A favourite photo

9 pm. Thursday. It's just me at home in a quiet house tonight. Greg is away for work. Sophie, who couldn't even pull it together to stand, has been in bed since 6:45. Emily, who seemed incredibly tired, has been flipping pages in her book since 8 pm. From the living room I can hear the bottom of each page scrape against her quilt.

I've decided that tonight's project would be to update the photos on the wall leading down to the family room. There are so many fabulous pictures. How do I even begin to pick the ten new ones that will highlight our trips and excursions over the last few years?

And to complicate matters, I run into photos like this one. Ten, twenty and thirty years down the road, this will be the image of my father that is burned into my memory: stooped over in his characteristic slouch, cigarette in hand and coffee cup nearby. I often think the best pictures are those of everyday moments... people doing what they do without being asked for a smile or a pose that isn't natural or normal.