Griffin and the Time Machine

I'm singing "Shoes go on feet" to him. He's so fragile, so easily hurt, so easily taught the wrong things. I think our occasional tap on the hand to teach "no" is backfiring. I've stopped doing it.

When I look at this, it reminds me of old photographs found in abandoned houses, or in the leaves of second hand books. It's a slice of time frozen forever, and you can never know what was really happening there. If someone found this photo stuck between the pages of my "Peter Wimsey" book after buying it from some dude selling a zillion books on a blanket in NYC.. like, 10 or 20 years from now..they wouldn't know that while I was putting on his shoes, while we were being recorded, frozen in time.. I was singing to him "Shoes go on feet". They wouldn't know that I was getting him ready to walk outside with his Da, to go drop stones in the storm grate. They wouldn't know that I was finally healing from years of injury, pain and doubt. They wouldn't know about our little apartment, that his name is Griffin, or that he likes grapefruit juice in his sippy cup. They might keep it, or throw it away. They might wonder who we were. I know when I see pictures on the "found" website, I really want to know who these people were. What was going on in their lives?

It's the same with very old pictures. It's strange to look at one, and think "These people are all dead".

But at least they were captured by the time machine first.
-A