The Moon Grows Full

 Life has been chaotic, thus I completely forgot to post anything on the new moon. Or first quarter. And now the moon grows full again. 

My mother has been giving me pictures. I discovered that she made multiple copies of things. Pictures for relatives. Pictures for files of genealogy information. Copies so that next time she wanted to give someone pictures, she wouldn't need to have copies made. Copies so she could keep the original. Pictures that weren't that great, but it was the only picture she had of that subject, so best make a few copies just in case. 

Mom is obsessing about the pictures. There's boxes, envelops, albums, pictures stacked up in piles, pictures in frames, negatives, scrapbooks, binders, and somehow, Mom appears to have saved the majority of the pictures I took in 1988. I was 11 and wanted to be a photographer. She will ask if I got them all. I will answer, and she'll ask if I got the pictures on the bookcase. I will say yes. She will ask six more times. I have started telling her to go get the pictures. This stops her from being on repeat. It does not stop her from repeating the next question, which is, do you want me to write names on the pictures? She can't do this. She has forgotten who the people are. I tell her the names are already on the back. She will ask 9 more times. When she finally believes all the pictures are labelled, she asks if I got all the pictures on the bookcases. 

I took the cemetery pictures and made art.

My original plan was to put everything on page and make it look like all one cemetery. This did not work. Everything is a different size. Some are at odd angles. Sometimes I felt what was in the background was more interesting. So I just glued pictures to the sketchbook pages and I may go back to add skulls or crows or rats. 

I did not make a dent in the piles of photos. I haven't really started on people. The pictures of people have even more copies. In some cases, the photo was enlarged, and that looked even better, so Mom made several copies of the enlargement. I have tried giving pictures away. I have contacted my cousins. They seem eager to have photos of their father, but then they ghost me, so maybe they are only pretending to be interested. 

Going through these boxes has made me question why I am keeping some things. I have been on a major cleaning spree. I can't tell that I am making any progress. More than once, I have laid things aside to implement ideas later. Then I can't find the thing. That's also part of why I am cleaning, to find the things I carelessly set down that only the Goddess Herself knows where. 

I feel like I have dementia. I just had it. Now it is gone. Lost. I really do not want my children to sort though my things and feel like they are drowning in mementoes and art supplies. I do not want them to question who these people are, or why did this mean anything to me. It's slow going. 

Blessed be, my dears. Stay safe and sane.