The picture in the middle, the one of the pink camellias, was taken in front of the cozy cottage where my Great Aunt Christine and Great Uncle Gene lived on Monroe Bay Avenue. It’s one of the few houses left in the small town where I grew up that is still recognizable. Aunt Christine was my grandfather’s sister, one of seven children in that family. She and Uncle Gene had no children of their own but I recall they treated me and my sisters with delight. When my mother passed away I somehow ended up with a family Bible that had been Aunt Christine’s. Inside, births and deaths of various family members were carefully recorded in her beautiful script handwriting. These memories color my days like creamer poured into a steaming mug of coffee. There is no judgment, just a sweet recalling.

Some years I think I will not take another spring picture. Not a magnolia blossom or a Lenten rose. I will not wrestle with the green-yellow of spring grass or inhale pollen that makes my asthma flare. I vow to look for different subjects. And then spring sneaks up on me. I feel like a kid again. Only this time, I am not afraid to be myself. I hold the camera knowing it connects me to the world. It feels as though I have spent most of my life looking for a sense of belonging. And now I have found it in the place least expected—inside myself.

More pictures on film . . . Olympus OM-1 and Kodak portra 400

Short Stories.

I waited a long time for this season of life, where every day did not have to be compressed.

Long story, short.

I am careful to make space so that the stories have room to unfold. My schedule is often wide open and this means I say no a lot. There has been an adjustment, much like the loosening of a spring, making breathing easier and acceptance possible.

The sieves used to prepare the soil for the garden. The vintage clothing hanging in the window of Folking. The dock at Hick’s Landing on a chilly end-of-winter morning. Almost spring magnolia blooms at Grelen Nursery. The mural on the side of the botanical apothecary.

These are the short stories of my week. On film.

As I embrace the challenges of film photography, I find this simple phrase helpful. Slowly but surely. In fact, I am looking for space everywhere in my life. It’s taken a conscious effort, but I no longer seek to fill the days with non-stop activity. And what a difference it makes in my creativity. I liken this to a kind of re-wiring of my nervous system, restoring healthy and efficient patterns.

I learn so much from the Just One Thing newsletter from Dr. Rick Hanson. This week’s practice was called Empty the Cup. Worth reading and considering.

Here’s an excerpt:
“Put some space between finishing one thing and starting another. For example, after sending one email, take a breath before replying to another one; when the dishes are done, pause for a break; in a conversation, let the ending of one topic reverberate for a moment before launching another one; take real time for lunch.”