Life is Art When . .

. . . the film scans arrive. It’s like opening a surprise from a friend who knows you deeply.

Beneath the Umbrella, Riverview Motel, Colonial Beach, September 2025

. . . the barista calls me sweetheart and I almost cry with joy for the simple kindness.

Crab Apple Tree, Colonial Beach, September 2025

Monroe Bay, Colonial Beach, September 2025

. . . my cheeks flush and I cannot hide this physical trait. I wish I could wear a sign that explains. I blush with joy and enthusiasm, when I am deep in thought and excited about a new idea. I blush with shame or embarrassment, too. But more often, I flush when someone connects with me and shows that they see me, all of me, even when I thought I was hiding those parts so well.

Add Water, Richmond, September 2025

Mellow Yellow Pumpkins, Toano, September 2025

. . . I sleep with the windows open and the chill in the autumn air swirls around me, but I am warm and cozy beneath the down blanket.

Ghost Sign, Williamsburg, September 2025

Pumpkin Oldsmobile, King George, September 2025

. . . the acorns have been falling for days from the big oak trees in the front yard. They sound like the captions from comics when they hit the roof. BOOM! BANG! KAPOW!

By-the-Pound, Toano, Septbember 2025

Mops Hanging to Dry, Williamsburg, September 2025

. . . again, the film scans arrive! And even though I worried that the pictures would all be out of focus because of my old eyes and the manual focus thing, they look pretty good. And I remember why I love film and Kodak Portra in particular. And even when some of the pictures were taken in both digital and film format, I still love the film versions best. Because they are not perfect. So far from perfect that the distance separates them to a whole different category where comparison is no longer necessary. It’s okay to love what I love. No explanations needed.

Slow Down, Do Less, and Rest

I walked the farm again this morning, but this time the skies were overcast. I squatted down many, many times to take these photos (and the 100 others that are not shared here). For the first 10 or so squats I stood back up easily. But by the 20th time, I needed a few work-arounds. To my husband: Here, you take the camera and then I will stand up. And by the 40th squat, Okay, you’re going to have to help me stand back up. I can do lots of mini-squats but these full squats where I need to be to take pictures . . . well, they are getting tricky. But this does not make me sad. Instead, I revel in my own resourcefulness. How can I modify this activity so that I can still participate? This is the physical therapist part of me—the part that loves to solve problems. I try to take my own advice. Slow down. Do a little less. Rest. Which seems like a lovely approach to life at age 65.

I couldn’t decide what to write to accompany this post. Other than the obvious . . . Here are some more pumpkin pictures . . . I wish you could hear me giggle.

Pumpkins in Watermelon Box, Braehead Farm, September 2025

Layers

There are times when I love a clean space. 
A counter without a thing on it. 
A table open and inviting, wide open and clear. 
A closet with a few clothes that fit well and feel comfortable for the life I lead and the body I have now. 

Flower Garden on the Shore, September 2025

Not a Cloud in the Sky, September 2025

Bring Your Own Sunshine, September 2025

And then there are times when I love the complexity of layers. 
The way that they reveal themselves slowly. 
Like adding a sprinkle of silk chili flakes, a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, or a dollop of creme fraîche to an autumn soup. 
Like draping a quilt across the foot of the bed. 
Or layering a second necklace around your neck. 
These small things add depth and make the story more compelling. 

Come Rain or Shine

Daily photo walks. And Autumn day trips.

Come rain or shine, this ritual helps me to see the changes in nature and practice noticing.

This practice is transformative as it reminds me that I am not responsible for everything. That I can care for others without carrying them.

These walks contribute to the foundation of my very own art curriculum.

Thank you to my friend Susie who introduced me to this idea: making a commonplace notebook to collect ideas, information, and quotes I love—all stored in this one place.

Is that what this notebook already is? Have I been keeping a commonplace notebook on this website all this years without having a proper name or label for the practice? I think the answer is yes.

Foraging for time this fall.