Today, I am looking at a photograph Mariann sent me several months ago. Taken around 1988-89, it shows me, my son and the Laue's dog, Spicer, standing in front of their Virginia home. Aron is around six-seven years old and I am not quite or just forty-years old. It's before Instagram or cell phone photos and the photograph paper still has a shiny sheen .
There is a porch light on by the front door so I am guessing it is after dinner--or maybe Mariann's casserole is still bubbling in the oven. I am wearing a white sweater draped over white pants and blue t-shirt. Aron is in black basketball shorts (he was already mastering those skills thanks to being a part of the Tucson fan base for UA Wildcats), white t-shirt with a colorful "love the Earth" design and green/pink fanny-pack hanging from his waist. Spicer is in his last years, full-bodied and panting after what was probably a short walk.
My right hand is on my son's shoulder and left is holding the dog's leash. Aron is looking at Spicer, left arm outstretched to pat the dog.
There is nothing particularly special in this moment, except there we are. A young mother and son enjoying hospitality from friends, relaxed and happy in Virginia.