Just in case I forget Peter's name, he has been labeled. I think I have the memory of a fly. How is that I can remember the details of my Barbie Dream Camper from when I was 8, but I can’t remember something from 10 seconds ago. Yesterday, I had the opportunity to meet a familiar face that I have seen around town for 6 years now. As we chatted about our kids and other such pleasantries, I experienced a sinking feeling as thought to myself, “Crud, I met her 5 seconds ago and I can’t remember her name for the life of me.” “How does this happen”, I think as I smile through the rest of our conversation. Since I know I have a habit of this, I listened keenly to her when she said her name. Chris and Peter were singing Sponge Bob songs off to the side and that must be where I was sidetracked. As I looked to Chris in desperation I realized he wasn’t coming to my rescue. You know, when your significant other comes to introduce himself just to catch that name you missed. This time there would be no 'your welcome" wink. I wish sometimes that we walked around our every day life with permanent “Hello My Name Is” tag affixed to us somehow. We could all be like the greeters at Walmart. Maybe a tattoo right on our forehead would do the trick. While having lunch with a friend today, I realized it not just me with forgetfulitis. We sat at the table and an acquaintance walked in. Neither of us could remember his name. “Oh that’s Whosawhatsis”. “Oh yeah”, I say, “He’s a dad of a kid from Kate’s school”. She chimes in…”they live on Maiden Lane”. After 10 minutes and twenty questions we have extracted the names of his entire extended family out of our thick skulls. As his name popped into our heads at the same time, you could almost see the light bulb illuminate and we both laughed. Sometimes it takes a village to remember a name. Life is so full of details, it would be a miracle to remember it all. In the mean time, I'll try to enjoy remembering what I can.
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As children, we all have favorite stories. Somehow these stories become permanently etched in our minds as we grow-up. Cowboy Small was the book that my mother read to me over and over again. As I got older and could tackle more pages I read Walter Farley’s, “Little Black, A Pony” until the cover needed to be taped together. Maybe the pure fact that I knew we couldn’t have a horse was enough to keep me connected to them throughout my life. Even today, I realize that my lifestyle doesn’t lend to keeping horses, but I am forever attracted to farm living. It’s no surprise that we found a home where our back yard has a view of a farm. I experience a small bit of my favorite childhood books every time I look out the window and see the horses. As I imagine what the authors were inspired by in writing their books, my camera helps take me there. As I photographed a farm in Middletown yesterday, I was carried into the pages of my childhood. In my mind and through my lens, I met Big Red and Little Black. I saw the beautiful connections between the animals and their dedicated keepers. Everywhere I looked, beautiful elements peeked through layers of dried mud and the sweet smell of hay. Behind hay bales, barn cats hid and baby goats waited to be discovered. For the senses, it was a luxurious vacation if only a short one. I recall saying often, “Mommy, please I want a horse.” Now I realize that the horse was always there and still is today. More from the farm... There is simply not enough time in the day. Technology is the culprit for man’s insanity these days. Something that was supposed to simplify our life has sent us into a tailspin. At any given moment, one may Facebook a comment about a tweet while skyping with a friend all while watching reruns of lost on Netflix. I shouldn’t gripe, technology is fun. It allows up to connect in way we never have before. But I can’t help but think about how different my life was only 10 years ago. Our computer was a dinosaur and I distinctly recall watching the little Microsoft hourglass turn and turn to little avail. Rather than pull my hair out, I would usually give up and walk away and find something more constructive to do. We didn’t know what the hell the statuses of our high school friends were and we were OK with that. I went to a cook book to look up a recipe, not a website. We went to the store to buy our food, not Peapod. We have become so dependent on technology, we can no longer turn pages, we need a kindle. Back then, Amazon was just the name of a rainforest. Now we have no rainforest and have depleted our resources because of a place called Amazon. I think that Facebook founder, Mark Zukerburg may someday be compared to Alexander Graham Bell. Do you remember the rotary dial? Back in the days of the telephone, most worshiped God, now Steve Jobs is vying for the position. As I sat at a meeting with a friend the other day we contemplated whether she should purchase a 3g or wi-fi for her new ipad. The impending decision felt monumental, like like finding out the sex of your baby at the ultrasound. The good news is that your Ipad can be a boy or girl depending on whether you purchase a pink or blue skin. All of this makes me think that we need to have a National “Keep It Simple Stupid” Day. It would be a miracle if we could all unplug ourselves for twenty-four hours and see beyond the technology. I may be one of the worst victims of the computer age because the camera keeps me tethered to it almost always. But not to worry, Steve Jobs has provided us with an “Apple” a day. I think, I’ll go take a bite out of it right now.
Thanks to Gary Larson for the words and theme of this photo, he is the master of laughter. Thanks to Gary Larson and his prolific mind, for years he helped us laugh for a few minutes every day. If you were stuck on a deserted island, were an alien, a cow, a duck, a caveman or lucky enough to be in heaven or unfortunate enough to be doomed to hell, then you could relate. But nothing in his arsenal of humor could make us relate more than his depiction of dogs. Many of his cartoons would give us “aha” moments. Somehow he trusted our intelligence to ultimately get his joke. In the drawing of a chicken, he could help us find the meaning of life. Anyone that has a canine friend, can see the miracle in Gary Larson. Our dog’s weave the fabric of our lives. When we are young, they let us test the waters of good and bad behavior. It’s incredible that both of my kids didn’t pull the ears off or poke the eyes out of our beloved Sandia while they were tots. As the kids get older and need to explore their world, the dog really brings light to the term, man’s best friend. As we cross from childhood to adulthood, the dog helps us become good parents, training us to understand the importance of good rearing. Even in a dog’s old age, he helps us to understand the importance of compassion and life long love. All of these stages come full of laughs. Miles’s goofy ways could create a lifetime of new material for Gary Larson. Not too long ago, we came home to Mile’s just sitting on the kitchen table. Our massive dog had decide to take a nap on the table because his dog bed didn’t cut it. While we all have our dog stories, most of us can probably vouch that one of the things that we love (or hate) about our canine friend is their consistency. They are constant in their ability to destroy, escape, shred, chew, dig, or bark. The flip side is the way they consistently love, care, nurture, heal, make us smile all while warming our feet and our hearts. As this photo shows, our pups have only one switch. Sometimes their somewhat vacant smiles mean more than we think. Like Vanna White, we need to turn the letters and unscramble their message. This message is usually variable depending on whether a treat is in hand. As you try to find the meaning of life today, your furry friend already gets it. Maybe if we watch them closely, we’ll get it too.
I've been in the thinking type of mood and I believe that this photo captures that feeling. Sometimes you need to look, listen, and feel to get perspective. Add this Keb Mo song to the picture and I can see through the fog.
Yesterday the sun was shining and the kids spent the entire day getting dirty. Perfect. A big trek was made for seeds. As we meandered through Country Flower Gardens, we shifted gears from winter to spring. The fragrant smell of dirt and fertilizer during this this time of the year is more welcome than any perfume you could buy. Big decisions were made, shall we grow beets? “Yes” I say. “”They’re easy”. Peter grabs the peppers and reminds me that while peppers grow, they like to hold hands. We deliberate over tomatoes since we always seem to fail miserably with them. Chris picks up a package of them, feeling confident that this year, we will be the year. Hopefully they don’t become bunny food again. Kate looks to the pretty purple looking flowers giving me the look of ooohhh, pretty, pretty. As I pull into the driveway, my three excited kids, Chris included, jump out of the car and make a b-line to the pile of pressed down leaves and start digging. Underneath, black soil waits to see the sunlight for the first time in months. The view of the kids writing names of vegetables on Popsicle sticks reminds me of a Rockwell painting. They ask if the seeds have begun to grow. I think to myself, that this is not the best hobby for impatient types. As we put the newly planted seeds by the window, I know that spring had officially begun. It’s a good feeling. Next we will have to do spring cleaning, but it is too pretty outside and the camera takes precedence. This morning, Chris calls upstairs excitedly and tell us that the corn is as high as an elephants eye! I smile as the kids will believe him. He sings from deep down in his belly, “Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day” . As I pet the dog, I finish his line “I have a wonderful feeling, that everything’s going our way.”
No, this is not a photo from an exotic location in Nepal, it's across the street from my son's school.For the last hour, I watched a National Geographic special about photography. Watching photographers capturing life in the furthest away places on earth made my heart race. It is almost midnight and my eyes are wide open thinking of where I can next direct my lens. The documentary featured the photographers' efforts beyond clicking the shutter. One sat for hours being eaten alive by bugs waiting to capture a baboon on film. Another hoisted himself 200 feet up on a rope laden down with equipment just so we could witness life in the canopy. While during the days of film, a marine photographer carried 6 camera bodies, lights and gear to capture thousands of barracuda swirling around him 100 feet below the ocean. As I covered my 5 mile trolly-like track that takes me to my kid’s schools, I wonder if I could have just a taste of National Geographic’s adventure. Am I odd for wanting to capture dirt roads and challenged existences and peeling paint? Maybe; so I realize that my family life will keep me close to home. My experiences lead me down concrete paths where generally happy people are at the end of my lens. My adventures are localized. When your general perimeter of photography stays within 15 miles, you have to look under lots of rocks to actually find something unique in an image. I will walk around it, crawl under or over it and get really cold toes and fingers and dirty knees just to see something differently. My hope is that in some way, there is a relationship to be nurtured. I like the idea of using the lens to create a bridge that unites people. In the moment the shutter clicks seals that connection forever. Even in photographing buildings there is value in knowing they have meaning to their occupants because of the lives they create in them. The NG Photographers are the lucky chosen few that wake up every day to a world unseen by others. I get to see the world seen by everyone, everyday. The challenge whether your a big gun or just a casual shooter will never differ. You just want to get the shot. But for now, I’ll be happy to get some shot-eye.
Just a warning...this entry may not be for the wee ones.
It's April Fool's Day and I am expecting my son to play a joke on me as I wake up. He come's into my room and he starts to work on a baseball word jumble for school. Waiting for my gag, nothing happens. Rather I get the dreaded question that every parent knows will come someday, "Mom, how are babies made"? Is this an April fools joke I wonder? He waits. My mind swirls and I can feel the palms of my hands begin to sweat. Technology is on my lap, so I type in "explaining sex to kids", like I don't know what the subject matter is about. Peter looks at me waiting for an answer and I know I am cornered. I take a deep breath and tell him that making a baby is kinda like one of life's miracles. Not enough...he wants details. After I go through the details, his mouth is agape. "You mean my wee wee can do that?", he says. I believe he has just become empowered in some subconscious way. He sits there quietly and then perks up and ask worriedly, "Mom,what if it gets stuck?" I am thinking, is this really happening to me? I tell him to ask his father. Then he ask, "What if your mom comes into the room, won't she be mad?" At this point, I am hoping for the bus to come or the phone to ring...anything to save me. One of the perks to having a great relationship with your son is that there are few walls between us and he feels comfortable asking these questions. I guess I can consider myself lucky. He then goes back to the word jumble like nothing ever happened. How do you go from the birds and the bees to a word jumble? I guess I can add another check to my life's bucket list. I have had the talk with my son. For him, one of life's mysteries has been answered. My son is growing up right before my eyes and this is no April's fools joke. |
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