the condition of loving
February 8, 2016 § 7 Comments
This summer, in anticipation of our move, I sorted the long procrastinated corners of cluttered shoeboxes, unmarked envelopes, and half-finished family albums for photographs; gathering keepsakes more intentionally into a single box of memories. Images of my childhood and my children’s haphazardly overlapping in a beautiful chaos of sentiment.
As we settle into our new home, I have come to visit these images regularly; a practice that speaks love and connects me more tenderly to the girl I was and the woman I have become. It is an indulgence of time I cherish, meditative and nourishing to my soul. In these moments, I am at once both daughter and mother. More myself and less of myself.
Today my heart rested on a rare image of my father and I. It is the way I most remember loving him; completely and effervescently, eagerly and devotedly. Without pretense or hesitation, with blind trust and unconditional faith.
For those who know me best, it is a relationship complicated by the contradiction of emotions and experience. We are broken and bound by imperfect love.
My mother tells me stories of how my father loved me, but I am most torn by what I do not remember. I have no memory of my father holding me or the sound of his voice forming words of love or praise, encouragement or pride. There is grief in this knowing even as there is peace in his absence, it is no more and no less than the truth between us.
My father is a faded reminder, not of his love, but of my own; paper that holds crisp the condition of loving.
Whatever disappointment may have once accompanied my memories, there is now only a mindfulness for the preciousness of love and the richness of distributing it enthusiastically to those I love least they live unaware of their worth.
I let the love I wish for the girl in those yellowed photographs illuminate the love I give my own children, unconditionally.
a picture’s worth
April 18, 2015 § 5 Comments
It seems impossible that on the most unexceptional day, in the middle of nothing extraordinary, an assumed piece of our day can be lost in plain sight.
Today, in a technical conundrum outside my expertise, I lost months of writing and years of family photos. It was an error of ignorance and arrogance; I had never paused to consider what I might lose or the recklessness of my conceit.
It is a mysterious grief, this loss I cannot measure. Even now it seems I should wake tomorrow in time to prevent what I cannot escape.
Pictures lost to memories and words whispered against the wind. I would trade the most extravagant of my possessions for a handful of what I cannot spare.
life, in pictures
December 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I resisted family pictures for years, hiding my insecurities by avoiding the camera. I suppose we are all our worst critic, the camera so often a magnifying glass for the truths we distort with self-talk born of inaccurate comparisons; younger selves and older selves, others and ours all contrasted in the context of contentment.
The holidays are a temptation of comparison. Like the choreography of clothing in frenzied moments to intentionally create a casually unintentional image of family, our postmarked wishes are our Sunday best with the sound turned down. We cannot hear the difficult pieces of complicated worries any more than the ricochet of giggles that ripple between frames.
Look to the eyes for markers of joy, there the soul is most unguarded, but do not linger in another’s expression of happiness to mark the value of your own experiences.
Never compare your insides to everyone else’s outsides. – Anne Lamott
framed
November 19, 2012 § Leave a comment
This weekend my husband and I collected frames and photographs for an overdue project. Years after we stripped our walls, slowly crafting my husband’s childhood home into our own, we weighed the same walls with memories. Mismatched frames and snapshots of our life together are now nestled near the dining room table. Walking through our front door, working in the kitchen, and passing from the stairway or garage I can peek at my favorite smiles, centering myself in gratitude and joy for my greatest blessings. It is a moment of homecoming and thanksgiving, just in time for the holidays.
a walk in the park
August 5, 2011 § Leave a comment
The day of our second family photograph session was filled with the same humor, fun, and good intentions that compose our days outside the lens. I debated detailing the day, but thought perhaps I need this reminder to revisit next year.
Good intentions began early, with a mother-daughter moment. Last year, Rapunzel inspired my daughter to begin growing her chin length bob to fairytale proportions. At present her shoulder length hair is typically a tangled nightmare of defiance against all my endeavors to tame her tresses. My daughter hides behind the thick curtain of her hair and I was eager that our photographs capture her expressive features. Unpracticed at braiding I enlisted a stylist for a quick and simple braid to sweep my daughter’s features into the forefront while still allowing the remainder of her hair to fall comfortably, that she would feel at ease. I did this approximately 9 hours before our session to an active 7-year-old. Lesson: The braid was a good idea. The appointment was too early.
My daughter prematurely prepped and still uncertain what I should wear, we stopped by a store for a simple summer dress. I was rewarded with an adorable, white sundress that would blend quietly into my family’s wardrobe. The fit was perfect, but the cost unreasonable. I was working hard to choreograph an image rather than embracing myself as is. I set aside the dress and settled for my familiar summer uniform of shorts and a top. Lesson: Be yourself. Costumes not required. Smiles should be more prominent than clothing.
Feeling a little distracted by the details, I ran to shake off my anxiety. My hair previously styled for the day was slick with sweat. I raced through washing and drying my hair, primping and fussing. Then I made water balloons. I sat outside, sweating from the heat and sprayed with water from a stubborn hose filling tiny plastic balloons. Much to my children’s delight I released them to our backyard to burn off their own pent-up energy in a water war. Lesson: Make time to play. Happy children are more relaxed.
Picture time came just hours before sunset. Between grassy locations and mosquitoes we settled into ourselves in the company of a friend. This is my greatest indulgence, having someone who knows the best pieces of my family using her lens to guide the camera. My children opened up to her and I relaxed in her company. I will inevitably fret over my own image, but I know without a doubt that the images will reflect the humor, fun, and good intentions of our days as a family. Lesson: Bring a friend. Schedule outdoor photographs for after the first frost to avoid pesky pests.
At day’s end our session was a walk in the park, filled with happy discoveries.
blank
August 4, 2011 § 2 Comments
I close my eyes and get lost in a song; read a novel and cast my own characters in each role. So, do we need to connect photographs to posts to draw interest?
I intentionally avoided images, hoping to more completely portray experiences with words. Sometimes I feel our eyes distract us from subtle details. Creating images with words became a personal challenge; using language as my medium.
Similarly, I do not watch movies that are interpretations of well-loved books. I prefer to imagine scenes unfolding rather than depend on another’s interpretation to create a unique vision.
This said, with a humble appreciation for irony, I must confess I am drawn to posts with beautiful or interesting images. I find the use of images both inspiring and encouraging as instruments of instruction in food blogs. Some of the photographs tucked into travel blogs draw me into another world and leave me lustful for exotic places.
It is a peculiar contradiction; a picky personal preference I suppose. I wonder if I have overlooked or undervalued the use of photographs in my blog.
big picture
August 3, 2011 § 4 Comments
Family photographs, an image marking one moment on a seamless timeline in a family’s story. When our children were little my husband and I pledged to document each year with a photograph. I procrastinated using countless recycled reasons; each a variation of when I lose weight or there just isn’t time right now. Last year a friend spent an evening reassuring me with words of encouragement, distracting my silent concerns, from behind her camera. Waiting for the images I fussed frantically to my husband what if I look horrible. I hate my photographs of myself. It hadn’t occurred to me the pictures weren’t of me, they were of my children’s mother. In their company I became the best version of myself; my smile genuine and my flaws secondary.
Tomorrow, we are scheduled to repeat history with our second session. I should be peaceful, last year’s experience lending confidence. Instead, I have begun to panic. I spilled my concerns like a much-needed guilty confession to a friend. I lamented my daughter’s intended outfit. I had pictured her twirling in a white dress on a beach; the dress stored safely for months in anticipation. Ironically, there is no beach and her once rounded form has lengthened turning her sundress into a charming tent. Still, I know she will look beautiful regardless. The boys coordinated easily; khaki shorts and t-shirts. Organizing our outfits is really a flimsy cover for my own insecurities. Expectations of perfection and fears of imperfections distracting me from the bigger picture.
One of my favorite photographs was imperfect. Pregnant with our second child, I was determined to embrace what I predicted would be my last pregnancy and indulged in a few beautiful pieces of maternity clothing. My favorite was a pair of black terry cloth capris accented with a black and white strapless top. I remember feeling beautiful and carefree. Later, I realized I more closely resembled the Hamburglar reminiscent of old advertisements from my childhood. The image captured the weight I had unconsciously gained between pregnancies, my self-perception just out of focus in the lens. Still, there is no editing life and the memory makes me smile. It was a happy day; one unflattering outfit could not hide my joy.
On the eve of our family photographs I am trying to let go of expectations, embrace imperfections as part of our story, and focus on the big picture.
selves
May 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Before my mother moved away, she left me a box of miscellaneous mementos she had safely stowed away in her basement crawl space. As so often happens, I collected the materials and shelved them in my own home for another day. The box followed us, unmarked and overlooked, into our second home. On a summer day, as we shuffled boxes and bins looking for something and valiantly attempting to make sense of the chaotic contents of our garage, I found pieces of my past in my mother’s castaway clutter.
My daughter, entranced by the random collection accompanied me on my journey through old pictures, assignments, yearbooks, and keepsakes. I introduced my daughter to new chapters of an old story. Among the photographs was an overly posed, professional picture of two teenagers standing close, their awkwardness and affection at once innocent and endearing, familiar and foreign.
At dinner that evening, my daughter’s enthusiasm over her day’s discoveries exclaimed, Mommy has a boyfriend! I smiled at her choice of tense, amused and enchanted that she so naturally merges moments from the past with the present. It is a special gift of time and I am endeared by my daughter’s wish to know each of us, as individuals, among stories and photographs. We introduce her to our selves and she loves us all completely.
love
February 26, 2011 § Leave a comment
In a moment of nostalgia, I poured over my wedding photos. Not the leather-bound album our photographer gathered into glossy cliff notes of poise for posterity. Rather the binder of proofs, snap shots of a day through another’s lens. Candid moments, unposed.
Kindness, generosity, and love highlight my favorite images. My step-father calmly receiving my panic during the short waltz down the aisle. Women whose lives intertwine with mine in friendship offering strength and love in support of my promise. My mother proud and sentimental, celebrating a new milestone.
There is one photograph that I pause over. Alone on a winding staircase, overwhelmed by the organized chaos around us, I leaned into my husband. There is an unspoken plea in the language of my body. Feeling lost and vulnerable I gave all of my needs to my husband in a kiss. It is me asking for patience and seeking shelter. My husband’s image stands tall, accepting and giving in the same breath. I have known beautiful moments of romance, but love is a greater indulgence.
paper gems
February 9, 2011 § 1 Comment
A box of photographs, an eclectic collection of moments casually tossed together for safe storage. Each time I peek at the contents I feel like a small child with a box of costume jewelry; the combination of colorful jewels more beautiful for their haphazard entanglement. I extract images tenderly, the past intersecting with the present.
An undated photograph of my grandparents posed in front of their home lies on top. In the background rests the space of childhood holidays and summer vacations indulged with imaginary expeditions and fairy tale adventures. My senses are arrested with images and sounds of my youth; rows of freshly baked date nut bread protrude pregnantly from hollow soup cans on my grandmother’s kitchen counter, the air charged with the sound of my grandfather’s easy laughter, rich and generous.
Slipping my fingers between thick edges of old photographs I retrieve an early picture of my brother and I, faces red and cheeks damp with tears. We are closer apart where there is less friction between us. I love him dearly, but this is our truth. Sibling rivalry like a wool blanket, its coarseness creating discomfort and warmth.
My parents on their wedding day. There is an awkwardness in their posture that perhaps foreshadows the separation that would become a part of their future and my past. Still I am intrigued by these two young adults that seem at once foreign and familiar. Like paper dolls I am tempted to cover old hurts in bent paper wardrobes and provide them a new story.
One more photo before I tuck the past away for safekeeping. Two young girls, almost identical, peek out of the pile. My unofficial twin, my first friend. Matching clothes and long dark hair we stand shoulder to shoulder. The sentiment in the lines unspoken are greater than the space of our time together. It is learning to be a friend and the memories that linger after good-bye.
I sift through these paper gems rich in nostalgia gathering loved ones close and acknowledging my own spirit reflected in familiar faces.
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