There’s nothing quite like holding pictures of your loved ones in your grubby little hand.
Call me old fashioned, but I just can’t get the same warm, fuzzy thrill out of looking at cold electronic photos. It’s too much like viewing someone else’s life, too far removed from that private place inside that croons, “Awwww” when you’re caressing a fave memory. Something crucial and not really easy to explain is missing when you can’t respond with your tactile senses.
Stroking a computer screen just doesn’t cut it.
Anyhow, I mentioned something like this to Chuck the other day. Actually, it was more like, “I hate not having real pictures anymore.” I wasn’t even sure he was listening, but the dear man just plunked an 8-inch stack of several hundred printed photos on my desk. They must be every digital photo we’ve shot during the last year. Wow.
Pitter pat goes my heart. I love that guy!
Guess it’s time to unearth the old albums and have some fun.
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