I'm not sure if it's nostalgia, or the thought of telling Martin and Sophie stories from my childhood, but lately I've been wishing that I had photographs of a lot of my memories.  I don't know if actual photos of these memories actually exist, but if they don't, I wish they did:

Grandpa Mitchell stepping out into the wind.  Grandpa had a long strand of hair that he carefully wrapped around his head.  When he would go out into the wind, his hair would go from being a neatly combed hairdo into one long, tall piece whipping around in the air.

Grandpa Jack and Grandma Zamora (before she was a Zamora) square dancing.  This isn't an actual memory, just an image in my mind since Grandpa Jack passed away before I was born.  In my mind, I can see their fantastic costumes and a lot of swirling.

Grandma Mitchell in jeans with a picnic basket getting ready to take us for a hike on the rocks.  Grandma didn't wear jeans often, but she would wear them with a pair of white tennis shoes to take us for adventures on the rocks near their house on the Mississippi River.  Also with this memory, I'd like a video of Grandma drinking root beer and burping.  I only remember this happening once, and we thought it was the funniest thing we'd ever seen.

Marty and I on our second date at Mayslacks, going over the City Pages list of things never to discuss on a date.  With this photo, I'd also like a video so I would have proof of Marty telling me he was a Democrat.  Which, turned out to be a big fat lie.

Marty hauling our jungle gym across Hutchinson with a riding lawn mower and a trailer, waving to people as he crosses the bridge over the Crow River.  I imagine this one to look kind of like Richard Farnsworth did in "The Straight Story".

My great-aunt Britomart in a tube top.  Just to have proof that it could have been done.

Ryan and I running out of the compost pile after we stirred up a hornet's nest and one flew into a hole in his pants.  In this picture, Ryan would have been screaming in pain and I would have been running away.  Sorry about that, Ryan.

Our backyard when migrating monarch butterflies filled the trees.  In my memory, the leaves on the trees were replaced by fluttering wings.  Also in my mind there was actually someone there from the newspaper taking pictures.  Did I make that up?

Dad, Ryan and I making snares out of fishing line to try to catch gophers in the cemetery.  I now realize that this was a ploy to get us out of the house for awhile, and probably out of my mom's hair.  We really thought that if we made the snare, placed it over the gopher hole and waited behind the tombstone, we might actually catch a gopher.  The real incentive was that my dad said that if we caught one, we could take it down to the river and lower it down from the bridge to watch it waterski on it's little gopher feet.  I'd sort of like a picture of that too, even though that never happened.

My mom in college with her girlfriends.  I imagine that her experience was probably somewhat like my own, and I'd like some proof, please.

Our move to Hutchinson in a feed truck.  Despite careful planning, the U-Haul we rented was unavailable.  So, Marty made a call and someone from work drove a feed truck all the way from Stewart into Northeast Minneapolis.  Then, we loaded all the stuff we could fit into the smelly truck and the cars of our family and friends.  We had so much loot it was hard to believe.  We looked like we were the Beverly Hillbillies moving out of the city back to the country.  In a feed truck.