The photos were lying there on the living room floor when I arrived at the house.
I have to admit that, at first, I felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of them.
To thumb through the many stacks of family photos–either in their original development sheaths from the photo lab or in one of the many albums compiled decades before I knew any of their subjects–seemed to have the potential for monotony.
After all, there were just so many of them.
My wife Amy’s grandpa, George, was an avid photography buff. And I’m not talking in that digital-point-and-click-coolpix-everybody’s-a-photographer-now kind of way.
George was of the old school, and that’s an understatement. Even up until last year, he was using his old 35 millimeter with the fussy F-stop and aperture settings. Long ago, he’d perfected the focus and depth of field and right there were the photos to prove it.