No one reads the captions. We scroll and scroll and double tap like assassins giving love, attention, acknowledgement. We tend to our small lives. Work, chores, hobbies, family, friendships, rinse, repeat. We make the best of it when things aren’t ready. We forge ahead even when we aren’t ready because we have no choice. Like a papaya salad we take what is around us and make do, sometimes it’s sublime, sometimes it’s a disaster. But you keep going, keep going through the motions because to stop is unthinkable.

Delores Park

I look back through pictures on my phone and there is a time, date, and location stamp. I know when this event happened, who I was with, where I was living. I love that this technology allows this trip down memory lane that is as accurate as we can have. I was recently asked from some pics from my former life. Seeing images of my former self in locations familiar but with no time stamp I had a hard time remembering this past. One is a picture someone took of me in the kitchen of the first restaurant I owned. Blown out, over exposed, me smiling at the camera, I could not remember the event or who took the pic. I assume it was my mom. There was an ease in my smile that tells me someone I cared for took it. There was a time when my mom had a point and shoot nearby often. She was no artist. She had no ambition of being a great photographer. She just wanted to have the memories. A paper copy of a time, place, event, the people who were important to her. I was important to her. I learned to document all the moments in life for later, for when I'm tired off all this, for when I need a reminder that I made it through and can make it through once again.

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1971-present day Chicago