Last night I finished copying the last of the pictures over. Of course, it wasn't as simple as just copying all the files over; they're all named similarly on each disk, so as I copied one disk's files over, I had to rename them. And it seemed logical to rename the files based on the date the pictures were taken so aid in organizing them.
So now I'm contemplating a database for the disk to keep track of each picture, when and where it was taken, what it's of, what the event was (if there was one), who's in it... Everything I might ever want to know about or search for particular pictures of. But that'll take a good long while; there are well over six hundred pictures so far.
But I was going through them last night, briefly, in order to rotate the pictures that were taken sideways, and it was interesting to watch things change - or not change, as the case may be. It was especially interesting to watch the last couple of months of the house being built. I tend to look at our yard and think it still looks only half-finished, but when I look at the pictures from June and July, I realize how far it's come. (We still need to work on grass, though.) To be honest, remembering that stress, I'm amazed we ever made it through. I'm even more amazed that we managed to move in on time.
Looking even briefly at pictures from our various parties made me smile. We throw good parties, if I do say so myself. (I teased Matt at the beginning of February - we'd thrown a party at the end of August, the end of October, and the end of December, so obviously to continue the pattern we'd have to throw one at the end of February. He wasn't amused. But K.T. ended up throwing her moving party, so at least someone had one.)
I hope the collection will continue to be interesting as the years go by. I love going back through my old photo albums. Every now and then it occurs to me that I should write down people's names and the circumstances of each picture soon, before my memories grow even more fuzzy. I love pictures. They're windows into the past.
In the fuzzy haze of my mostly-asleep brain this morning, I decided that it was Matt's turn to put the cat out when he got to be annoying. And when the cat came in and started playing with my alarm clock, Matt grumbled and groaned about it, and that decided it. I gave it a minute or so in the hopes he would volunteer, and then gently shook his arm. "Sweetie? Would you put the cat out, please?"
He sighed, grunted his assent, and sat up. The cat, alerted that someone was moving, raced to the foot of the bed and curled up. It was like catching a four-year-old roaming the house after bedtime and watching them run back and pretend to be asleep. Matt, who by this time was standing, looked at me. "Do you still want me to take him out?" he asked hopefully.
Knowing, as I did, that if we simply went back to sleep, the cat would just be a pest again half an hour later, I told Matt to go ahead and take him out. "I can't believe he did it again, though!" But now we know: At four in the morning, the cat doesn't really want to be fed, nor does he want attention and affection. He just wants us to be awake.
Alas.
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