Fragments From Floyd

In this house, where usually there are just the two of us, how wonderfully discombobulating it was for those few days last week to have a house-full of family. Rooms were peopled, chairs weren't empty, silence was unheard of. There is something different about housing family: I find no urgency to entertain, have no guilt that each moment is not filled with structured activity. We are simply together.

And so it was not long before everyone nestled into their own niche, making themselves at home in our home--reading something entirely for fun, wrapping something semi-secretly or bantering cheerfully with another guest-relative to settle ancient debates about the silliest of matters. With histories that go back lifetimes, there was seldom the need to look outside our shared stories for conversation.

I recognize and lament how seldom I see both my children under the same roof over the past few years, and so am busy squirreling away little vignettes for future reveries when they are here. Few of these special moments can be captured in a picture, though, so I don't often try. Family snapshots too often miss the unposed and spontaneous nature of the times. But there are exceptions.

Abby's mom, in her full sweep of the house for the family's dirty clothes, exchanged a played-in top and bottom for a warm fleece blanket. Our three-year-old people-puppy, swaddled in her favorite wrap, found the warm dog lying next to the woodstove and draped herself lovingly across him. How could a photographer resist!

And so, here is the picture: perfect in that both the subject of the image and the photographer are found in that rare state of perfect bliss and contentment. Happiness is a warm puppy, a warm little girl, and a warm grandpa behind the camera.