Early pictures, so formal and stiff - women waiting, holding their breath, hoping they wouldn't blink, eyes watering, nothing to do but wait wait wait underneath those heavy multi-buttoned dresses, slowly suffocating these women at the neck.

My great-great-grandmother for instance.  What might it mean to imagine the woman in that picture refusing to wait - getting up quickly, gathering her skirt and running to large rocky hills to sit, peacefully, not waiting? her great watchful, almond eyes, her multiple nods to propriety...

 Her daughter, my great-grandmother, does make it to seaside rocks and looking at her picture I am so fond of this woman, with her bare legs, her windy shift dress, her best friend.

And me.  The only woman I can discuss with anything approaching certainty.  Always aware of strong bare legs.  But you couldn't tell from a picture, maybe.  I have sewn myself into borders.  I am a voyeur to my quilt.