Walking through the husks I spotted them, a row of flaxen blondes amidst the field of redheads. They seemed shy compared to their wild cousins. Lean and straight with yellow silky spikes as opposed to the sweaty strands of their ginger friends. I wondered why only these five had developed this yellow hue, why they hid in this low straight row, wallflowers, seemingly sitting out their cousins’ headbangers’ dance.
Staring at the azure sky and sea, broken by white and yellow beams of sunlight and splashes of purple, pink, red and yellow flowers, I asked one of my Hawaiian friends if she woke every morning in awe of how beautiful her home was or if all this beauty t had become commonplace to her. She answered me honestly that on most days she didn’t think about it. It was home and she had kids to take care of and a job to do. I nodded, it was the answer I expected even though facing the sparkling, sun-soaked water, it was hard to believe.
But, I understood her sentiments, knowing that in the hustle of everyday life I often didn’t take the time to soak in Vermont’s green mountains, to delight in the trees and wildflowers around me, the mooing of cows, the song of grasshoppers.
And, so I have been making a concerted effort to do so since I returned home. Having walked a lot in Hana, I decided to continue the tradition here. Using the time not only to exercise and pray, but also to notice the world around me.
Today, I set off to walk the stretch of road the people in my town call “The Boulevard.” It is a three-mile loop in back of my house that takes you around through the center of town and back again. Largely rural with a few paved spots, it is not exactly what a city-dweller would consider a boulevard, but it passes for one here.
I snapped some pictures as I walked and realized that I too, have become immune to a smorgasbord of beauty around me. On an average day it may not be as colorful or as brilliant as what I viewed in Hana, but like a subtle pastel or watercolor, the landscape is full of soft color and unappreciated beauty.
I visited Joan's house near Sugarbush Ski Area on Thursday. After days of rain, the sun was shining. I looked up and caught this beautiful dramatic sky. I actually like the juxtaposition of the telephone poles and wires with the natural world. A story is being told here, a drama unfolds.
Beautiful and dramatic sky in Vermont this evening. I snapped these with my eye phone. You can see the tiny white moon in the first photo, a little over half-way up on the left-hand side and a closer version below.
It's been a week of good fortune -- first, the article on my memoir class appeared in The Valley News and then today I was notified that one of my digital photo collages, Reflective Stroll, was chosen to be included in the AVA Gallery and Art Center's Twentieth Annual Juried Summer Exhibition art show. This year AVA received a total of 310 works by 173 artists from 81 communities throughout Vermont and New Hampshire. This is my second year entering and although none of mine were accepted last year I was told that one came pretty close. This year, however, I submitted two of my digital collages and one was accepted. Of the 310 works submitted, 83 by 73 artists were accepted. The reception for the show is this Friday, June 21, from 5 to 7 p.m.
Just in case all this good fortune were to go to my head, I snapped this humbling photo on the way into the AVA Gallery to pick up the piece that did not make the cut. While the AVA Gallery is a prestigious art center, here in the Upper Valley we don't take ourselves too seriously. The artists had to follow a trail of signs around the back of the gallery to pick up their work. This was one such sign, hopefully not indicative of the artwork to be shown.
If I had any doubts my sister-in-law Leah missed my brother Paul, who is away at bootcamp, they disappeared a couple of weeks ago when we attended a showing of the movie Hangover 3 and she became teary-eyed in the first few minutes. If any of you are unfamiliar with this movie trilogy, suffice it to say they are comedies that began with a stag party in Vegas – not the stuff of tears. “Paul wanted to see this so bad,” she offered as way of explanation.
In the weeks he has been gone, he’s written and called as much as he is able and he is doing well, excelling at his marksmanship and even serving as platoon leader. Leah has been busy with her work as a personal trainer and holding down the home front. She has also indulged in a secret pleasure. Before Paul left for bootcamp the two began watching the television series Dexter, about a serial killer working as a blood spatter pattern analyst for the Miami Metro Police Department. She has now worked her way up to the current season. Doesn’t sound like the healthiest of habits? Before you judge her I can vouch that this series quickly becomes addictive. Besides, there’s a slight twist, Dexter’s father was a police officer, who realizing where his son was headed, taught him to only kill the bad guys. So Dexter gathers the evidence and once he is sure a person is bad (typically serial killers themselves) he does his work. Somehow the series has a soul, if a twisted one. So, home alone, her husband away at bootcamp, kids tucked into bed, my sister-in-law has been watching Dexter.
A few weeks ago, she took her stepson, Christian and her other two kids shopping at Newbury Comics, a music and novelty store and there she spied it – a Dexter apron complete with fake blood splatter. That may have been the end of it, but Christian encouraged her. “You know you want it,” he said. “Buy it! Just buy it!” And, so she did and that’s where I entered the picture. Well, shortly thereafter. First, there came the request from Paul to send him some photos of the family. Leah asked me to snap some and as we brainstormed possibilities it came to me. “Let’s take some of you in your Dexter apron and high heels! We’ll hang a plastic sheet and grab a drill (Dexter uses a drill). We fell short of the coveted machete. I hit the hardware store to pick up the supplies and you should have seen the cashier’s face when I reminded my father, who was behind me in line to leave his drill and knife along with the plastic sheet in the back of the car.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’re not planning a murder,” I winked at her.
The actual photoshoot was a family affair. Leah invited my mother and I to a wonderful home-cooked meal, which she prepared while I decided where to set up the sheet and tripod. My niece Catherine helped arrange the room and we even all went outside to shoot a few traditional mom-and-daughters shots of the two walking the winding dirt road by the covered bridge before turning to the main event. Realizing the good light might fade, I finally had Leah don her apron and heels and shot away.
We haven’t heard if my brother received the pictures yet or what his reaction might be. And, while I know Leah is still missing him, it may not quite so bad. My brother isn’t home until the end of July, but the new and final season of Dexter starts on June 30th. I hate to think of her when that show ends; she’ll probably collapse in sobs!
Last week I visited my sister-in-law to take pictures of her, my niece Catherine, and my brother's dog, Sophie, to send to my brother at bootcamp. In the golden light of the late afternoon sun, I shot myriad photos. Our family's farmland stood as a backdrop for most of them. I will be posting some of them throughout the next few days. I imagine my brother weary and physically drained, opening a letter on his bunk as the pictures pore out on his lap -- his gorgeous wife, his beautiful daughter, his sweet dog poised in front of his home. They will call to him and tug at his heart. They say no one knows what tomorrow looks like, but I study this picture of my niece and I see into the future and the woman she will become. I bet my brother will see it, too, and it will make his heart break a little bit more. He will feel both love and longing and he will look forward to coming home.
Writing Prompt: Picture the face of tomorrow. Write about it.
This had to be among the cutest critters at BlogPaws 2013. This little guy was happy to pose on top of tables and chairs for just about anyone and believe me, there was a long lineup of photographers and cameras vying for his attention.
Beauty is always there if you look for it. I walked into our torn up bathroom the other day. It was in a state of disarray with floorboards ripped up, fixtures displaced and a gaping hole where the bathtub used to be. Amidst the decaying floorboards was a brightly colored piece of linoleum. The color and design seemed to more closely resemble wallpaper or upholstery, but our handyman assured me that it was indeed linoleum. I wondered how long it had been there and who would have chosen such a pattern for the floor. Although strange, it was beautiful – the orange and red flowers and green leaves were the sole splashes of color left in the otherwise shredded room. It, along with a few original floorboards, were solitary survivors of history, holding stories they unfortunately could not spill. Ripped, molding, aged and covered for years, there was still something about this piece of flooring that seemed to be bursting with life. The orange flowers sprouted from amidst the green leaves and the gray floor mirroring the real flowers outside. There, the world was inverted, the gray sky opening up and reaching down to the welcoming tulips below with crystal drops of rain. The tulips lay open and vulnerable, their beauty fleeting. They would soon wither and die. The lonely linoleum would soon join the rest of the bathroom’s rubble in the trash heap. For a moment, however, both burst with color and life, begging for us to do the same.
Writing Prompt: Write about a time you found beauty in the unexpected.
