photography – Page 2

Reflections

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

In the last few weeks I’ve given thought to why I started this blog. A few reasons, really. As a novice photographer, I wanted to thank and share my journey with my son. Christmas 2013 he had surprised me with a Nikon. Both he and my daughter are excellent photographers. A connection to them, to home, a way of keeping track of progress. Over these years, the blog has evolved….and so has my photography….

At my son’s request a week or so ago I returned to one of my favorite places in Baton Rouge to take some shots of the cresting Mississippi River. It was one of the first places I went three years ago. There’s no place lovelier at sunset.

First Photo on the Mississippi – December 2013

Three years ago, when the water was significantly lower I started this blog to say thank you: to my son for his generosity, to my daughter for books and advice and to family and friends near and far. Those two words are as sincere today as they were then.

I’m grateful for rediscovering photography and it’s quiet voice in the second half of life.

Only Karen Carpenter can say it better…..

Sometimes - The Carpenters

The World So Wide

It’s no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then. Lewis Carroll~Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

I’m not much of a television watcher but January has traditionally become my time to ‘hunker down’ with Netflix, revisit a handful of television shows……Gilmore Girls. Bewitched. Andy Griffith. Mary Tyler Moore. The West Wing. Some had better acting and writing than others but the common thread weaving all of them together was community. Characters were supportive and rarely unkind or hurtful to one another. My idealism is showing.

It seems easy today for some people to say petty, unnecessary things, abuse social media. Why is it much easier for humans to wrap themselves around problems, negativity and blaming rather than around joy? Why is it easier to point out differences than embrace what makes us unique or see the common ground. The week had been complicated.

Having an early morning breakfast with a friend yesterday, I recalled the grieving I went through several years ago. Not in the traditional sense like when someone dies but in the crazy, unconventional way that parents, especially mothers can understand. . . when your children leave home. It’s like when a team filled with seniors, lead by a dedicated coach wins the play-offs; the coach is left to rebuild or choose to move on. A bittersweet feeling. Children are never meant to stay in one place….I have discovered, neither are we. None of us are ‘place keepers’.

As idyllic as Mayberry or Stars Hollow appeared to be, I wasn’t cut out for that life. We’re not intended to live our parents lives or even the lives of our childhoods. As a single mom, my children and I created our own traditions and defined family using our own lexicon—a new normal with just the three of us, embracing others into our family along the way . Single moms and their families learn to depend on and take care of each other while instilling independence in our children. It’s a balancing act in the best sense. My children are living proof.

When my mother asked “Are you a person of fear or a person of faith?” she was teaching me that a person of character will have many moments in their life. Decision making. Joy. Sorrow. Betrayal. Misunderstanding. Leave-takings. Homecomings. Finances.Hormones. Aging. It’s our job to embrace and find peace in them ALL.

On New Year’s Day 2011 I walked a labyrinth under a beautiful sky filled with stars. Under the stars that same winter my daughter was in her third year of undergraduate school studying in Prague, my son was in his mid-20’s working his way up the corporate ladder. The steps we all took that year were adventure-filled marked with enthusiasm. We were miles apart yet connected. It had seemed like such a short journey from infancy to adulthood for them. That night at the beginning of a new year, I resolved to start on a path of self-discovery. I’ll always be their mother but the time had come to find an adult self apart from being a parent. Along this new journey I’ve had the time to nurture my own interests and career, travel, to reacquaint with friends from childhood, college and beyond who had been on adventures of their own—building careers and families. I’ve explored and discerned. Some choices were great, some not so great but they were mine.

Twenty-six years ago this week, with two small children and the promise of a future we moved to Baton Rouge to begin a new life. In four months my son will be the same age I was then. Ironically, last week some dear friends who have lived in Baton Rouge for these same twenty-five years revealed they will be moving.

We aren’t meant to stay put but to move forward. Have no fear….of the movement or of time….The world’s so wide. Enjoy the ride!

Gurgle

The house is quiet again but echos with the laughter and talking that filled it a few days ago. Not unlike others, our family gathered to celebrate.

Celebrate a birth. Celebrate our love for each other.

The last week has been a whirlwind of cooking, eating, visiting with loved ones far and near. Their presence, whether by walking in the door or a phone call or card was a gift in itself.

On Christmas Day a wave of sentimentality hit me, a brief moment of melancholy.

Call it desire, wanting a little more, instead of being satisfied with what we have. Missing those who are absent is human nature. My son’s words grounded me. The sentiment was fleeting. Generations, family and friends gathered at our table….some present, some in spirit. The days spent together were as splendid as the feast.

This year there was a new addition at our table: a whimsical fish pitcher from my childhood best friend, Leslie. At each meal we giggled as we poured water. It wasn’t until a few days after Christmas that I discovered the story.

The ‘gurgle pot’ was the creation of artist Matthew Ellison inspired by his travel to a small French village for his brother’s wedding. There were no hotels so all of the guests stayed with host families. His spoke no English and he spoke no French so conversation was awkward and challenging. A saving grace at meals was a fish-shaped pitcher that gurgled with each pour. …what a wonderful connection. Laughter. Listening. Whimsy. Trusting communication in all it’s forms on the journey.

In retrospect, 2015 has been a year of similar connections: lightbulbs in deep grace and dark journeys on long days. Listening for a gurgle.

Blessings. Births. Graduations. Weddings. Illness. Deaths.

Maneuvering day-to-day living. Connecting to the gurgle of those we hold dear. Finding the way to connect to them in a meaningful way. Not our way, but the best way.

Gratitude for it all.

In this coming new year, may your connections gurgle…simply with love, and abundantly.

Take Flight

Discovering a healthy balance of solitude and community in a world that’s sometimes filled with distractions. I never thought I’d write those words let alone think them.

I wrote those words two weeks ago, preparing to write after nearly a month’s hiatus from the blog. Partly seeking that healthy balance, I suppose, the other part living. Keeping the quiet actually quiet….and not filled with another activity. Photography and writing are not activities.

In the last two weeks I picked up my camera and found that rhythm in the shutter. With the help of a valued and experienced teacher new light was shed on where to look. Finding light. Vision.

Very early this morning I explored….with one word burned in my mind…community. Like all of us I wear many hats: daughter, sister, friend, mother, musician, director. I’ve spent my life building community. Short-term. Long-term.

Maybe it’s the goings-on in the world this weekend in Paris, how the world has been joined together but this question, “what is community” has been on my mind. The thought “who is my neighbor” isn’t a new one to me. Geography has nothing to do with it.

Performing artists create community very quickly. Granted, like lots of families some function better than others. We do our best showing support, each in their own way. Friendships. Families. Workplace. Building communities of encouragement, loyalty with honesty, integrity, love and the freedom to express—individually and corporately. It’s when those freedoms are absent we feel stifled, less creative, less ourselves. As individuals. The community suffers.

So back to that early morning adventure. Some people have a skewed definition of community. . . my way or the highway. No freedom. It was with that thought that I drove to a local lake before 6am this morning.

For photos. For perspective. For peace.

I found COMMUNITY defined as “with UNITY.” It struck me that the community is stronger when each individual is stronger and more centered, joining with unity.

So on this day, hug your friends and family where ever they may be. Smile at your neighbors who ever they are. Create good will in yourself and in others.

Celebrate diversity….the spark found in yourself and in others.

Join together.

Then take flight.

Plenty Left

A family joke… When my typically loquacious grandfather hit his 54th birthday he became quiet and reflective. It was the age his father had died. Papa waited a year for something to happen. A heart attack. Bad news from the doctor. None came. At 55 he moved on. This all happened several years before I was born but I remembered the story. The waiting and the moving on. It must be something about the age 55.

The quiet drive back to Baton Rouge after helping my daughter move a few weeks ago cleared my head. I’ve always been of the opinion that music and the arts have value, what we do matters, what I do matters. It’s the life I would lead even if I weren’t paid for it. Thankfully, I have been able to make a living while supporting my family.

A full, fun life! This month alone…. Working on a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Working as a substitute liturgy coordinator while a colleague was recuperating from surgery. Working teaching, directing. Work.

On the drive back from Austin I reflected not just about the rigor of work but the opus – the body. The people and the beauty of creation. Loving and honest family and friends. Blessings all. So much to be grateful for! Not that there hasn’t been struggle. Those struggles help us appreciate the good times and know who the real people are. They help us find the stuff we’re made of….Yvonne Nash called it “character building”.

One year ago, driving from the theater, I was hit from behind by a car going at a high rate of speed. I had never been in a serious car accident before. It totaled my car. A few feet more, personal injury would have been much more serious than a concussion and back pain. The what if haunted me longer than I cared to admit….I avoided talking about the accident.

Then I remembered my grandfather’s story…..and that I was his granddaughter.

What’s the take away……

The first half of life is about building a strong container; the second half is about discovering the contents the container was meant to hold. Yet far too often, solidifying one’s personal container becomes a substitute for finding the contents themselves! Richard Rohr

My grandfather lived 94 years discovering both the container and contents. He, along with my parents and grandparents, taught me to build a fine container. There’s PLENTY left to fill.

Cheers!

Just Singing

Teaching, like all professions has it’s challenges.

While friends were planning last minute trips to the beach three weeks ago we began the journey into this new school year; my thirty-third. What joy, unwrapping the gift of music (and now theater) with young people. A year of new possibilities.

But teaching, like life has had it’s ups and downs.

Sunday night blues. Monday Morning mayhem. TGIFs. Days. Weeks. Months. Years of inquisitive faces. A blessed life.

A poem by Mary Oliver reminded me of those bittersweet early teaching days and the not-so-distant-crazy-hormonal-menopausal early 50’s. They had a lot in common.

With the support of trusted friends and colleagues “I took my old body and went into the morning….and SANG.”

Here’s to continuing to find that still place..not looking back or forward….just singing.

Do You Know?

America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco and New Orleans.

Everywhere else is Cleveland.

Tennessee Williams

Kindest regards to all “Clevelands”. New Orleans is a good hours drive from my door. I fondly call it an ‘adult playland.’. Food. Fun. Frolic. As the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina approaches New Orleans has been calling. In the heat of the summer some friends and I took the day to explore. Some places were old ‘haunts’, some were new adventures, some we left for future discovery.

Reflective……..

Walking into vintage shops and stopping at her tables under shady trees is like seeing an old friend. “Pieces of eternity.”

“Don’t you just love those long rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn’t just an hour – but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands – and who knows what to do with it?” Tennessee Williams

New Orleans….resilient and a sense of humor….

Our final stop was at a fine New Orleans restaurant, an institution that surprisingly none of us had eaten before. Exceptional food and service. At one point someone asked what we were celebrating…This morning I know….New Orleans…..

Puzzle People

Driving home from my oldest’s friend’s son’s wedding last Sunday it occurred to me that life is like putting together a puzzle. At times we’re not quite sure what the picture is unless we look at the box.

Not too long ago someone said they had seen some of my photography, asked when I took lessons. On that drive home I recalled those “lessons” and others in the process of putting ‘the pieces together’.

Mr Galleon was my 7th and 8th Grade Science Teacher. Unconventional, he believed in “life lessons”. He built a dark room in the science lab so that those of us who were interested could learn photography. He took photos around town for everything from sports events to weddings. What a profound influence both he and my band director, Mr. Howard Jackson had in my life. Mr. Jackson rebuilt the old Paramount organ at the school. The band room was the place everyone would hang out. That was over forty years ago. Both Mr. Jackson and Mr. Galleon were educators who went beyond the classroom. They were servants, not people showing up to do a job.

Follow your bliss and doors will open for you that you never knew existed. Joseph Campbell

We are all worth more than the worst thing we have done in our lives. Sister Helen Prejean

In mid-June the final pieces of the puzzle for a composer’s forum came together, numerous artists and arts organizations sharing their time and talent to bring about an amazing weekend of art song and opera, some had never been performed in Louisiana. For over thirty years I’ve been an events organizer but this puzzle was different. Given the opportunity to discuss and collaborate with the creators of the works, our artistry was called to a deeper place. We were called to a place of patience, understanding, forgiveness.

Sometimes puzzle pieces fit. Other times the discovery takes sifting for the picture to become clear.

In the summer, my grandmother always had a puzzle going. The creativity of each individual piece fitting into another individual piece.

People and their lives are like that. There’s always another piece of the puzzle waiting. My theater friend Carole had figured that out. Eighty years old when she died a week ago Friday, she volunteered not only at the theater but also with St. Vincent de Paul. Lovingly nicknamed “Moose Lady”, she was a puzzle person.

Lately I’ve been less concerned with the big-picture….and enjoyed the pieces. Like Mr. Galleon, Mr. Jackson, my grandmother and Miss Carole, hope that makes me more of a puzzle person.

Sparkle

It’s been more than a month since the last blog. In these last weeks my daughter and youngest child received her Master’s degree. Tomorrow my son celebrates his twenty-ninth birthday. These words and photos come with thought. T wenty-five. Twenty-nine years. Maybe a life time.

Several years ago, I arrived at a lonely, uncommon place, at least for me. Feeling obsolete. I had always been keenly aware of others needs: daughter, wife, mother, educator. Hormones aside, it hit me that May day that life was evolving into something different and very quickly. I began searching for a different place, a new voice. Today on the cusp of my son’s birthday I feel anything but challenged. Joy. Pride in what has been accomplished by them, I suppose in myself for seeing them into adulthood and certainly grateful to the many who have supported and loved our family along the way. It takes more than a village…

It’s natural for my thoughts to have drifted to my parents during these weeks. Their sacrifices. My children are thoughtful and considerate. Was I appreciative in my twenties?

Mama said, “Darling, don’t make such a drama. A little less thinking, a little more feeling”. I suppose “thinking and feeling” is what middle-aged women do. There wasn’t much time for it when our children were growing up. We were too busy balancing life, spinning plates. Now, at a safe distance, we can Monday morning quarter back but not for long. There are always new adventures waiting.

Do we all have fleeting moments wondering if we’ve become our parents? Mine in this last month was recalling something that my mother used to say: that ‘children’ are never really ours but on loan to us.

Isn’t she/he beautiful, though?
You would have liked her/him
Mama did things no one had done
Mama was funny, Mama was fun

Children and Art – Sunday in the Park with George by Stephen Sondheim

Mama was funny and fun….Life was art.

A favorite quote from Auntie Mame “Life is a banquet and some of the poor fools are starving.”

For Patrick and Sarah and all of our children….

23 Brilliant Life Lesson from Anthony Bourdain

Here’s to parents and children. Both continually growing.

You would have liked her
Honey, I’m wrong
You would have loved her
Mama enjoyed things
Mama was smart
See how she shimmers?
I mean, from the heart

Parents and children. Both works of art. Shimmer. Sparkle.

A letter home…

Spring has been opera performances, conducting musicals, organizing a cabaret, teaching. A last minute trip to visit my son for Easter. Preparations for my daughter’s Masters degree graduation in Boston. My hesitation in blogging has something to do with all of that activity but also with tomorrow. April 19. Thirty years.

A letter that’s long in coming but has been formulated in my heart and mind for quite some time. A letting go.

It seems odd to write. Over these decades you have been a part of the journey. Some days, like today, it’s a fleeting flashback, almost relegated to a hashtag. How you visited with women in the Monroe A&P. We’d get animal crackers. Now, I understand the significance of those grocery store chats. What is said in those whispers on the aisles. I understand a lot more than I did thirty, forty, fifty years ago.

You’d be proud of your grandchildren. They are creative, generous, intelligent, funny people. There has never been a time I haven’t enjoyed their company —-from the first moment I held them to the last moment we spoke. I hope they can say the same of me. You were right. Children grow up very quickly. It’s hard to believe that Sarah (named for your grandmother) is the same age I was the last time I saw you. Patrick (named for your great-grandfather) is now the age I was when I had Sarah. I remembered what you said… to spend time with them. . . the dishes and everything else did keep.

During most of my life I had a clearly marked ‘road map’. About four or five years ago things seemed very murky. Hormones and a redefined self-image…. I recalled one of our last conversations: about middle-aged women – – – a complicated conversation that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I understand the aging process: physical and spiritual. You prepared me for those steps just as you prepared me for so many others. It’s hasn’t escaped me that like many women, you found passion in your 50’s—-yours was public service and education. It’s not that you weren’t interested in public service before, after fifty you just had time to dedicate. Freedom and independence are exhilarating. That was our last conversation April 17, 1985.

You and Daddy taught by example that each day is enough. I hope Patrick and Sarah know that too. Finding the ‘simple’, in themselves and in others; Sifting through life’s concerns with style and grace. Keeping their ducks in a row….sometimes alone, sometimes with others. Always remembering….Family. Friends. Respect. Love. Laughter and fun along the way.

Yeah…it’s more than enough….and the conversation continues….