photography – Page 2

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.

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.

So Long Summer

Summer 2015 is quickly coming to an end. It’s been a lovely, eclectic time. A few weeks each year filled with spontaneity, reflection, productivity and just plain being lazy on some days. Dare I admit it, summer is fun even without my kids.

http://www.puckermob.com/lifestyle/11-things-sentimental-girls-want-you-to-know

Being sentimental doesn’t make us pushovers or weak. Reflective. Future thinking. Grounded in kindness.

These summer days brought me to a deeper understanding of connecting the past to the present.

Next week school starts. Thirty plus years teaching music, private voice and now theater has taught me that maintaining connections are important. This art is a new addition to my classroom this Fall.

Each one of us is on a journey with

a unique story.

A new school year is always a time of re-commitment and discernment. New journeys and stories to share.

On the Road - Dallas — On the Road – Dallas

Looking for signs along the way.

Chicago and EWF - July 2015 — Chicago and EWF – July 2015

Companions to sweeten the journey.

Time for quiet and gratitude.

I recently read that energy and wisdom need each other. That idea is what still draws me to teaching: youth and it’s energy encountering whatever wisdom I may have. I certainly don’t have all of the answers but life experience and “journey”. If we listen to one another we both learn. A collaborative experience.

Here’s to summer’s refreshment and here’s to the new school year in whatever you do.

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.

Solid Ground

I have often had a retrospective vision where everything in my past life seems to fall with significance into logical sequence. ~ Ansel Adams

“When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother
What will I be
Will I be pretty
Will I be rich
Here’s what she said to me

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be”

Every year at the school fair my best friend, Leslie and I would stand in line to get our fortunes read. Now, I’m not so sure if we did this because we really wanted to know our futures or because we wanted to sneak into the sixth grade class room. Looking back, it seems like the same thing now. Either way, going to that fortune teller was a HUGE deal. As big as visiting with friends at the chicken spaghetti dinner or landing on the winning number at the cake walk.

Have you ever had moments of such clarity you felt as if you had lived the moment before? Déjà vu. From crossing a street I’ve walked hundreds of times to accepting a temporary position at place I was once employed. Good news, not so good news. Life returned to normal last week. Peace covered me like a warm blanket. Lessons learned.

Carpe Diem. Be aware of each moment. Watch them sparkle.
Cherish your people: family and friends. You know who they are! Aretha got it right. R. E. S. P. E. C. T. Listen to them. That’s all a part of loving them.
Just like countries have boundaries that set limits for it’s citizens, we have lines that define who we are and who we’re not giving us the freedom to express our thoughts and feelings. Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien. Voltiere.
Keep the music playing. In other words. Keep singing, dancing, doing your thing. . . YOUR thing. Not someone else’s. Be realistic but DREAM BIG.

“Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother
What will I be
Will I be handsome
Will I be rich
I tell them tenderly

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be
Que Sera, Sera”

Christmas seems ages ago. I’m glad I don’t have a fortune teller’s crystal ball, just common sense balanced with a sense of humor. “We can only promise to do our best and live out our lives.” Savoring each moment….standing on solid ground.

Style and Grace….a lament

The beginning of love is to let those we love to be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.

Thomas Merton

Summer 2011, I took a road trip to Kentucky. The solo return from the conference in Louisville brought visits to diverse places: bourbon distilleries and the Abbey where Merton spent his last days. On that drive home I realized how lucky I was to be make choices for myself and that it was important to afford the people I love: family and friends those same choices. Quite frankly, out of concern, I haven’t always been successful in “letting loved ones be perfectly themselves”. Who has? Even in the years that have followed I’ve slipped in ‘wanting’ for friends and family. . . out of love. It’s a goal to remember that others are on their own journey, not a reflection of mine.

Over this last month, the compassionate words of Rabbi Harold Kushner’s have re-resonated. “The purpose in life is not to win. The purpose in life is to grow and to share. When you come to look back on all that you have done in life, you will get more satisfaction from the pleasure you have brought into other people’s lives.” In the mid-80’s I recall reading his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Simple. Straight-forward. Thirty years ago, I was a twenty-five year old deciphering the ‘whys’ of my mother’s untimely death. She was not much older than I am now.

Grow. Share. Forgive. Love. Carpe Diem.

None of us can escape sorrow. We grieve the loss and carry with us the joy. I learned that from my mother.

January 2015 will go down as a month of certain (and often uncertain) plate-spinning. We all have some creative “circus days” in life. My mother called it handling life with ‘style and grace’. She was a master at “plate-spinning” and “circus days”. The epitome of style and grace. It, like wisdom, comes with age.

I didn’t understand what she meant by “this too, shall pass”. Now, I do. With style and grace.

Measuring

Since Christmas life has been going at fever pitch. These last few days there has been quiet time to reflect…rest and relax. Not as much time with the camera as I would’ve liked but those days will return. Images of this last year flashed before me….one song stuck in my head.

Signs and symbols measure our lives. Often they speak louder than words…fill us with gratitude…grace Measuring in love……

Choices in the “Woods”

The great challenge is living your wounds through instead of thinking them through. It is better to cry than to worry, better to feel your wounds than to understand them, better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice you face constantly is whether you are taking your wounds to your head or your heart.

Henri Nouwen

I have this tongue-in-cheek theory that composer Stephen Sondheim has the secret to all of life’s situations. “The Gospel According to Stephen” has guided me along the path of life. My mantra: “Intelligent people are always on the road, growing”. However, on that path we sometimes hide our heads in the sand. We convince ourselves it’s safer but the scenery isn’t near as nice. Then, one day, something happens, either wonderful or not so wonderful and the head pops out of the sand….and we move along the road a little further.

The last few weeks have been a journey of heart and mind. I had plenty of shots for the blog but the stories seemed either too mundane or too personal. Then I re-read this quote from writer and philosopher Henri Nouwen.

Sometimes silence is the only language… Listening is the best option.

Prayerful reflection…. both “head” and “heart”. Balance.

Ron Rolheiser explains: “There’s a place in us that doesn’t want to feel our hurt, doesn’t want to take our pain to a place of silence, and doesn’t want to take our wounds to our heart. And so instead, in our heartaches and wounds, we grow anxious and obsessive, we struggle to understand, we talk endlessly to others, and we try to sort things out with our heads rather than letting ourselves simply feel them with our hearts.”

Centenniel Camellia — Burden Plantation-Camellia from a bush planted over one hundred years ago

Funny thing, more often than not people don’t take the time to know when we’re anxious or hurt….or filled with joy…. During the last three or four years I’ve purposefully had a conversation with myself walking to work…I call it checking the ‘barometer’. Delighting in all that surrounds me, not the window dressing of life. Everyday beauty. People. Places. Staying aware of each moment. I admit to my own resistance with living at a place of dis-ease. I’ve never cared for it but I’ve come to understand it is as much a part of life as a beautiful sunset or my children’s laughter….the voice of a friend….

Music. Dissonance resolves.

Moving forward doesn’t mean leaving behind. Moving forward is finding peace in the moment, taking stock of what was, deciding what is…. then discerning the possible. Discovering grace in all.

Stephen and Henri are both right….adventures change in the woods…..we sort through feelings rationally…heart and head…and I’ll add spirit.

I’ve discovered in the last two weeks I’m not one to leave anyone behind. . .

If life were only moments, then you’d never know you had one….