That singular pleasure of the photographer who is able to photograph a person more than once and sometimes many times over the course of passing years is a reminder on how we change. This goes both ways even if I am the one behind the camera. My subjects might note spots on my hands, thinning gray hair and permanent bags under my eyes.

This singular pleasure has a parallel with inanimate objects. I could add plants and trees not inanimate at all.

In the lovely colonial capital of the Mexican State of Guanajuato, also called Guanajuato, a large percentage of the gold and silver by the end of the 18^th century came from a nearby mine called La Valenciana. With a large portion of extra money floating around a baroque church called San Cayetano was built right by the mine.

In the 13 or 14 times that I have visited Guanajuato through the years I always stopped to stare and admire the door to the entrance of San Cayetano. While it may have survived perhaps three hundred years, time is beginning to deteriorate it. This colour picture I took sometime in the early 80s.

In 2005 my Rosemary and I returned with our granddaughter and I knew I was going to take one picture of her at the door. This I did.

Perhaps as the door deteriorates further in a few years we can return and photograph Rebecca at some glorious stage of her 20s.

I remember that the picture of Rebecca was on a hot day in summer. As a teenager I read Robert Heinlein's The Door Into Summer. Of how he came to write it Heinlein said:

Its title was triggered by a remark which my wife Virginia made when our cat refused to leave the house:  "He's looking for a door into summer."