There was always a suitcase under my bed when I was growing up. It was blue and old and inside were photos of my mother’s dad, my mom’s yearbook, a photo of her at about 4 years old, and a few black and white photos that were mostly yellow.
I kept them and held them dear.
I never saw many family pictures…we moved so many times and things were inevitably lost in the shuffle. I don’t have a baby picture.
I equate photos with memory. I asked for a camera for Christmas when I was 7 because I already felt the need to document my life. I can tell you when family came to visit, how old Noah was when we went here or there, even when my babies sprouted teeth, because I can visualize the photograph I took of these things. And I can browse the thousands of digital files tightly holding years and years of my life.
I have whole days…almost entire weeks seamlessly captured. The trees, the birds, the sun, my face, everything really but especially my kids.

I sell some photos to stock photography companies. I use them in my art boxes. I share a handful online, put a few in art shows, but I mostly just stockpile them.
I am thinking I may try to sell some prints in my etsy shop soon and see where that takes me…I’ve had much luck with my art boxes lately and am extremely grateful for that.