full of grace

I've "moved!"

2010-05-27T09:54:00.001-07:00

To all you faithful blog readers, please go from now on to me new [& improved] site, at http://annajouj.wordpress.com
Everything here, including years worth of archives, now lives there . . . so please feel free to add the new address to your blogroll, favorites, bookmarks, followings, etc. Thanks :-)

a "special" announcement

2010-05-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

This is, according to state law, a very "special" flower. My friend pointed it out to me as we were doing trash pick-up in the local state park: I knew about Ladyslippers, but did not know about the protection of them until after this, when I did a bit of research. It turns out that this one--a Pink Ladyslipper, is considered to be of "special concern" while a few other varieties are actually protected. Either way, I find it ravishing, in a mysteriously delicate sort of way.
And so I am making use of this particular shot to illustrate my current announcement:
In honor of a pending change [ ;-)] I am in the process of various forms of organization and preparation. One of those involves finally revamping my blog. For some time I have been wishing to fix it up, and do it in a way that suits my creativity better. It took a while to figure out the transferring logistics, but now I am well on the way to leaving this particular domain. All my blog's current content will transfer, so I invite all who read here to stay tuned for a website redirection: it will be a good one, I assure you!
Thanks, folks!

mimimimimimimi

2010-05-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

Knowing to expect the unexpected is one thing. Having that same unexpected happen is quite another . . . which is, I think, one of the main reasons I love telling "true" stories so much: I am one of those who delights in the re-living as much as [and often more than] in the moment itself. So telling about those moments is no trivial matter—telling the tales of the absurdities in a day in a life almost makes the day, the life, worth living.
But enough of that: I have a bad writing habit of overly prefacing . . . on to the story:
A portion of this particular day was spent at two area assisted living facilities. One of which I had been to already, many times, to visit my grandmother. But the other was a new one to me. When I arrived I took some time navigating the maze-like, under construction hallways, searching for members of my group. Eventually I found what looked to be the gathering room and entered, looking for a place to stash my camera and gather song sheets and itineraries. As I did so, a woman came towards me, looking directly at me as she did, with an expectantly cheerful look on her face. She looked rather young, and very aware, so I assumed her to be a member of the staff. But instead of an expected approach, and then [personal space bubble allowed] stop, she continued her walk until her face was an inch away from my own. Rather stunned, I just waited, wide-eyed. And for several minutes she stood there, smiling, as she hummed “Mimimimimimimimimi . . .” in a high-pitched monotone. Then, her song complete, she inched slightly closer yet, and then [still looking straight into my eyes] walked away. I surmised my error in her identity pretty quickly and carried on in preparations.
A bit later, as we began a prayer, she came towards me again, with the same “Mimimimimimimi” song. This time, anticipating her actions, I quickly ran through a few courses of potential action for myself: Should I keep my eyes open and look at her? Should I just pray as usual? Should I smile? I opted to look at her, smile quickly, and then close my eyes and continue joining in on the prayer. When I closed my eyes I felt her face and realized that now, instead of just peering into my own, she was giving me “Butterfly kisses,” brushing her nose side to side against my own.
This time I just couldn’t help but giggle. Seriousness aside, how can any reasonable 30-year-old woman stay straight-faced when being given Butterfly kisses by a bright-eyed slightly-older women? I decided not to try.
And the day continued—as a day does—with other moments of ups and downs, of the unexpected and the expected . . .

when it all boils down

2010-05-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

To say that Mom's garden is impressive is decidedly understating the reality: it is, in fact, an amazing array of vegetables and herbs that far exceeds the norm for regional growth. And so it is in no way the fault of the harvest that our dinner greens this evening were a meager affair; rather, my own lack of expertise in gardening is the problem. What I thought was a large bundle of carefully-chosen Swiss Chard stalks boiled down to the equivalent of approximately 1 Tablespoon per person, for of the three of us dining tonight. Ah well--I know better for next time. And thankfully, 20-some-odd brimming bundles remain in the rows from which I gleaned tonight's portion :-)

still-living stalks

2010-05-18T17:27:00.000-07:00

As I headed out the door to grab my camera, I grinned with a smug sort of satisfaction at the sound of Mom's laughter . . . I find it to be oddly gratifying when I manage to amuse my own family members. I had announced to her my intent to photograph the lavender I had just planted, playing up the haste with which I had to do so: "I know that, since I planted them [and you did not], they won't last long--I have to document their existence while they are still living . . ." And off I rushed. So here they are: beautifully still-blooming sprigs, duly documented :-)

another of my own

2010-05-12T17:22:00.000-07:00

Emboldened [too much so?] by the kind response to last week's Poetry Wednesday post . . . and perhaps also by the fact that I am trying to flame the fires of my song-writing creativity, I have decided to go ahead and put another of my own writings out there. This one is decided less serious than last week's--quite goofy, in fact. But as much of my children's writing is just as goofy, there is no good reason for me to hide that fact :-) This one was inspired by a conversation I had with a little one, years ago, in the church bathroom after the service . . .

Stuck in the Loo
Oh dear, I fear it's true:
I'm stuck here in the loo.

I've wiggled, and jiggled, and pried:
And now I'm fit to be tied.

I really had to pee.
So Mommy came in with me.

I told her she could go--
I'm big now and, well, you know.

But now I wish I hadn't.
Cause she'd a known how to unfast'n it.

She knows how to do
Just anything--I promise, it's true!

Well I guess I'll settle in a bit--
The loo's not a bad place to sit.

I can make it real nice and comfy,
Even have my friends over for tea.

Suzy, and Jane, and Jackie.
And maybe Jane's puppy, Jalopy.

We can all sit right there on the floor,
In that space--it's just perfect for four!

After tea, then time for . . .
What's that? Did I hear the door?

Oh--Mommy, you found me!
I was just . . . well, I'll tell you later.

Yes, I'm fine. Tell you now?
Well ok. This is how . . .

you know you're from Africa when . . .

2010-05-09T17:32:00.000-07:00

After dinner this evening I picked up an MK Newsletter that had arrived this weekend and started flipping through. Once I had read only a few of the items in one rather lengthy article, I started chuckling. Then, since Lou had looked up from his own readings, and seemed curious enough—and since we were all still lingering there around the table—I began to read out loud. But suddenly, unexpectedly, my laughter had turned to tears. Here are a few of the truisms that stuck out to me: some because of how true they are to my own experience, some simply because they made me laugh, and some because they are as beautiful as the land about which they are written:
“You know you are from Africa when . . .”
• No running water for a day is just another ordinary thing.
• It doesn’t seem right to pay the asking price on anything without bargaining first.
• Someone asks you how much your sister costs.
• You miss rain on a corrugated iron roof where it’s so loud you have to shout to be heard.
• You visit your grandparents and take your passport—just in case you have to evacuate.
• American corn isn’t hard enough for you.
• You expect people to tell you they’re fine before you ask them.
• As a girl, you’ve been proposed to while walking down the street.
• You can lead a 20-minute conversation starting with “Walleponaua!” and keep it going by replying “ehh” in numerous different tone levels for the next half an hour! (and have the other person understand exactly what you’re saying!)
• Something that would normally take half and hour in the Western world takes a few days or weeks.
• Your journey is interrupted by herds of cows and goats on the road.
• You can smell the rain before it comes.
• The only thing you throw away are avocado stones, and even then you wonder if you should save them and plant a tree.
• You know that an umbrella is useless during the rainy season and simply accept the fact that you’ll be wet for 3 months . . . and really don’t mind.
• Your bed doesn’t seem right without a mosquito net.
• Tears well up in your eyes as you read this list, wishing you were back in Africa.

[adapted from “I’d rather be in Africa” http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2204512109&ref=mf ]

make way for duckling[s]

2010-05-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

When I first spotted this fuzzy family, huddled together, mother sheltering little ones, I kicked myself for not having my camera on me. It being first thing in the morning, I assumed that they would be long gone by the time I returned. So later, around midday, when I came back with my camera . . . just in case . . . I was thrilled to find them still out, still braving the cold of the rain and wind. And I cheered them on in their lonely trek out towards the middle of the lake :-)

till Zion

2010-05-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

This Spring, thanks to an inspiring baby niece, I accidentally wrote a song. I am accustomed to making up songs, as they rather regularly pop into my head to be used as teaching tools . . . silly French ditties, usually. This time, however, it sounded kind of like a "real" song. When I shared it with one of my blogging friends, she suggested that I post it for a Poetry Wednesday. It took me a while to decide to do so but, now, here it is.
The poem itself I wrote a while back--an "Alphabet Prayer." But the tune is new, and I first sang it a cappella. Then, with the help of a talented collaborating musician, it turned into an official song, complete with instrumentals and background vocals. Anyhow, here are the lyrics. If any of you, who have not already heard it, would like to hear either version of the song itself, I would be happy to pass along the MP3 version: just comment or email me directly if so . . .

Till Zion is Nigh

Verse 1:
Abba Father
Blessed Jesus
Come and cheer us
Do be near us

Every Creature
Far and near
Give You praise for Your
Holy ways
[Refain]: For Yours I’ll be, till Zion is nigh. Oh, yours, till Zion is nigh.

I am Yours
Just as I am
Kindly made
Loved and framed

May I never
Not be true
Or be forgetful in
Praising You
[Refrain]

Quiet me when
Restless I grow
Still my spirit
Tame my soul

Under Thy wings
Verily I fly
Watched for by Your
eXtra watchful eye

Final Refrain: Sung with a 3rd line] of “Till Zion”

why did the chicken cross the road?

2010-04-30T17:22:00.000-07:00

Well tonight, at least, he clearly had places to go . . . chicks to see [?]. So I stopped my car and let him cross. Then I got out, Lauryn Hill still grooving out my car stereo, and snapped this shot of him. I mean, who wouldn't pass up the chance to document the real-life happening of such an age-old, burning question? :-)

no hare there

2010-04-29T17:42:00.000-07:00

It was a delightfully different day today than it was yesterday--snow turned to sunshine. So taking advantage of the evening light while dining with a friend, we walked out to her backyard where I had been admiring the shed. I chuckled at the name of it, upon which she mentioned that it was falling down . . . I was slightly embarrassed to admit that I actually thought it was intended to be slanted like that :-) Either way, the effect is all quite picturesque, even though it no longer houses its original, intended inhabitants. And I did like her choice of a paint job for the barn--what rabbit wouldn't be proud to be raised in a pink and purple abode?

it isn't easy being green . . . ?

2010-04-26T17:27:00.000-07:00

Having been on a significantly long road trip for the past 3 days, I have had a slight bit more time than usual to "smell the flowers" along the way. To be more precise, however, I have been "watching the trees." For some reason, I have never before taken such notice of the Springtime Colours. Fall, for sure: that season is a given for me, so far as being awed by nature's colours. But this year, I see so many varieties of green that I have ended up pointing constantly to name a new hue that appears. No doubt Mel has had enough of it and is ready to be out of a car with me :-) Finally today I requested a stop to take a few photos of them, so here is the resulting pick--not particularly exciting so far as photo ops go, but hopefully it illustrates a little bit of what I've been seeing . . .

time for poetry

2010-04-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

I am one of those [of whom a larger population exists, I suspect, than one might imagine] who tends towards an obsession with words. I seem to be unable to hold back the compulsive composition of word plays, poems, rhymes, and songs. This does come in handy as a teacher for little ones, as I have a knack for randomly composing mnemonic devices to help them remember such things as the French Alphabet, the Days of the Week, and the like.
It is not, unfortunately, as skill that does very well at earning a living . . . but I digress.
The point of my, er, point [;-)] is that I like words. And that I like poems. And so I like Poetry Wednesday.
For today's such event, I decided to post a poem that is probably familiar to many of those in my blogging circle. Multiple reasons prompted this decision. One of those is that I recently was asked [by one who was used to seeing the name in my email signature] who Gerard Manley Hopkins was. This gave me the occasion to go back and read through several of his poems, and to re-read about his life.
Around the same time, I learned of the newest release by Natalie Merchant which is, I think, quite brilliant . . . a passion of my own, as well. Her album--Leave Your Sleep--is a children's collection of songs based upon sophisticated and traditional poems, rhymes, and lullabies.
Also around this same time, I accidentally wrote my first "serious" song [as opposed to educational little ditties and limericks]. Consequently, with the urging of a friend and collaborating musician, I have begun the exhilarating project of my own potential [budding] musical project . . .
All that to say, I would like to share with you one of the poems that my dear blogging buddy introduced me too years ago, also introducing me to the poet. This poem is also the inspiration for one of my favorite songs on Merchant's CD [though I confess that I do not have, and so have not listened to in its entirety, the album.
But enough ramblings from me. Here's the poem. Enjoy!

To a Young Child
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

mystery plants?

2010-04-20T10:23:00.000-07:00

When I caught a glimpse of these little curiosities the other day, I knew I would be returning with my camera. After doing so, today, I mentioned my intriguing photo subject to my friend, showing her the picture. I should have expected as much, considering how knowledgeable she is about all things local--but I still found myself duly impressed when she spouted off the name and spoke of what folks do with them . . .
And so I ask you all: anyone out there in blog-land know
1. What the common name is? and
2. What can be done with them?
The first correct responder just might win a prize :-)

the professional angle

2010-04-17T17:30:00.000-07:00

It wasn't until right before I left today's Spring Fair that I realized I had a young sidekick. As I was crooning to the corn snake draped upon my arm, this little fellow, in a noticeably adult-like tone, asked me if I was a photographer. Looking down, I recognized him as the same youngster who had looked on at another child's artwork when I was snapping photos of him and his father, engrossed in the task of painting a fabric grocery bag. At the time I assumed he was just another child enjoying the artwork activities. But when he appeared by my side minutes later . . . and again shortly thereafter, I figured I must have captured his interest.
Realizing this, I quickly clarified my initial response that yes, I was somewhat of a photographer: Mind you, I added, this is not really professional work, to be holding my Nikon in one hand as I snap a shot of the snake holding the other: but sometimes, you just do what the moment requires :-)

chiming in

2010-04-14T18:17:00.000-07:00

There has been a "Poetry Wednesday" circle amongst some of my blogger buddies that I have been following for several months now. But I have not joined in, preferring to just enjoy others' posts. I decided to chime in this week, however. Largely, this is due to my own contemplative and creatively-inclined state of mind as of late. When I am in such a mood, I tend to remember past artistic loves, as well as embarking upon new ones. At the moment, I have been musing on the first poetry I really resonated with: I didn't even know why . . . still don't, for that matter! But for whatever reason, I fell in love with A.A. Milne's "Buttercup Days" back in high school--before I even really liked poetry all that much, so far as I can remember. I read it as school required, but wouldn't have dreamed of recreationally writing it, as I do now. Enough said . . . here it is :-)

Buttercup Days

Where is Anne?
Head above the buttercups,
Walking by the stream,
Down among the buttercups.
Where is Anne?
Walking with her man,
Lost in a dream,
Lost among the buttercups.

What has she got in that little brown head?
Wonderful thoughts which can never be said.
What has she got in that firm little fist of hers?
Somebody’s thumb, and it feels like Christopher’s

Where is Anne?
Close to her man.
Brown head, gold head,
In and out the buttercups.

-A.A. Milne. “Now We Are Six”

tulips, take 2

2010-04-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

After my last post, one faithful blog follower kindly made a request . . . asking for a follow-up photo of those tulips once they were fully bloomed. Well, here at Full of Grace, we aim to please :-) With the near-blinding intensity of the hues, I was tempted to, of all things, mute the colour. But I thought better of that and, instead, decided to give you the pure, "unadulterated" photo. So here they are: Mom's tulips, fully a-bloom. Do you doubt my word as to her "greenest thumb?"

the greenest thumb

2010-04-10T17:56:00.000-07:00

As I prepared to leave her house this evening, my mother looked up from her Sunday School lesson planning, peered over her reading glasses, and reminded me, "You really should look at those tulips as you head out." I have learned the lesson, many times over, to do what mom says, even when she says it in the most off-handedly distracted sort of way. So I sidestepped into the garden and poked around until I found this little gem . . . and then I ran back into the house to thank mom for being so motherishly all-knowing. And thankfully, I had my camera to capture its rosy twilight glow.

by any other name

2010-04-08T17:40:00.000-07:00

Ever since they bloomed, about a week ago, I have been intrigued by these oddly-hued blossoms in my mother's garden. They are not the sort of flower I would normally swoon over but I just kept returning to look for new shades [white, lavender, even pale green among the current ones]. So tonight I finally thought to ask her what kind they were. Her response made me smile to myself, amused at my own mental workings, as I suddenly realized the true reason for my interest: it is their name. Lenten Rose. It is a striking sort of name, befitting a strikingly homely sort of bloom . . . and I think I have fallen for its unassuming loveliness :-)

Christos anesti . . .

2010-04-04T17:31:00.000-07:00

. . . Alithos anesti.
Those of you not as familiar [as some of my blogging buddies] with Greek Orthodox tradition may not recognize the significance of a bowl of red-dyed eggs. This is a part of the traditional tsougrisma ceremony, in which I got to participate this year. Between the festive traditions, the reading of Benjamin's Box, and lingering over post-children's-bedtime coffee & conversations, it was a truly blessed Resurrection Sunday . . . for you all I hope, as well!

children of the world

2010-03-29T11:03:00.000-07:00

In honor of the "Nonfiction Monday" community, I have decided to do a bit of a flashback for today's blog post . . . these are the notes I took when still a graduate student, for a school presentation I gave that featured multicultural picture books. My sole caveat in posting this is that it is admittedly embarrassing for me to display my "schoolwork," as it were. But I thought it would be helpful for those interested in raising culturally aware little ones, so here it is :-)

The Stories:
[My Intro] "What I would like to do now is to read a few books with you. These are all books that were written in different countries, and in different languages. And you know what’s so neat about it is that kids like you—kids with the same types of people they love, pets that make them laugh, things that make them afraid, and dreams that make them happy—are reading books, just like you are, way over on the other side of the world. They may not look just like you, talk just like you, live in houses just like yours, or learn in schools just like yours, but deep down, in the places that matter, they are kids just like you."

1. Vaugelade, Anais. Translated by Marie-Christine Rouffiac and Tom Streissguth. The War.
I adored the way this book tackled a potentially inflammatory topic: War vs. Peace, in an amazingly light-hearted and thus un-inflammatory manner. It is simple, uplifting, and wholesome in its message. Could lead to interesting class discussions, for sure!

2. Une nuit, un chat, written & illustrated by Yvan Pommaux [France]
Plopped contentedly on the floor of the library, I chuckled as I read this book, and I concurred with the selectors’ that it was indeed an excellent representative book for this particular collection.
One of the most immediately evident reasons, for me, was that the text is simple, and easy to follow—even for my level of French ☺ As a result, it is excellent for the targeted audience of upper primary school children. Also concerning the language, its rhyming lines and alliteration make it playful, and simply fun to read.
Its theme fits as representative for any international collection, in that it is about family—one of the most universal of themes, and certainly one with which any child can identify.

3. El guardian del Olvido, by Joan M. Gisbert/ illustrated by Alfonso Ruano [Spain]
Reading this book, I placed it at a slightly older level than the previous one—but still definitely within an elementary age group.
This one is longer, with basic prose [rather than rhymes], but still simple dialogue and verbiage—again, understandable for my level of Spanish!
And here again, we have an easily graspable universal theme, of friendship, contained within an uplifting story.

4. Un jour mon Prince Viendra, by Andrea Neve/ illustrated by Kitty Crowther [Belgium]
This story provides a new—again universal and easily understandable—theme, this time of love. And, yet again, I was able to easily understand the word choice and language of the text ☺ This one was at a similar level as Une nuit, un chat, with its spare text of rhythmic and lyrical prose—but not actual rhyming in this one.
One final note of interest, concerning its theme, is that there was a surprisingly sly note to the humor—surprising from my cultural perspective, at least—concerning the theme. My assessment is that this is indicative of Europe’s tendency to be less inclined to talk down to children in their picture books—from what I’ve seen—compared to the U.S.
5. La Petite Marchande d’Allumettes, by H.C. Andersen/ translation by P.G. La Chesnais/ illustrated by Georges LeMoine
When I first read this book I cried. I was immensely moved by this retelling of Andersen’s tale, and I was amazed at my own reaction. Interestingly enough, the language of the story is not what touched me the most. The tale is indeed a highly moving, and immensely sad one; unfortunately, though, I fear I have grown hardened to it by merely being overly familiar with it.
For that reason, I love that La Chesnais and LeMoine have redone the story in a way that brings new poignancy to a potentially stale story. They have brought it to life by the ingenious parallel, via solely the artwork, of the original tale with the modern real-life equivalent of a little Bosnian girl stuck in wartime harsh reality. The truth, of course, is that life really can be every bit as heartbreaking as Andersen’s original story . . . and I am grateful for any way of communicating, in an emotive manner, such truth to sheltered young people today

up to the highest height

2010-03-27T17:11:00.000-07:00

I had no idea how much I had missed those girls. That is the way it goes with children oftentimes--for me at least; it is not the sort of perpetual ache you feel when apart from a significant other. Not a craving sort of longing . . . but one that catches you off-guard with giddy delight. So this afternoon I had the singular delight of being surprised by my own emotion: as I drove towards the house the two were out playing in the park. They saw my car and then, when they recognized me, they began jumping up and down, racing towards the vehicle. I had forgotten their endearing habit of doing this and, also, forgot that I was now driving a modern sort of car that boasts such extravagances as power windows. So I did what I am accustomed to doing, which is to wave them towards the driveway, indicating that I would talk to them once at the top of the hill. Driving the short remainder of the way up the hill, I beamed at them, laughing to myself. And then, when I stopped the car, I ran towards them and was treated to giant, little-girl-version, bear hugs.
And then we flew a kite. They excitedly told me about their new "turtle" kite so, it being a glorious day, we got it out and ran around the field . . . until encountering the rain-soaked portion. Running with children + Looking up at a kite + Wet field = A muddy [but happy] trio :-)

steamed?

2010-03-23T18:08:00.000-07:00

It may not be evident from this photo, but it was actually raining all day today--and yesterday, for that matter. So I had to smile at the irony of this shot as I captured it this afternoon [remembering my "starched?" photo from a month ago. Come snow, come rain . . . here in rural New England, nothing can cramp our free-spirited laundering style :-)

equine awakening

2010-03-20T18:43:00.000-07:00

It was, quite simply, a perfectly Spring-awakening sort of day. So this afternoon, giddy with the possibility of it all [so much so that I excused myself from an indoor gathering], I wandered with my camera. And when I came upon these handsome fellows, I flirted shamelessly . . . they didn't seem to mind too terribly much :-)

in semi-bloom

2010-03-18T17:31:00.000-07:00

Remember that single green hint of a changing season? Well, amazingly enough [considering the length of winter hereabouts], it seems to have sprouted some colour. I must admit, mind you, that I did not notice it immediately; in fact, it took me a while to find the flowers even after Mom had alerted me to their existence. But once I had, I was smitten. Spring . . . could it be true?

bubble, bubble . . .

2010-03-16T10:40:00.000-07:00

This being the first time I have been witness to the Springtime thawing of a lake, it is with no small measure of interest [impatience? :-)] that I am enjoying the ways in which ice and water conduct their space-trading dance . . .

about that spring bloom . . .

2010-03-14T18:08:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, it is beautiful . . . but an ice storm in March? I guess I am not enough of a New Englander to be able to appreciate it. Or maybe I am too prone to excitement over little things like blooming bulbs, so that a new layer of snow and ice feels like a bit of a cruel joke :-)

just a dream

2010-03-12T17:59:00.000-08:00

I've always been a believer in the mysterious nature of dreams . . . or at least I was when I was younger. Somehow, the older I get, the more "practical" my sense of reality has grown, leading to more of a focus on the logistics of daily life and future plans and, sadly, less of an awareness of mystery.
So I am grateful for occasional reminders of this reality that is, I think, just as important in many ways as "real life." Why else could a dream--a single night's brain waves--lead to an entire day in which I fought the temptation to daydream myself back into that dream? Ever since I woke up this morning I have been longing to recreate that dream for myself, trying to remember it as vividly as possible. Trying to recapture that other-worldy, wonderfully heartrending ache in the deepest part of my sensibilities.
Silly? Perhaps. But not without meaning. I cannot help but believe that such reminders in the heart are the way we really reconnect with what is most, in the depths of each human soul . . .

an icy ascent

2010-03-09T17:41:00.000-08:00

Granted, it may not look all that impressive. But this is a very important little bulb: the first of Spring. Mom noticed it this morning and called to announce the birth . . . so I was camera-ready this evening, to document its brave ascent through the elements.

emergency eviction

2010-03-08T17:44:00.000-08:00

Barbara promptly offered "writing" permission this evening, after telling me the day's excitement. Granted, my neighbor has provided me with writing inspiration in the past, so she knew what to expect when relaying this particular event as I arrived with the day's pharmacy pick-up for them:
For several days now, she has been concerned about the odor of what seemed to be some sort of a leak. So today she called for assistance, alerting the authorities that she seemed to have a gas leak. Shortly thereafter the inspector arrived and was directed to the room in question.
When he emerged, some time later, Barbara waited, with some concern, to hear the outcome. He quietly made his notes and she, anxious to see, peered over onto his work log, to see what he was writing . . .
"No gas leak. Dead mouse. Removed mouse. Cleaned area. Odor taken care of" . . . Disaster averted? :-)

mornin', sunshine

2010-03-04T10:24:00.000-08:00

As Erin and I gasped at the view out her window, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness over the fact that my visit was already almost over . . . and nostalgic as I visited my old haunts from living there. I thought about playing with this photo but opted against it, deciding that "as is" was quite perfect :-)

for the color of it

2010-02-28T18:19:00.000-08:00

It was with singular delight that I carted my camera along on a brilliantly spring-like day here in the Pacific Northwest. After a winter of ice and snow, and frigid temperatures, it was indescribably soothing to feel such newness in the air. I can't remember ever quite appreciating spring so much. But then again, I have had a habit of running away in the wintertime, accepting conveniently timed work opportunities in more tropic climes than those encountered stateside. And so today I soaked in this one afternoon of mildness with intense gratitude.
"Is it silly of me," I asked Erin, "to be so giddy about photographing flowers today, solely because of the thrill of encountering color again?" She thought for a moment, then said simply, "Nah--I don't think so."
So I'm taking her word for it, and posting this simple shot for you of today's color :-)

starched?

2010-02-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

When I first passed this line, I noticed how beautiful it was against the white of the snow. And then it occurred to me that it was a rather odd sight to see, all things considered, here in our wintery wonderland. But being without my camera, all I could do at the time was bemoan the lack of my other limb . . . so it was with delight that I discovered the clothes still out "drying" when I returned, camera-ready :-)

teacher knows best?

2010-02-17T11:29:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how much of an adventure it is to work with little ones. And one of the reasons I keep gravitating towards such work is that I love the discovery process it is for me--oftentimes just as much as it is for the students!
At the moment I am thinking of my last lesson with one of my French students [who I will nickname Abby for blogging purposes]. Abby is 5 years old. Young enough to be a learning "sponge," yet old enough to catch me off guard with her snippets of insight and with glimpses into her intriguing little mind.
So this past time we met, I had intended to jog her memory with a review of the past songs we have used as French learning tools, going back as far as early in summer of this past year. But she didn't have a great deal of patience for this exercise and, you know, I decided that it wasn't worth pushing it. Because what I quickly realized was that her impatience was not due to any lack of retention. In fact, she easily [and with a twinge of feigned boredom!] sang the words of the songs I prompted. But then she started to suggest her own lyrics and songs. Soon she had me singing a series of impromptu songs about various objects she set her sights on. Who knew that one could sing a cute French ditty about "drapes and a couch"?
But I did, and it proved to be a much more interesting language lesson than the one I had intended . . . never mind the test it proved to be for my own language retention over the years! Serves me right for assuming that "teacher knows best" :-)

Happy "Hearts" Day!

2010-02-14T10:13:00.000-08:00

Too all of you out in blogland, here's wishing you a happy Day of Saint Valentine!

a sight so lovely . . .

2010-02-09T11:03:00.000-08:00

It's been cold. It's been really cold. And I don't much care for it. But it has also been stunningly, sunshinily beautiful. So I had the urge to just point my camera up at the sky and take a shot of it. I was tempted to adjust the photo but then changed my mind, deciding that it was quite perfectly lovely just the way it was :-)

on the rocks?

2010-02-02T11:30:00.000-08:00

So remember that "snow hearts & ice blocks" post from last week? Well, after noticing since then the uncanny effect of those "cubes," I just couldn't resist having a bit of fun with it :-)

the fullest moon

2010-01-29T18:41:00.000-08:00

I was grateful to hear the news, at work today, about the fact that tonight would be the brightest full moon of the year. And I also thought it was pretty cool to have the capturing of this sight be a part of my work assignments :-) Mind you, I have not yet done any moon photography, so it took a bit of research to figure out the proper settings. Once out there, however, my camera began to be its recently-finicky self, so I couldn't use the settings I "should" have anyway. What I ended up with is growing on me a bit, in a slightly eerie, full-moon befitting sort of way :-)

the concentric hearts

2010-01-28T12:24:00.000-08:00

For those of you following my snowshoe hearts saga, here's the visual of my "community creation" :-)

snow hearts & ice blocks

2010-01-24T17:33:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I headed out to the lake with the snowshoes . . . and there I found a delightful surprise: someone, it seems, both noticed and appreciated my snowshoe heart. For now, on the lake, there is a lovely set of concentric showshoe hearts :-) In other news, today was the annual ice-cutting on the lake--an authentically historic event, after which the blocks of ice that are culled are stored in the farm's ice house for the remainder of the year. While I did take the expected shots of the process itself, it was this photo of the after-effect that I found most interesting. Of course, that is my own aesthetic preference: one that is admittedly not-necessarily-normal :-)

just for goofiness sake

2010-01-22T11:40:00.000-08:00

. . . because sometimes it is just necessary to amuse oneself. And, hey, after yesterday's photo fun, I realized I had a whole lotta frozen lake in front of me today that just begged to be "decorated" :-)

paving the way

2010-01-21T12:07:00.000-08:00

It occurred to me today that I was tired of solely documenting other folks' snowy fun. So I donned the snowshoes and hit the lake today . . . leaving my own mark :-)

finicky fishies

2010-01-15T10:10:00.000-08:00

When I spotted this fisherman and his paraphernalia out on the lake this morning, I first thought that it was some sort of preparation for the annual ice-cutting later this month. So I stopped and called out, "Excuse me, sir: would you mind if I ask you what you're doing?" [never mind the fact that it was of course too late, by this point, to ask if he minded my query :-)]. He was kind enough to not only not mind, but to oblige my curiosity by explaining a bit about the process of manually drilling holes for ice fishing--and to allow me to photograph the process. It seems that, so far today, the fish have not been cooperating very well . . . the nerve!

let's go fly a kite . . .

2010-01-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

As we left to run some errands in town, I debated whether or not to take my camera along. Thinking out loud, I told Jen I'd just leave it for now, anticipating a practicalities-only sort of outing.
Later, dropping her off at her place as the sun was setting, she hollered back at me before going inside: "Get your camera," she advised, "and go down to the lake!" I did as she said and was ever so grateful to her for the tip. What I found was the most lovely sight--a solitary skater with a kite/parachute . . . a stunning sight, as he glided to and fro on the ice, the wind lifting, and dropping, his yellow kite behind as he went.
So maybe winter's not all bad :-)

snow dunes?

2010-01-09T10:56:00.000-08:00

Perhaps it's just a winter-weary imagining--similar to thirst-induced mirages of glittering oases in the middle of the desert . . . But for whatever reason, when I passed this wind-swept patch of snow, all I could think was Sand dunes! Yes, I am officially, decidedly, bad at winter :-)

from the horse's mouth

2010-01-03T13:14:00.000-08:00

Neighhh . . . I sayyy--aren't you glad Farmer Bob bought us fine new coats for Christmas? I just love stylin' in the snow!

of ice and men

2009-12-28T18:29:00.000-08:00

As I embark on this adventure of weathering winter as, I suppose, it is intended to be, I am realizing that so far I have a decidedly conflicted relationship with the snow. I resent the way in which it hinders transportation and spontaneous outdoor excursions . . . yet I find it hauntingly, inspiringly beautiful.
This evening, for instance, I stopped on my way into the library, awed by the apparent ice-sculpture of a snowman that was in the neighboring yard. So when I walked into the library, instead of doing anything library-appropriate, I blurted out a query as to the creators of the stunning snowman outside. The librarian was confused as to the snowman itself, but she did say that she assumed it had been constructed by the children who had, in fact, just been in that same library shortly before I was. I took this apparent familiarity as a bit of a photographic go-ahead, so here he is, in his icy loveliness.

slip n' slide

2009-12-27T17:08:00.000-08:00

This evening included a normal sort of Sunday drive--normal, probably, only in my family, as it meant a trip to the dump. But this particular drive also included a stop at an all-too-familiar tree, as of last night. Here is a snapshot of that tree. Sideways, you say? Well, not exactly: for this is the perspective I unfortunately, had, as I tried to decide how exactly I should extract myself from the car without tipping it, the rest of the way, over from its precariously wedged position. Yes, it's high time for those snow-appropriate tires: no more excuses forthcoming from my winterly-wimpy self!

how's the "water"?

2009-12-23T10:08:00.000-08:00

I know I said I wasn't tempted by my icy lakefront anymore . . . but I guess that wasn't entirely true. Because today I dove right in--or stood right on, as the case may be. Seeing a father/son ice fisherman team from the shore, I couldn't resist heading out with my camera. They were kind enough to even let me try my hand at the sport, though I didn't manage to make a catch [which is probably just as well, considering licensing issues!]. So, in case you're inclined to come join me for a swim, here's a glimpse for you of how the water is, from where I stood :-)

refreshing?

2009-12-13T17:35:00.000-08:00

Funny thing . . . somehow my summer swimming haunt doesn't quite beckon me to dive on in anymore: why might that be? :-)

on frozen pond

2009-12-11T17:21:00.000-08:00

I have never before been witness to the freezing process of a lake. So when I ventured out this morning for the first time since returning to the NE, I was floored at how beautiful it was. With the combination of the freezing pockets and the wave-shaped already frozen portions, I just could not get over how lovely the effect was . . . had I not been so frozen myself, I would have been tempted to just sit and watch it freeze :-) Here is one of the photos I took, out of a series of various angles and segments.

a goodbye

2009-12-09T10:52:00.000-08:00

The weather seemed in sync with the day as we gathered for the funeral: the steady drizzle as soothing as it was dreary. We wrote our final goodbyes on sticky notes, our somber collage to be lowered into the ground with the coffin. "May you have peace," I wrote. Then we parted, with teary hugs.
And today, one day later, the sun shines warm and bright.

a wintery apology

2009-12-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

It's no big secret that I'm not so good at winter. But that doesn't mean that awaking to the first snow did not make me gasp at the beauty of it all . . . and rush to snap some wintery shots. So much so that I was cutting it a bit close for the morning's travels, and ended up messing things up a bit: shouldn't I be too old to have to be rescued by my mother? Thanks, Mom--and sorry :-)

on this day

2009-11-30T17:24:00.000-08:00

I remember, this day--November 30--in 1988. On this day, I awoke excited--no, more than that--I was ecstatic. I was running through lines of the Christmas program in my head, eagerly rehearsing for the program that night. You see, tonight we were performing for our families, for my family. They were on their way by this time, I knew, beginning the drive early that morning that would bring them along many lonely dirt roads, winding through villages and across open plains, to arrive here.
It had been 3 months now since I last saw them, when I boarded the little Cessna on the grass strip of our village, clutching my stuffed bear in one arm and holding my sister's hand with the other. We stood there waving goodbye one last time on the boarding stairs, and then waved again out the window as we sped along the airstrip and lifted off into the air. I loved that moment of lifting off in the airplane--and have ever since--the exciting rush of becoming airborne and soaring faster and faster through the air.
That day, however, my excitement of the beginning was tinged with the sadness of knowing I would be away from my family for many nights now. The days were always full of learning, fun adventures in the bush with friends and with various creatures to be discovered and trees to be climbed. The nights were the hard part, though, when I fought the tears that often came in spite of my fierce will, silently dampening my pillow while I stifled the shortened breaths that may give away my tears to the classmates sleeping near me in rows of bunk beds.
The 3 months since that last flight had passed quickly--3 months of good books read, math problems solved, geography discovered, play weddings acted out in free time, and all manner of grade 4 activities. I had also turned 9 the previous month, and knew my family would now celebrate my birthday and my brother's 4th birthday 3 days earlier, as soon as we made it back home. While on a shopping trip in South Africa, my Dad had acquired our first car, so the decided to make the road trip instead of Helen and I flying home as we had always done before. So, I knew they were loaded up in the Isuzu, along with 2 village friends--a teenage student of my Dad's and the Zambian pastor he worked with in our Church.
So that afternoon, after various activities designed to keep all us boarding students preoccupied so we wouldn't be bouncing off the walls with the excitement of our families' arrivals, we all filed out the drive-up area to await the first arrivals. I had in my mind the perfect picture of what to expect, so as each vehicle arrived, I craned my neck to see my mom's long arm waving out the window and Alex's goofy grin peering out from her lap. But the cars came, parents claimed their clamoring kids, and my picture-perfect arrival still had not appeared. Finally, a lady I recognized as the mom of some friends who lived fairly near us went over to our Dorm Mother and said something to her, gesturing in our direction. She then came and told us to go ahead and get ready for the program--not to keep waiting for our parents there.
I was disappointed, but assumed they would arrive at any moment, so just kept waiting as we practiced our songs. My mental image just altered itself to adjust to a late clamor of hugs and kisses rushed in before the program started . . . but the program came, began, and ended, and they had not arrived. The next morning we were taken to the Cessna, and told we were going to go back to the village by flight after all. This time I imagined the whole family standing there on the airstrip, coming into focus as the plane landed, with eager smiles and waves--still, no. The parents of a classmate took us in their car instead--so of course I changed my expectation once more, this time thinking they were taking us to our house where the family would be, picture-perfect, waiting in front of our little home.
Instead we arrived at their house. Auntie Elaine (according to British habit, all family friends were "Auntie" and "Uncle" to us kids) finished up dinner preparations while we helped set the table. And then, instead of sitting down to dinner, she asked Helen and I to come and sit with her on the couch--"Anna, Helen--I have some really sad news . . . your Daddy went to heaven . . . " Before the sentence was finished, I had burst into loud sobs, Helen looked at me and started crying, and Auntie Elaine and her daughter were both crying and hugging us.
I don't remember any mention of the rest of the family at that point--nor did I wonder, as far as I can remember. The rest of the day, of the week, of the month, passed in a sort of a fog, in which my memories are clear but displaced, as if each memory was plucked from its proper place in the continuum of time and placed instead in some never never land of homeless moments.
I remember falling asleep with fitful dreams, waking up convinced I had dreamed reality, and that Daddy would walk in and comfort me any moment. I remember being reunited with my brothers, staring at Alex's discolored and misshapen head, and carting Ian around carefully in his body cast, propping him up against walls . . . supporting him and holding his modesty blanket over his midsection as he pinned the tail on the donkey at his belated birthday party. I remember visiting Mom there in the Zambian hospital, horrified at the sight of my strong, active, beautiful mother lying there on the stretcher bed unable to move herself. At one point during a visit, the nurse had to turn her over so that she wouldn't get a bed sore. As she did so, she let go of the sheet and mom was briefly exposed to us all in the room. I didn't know whether to blush, sob, or scream--I wanted to just run away, to disappear forever into the endless, dreadfully beautiful African wilderness. I hated seeing mom like that, and dreaded the visits . . . and I hated myself for feeling that way, thinking there must be something wrong with me if I didn't want to see my mother . . .
Somehow, time passed. My Daddy's funeral passed in a blur of friends, strangers, languages I didn't know, and wails I knew only too well. As soon as mom was strong enough to be transported, we were shipped to the U.S., where hospitalization and then physical rehab came for her. I hid in my books--in beautiful worlds of fantasy--to the extent that my grandmother still teases me for always having my "nose stuck in a book" as a child.
And eventually Mom was well enough to take over the care of the 4 of us again. I still don't know for the life of me how she did it--a paraplegic supporting and caring for a home of her own and 4 not-always-angelic children. She did it well . . . she loved us well.
On this day, as a child, Mom beautifully commemorated the anniversary. She would buy what looked to me like hundreds of helium-filled balloons, bringing them home so that the house was bursting with balloons. Then she tied note cards to the string of each one, and told us to write notes on them--as many as we wanted, and whatever we wanted to say to a stranger. I remember writing things like "Jesus loves me this I know . . ." and "My Daddy died on this day, and he is now in heaven with God, because he loved God. I do too." I wrote silly notes, but meaningful ones, longing, in all my childhood intensity, to somehow tell the world that I had a great Daddy, and that some day I would see him again.
I still catch myself, when I am still enough to listen to the deeper desires of my heart, craving moments of remembrance of my Daddy, and eagerly clasping to memory any tidbits about him that people from his past may be able to share with me. And thankfully my own mind clamped down firmly on all the memories I had of my times with him, out of a personal need for them and, I suspect, out of a nagging suspicion that someday, somehow, there would be a greater use for, outlet for, it all.

enough said

2009-11-28T16:44:00.000-08:00

If a picture says it all, then I will gladly hold my tongue on this one. Except to say that this is us, Giving-Thanks . . . I love my family :-)

small ones spreading cheer

2009-11-23T12:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was the church's annual Thanksgiving Basket party and, as usual, it was a flurry of fast-paced assembling action. What I particularly enjoyed was seeing how involved the little ones were in the process: little hands and feet excited to join in the generous spirit of the season.

a pool with a view

2009-11-16T18:26:00.000-08:00

The summit of today's hike proved to be well worth the [cold] trek. Once at the peak, I braved the raging winds in order to photograph the beauty for you all. And though we were supposedly there for the 2,930-foot view, I found myself more struck by this pool of ice-blue water than by the view itself . . . but you can still see a bit of the scenic overlook in this photo, if that is more your pleasure :-)

ode [against] a wall

2009-11-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

You'd think a slab of granite would be
Just a neutral chap--

A simple set of holes and holds
To kindly guide one up.

But, truth be told, this one fine slab
Is not so kind as that.

No, he is out to thwart brave souls
Who aim to, him, summit.

And thus is was that, yesterday,
I fumed--e'en cursed--a bit,

While battling this ornery rock,
Trying not to throw a fit.

For we assumed t'would be an easy,
Leisurely day's sport,

When in fact this slab was concealing
His tricky, slippery side.

Therefore it was with great delight--
Nay, more with childish glee,

That finally I won the war,
Standing tall, on top of he.

a photo and a shop

2009-11-07T18:05:00.000-08:00

I was eager to get out yesterday, in order to experience the artists and artisans participating in the state's "Open Doors" weekend. Making good use of my camera was the expectation; the unexpected delight came when one artist opened up the woodworking process to those of us "in the audience" of his workshop . . .

stopped in its tracks

2009-11-04T12:17:00.000-08:00

I have a new toy. A toy that has me in Photographer's Heaven. Thanks to a kind friend, I am the proud owner of Photoshop Elements. And today I have been playing with it for the first time . . .
Yesterday we stopped by a picturesque old train station while out shopping, deciding that it was too lovely not to photograph. So here is one of the shots I took, after "playing" with it: I thought it might be fun to add a bit of visual action to the life of a train that no longer gets to run around :-)

defeat [?]

2009-10-31T13:40:00.000-07:00

Our first day "on the rocks," I gasped as I peered behind me, once high enough to see the view from my cliff perch. We had chosen the most perfect of days, with unseasonable warmth and sunshine that had baked the side of the mountain long enough to leave the climb significantly more pleasant than my last icy-fingered effort. And the hour in which we finished the route provided a breathtaking sunset finale--a virtual paradise of North Carolina countryside from our birds eye view high on the mountain. It is an exquisite sensation, a mixture of fear, awe, and child-like glee, to realize that you are suspended hundreds of feet up in the air. At one point I joked, pretending to be about to let go, saying "Look Ma, no hands!" J, in turn, teased that this was one view, peering down at me from above, with the valley directly below, that he would not want my Mother to see.
Consequently, I have no visual aid for you all :-) Mind you, I am inspired to look for a suitably portable camera, after several experiences so far in which I longed to show the world the beauty that I was witness to at the time.
But this story does not end with the beauty. It is a more well-rounded account, as the next day of the trip proved significantly less triumphant. On Day 2, the mountain won the battle, in that I summited only one of the intended 3 pitches of that particular climb. Finally, after multiple efforts to master one set of holds, I gave up. My fingers were numbed by the shady chill of the day's route, my arms weakened by numerous attempts, and my body shaken by the fright of a fall that had come as such a surprise that I was not aware enough to utter my normal "Falling!" warning. And so, finally, as tears sprung to my eyes, I admitted with finality that I just couldn't do it, that I had to let go. It came as a bit of a shock to me that I took it so hard, in fact. Intellectually, I knew that I may not be able to do all that we hoped to do. But mentally, the act of surrendering to the mountain proved to be so much more humbling that I could have anticipated.
But you know, when all is said and done, my frustration did not take away from the satisfaction at days end. Somehow my spirits were still calm and content at the end of the day. I wonder if that is in some manner due to the fact that it was Creation, in all its glory, that defeated me; if I think about it in that sense, it is no wonder that I cannot begrudge such an awesome defeat.

in sync

2009-10-25T11:38:00.000-07:00

As I walked to the lake this afternoon, eager to soak up a bit of the sun's surprise rays, I was noticing how brilliant the colours were, all around. I couldn't help but marvel at the odd loveliness of the canoes, out of season now, with their complementary hues. Even the turned leaves behind the boats match, in yellows and reds, as if human and divine creations were choosing to act together to form a natural work of art.

what's wrong with this picture?

2009-10-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

I had just enough time this afternoon to follow a "Covered Bridge" sign that had been tempting me for quite a while now--camera in tow, of course. It proved to be a highly satisfactory detour and also provided an occasion for me to have a bit of photographic fun with the result . . . can anyone tell what I did?
P.S. The correct guesser wins a prize
P.S.S. I retain the right to be biased as to what sort of prize to bestow, depending upon the identity of the prize winner :-)

peeping tigger

2009-10-17T17:37:00.000-07:00

By the time I had maneuvered my way, this afternoon, through what seemed to be the entire state's population of vehicles centralized into one small town's Main Street, I was slightly less inclined to get excited about the sea of pumpkins that were drawing such a crowd. As a result, I had to laugh when I spotted this little fellow: he seemed to be blazing his own trail of interest, ignoring the prize-winner behind him so that he could peer into this jack-o-lantern . . . presumably looking for the "treat" that he knew must be hidden therein :-)

as it was, this time around

2009-10-11T15:21:00.001-07:00

Weddings being what they are, and family being what it is for my own, I have developed a habit of somewhat obsessively writing about these events when they occur. And in our family, they have occurred with some regularity over the past several years.
Most of my wedding writings have tended towards the more serious side. I'm not sure I can explain this completely, except to say that such ceremonies bring out the "worst" of my sentimental, emotional side. But this day, yesterday, felt different somehow. Perhaps it was due to the fact that we have had the 2 first grandbabies born this past year. Or perhaps it is simply because this is the 3rd brother-wedding in just over a year. But for whatever reason, the day felt a bit more light-hearted. I kept laughing at the funny things that were said and done. Sure there were the meaningful moments that should, and did, occur: father and son shared a King Fu round during one of the dance songs. Mom and Lou danced, another dance in which Lou tenderly supported Mom so that she could enjoy the experience . . . And yet, even the "serious" moments tended towards a bit of levity: the bride and groom's first kiss, for example, was a dramatic, drop-kiss affair. And my brother took his 4-week old daughter out on the dance floor for her first hip-hop groove. Along the dance theme, my brother and I enjoyed bringing a bit of good Southern culture into the mix, leading the crew in a round of "Boot Scootin' Boogie" [I was actually a bit surprised to discover that I still remembered all the steps, as soon as the rhythm kicked in. Afterwards, his wife noted that, unbeknownst to us, it seems that the 4 of us siblings share a bit of natural rhythm when it comes to the dance floor.
So yes, it was a joyous, festive occasion. And one in which laughter felt like the predominant theme. So along with that theme, I will close with a snippet of a couple quotable moments from the day:
As we line up for the post-ceremony family photos, Alex turns his head from side to side, then circles around, then blurts out rather loudly, "Hey--where's my baby?"
Walking out to the cars for the wedding-to-reception caravan, Alex looks at Ian and notes, "Hey, brother, you know that tux is pretty slimming on you." Ian checks himself out in a passing window reflection and replies, "Nah . . . I think it makes my butt look big."

monet behind my window blinds

2009-10-09T12:13:00.000-07:00

Each time I catch a glimpse of this hill, I am struck by the impressionistic art of nature's current attire. And being privy to such a stunning display, I thought it only right for me to share with you all my daily view, in hopes that I can, in some small manner, do it justice . . .

this 'bow's for you?

2009-10-05T17:26:00.000-07:00

Can a rainbow be claimed as one's own simply because it happen's to fall on one rainbow lover's day of birth? I don't see why not . . .

shining through

2009-10-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

It has been raining steadily all day, getting harder as the day progresses. So I had just about given up on my longing to capture some more photos of the season's stunning displays. But then, as we finished dinner, I glanced out the window and noticed that even through the falling rain, the leaves were practically glowing with the setting sun's reflections. In mid-sentence, I said "Hold that thought," and dashed out to snag my camera from the car, braving the weather for the sake of the photos.
And here it is, nature at its stunning best, with no need for any sort of photographic touch-ups.

the view from here

2009-09-29T17:06:00.000-07:00

We had been following narrow gravel roads for an indefinite, but decidedly long, amount of time, seemingly getting closer to pretty much nowhere. As such, we were beginning to wonder about the effectiveness of the climbing guide book's directions, with its striking lack of street names, with directives like "follow the first paved road to the right until you reach a sharp curve of gravel road that becomes a rough dirt road, occasionally impassible, depending upon the time of year . . ." I kept having the urge to console my trusty Toyota and apologize for subjecting her to such treatment.
But then as we rounded one bend I gasped and blurted, "Stop, please!" Understandably perplexed, J did so and waited while I fumbled for my camera and hopped out, and then on top of, the car [for prime viewing purposes]. This, then, is the documentation of the day's climbing adventure, as I'm afraid I did not snap any while scaling the cliffs . . . hopefully the loveliness of this sight will suffice for the snapshot of the day :-)

the scolder's secret

2009-09-25T13:45:00.000-07:00

Bathtime!, I call out from upstairs, in my habitual sing-song tone--Lego time's up: chop, chop!
Then I slip into the hallway, folding a Spiderman pajama top and pretending not to be waiting . . . listening for the patter of little running feet . . . watching for the white flash of a little bare bum.
Rinsing the suds out of his blond curls, I "remind" him to put his dirty clothes in the hamper, where he knows they go . . .
What I don't tell him is that I love every second that I spend picking up those tightly rolled jerseys and strewn-about socks. I smile each time I see that forgetfulness, and the sight of a rapidly shed pair of shorts, knickers still propped up inside, more lovely to me than a Mona Lisa smile.

dreamy conversations

2009-09-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

As I have indicated, my seven-year-old charge has quite an intriguing thought life, as children so often do. So perhaps it should come as no surprise that his dream life is also an interesting one--certainly more so than mine at the moment. And as such, I have grown to look forward to those unscripted conversations that come when we are not in the middle of school preparations, bedtime routines, mealtimes, and the like.
Mind you, I do not always have the privilege of such thoughtful insights: sibling relationships being as they are, such conversations are much more likely to occur when big sister is not with us--like this evening . . .
We were heading to the bus drop off, discussing the odd nature of the rain that had been falling in fits and starts all day. Then T launched into the topic of his dreams: one in particular. In this dream, he discovered a new talent for turning pencils into wands. Each pencil that he picked up turned into a different wand. I asked if they each had different spells but he said that no, they did not. He, however, was able to tell all manner of different spells, no matter which wand he held. Because, of course, he was the one with the magic skills, not those pencils: didn't I know pencils couldn't cast spells?
Yes, of course--silly me :-)

cloudy conversations

2009-09-12T17:57:00.000-07:00

My 7-year-old charge and I had the exquisite delight of a 4-hour marathon at the creative children's museum today. Returning home, we spent a portion of the drive in that contented sort of quiet that follows such a happy expenditure of energy. Revealing his own train of silent thought, T interrupted the reverie to note that he had just spotted "one of those spiny-backed dinosaurs--but without a head--made out of clouds." I looked up through the open car top long enough to affirm his assertion, prompting a few other mentions of cloud creatures. He then launched a new series for our conversation: a series of questions that I dutifully responded to after considerable contemplation for each . . .
"What would you do if it started raining . . .
houses? [I would click my heels and say 'there's no place like home']
street signs? [I would get even more lost than is my general tendency]
cars? [I would drive until I felt almost as classy as I currently do in my temporary ride--a convertible VW]
asteroids? [I would dig a hole and burrow for cover]
kittens? [I would adopt 20]
puppies? [I would adopt 1, and name it Kiwi Jr]
. . . And so on. All in all, I decided that T's inner thought life at the time was
considerably more interesting than my own, which was pulled aways from ponderings as
to what I could quickly prepare as a passably edible dinner for us. Yes, I think children have infinitely more intriguing thought lives than those of us on the more old and crotchety end of life :-)

as nature intended

2009-09-10T13:07:00.000-07:00

I have developed a bit of an obsession with the changing colors . . . perhaps easily attributable to this being my first autumn in New England? As such, I was telling Mom this morning that I have been longing to snag a bit of photo-taking time for myself, in the middle of a rather hectic Fall season thus far. So this afternoon, once I had returned from the airport drop-off, I did just that. And now I am unapologetically pleased with the [untouched, edit-wise] resulting shot :-)

not just for boys

2009-09-07T17:53:00.000-07:00

Though I've wanted to for some time now, it was not until tonight that I sat in on my stepdad's weekly Kung Fu lesson. Because of a passion for the sport and a love for teaching, he has spent the past year sharing his black belt skills with a few children and their parents. While the basement lighting leaves much to be desired for photographic purposes, I thought this "action shot" illustrated, decently at least, his intensity of dedication. It also, incidentally, has the perk of showing off in the background one of his favorite big kid toys, which I intend to try my hand at as soon as possible :-)

what's the buzz?

2009-09-05T10:48:00.000-07:00

This, disconcerting as the thought may be, is a foot-long hornet's nest that has been living in the front yard of my French students' home. Since discovering it approximately a month ago, the girls' parents have been debating how exactly to undergo the eviction process without risking any lives or limbs in the process. Some of the possibilities included waking in the coldest hour of the night to startle them with a strong whack. They would have a trash bag ready to whisk the entire nest into the freezer--this option would have the benefit of extermination plus preservation, for future posterity. But their mother nixed this idea, deciding that her small freezer was not suited to a hornet's home nestled between the popsicles and frozen peas. So they have just completed round 3 of super-spraying and, seeing no live creatures for the past few days, an intended chopping down this evening. I have entertained the thought of joining in on the fun . . .

picking a peck

2009-09-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

I actually snapped this shot yesterday, as I admired the bountiful harvest of my apple-picking neighbor. But it seemed rather fitting to share it with you all today, considering the fact that we have just entered the month in which the "harvest" season begins. He admitted to me that he actually did not know what variety these are: the family has always simply titled them "snack apples," referring to their small size, sweet taste and, I would add, picture-perfect appearance :-)

the summer that almost wasn't

2009-08-30T13:59:00.000-07:00

Last I checked, my calendar still read "August." And last I knew, August was considered to be rather strongly positioned in the summertime. As such, there has been a twinge of sadness to my recent delight in the beauty: while passing the trees on my morning running route, I've seen the signs of what I have always thought to be the most lovely of all the seasons.
So today I decided to capture a sampling of these signs, carting my camera along for a bike ride along my normal route. This made for an oddly slow trek, gone about in fits and starts of camera-grabbing pit stops. During one of these pauses, a couple caught up with me for the 4th time as they enjoyed a leisurely family stroll; I told them that they could feel free to brag about how, with a stroller and a Baby Bjorn, they out-paced a solitary biker :-)
I also couldn't help but wonder where my tandem partner was--someone who could pedal me around as I snapped to my heart's content . . .

to catch a dragonfly

2009-08-25T12:49:00.000-07:00

I saw such a pretty plethora of dragonflies while canoeing this afternoon that I was determined to capture them on film. Doing so proved to be decidedly more difficult than anticipated, however: each time that I thought I had paddled into a suitable position to pull out my camera, the wind would change direction, promptly blowing me directly on top of the poor little creatures I had intended to photograph. My fourth attempt finally worked, though, and I was able to snap this shot of the flitting lovelies.

here is the steeple . . .

2009-08-23T11:17:00.000-07:00

As I enjoyed a post-rain stroll, I stopped to admire this church. It was photographically inspiring to me so, for what I thought was no particular reason, I snapped this shot. Shortly thereafter I described the spot to my dinner host, trying to be as descriptive as possible. There was no need, however, as she was quite familiar with the church: turns out she was married right there, 31 years ago.

doom

2009-08-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

First I stopped to admire this sailboat, being a sucker for any worn, seaworthy vestibules. Then I chuckled at its rather foreboding name . . . is that why this particular vessel is now land-locked and sail-less?

from the mouth of a babe

2009-08-18T06:56:00.001-07:00

The way I think about my mind is that it's like a little library in my brain. There's a little person that's like me in my brain. And if I forget what I'm going to say, then that means that the little person in my brain has just dropped something. So that's how I forget what I wanted to say.
This is the brilliant bit of insight that I just learned from my young friend Maggie. At the age of 6, she already astounds me with her intelligence, and that last comment is just one example of the ways she does so.
Now she is writing a story, and this is what we have so far:
THE CROCODILE
in a big, big, swamp, a big, big, crocodile lived. he was king of the swamp animals. he was a terrifying king.

is she real?

2009-08-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks to one of today's passers-by, who asked if she could take a photo of the "living" statue, I can offer to you now a vignette of a day in the life of a statue :-)

being venus

2009-08-08T15:29:00.000-07:00

This was my first official day as Sculpture Garden Attendant for the annual week-long art fair. As the only person there, for an all-day affair, I knew I was going to have to be creative in keeping myself occupied [being there to be available in case anyone was interested in a purchase meant no book-reading or leaving my post.
My first duty was to water all the plants, which took a good half hour with the multiple trips to the pond to refill the pitcher. While busying myself with this and, apparently, looking like I knew what I was doing, I was asked what belonged in the vacant spot of the garden. This being the first time I had noticed it, I was a tad bit embarrassed to have to admit that I did not know.
I assumed, however, that one of the intended works of art had not shown up, as this was a similarly mulched and flower surrounded round as those containing the other works of art.
But then it occurred to me that, clearly, I belonged in that spot: thus I proceeded to amuse myself for the remainder of the day by trying my "hand" at being a living sculpture.
Well, who knew: it seems I am relatively good at it, judging by the responses. I soon lost count of how many whispered comments I overheard along the line of "Is she real?". Others were less fooled, so I also ended up with numerous jokes about how there was no price on that one . . . this led to my easy reply that I was, of course, the most expensive piece in the garden. And as all the prices were quite high, they did not want to frighten people by listing such a cost.
The most fun I had, however, was with the children: if they were young enough to simply stare and wonder, I would try goofy tactics like sticking out my tongue at them when I caught their eyes. Once they knew I was "real," I would tell them that people under the age of 12 had a special privilege--that of requesting the next pose of the "statue." This led to some interesting poses to figure out logistically: a dragonfly, for instance. One youngster got so into his job that I finally had to cut him off and say that it was my turn to choose my next pose :-)
Tomorrow I will be back at my sculpture post, so we shall see what the new day brings . . .

fungus profusion

2009-08-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

I seem to have developed a bit of an obsession with photographing mushrooms. In my own defense, I can blame it on some combination of the nature of my current work, my coworker's encouragement, and the sheer proliferation of various fungi in this area. As I lamented to my boss here, "All I see is mushrooms!" Here is one of them that I particularly liked, standing proud, if not tall [not quite 2 inches in height].

in the skin

2009-07-30T17:57:00.000-07:00

As promised in my "career possibility" post, here is a shot of our newest reptilian addition to the family. I have been watching for him in vain for some time now, but tonight I guess he decided he wanted to show off for company . . . so as we headed out for our post-dinner stroll, we found him slithering along on his own evening jaunt.

it's a bird: it's a . . . lily?

2009-07-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

While out kayaking today, we noticed a swan . . . and then realized that, in fact, there are no swans on this lake. It was actually a lily that rather strikingly resembled one: don't you agree?

alight a lily

2009-07-25T13:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's worth it to take a risk. Had I been listening to my inner voice of prudence this afternoon, for instance, I would certainly never have carted my camera into the kayak with me: what novice paddler in her right mind would take such a valuable creative tool into the middle in a lake? But I just could not shake the nagging itch to take a water photo shoot.
And had I not done so, I would have never paddled towards the brilliant burst of bluish-purple of a lily sitting pretty in its pad. I would then have missed the sight, upon nearing the flower, of a flurry of dragonflies, perfectly matching its hue as they lit upon the neighboring leaves.

that was then . . .

2009-07-18T17:58:00.000-07:00

So remember that farm shot from June 20 (["in the [farming] flesh)? Today I was there at that farm again, and was struck by how obvious the passage of time is, there in the gardens. I took this photo to illustrate that fact, as this similarly lovely female farmer is in the same position, location-wise, as was the friend in the June post. How does your garden grow? Quite remarkably, I dare say!

the world as we know it

2009-07-16T09:35:00.000-07:00

This week my mother and I have been working as an "Ambassador Team" for our church. This is the week of Work Camp, during which about 400 high school students from all over the country are staying here at a local school and doing home repair work for houses in the area. Our job has involved going to our assigned sites to get to know the home residents, take photos of the work, and check up on the workers. When the pastor emailed us to give some further information, he asked us to update him as to our experiences. Here is what I wrote, as it occurred to me that it may make for an interesting blog post for you all out in blog-land:
Dear Pastor D,
As you requested feedback, I couldn't help sharing one snippet from the rounds Mom and I made today. I don't know if you were familiar with the devotional they did today, but it was about opening our eyes to poverty, and to the different ways it manifests itself in our world. At one site, we were listening in and, after the time of minute-long reflections on each of the 5 facts about poverty, the question was raised as to how we reacted personally to them. Most were the expected sorts of replies concerning how strange it seems that life reality for many involves spending great deals of time and energy expended for things that we take for granted [drinking water, food, not risking malaria with each mosquito bite, etc].
But then one young man, in the most strikingly matter-of-fact manner, said that the AIDS statistics made him think of his mother. After a brief moment, he continued, saying that she had died of the disease in 2002 . . .
How fittingly stark of a reminder, it seemed to me, that we need not search for long for "poverty" and "sickness," as in its various forms it is as close to us as our next-door-neighbor.
Here is a photo to go with this event, as it is of 2 of the group members reflecting, right after the other had shared his perspective.

a diamond in the rough

2009-07-09T18:03:00.000-07:00

Once we had finished introducing our small stuffed bull to the field's resident milk cows, we headed out in a different way than we had entered. Our hope was that we could locate a better exit than the rickety barbed wire fence we had precariously maneuvered for lack of an obviously better entrance point . . . but that is another story :-)
This particular post is about the fact that, as we tramped through the mud, Mel pointed out a striking butterfly; it had, as she noted, chosen a rather odd spot in which to linger. I agreed, but also found it beautiful, in a strange and unexpected sort of way . . .

career possibility?

2009-07-08T13:09:00.000-07:00

Lou and I enjoyed a mini-adventure the other night. During dinner, the neighbor called, a bit frantic after multiple calls to AWOL family members. This neighbor is actually quite a hardy sort: a no-nonsense New Englander who is accustomed to taking care of her family in a quite self-sufficient manner. But this time she was perplexed as to how to coax a 3-foot snake out of her bedroom. Not knowing what kind it was, she was not ready to get close enough fish it out of the corner where it had been persistently camped out for the day. She explained that she was only calling for help as she could not envision falling asleep with it there: daytime was one thing, but overnight was quite another.
So Lou leapt into action as Mom relayed the details of the call, and shortly thereafter we were heading across the street. Lou asked if I wanted to be Moses or Aaron, and I opted for Moses, as this meant I would get to bear the large "staff" . . . if it worked for Moses, Lou reasoned, it should work for us :-)
Sure enough, we emerged victorious a bit later that evening: Lou's garden-gloved hands grasped firmly around the neck of a quite handsome, and good-sized, Garter. We decided we should go into business together, as we apparently made quite a team of snake handlers. And to round out the evening's successes, we returned to Mom and announced that we had a 4th "child" for her to add to her brood of garden-dwelling Garters. Stay tuned for a visual aid . . .

no mermaids here

2009-07-06T13:38:00.000-07:00

In case any of you out there in blog-land were tempted to lose hope, here is proof that today I at least got my feet wet :-)

"sunshine on our shoulders . . ."

2009-07-05T11:17:00.000-07:00

. . . makes us mighty pleased to live on a lake on such a weekend as this one has been! I'm afraid I have to admit, however, that I have not braved the lake water --yet--but I am happily documenting those who do :-)

family style

2009-07-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

Tonight I teased Lou for knowing how to treat his women right--my mother and I, that is. We were out for a fine evening, being wined and dined in style . . . true to our family's style: it was a busy day for us all, you see. My work day ended slightly early, as I had to head out a bit before usual for a doctor's appointment. Mom was accompanying me for the exciting outing, after her weekly dump run. Rendezvousing in the Hannaford's parking lot, we consolidated cars and continued for the hour commute to the clinic. A few directional issues later, we were headed back to our planned meeting point.
Lou had gone from work to the nursing home to visit his mother and, afterwards, he joined us back in the parking lot. Thanks to cell phone correspondence, our evening was well synchronized: Lou hopped from the subaru into the jeep, I doled out the plastic utensils from the back seat, and we ate our pita chips and pasta salad in the grocery store lot, Lou in his srubs and mom with her hair still damp from the pool. First course in our "progressive dinner.
Our intended next stop was down the road to the donut shop, to use a gift card . . . but it had already closed for the evening, here in our bustling metropolis. So we settled for a convenience store, where we got hot chocolate from the vending machine. Lou and I ping ponged potential lyrics for our own version of "Hey Diddle Diddle" while Mom gave her order at the Quik Stop. We debated the effects of the new tax law instated as we lingered there in the parking lot. Then, polishing off the last of the date bar we passed around to split between us, we headed back to the grocery store, split into our respective vehicles, and wound along the country roads, home to the pets and people awaiting. Just another day . . .
Funny the sorts of things that make you muse on how sweet it is to be a part of a family :-)

in that blue canoe

2009-06-27T13:06:00.000-07:00

After watching folks out and about on the lake today, I figured I had better get out there too . . . in that blue canoe :-)

a blue canoe . . .

2009-06-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

. . . and the morning light made this too lovely of a sight to resist: I ran past it . . . then raced home, grabbed my camera, and returned before the photo op had run away :-)

yesterday's poem

2009-06-22T11:24:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a contest being run by a local Ice Cream Parlor, I wrote a poem for my stepdad for Father's Day. The subject was "What flavor ice cream would your Dad be, and why?" This is what I ended up with . . .
*Note: circumstances portrayed are entirely fictional ;-)

Ode to a Flavor

"If you were an ice cream, Pop, what flavor'd you be?"
"Why, plain old vanilla, I reckon," said he.

Raising my eyebrows & frowning, I turned,
And looked at my Mama, so serene & so learned.

"Mother-Dear," said I, "what do you say on this one?
You've always been right, judging from who's lost & who's won . . . "

"Surely," she said then, "I know just the one:
Rocky Road, I would think, and this here's the rea-zun:

It suits him quite perfectly, I'm sure you'll agree--
A bit messy, a bit nutty and, I guess, well, rock-y" ;-)

in the [farming] flesh

2009-06-20T17:35:00.000-07:00

After I made my daily purchase [swiss chard], I was pleased to glimpse my radish-bearing, farming friend behind the shed. After snapping this shot, I called out to her that I had "gotten" her this time on film. She laughed and replied that so long as she looked happy she didn't mind . . . I replied that she needn't fear as, so far as I am concerned, she always looks perfectly, contentedly cheery.

hettie & herb

2009-06-16T12:28:00.000-07:00

The afternoon's encounter with a delightful couple, with tales to tell, prompted this photograph. This photograph, in turn, prompted its own story: as I requested permission to capture them on film, Herb launched into the rousing account of a high-speed chase along the River Thames, back during the 2nd World War . . .

back to the farm

2009-06-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

. . . this time camera in hand, prepared to provide a proper visual aid of the day's agricultural selections.