I'm the one behind the camera, not in front of it, and for some reason, asking my husband to take a photograph of me is akin to asking him to scale Mount Everest or something equally as daunting.
And to be honest, I've spent most of my life hiding behind that camera. I did not want that 235-pound body recorded for all eternity. I did not want that plump face filling the frame.
I'm very aware of my mortality. Not that I walk around brooding about it constantly, and not that I'm preoccupied about it, but we all know that we're not getting out of this world alive.
And sadly, when I do leave this world, I will leave behind my precious babies. I want them to remember me. I want them to have things with my handwriting on it.
I want them to have my dogeared, abused and battered copy of Desert Solitaire, with all the good parts underlined, and my notes in the margins.
I want them to remember my smell, my laugh, and the way I always sing at the top of my lungs to music in the car.
And I'd like for there to be a few pictures scattered about. So I'm doing something about it.
I have a nice, fancy-schmancy Nikon DSLR that I got for my birthday five or so years ago. I love it and it's served me well. It's taken pictures of numerous vacations, holidays and other special events, and some not-so-special.
But it's unwieldy to use. And it's rather big. I didn't want to tote it to The Bahamas on our vacation, and since I'm going to have to enlist my kids in taking pics, I had to find something simpler.
So I bought a Sony CyberShot SD1400. It's tiny, and it takes great pictures. So look forward to pictures, pictures, pictures.
Here's one of me to start it off. I took this one yesterday morning while I was waiting for Miss K to get done with her private dance lesson.
(I haven't yet perfected the pouty look, known to teenagers and teenager wanna-bes worldwide on Facebook and MySpace.)
No make-up, goofy look on my face, but there it is, world. Me, for everyone to see.
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