I posted this photo earlier in the week, so please pardon the repeat. This time I'll ask you to look beyond the two little girls (my sister and me) and notice the mirror on the wall behind the lamp, right next to the front door. That mirror was my grandmother's and was in her house for as long as I can remember until she died in December of 1988.
After that, for the next 11 years, my mother had the mirror. Mother loved Christmas and all its trimmings. I'm pretty sure that the timing of her own death--the day after Christmas in 1999--is one reason why I struggle so much with all the Christmas hoopla these days. I think about her all year long, but this time of year she's on my mind all the time.
The mirror is probably older than I am. I have it now, and it hangs next to my own front door. Sometimes I think about how the mirror moved with my grandparents from Missouri to Texas, then from my grandmother's home to my mother's, and then from Texas to Louisiana with me. So many familiar faces and furnishings have been reflected in that mirror. I wish it could talk and tell me stories about what it's seen.
This is another old Christmas photo I scanned the other day. I'd planned to include it when I posted the others but changed my mind. I didn't think it would add anything to the story.
I've changed my mind again. One of the good things about viewing old photos on the computer is the ability to zoom in and get a better look at smaller items in the pictures. That's what happened today, the first time I've ever looked at magnified versions of these particular photos, and I'm so glad I did. The mirror's in this one, too, barely visible, but look at the close-up version below. There, just above my little sister's head, like a ghost from Christmas past, is the reflection of our mother's slender hand on the camera.
And who says there's no Santa Claus?