Long ago and far away, in a strange land called Poughkeepsie, I worked as a newspaper photographer. This photo was taken at a day care center. I don't remember why this boy had been crying, nor do I know his name. I loved photographing people; I loved being a photographer. When we moved to California, in 1980, I no longer had a darkroom and I let photography slide into the past. Now that we have digital cameras, I find myself getting more and more interested in returning to my photographer roots. I used to love darkroom work, but now I love Photoshop instead.
I have been doing major cleaning ... clearing away the cobwebs. I hope I find more of my old photos from when I worked at the Poughkeepsie Journal. If I do, I'll share them here.
We had the exterior of our house painted this summer and I love how it turned out. However, it now seems that everything else is a wreck by comparison. I should heed Don Quixote's observation that all comparisons are odious. Otherwise I will go insane due to the following realization:
If I want the perfection that dances in my imagination,
I'll need to work on my home and garden,
pretty much constantly,
for the rest of my life.
Here I am photographing my sister, brother, mother ... and a doll, circa 1955. The photography bug got me at an early age.
I have always loved quilts and I have some very special ones handed down through the family, but this is the first one I ever purchased with my own hard earned money. It was the late 1960s and I was a teenager out on a drive in the country, with my mother for company, in my little Triumph Herald convertible. I have no memory of where we were going that day but on the way we spotted a wonderful old barn with an "Antiques" sign above its door. We stopped, went in and browsed the many wonderful things that were there for sale. I spotted a marvelous Log Cabin quilt, in excellent colors, and then I spotted this striking basket quilt. I debated long and hard about which one to buy and the baskets won. The colors are so striking and it was a perfect graphic piece of graphic wall art for my room.
For the last decade or so, it has hung on a wall in my daughter's room. But that room is way overdue for a paint job and a new look. So, now I'm debating what to do with this quilt. It has completed its journey with me, of that I am sure. Should I sell it? It is such bad shape, I probably can only sell it as a cutter quilt, at a fairly low price. If someone else is going to cut it up, should I just cut it up myself and see what happens? That may seem like a logical approach but, considering its history with me, I'm not sure I actually want to cut it up. It might be better to let it go to its next owner, someone who will have a vision of what to do with it.
Decisions, decisions, decisions ..... not my strong suit.
If you've never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom,
maybe your soul has never been in bloom.
I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness,
as that one which I have had always,
that I might be master at last of a small house and a large Garden.
~Abraham Cowley (The Garden, 1666)
People from a planet without flowers
would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us.- Iris Murdoch (A Fairly Honourable Defeat)
What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
All human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret.
-Gabriel Garcia Marquez
because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.
After your death, you will be what you were before your birth.
Thank you, Jen Matlack, for the gift of these lovely flowers.