Punam Bean Photography (observations)

Remember our old apartment in Long Island City? It feels wierd to call it our old apartment, we lived there for so long. It was our first place together, blocks from where we met and from where we married. Remember that park across the street? They changed it now, but it used to have a concrete soccer field. There were latin leagues that used play there with a deflated soccer ball.

There are a few scenarios in which I remember always having the time of my life with you. On a good dance floor is one of them. Swimming in swimming pools is another. And snow days. Remember snow days? The snow would pillow in high form over the concrete park by our house. We would frolic there and mar the freshly fallen snow with out childish antics. We’d fall and jump, we’d get on the swings and fly off, I’d worry about your bad knee and you’d worry I’d injure mine. But usually, no one got hurt.

Remember this day? We made a video about snow, and about fun, and about our love. You collapsed in a pile and I put the timer on the camera up on the tripod and I came to kiss you, and instead you made me laugh in your face. We live in California now, and there are no snow days to be had. I miss snow days with you, though I don’t entirely mind being warm most of the time in the strong desert sun. But sometimes, I wish it was cold outside, sometimes I wish that the snow would drift upon us and you could keep me warm like you did then.

Ever since that disposable camera I had at the 5th grade school picnic, I’ve collected and carried with me photos I’ve taken of my life. They sit, mushed together in a box. The box was a recent purchase. They used to be in a dilapidated old shoe box, duct taped together for dear life. This box lived in our storage space, and though she made the journey to California safe and sound, I put her on a shelf, and as we were clearing the room out to make space for Uma’s things, he asked, do we need this box up here? I gave him a cursory glance. No, you can put it in the garage.

So it goes with old photos, doesn’t it? We found it important enough not only to document the moments of our lives, even have photos printed, or not, and then we move on with life, with the moments we wanted to remember stored away in a box, or in a hard drive, only to be stumbled upon one day. Remember that time we fell in the snow? Remember that time we smoked cigarettes in the alleyway? Remember the New Years you played in that blizzard, and I got so drunk I took my pants off?

I was going through my hard drive, looking for… I don’t know what. Something to blog about, I guess. And here, and there, I stumbled. On pictures of Husbone I never looked twice at. And I remembered that time…

Remember that time we went to Florida? It was May, and I came to see you there so we could try to make a baby. Remember that mustache you had before it faded away to nothing? And the Shotgun Party was there, and we all had such a great time together. It was us three girls, and all three of you named Andrew. While you were setting up, I sat on the couches in the back of the bar. You came to sit beside me and had a beer. And I thought, after almost 7 years of knowing you I still feel special when you sit near me. Also you are the handsomest man I ever did meet.