319

Three sisters, standing one behind the other at an angle to the camera, from youngest in the front to oldest in the back.  Their old fashioned glasses and stiff hairdos make them look older than they are, which is, perhaps, in their early thirties.  The youngest, with a rounder, fuller face, is smiling.  The older two are not.  The oldest, however, has a twinkle in her eyes, which, even in a black and white photo, are clearly blue.  The middle sister's gaze is begrudging, forceful, maybe even angry, though I know the look is hiding an irrational fear of having her picture taken, a fear that will build into a phobia to add to an increasing pile of phobias and obsessions.  It is the oldest sister who is my grandmother.

134

The quiet little boy with the strawberry blond hair stared seriously out of most of his pictures. Here he was, hours after his usual bedtime, standing in pajamas and robe, holding his telescope and preparing to view the rings of Saturn, the spot on Jupiter and the ice caps of Mars as they hung in a rare triangle in the night sky. The little boy's mother took his picture and smiled her subdued smile; the same smile that appeared on her son's face a short while later when Saturn came into focus. His mother made hot cocoa for when he was done and his head was filled with the universe.