Where is that picture? When writing a recent chapter in my newest book, The Amish Bus, I told the story of going to my first Annual Michiana Relief Sale Quilt Auction in Goshen, Indiana. In summary that tale said,

“I was not living in Goshen at the time, but Mary, a high school classmate, had recently moved to Goshen. She invited me to drive down for the week-end to attend. She had said, ‘Come Friday night. Everyone goes out to look at the quilts on display before the auction on Saturday.’

Though I grew up in Goshen, I had never heard of this event, much less attended it.”

I wanted a photo for the finished chapter. I remembered at least two from the sale, but didn’t know where they were. The problem was I also did not know the year. Since it was taken before I moved to Florida in 1997 and after my divorce, it was between 1991 and 1997.

That’s a little help! Because of my technology at that time, I knew the image would not be in my computer.

Maybe in the closet cache! I opened the closet in my office and pulled out the 56-quart, lidded, plastic storage box. In it were some loose pictures. All the others were in photo-size flip albums that were popular before computer storage was widely available.

I had the booklets labeled and arranged in order of the years, but I did not remember how many years back they went. Opening the box, I looked through the several quart-size food-storage bags of loose pictures on top of the albums. It could be here… However, those images proved to be mostly old ones others had sent me.

While memories from the loose images stirred, I pulled out booklets looking at each date on the cover for 1990-something. Finishing, I sighed. All in the 2000’s.

Sliding the box back where it had been, I thought of another photo storage area. It held several smaller boxes of loose images. While memories continued their inaudible whispering, I moved to a second closet. I took down a plastic shoebox of loose pictures marked “Old Photos.”

I lifted the cover. It’s probably not here. Nearly all were black and whites of old relatives, Mother and Daddy’s lives and childhoods. A few were printed in the early brown-tone.

On the back is marked: “Harry (My maternal grandfather) June,20, 1911

On the back is marked: “Harry (My maternal grandfather) June,20, 1911

I looked through the entire box. Just in case!

Next, I took down a box marked, “Mixed and Family 1994-1997.” Over the last ten years, I recalled finding pictures from other years in the box, too. That photo could be here.

I pulled out one of me sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, my hair in braids. After Doc stopped my early labor, he continued the medication and I remained in the hospital for nearly six weeks.

Mother’s writing was on the back of the snapshot. “4-13-75.” She and Daddy must have taken the photo when they came up from Indiana to visit.

Me in 1975

Me in 1975

Memories, memories!

The last of my boxes was labeled “Starting 1998.” I took it down and began looking through photo-store envelopes of prints. They were dated, but not in order and I had also stuck extra pictures here and there. It’s got to be here!

In an envelope marked “Duplicates” I found two images. One was taken Friday night at the quilt inspection. The other was taken the next day during a break from the auction.

I sank down at the dining room table. Holding those photos and the two from the other boxes, I studied the brownish picture of Grandpa Harry. It’s dated 1911. He was 14 when this was taken. He didn’t know my grandmother yet. He had no clue their first-born girl would have his red hair and freckles. He had no inkling about becoming a farmer and much later meeting —me!

I changed my focus to the hospital snapshot. I had no worries as I sat on that bed. My doctor was taking good care of me. I never worried about my baby.All would be well.

I had no clue my full-term child would barely sleep, scream at the sound of a music box, be unable to drink more than two ounces at a time or go stiff and cry when I tried to hold him. It was the beginning of a long medical search to find help for my son.

I picked up the Relief Sale photo of Mary and me and gazed long at it. I thought we’d remain pals, but I lost track of Mary after she later left Goshen.

  Mary(right) and me, 1993.

Mary(right) and me, 1993.

I sighed. These are all reminders no one can know the future. Best to put all my predictions and hopes in the hands of my Higher Power.

God’s plans are always best!

Leave a Reply




You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>