Some months ago I got a huge photo album from my grandmother. She thought I might be interested in re-using the cover leather. Well, I have absolutely no interest in tearing that precious album apart, let alone toss away the photos like she thought I might want to do. The album is huge, and even though it's only partially filled there are hundreds of amateur photos from the early 1900s taken by my great great aunt's husband. And of course my lovely great great aunt Saima was modeling a lot for him.
It was pure magic seeing the photos for the first time, alone in the room where I grew up, knowing nothing about the people in the photos. Stories rushing to my head, my body tingling from excitement. By now I know a little more about the true stories, and they're just as fascinating as the ones I made up myself...
Seeing her hair makes me shiver. In a good way.
So gentle and happy. Kissing a puppy.
Saima has occasionally been a special part of my life despite the fact that she had died long before I was born. I remember my mother telling stories of her long hair and the crafty things she made. And I've dreamed of Saima so many, many times. When I was a little child, I had a nightmare where I pushed this very old and fragile woman and her rocking chair into a fireplace because I was so scared of her. Then I just stood there, stared at the fire and watched her burn. A terrible dream. But later, when I was 16-17 I had dreams of Saima as a young girl. She wandered alone in a big house, it was definitely summer, the light was beautiful. In one of the first dreams she said that everything was all right, she bore no grudge about me killing her when I was a child. After that I felt so good for many weeks. And she kept coming back to me at night time. In my dreams Saima even answered some questions I had about my life. She was really nice to me, and so beautiful every time I saw her. It makes me so happy to see photos of her having a picnic or just sitting in a rocking chair barefoot, dressed in her white nightgown.
The great great aunt who visited me when I needed her the most brings me comfort since I'm not really a dreamer, most times I remember the dreams I've had the previous night they're nightmares that make no sense. Honestly, very few things in life make any sense, but it's okay.You'll eventually find little treasures that make sense.