In May of 1976, I took a snapshot of my neighbor, Edith Brock, on the front porch of Cheney-Allard Convalescent Home in the Centralville section of Lowell.  She was ninety-two years old.  I knew very little about her but each time I look at the photograph, I think of how her voice cracked like gravel as she told her stories, and I remember her deep silences.  She died the following winter.  At the time, I did not know that I would have a career in photography.  The image of Edith made me know that I wanted to become very good at photographing the people I care about and that a simple snapshot could be far more compelling than the most studied portrait.

     Several years ago I began working with my family's old photographs, gathering them around me, copying them, decorating with them, enjoying them. Of course, I showed