Through years of abuse, my poor brain will no longer hold superfluous data. Memories of things I did, places I went or people I saw fall out of my head almost as easily as any historical date I was ever forced to memorize in middle school social studies class (and yes, it was taught by a coach).

That's why I take pictures... LOTS of them. My pictures are part diary, part autobiography, and potentially part alibi should I ever forget where I was on a particular date. Most of the pictures, from a photography standpoint, suck. But from a, "your honor, I couldn't have killed Professor Plum in the basement with the wrench. I was out in my Mom's garden taking my upteenth picture of her bearded iris," they work out pretty well.