photo is probably the late 1940s but they go right through to the 1970s and there are several beautiful Polaroids of their 1969 courtship.
Gorgeous photos printed on real paper and fixed with now yellowing tape: This is not Facebook, people.
Mum and her sister outside the first car on their street, in Bradford, UK.
My Dad here is the biggest boy, its dated 1952, taken by one of those commercial photographers at Bridlington beach, Yorkshire. It must have been bloody freezing.
This is Uncle Jack, who I guess is my Great, Great Uncle. I love this photo, sat between the tomatoes on his allotment. When Mum was little there was still rationing so her Dad, like most Dads at that time, kept an allotment.
Dad has often said, that pre-1960, life felt like it was in black and white and then suddenly *boom* everything was in color:
Their van
Mum, how beautiful was she? It must be the early seventies here.
Family portrait of the women in our family.
My Dad. It's oddest to see my Dad like this - before us. My Mum? Well, I can imagine her life because I am pretty much a carbon copy of her with blonde hair but my Dad is different. In fact, all Dad's are different - and harder to understand. I guess its because try as I may, I will never be a young man. I've never understood young men.
No cooking or adventures this week. I've been working straight for two weeks now at the Bodleian Library and the other place but finally have a day off this Sunday.
Love Mizi Moo
xoxoxo
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