What a difference a day makes

OK. More accurately, that head would say "a date makes." But you get the idea.

I was thinking today about how quickly time moves and changes. Maybe a year is an insurmountable period. Maybe a year passes in the flash of an eye. Maybe both conditions exist simultaneously. Maybe a year is all in the mind of the person living through it.

Anyway. Speaking of years ...

C'est moi. January 1, 1983. Thirteen years and two weeks old. Nineteen eighty-three was a hugely important year in my life. By December 31, 1983, I would be almost entirely a different person and would have crossed some major milestones en route to adulthood. Gotta love perms, eh? Within the year I would perfect the curling iron.

If you're keeping track, this is the same kitchen I photographed a couple of years earlier. No longer yellow. Apparently my mother was on a tropical kick. And I'm not really that tall — I'm standing on a chair that you can't see in the frame of the photograph.

Do you know where you were on January 1, 1983? Was it a momentous day, if only in memory?