Hanging out on the memory veranda

We have been putting together a slide show for our rehearsal dinner.

In doing so, I have strolled down so many memory lanes. And trudged through memory jungles. And slipped through sand in memory deserts. And plunked myself down on the memory veranda.

I chose this photo because it sums up so much about my childhood. It's hard to figure out where to begin, I have to say.

It was taken on our downstairs veranda in Dacca (now spelled Dhaka), Bangladesh. I don't remember why I was dressed up in a sari for the occasion. If you click on the photo, you'll see that I even have matching glass bangles.

I didn't wear a sari on any regular basis, but everything else about the scene is typical. My parents, all glammed up, having cocktails with friends. My long, unkept blonde hair. And my glasses.

I have had glasses since I was four years old. And for a while - longer than I wish were true - I insisted on wearing the glasses over my hair, as well-displayed above.

And my hair, I hated. I wanted black hair, like everyone else around me. And so, in the hopes that it would darken, I refused to wash it more than once a week. And even then, kicking and screaming.

Filthy child? You can't really tell in the picture, but I was, I was.