Sunday, December 12, 2010

in memoriam

we spent the day yesterday at a memorial for one of our closest friend's mom. a lot of love in that house. among the folded legs and memories tucked into corners. on one table, photos. in one, she was young and on the beach, eyes focused on something in the distance. she was young and it's not always about age, is it? going through a box today, i found an old cd, unlabeled. i found photos. of another parent of a friend who has since passed. and he was not so young in this picture, it was only a few years ago. but he was young, you know? even if he didn't feel it.

driving home from west hills last night, we took ventura blvd. all the way home. we passed a chain restaurant we had once visited back in our first year of dating and i pointed at it. 'i remember eating there...' my voice trailing off as i think back to the chip and pepper jeans i wore nonstop during that time of my life, margaritas with dinner, coffee for dessert. we went back to bryan's apartment that night and played poker with one of our friends. it was my first time playing poker and i drank too much wine and talked the whole time. wiped the floor with them. beginner's luck. or verbal distraction. regardless, i stayed up later than usual that night, smoked too many cigarettes and we went to breakfast late, closer to lunch than not. we were so young, even though we weren't.
a few minutes after passing the restaurant last night, finn says 'yeah, we ate there,' with the taffy-like conviction that only exists between the ages of two and three. 'no, you weren't born yet,' bryan says. and she is silent. and i think she is so young. 


  1. "with the taffy-like conviction that only exists between the ages of two and three" - OHMYGOD, i know that conviction!

    you have it right. it is paper thin and it escapes the fingers every time you reach for it. no holding it.

    i'm sorry for so much loss.

    (your photos, too, are brilliant.)


  2. I think we leave these jewels, pieces of ourselves strung out like Christmas lights, waiting for memories to plug them in and highlight moments of our lives.

    Pictures sometimes capture the lit strands of who we are/were, highlighting echoes of spirit. (Hugs)Indigo

  3. mmmm...this is the theme that is threaded through everything I'm reading tonight. Or maybe I'm just looking for it.

    You write so gorgeously, Krista. You are a gift to me, and I don't say that glibly.

    I'm sorry for your loss, friend.

  4. I know this feeling. But you verbalized it so well.

  5. I'm so sorry for your loss. You words are a delight to read and the photos are just purely magnificent. Even the colors seem muted---in respect for the occasion. Thank you so much for sharing this.



  6. Beautiful, K. So sorry for your loss and for your friend. A perfect, eloquently put post on how that sort of thing shakes you up.

  7. I am so sorry for your loss. So sorry.


  8. If only we could keep those that we love so well with us as long as we want to - whatever the reasoning for our life's losses, I guess we who are left behind keep them alive in memory with the assistance of pictures. (Is that why I take so many?)

    I wish everyone could realize the loving needs to be shared daily with others.

    You have always and will always know my love for you, as do your daughter and husband-to-be.

    You know, I wrap your words around me like a blanket and they comfort me in this everyday journey called life.

    I guess all this was a bit disjointed, but I felt like saying it.

    Love you as always, Kritter. xxoo Mom

  9. Such a beautiful post. I love the way you write, it makes you wanna read more...

    Beautiful and sad post, made me think about so many things. Thanks.

    Camila F.

  10. I do hope young is not an age. If it were true, I have surpassed it and my own mortality looms like tomorrows bad gas. But the older I age, the younger I become, as if the innerds run counter clockwise to the skin. *sigh*

    Your photos, as always, are captivating.


use your kind words.