Nostalgia

She was sitting with her family on a blanket towards the edge of the lawn. The first thing I noticed about her was the pretty floral kerchief pulling her dark brown hair back from her face. The next thing I noticed was that she was nursing her child who was probably at least 2-and-a-half. I smiled at her when our eyes met, and the corners of her mouth turned upward just slightly, as if she were not sure that my smile was actually intended for her. I wanted to tell her that I had nursed mine until he was 3, and how much that relationship meant to both me and my son, but shyness prevented me from offering more than my smile and bashful looks of admiration. I quietly applauded her casual openness in nursing amongst thousands of people without any sign of self-consciousness or awkwardness or preemptive defiance aimed at anyone around her who might be judging her. If you had never seen a woman nursing an older toddler, and you saw her as I did that evening, you would think it was the most natural thing in the world, and a comfort to witness as well.

Later, when she stood up to play with her two small children, I saw that she was wearing a long flowy snow-white skirt that looked like a graceful billowy cloud floating above the grass. Again I admired her, for that is probably the last thing I would have worn. I remember oh to well, the days of Kian's using me as a napkin! Then I noticed her adorable dark blue denim sneakers peeking out from underneath her skirt, that's when I knew I just had to get a photo.

I'm about as nostalgic as they come, and this one photo is my memento of those warm feelings I had for a total stranger whom I observed and admired during the course of a free family concert on a lovely summer evening. It is also my unspoken blessing over her and her family for the simple joy and comfort I received in just being near their quiet contentment. This small token of a photo is the key to memories that I've already placed carefully and lovingly in the altar space of my heart.