One of my Christmas gifts was a book "Cleveland:1796-1929" by Thea Gallo Becker which is an overview of the history of my home town and filled with pictures, mostly old photographs. It's part of a series covering many aspects of this city & surrounding suburbs. It's a splendid book & I've spent hours studying it. I'm thrilled that I don't have to take this one back to the library.

   But it does point out a dichotomy in my personality. I'm fascinated with history, though I dislike humans as a species. And what is history but the actions of humans over time? I'm riveted by old photos of places: buildings, vehicles, scenery, yet  less interested in people sitting for portraits, though their clothes are worth noticing. It's ironic that I don't spend time "going down memory lane" in my own life, nor looking at old photos of my own, unless I'm concentrating on an animal in one. I suppose it's because my own life has been extremely dull as well as painful, so I have no wish to be reminded. Antique pictures allow room for the imagination to explore & explain.

   I never have wanted to exist in any time period but my own, since "the good old days" were good to no one but white males. And even they were powerless against wars and diseases. Through reading & pictures, one can indulge in the adage "it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there."