I’m in the midst of a “little project” – going through the thousands upon thousands of photos stored on my computer and trying to put them in some kind of organized fashion. There’s no rhyme or reason to where I’ve currently placed them. Some of them serve no purpose in my life at this point – maybe a color or texture that interested me or something that made me laugh at the moment or a label that had something on it I needed to remember (and promptly forgot I had taken a photo of it).

It gets a bit tedious, so I have to do this in little chunks of time. I’m sitting here, assisted by a good cup of coffee and just enough focus to get maybe another half hour’s worth of sorting done…

when I come across this photo of my Momma, Nancy Marie Taylor Tysor. She’s probably about five or six years old, so that would place it around 1947 or 1948. She’s the one with the white boots and the fixed gaze. She looks serious. Like she means business. And remembering how she was in the short time she was here on Earth with me, I can guarantee you, she did.

This was a photo of the Denton Elementary Rhythm Band. My grandmother, Willie Marie Morrison Taylor, was the school’s music teacher. She darn well taught most every child in this North Carolina small town in one way or another until the late 1970s. After that, she taught voice, piano, and organ privately for probably a decade or so after that. I was a “graduate” of the Rhythm Band in the early 1970s, as were many of my friends who grew up in Denton. Although we didn’t live in the town anymore, my Momma and I traveled weekly from Greensboro, so she could help Granny teach, and I could participate.

The best way to describe Rhythm Band was a place where children experienced the joys of music through playing simple instruments, singing, and performing at Christmas parades and other town events. Hence, these precious little uniforms that, by the looks on their faces, you can see they clearly loved to wear.

I’d be willing to bet many of them ended up joining the high school marching band like Momma did. She began playing the trumpet around age ten or so and eventually made it to All-State Band competition (where she met my Dad, who was a timpanist from another high school in another town). She was also the head majorette in her senior year, I believe.

I’m a bit ashamed to say I don’t know that much about Momma’s childhood because we never really got the chance to talk about it. She passed away when she was 35, and I was a young kid who probably had the attention span of a squirrel. And my grandparents are long gone, so I can’t ask them to share stories.

Looking at these photos and try to figure out who she was, I’m struck by her level of seriousness and focus for that age. One of my favorite ones (that I’ve already managed to sort into the “Photos of Momma” folder) is this one – from around the same time period. I have no idea where the family was getting ready to go, but she looked as if she were preparing for the most incredible top-secret adventure – binoculars and a warm coat, surveying the terrain and anticipating what unexpected things may present themselves down the road. (That’s my great-grandmother, Archy Harris Morrison, preparing to ride shotgun.)

But with the serious gaze, apparently, she was also full of spirit. Most likely, a bit mischievous at times. If there’s one thing I remember about Momma, it was her big, toothy smile and dimples for days. And her laugh. I remember Dad telling me how much mine sounded like hers.

As with my feeling about this project, there’s also no rhyme or reason in my mind as to why Momma had to get sick and leave at so young an age. She still had things to do. Adventures to guide. Music to play. Mischief to make.

And a daughter to raise – one who wishes like hell that she were here right now, so I could ask her to tell me about her childhood.

But as I look at these photos, I begin to realize that maybe the Universe had other plans for her. She was a bright, beautifully intense soul, and maybe she was needed elsewhere for bigger and more important adventures.

Wonder if she has a pair of binoculars? That way, she can look down and see me, waving up and smiling at her like I do every day.

P.S. – if anyone happens to know any of the cute young ladies in the first photo, please reach out to me. I’d love to know who they are.