(Warning! Long personal post ahead with a scanned photo.)

There is something so deep and meaningful about an old black and white photo. Maybe it has something to do with my inner history buff or my exterior family tree nut, but I collect black and white photos of my family like a squirrel storing for winter. I was doing a major clean of the office in preparation of hitting the ground running on June 1st with my business (and it desperately needed it) and I came across my folder of old prints.

I don’t know why this one stood out to me, maybe it’s because I’m a huge traditional Christmas fan. With divorced parents and being an only child I never really had that. Don’t get me wrong the Christmas’s I had were fantastic, but there is something inherently beautiful of having a huge family decorating, wrapping, eating all around the Christmas season.

My parent’s divorced when I was eight years old and I remember before that having the grandparents together, an aunt or uncle would show up, my Dad would cook the most delicious mouth watering food, including bread stuffing and shortbread that cannot be topped today. On Christmas day after the stockings had been unwrapped, the French Toast eaten, more gifts unwrapped; my Grandparents would take me to visit all their local friends. I have glimpses of eating lunch by a fire, having tea around a round kitchen table and getting cute little gifts like a pants full of Smarties labeled ‘Smartie Pants’ and how could I forget the craft fairs my Grandma took me to every year!

All that went away when my parents divorced, my Grandparents got older their friends past on, the arthritis set in and the crafts went away. I’ve been slowly capturing that feeling with Kevin’s Mum. I was going to be by myself on our first Christmas together (two months of dating) my Mum was working and my Dad/Bob were off to Victoria. With open arms she invited me, re introduced me to the big family dinners, the stockings, the little gifts to everyone and she had barely even known me before I had a little cute stocking with my name on it, waiting for me.

That’s why I like lifestyle/journalistic photos – the chance to be yourself, nothing posed, to show the world what your story is. One of my favourite photos of my friend is of her tilting her head back laughing away. Flattering? Not really, but captures her spirit perfectly.

This gem of a photo is small, exposure a little off – but it shows a clip into my Dad’s family, what their Christmas mornings were like. The clutter of wrapping paper strewn about and opened boxes everywhere. It shows me what kind of tree they got and how they decorated it, but most importantly a glimpse into what my Grandpa was like. I never met him. He was a taxi driver, picked up a customer that stabbed him in the back of the neck. He died when my Dad was very young.

But when I look at this photo, I feel like I can dive into the moment. Hear my Grandpa speak in deep tones to my Uncle Mike, Uncle Fred, and Auntie Sheryl. I wonder what they are talking about. I wonder where my Auntie Rose and my Dad are, is my Dad still a babe? Is my Grandma cooking away the breakfast in an old fashion kitchen? Can you smell fresh bacon and hear the sizzle of eggs? Was Elvis or the Beatles singing softly in the background or were the grandparent’s more conservative in their choice of music?

I never knew my Grandparents, I never knew what it was like to have all my Dad’s siblings together in one room, I never knew what Christmas’s were like in the 60’s, but one small photo has the power to bring me answers to that, has the ability to capture a moment in time and bring back memories.

That’s why I love photography.