If you've read my bio on my site, you know that I kinda fell into photography, and that my formative years as they related to pictures was spent hiding from my camera-wielding mother (if I saw her coming), or finding myself the unwilling, often unphotogenic, victim of her itchy trigger finger.
It never occurred to me, that 12 years - has it really been that long? - after her death, I would be holding on to photography as a sort of afterlife line to her, finding comfort in our similarity, and that she approves of my chosen career in silly signs, like finding ancient B&H catalogues she subscribed to, or opening a box that I had assumed would be full of papers, only to find a handheld flash unit (that discovery made me cry, I wouldn't lie) that I intend to at least try to fix.
I still miss you mom. Thanks for the pictures.