After my mother passed away in 2011, my sister and I had the task of going through her possessions. In the back of a closet, behind stacks of books and piles of dusty magazines was a large box, duct-taped closed with no indication of its contents. We both knew it had to be her photographs, the ones she jealously stowed away from the family all these years.
I remember my mother carrying a camera everywhere with us when we were kids: a Kodak that took 110 film which she had strapped to her wrist at most times, just in case. Our grocery lists often had "flashbulbs" and "cartridges" scribbled on them, and it felt like we made stops at Thrift Drug every week so she could pick up the records of our lives.
Ordinary lives, every day moments - this is why I love looking through her snapshots, why I am drawn to the world through her lens. This photo was taken in what I believe to be her childhood backyard in Verona, with three of her roommates - women I can vaguely remember taking care of me as a child since my mother was the first of her friends to get married and have a family. It like time travel, looking at these photos, and a comfort that by looking through them, I am still in conversation with my mother.
Lisa is a writer and photographer working primarily with Polaroid film. She lives in Garfield with her husband, Jeff Schreckengost, and their cat, Lulu. lisatoboz.com
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