Just returned from a week in Berlin, Germany, I’m looking through the pictures I took there on behalf of my youngest daughter. (She was missing school because I wanted to take her along, so her homework was to produce a slide show diary of the trip for her class.)
I took a few hundred pictures, and most of them aren’t exactly touristy. Instead, it looks like I’ve been chasing the
ghosts real estate of my childhood: non-descript streets I used walk down, apartment buildings I once knew people in, graffiti-adorned ruins of buildings that once housed businesses my family frequented.
I hadn’t actually noticed I took so many of those. Perhaps I’m so used to taking pictures of houses that it has become habitual.
Or perhaps there’s a therapeutic component. Because after all, there are also a lot of pictures of perfect, fresh produce lined up in supermarkets. Aww… Maybe my daughter wants to use one of those for her slide show. Never hurts to educate on healthy habits.
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