I stopped by the bar to take a picture of that picture for my manuscript which is now complete. Yes, after 10 years my book is finished and at the publisher's. It was a quiet afternoon at The Saloon so I hailed the bartender for help. Because the photo hangs high on the wall, I figured he could get my camera, which is my phone, closer to it. When he came over and we were standing side by side I said, "Well, you're no taller than me..." As soon as the words were out, I realized he was far steadier than I and would do a better job. I had him turn the main lights on as not much daylight filters in the small, curtained windows facing main street and they are the bar's only windows. I apologized to the few locals sitting at the bar. He took the photo for me and with the photo in hand, I headed for a printer.
What I thought was my last task, was to place pictures in my story and it was more difficult than I imagined. Although editor Heidi offered to help me, it turned out to be a one person job.
I should have collected photos to match what I wrote as I wrote but that would have made too much sense. Instead, when my pencil (metaphor for horizon of printer ink) crossed the finish line, and editor and proof reader Heidi had finished her work, my search for relevant photos began. Dad was in there, my book, and I had his photo but I needed more.
Throughout my competitive years, Dad put the 'ink' I got (newspaper articles, pictures and meet programs) into a photo album. One album became four and when my track career ended, he presented them to me.
Picture number one in the first album appeared in the Daily Interlake when I was an eight year old Timberette. It says something about me not everyone knew. I sucked my thumb. In the D.I.L. photo I'm reclining across my teammate Lisa's back as she lay on her stomach, chin propped by her forearms and with eyes closed my thumb is in my mouth.
That story is in my book so I had two of the pictures I needed. In the end, I found a total of 30 pictures. I perused Dad's albums, my own personal high school and college albums and a smaller one dad put together from my grandma Vi. Then, when I was tired of looking, sister Wally directed me to my father's books in the storage space above the dough room off the kitchen.
With a go-cup of white wine in hand, I headed up their. Not sure how many photo albums I looked through but I found some real treasures I don't remember ever seeing. They were pictures of me as a Timberette. The find made my day because, in my book, I talk a lot about my early years running.
Anyway, when I had my photos they went into my manuscript and it went to Scott Publishing. Phew!
