Land of Crinolines, Part 2

Here is another group photo from Mesa, taken in late June of 1955. 

My mother, Olga is in the center; Mom and I are each wearing a single white rose.

My mother's friend, June Williams (that I was named after) is almost hidden

behind the girl in the red dress. June W. is sporting her Arizona tan.

I am sporting my bad home permanent that Mom thought

would make my honeymoon a no-curlers joy and involved cutting off

most of my ruined shoulder-length hair before the wedding.

I must report that the others do not even look familiar to me.

This picture shows my dress better than the other one, although still

not a full account of the subtle beauties of its printed fabric. Also note

the inverted box pleat, which makes the skirt hang beautifully.

Are any of these people known to you or relatives? Speak up, Arizonans!

Picture from my mother's slide collection and probably taken with her camera.

Tonight we have a short quote from Mary Karr's new, new book,

the Art of Memoir:

"So a single image can split open the hard seed of the past, and soon memory pours forth from every direction, sprouting its vines and flowers up around you till the old garden's taken shape in all its fragrant glory. Almost unbelievable how much can rush forward to fill an absolute blankness."

Mary Karr

The Art of Memoir, Harper, September 16, 2015.

Kindle location 351

And that's the memory thread for this night. So to bed .  .  .