Ansel Adams

I love Ansel Adams. I have ever since the first time I have ever seen one of his photographs. I was in the mall, and there was a picture store. It was full of prints and frames, and I could spend hours in there looking at all of the pictures. It was there that I discovered Ansel Adams. The first picture I saw of his was "Rose and Driftwood".

I was 14 yrs old and I remember wanting that photo so bad. They were expensive prints though, and I didnt have a job. So I saved up as much as I could. Before I had enough money for it though, this guy that I had broken up with showed up at my house and gave it to me, framed, as a gift. What a moral dillemma! I had just broken up with this boy, and knew that we wouldn't get back together. I felt like keeping the picture would be leading him on... but man! I wanted it SO bad! I remember telling him that I still didn't want to date him, but I really appreciated the gift. Is it wrong that I kept it? Maybe. Is it wrong that I have it above the bed I share with my husband right now? Nahhh.  haha

After that, teenage life happened for a while, and I didn't have any more real prints. I had printed some off the internet to put in my locker and such, but didnt have any framed of his. I got a job, and ended up saving up to buy a print that I particularly loved. It was called "Moonrise" and was of a cemetery in New Mexico.

 I worked and saved up for a while, then went to buy it. I showed up at the Prints store in the mall, only to find that they were going out of business! I got a good deal on two certified prints, and went home a VERY happy lady. However, I didnt have enough money to get them framed, so I kept them safe in the plastic they came in for a couple of years. Then one day dad was trying to decorate his office at work, and asked about the prints. I told him that he could get them framed if he wanted, and hang them in his office until he either found a different job, or different art. Either way, they werent getting seen in my closet, and dad was offering to frame them. So after a huge lecture to him about how much these prints meant to me, I let him borrow them. He returned them safely to me a few months later.  Fast forward to more recently, I moved to Oregon, and did not want them in the U-Haul with my other stuff. I wanted to keep them SAFE, and so we wrapped them in blankets, and put them alone in the trunk of the car. However, somehow, a bottle of antifreeze that was also in the back of the car came open, and spilled all over the prints. They got ruined. I cried. I knew that it would be a long while before I could afford new ones. That was a year ago. Since then, we have bought our house, and there was one wall where I really wanted a piece of art on, so I never hung any pictures. I have looked at the wall SO many times, wishing I could have my pictures back.

Yesterday, there was knock on my door. My mom walked in holding a framed Ansel Adams (certified!) print. She goes "Hey honey, do you still like Ansel Adams as much as you used to?" WHAT?! YES! YES! Where did you get that?! She goes "Oh they had this down at Goodwill for $8, thought it would look good on that wall". I looked over at that bare wall, looked back at my mom holding this picture, and cried.

I realized something. I didnt cry because of how badly I wanted this print. I cried because somebody remembered ME. As a person, as an individual. Not just the mom, the wife, the care provider. She remembered ME. She thought of who I was, and remembered something that I liked, that had not a damn thing to do with my husband, my children, my house, my roles of any kind. It felt good. It felt good to be me again in that moment. I have put so much of my own personality aside, and so much of my individuality in a little box tucked away in my closet since becoming a wife and mother. Instead of being Amanda, I try so hard to be an awesome wife, a good mom, a good provider. I try to model my behaviors and wants and even my thoughts to what I think a good mother should be like. I enjoy my roles and responsibilities, dont get me wrong. But sometimes I miss me.