When it comes to events, I'm so accustomed to being behind the lens. It's odd then to traipse through an entire collection of photos where I appear with alarming regularity.
It's equally alarming to discover that that spot opposite the viewfinder gives you a totally different perspective on things. And, for me at least, it usually provides me with a more rounded picture of what was going on when the photo was taken. While I do remember some of the photos (all 1,000 plus from the Monkeygirls' 2006 wedding) being taken, there are others that I feel robbed of that knowledge. So, as I try to create words to accompany these photos in my scrapbook, it's much tougher than usual.
But as I point and click and edit and save, there's one emotion that is abundantly clear: love. Words are completely inadequate to express the love that I feel for the people in this photo.
Sadly, one of them is missing, but the love is there none the less. (Maria, the eighth wonder of our little world from high school, couldn't make it.) The words just don't exist or else they're not part of my vocabulary, extensive though it may be.
This photo is a twist on the "on the stairs" shot that we traditionally used to always take at any sort of a gathering that managed to draw all eight of us together. I immediately started laughing when I saw it.
That's us. The real us. The us that we may only dust off an display in the presence of one another, or maybe, if we're lucky, the us that we are comfortable being every day thanks to one another.
It's probably a combination of the holiday season and last night's full moon -- and the outpouring of support I'm already enjoying following Day One of our charity program at work -- but my heart is full and my emotions are clinging to my proverbial sleeve. So, indulge me, please.
I'm having a Budweiser moment, albeit without the Budweiser: I love you, man.