Working Will

I am such a bad mother. Really, really bad.

I only just now - in the dead center of August - found the photographs of my son's college graduation. Technical difficulties did mingle with maternal neglect. But, still, that's two months, that's a lot of time and space, y'all.

Anyway, here's the white haired gent who sat a few rows in front of me and my proud little family. Our seats had no view of the ceremony. We couldn't see a speaker or student or balloon. Watching the ceremony on line would have felt more immediate.

I trained my attention on the man dressed as a quintessential New England prep, practical shoes and all. But why him? Because that document, that paper resting on his lap, is his will.

Watching a man revise his will is a quiet but riveting act of theater.

His will looked to be a dozen pages, stapled and legal-sized. I loved when he'd pause. See the way he holds his pen with two hands, twirling the pen cap. He'd scan the crowd, and then, eventually, scribble words onto the will's margins. He made it look as natural as working a crossword.

It struck me as synchronicity. The documentation of endings.
The diploma. The will.
Both symbols of moving into the unknown. Prepared and yet clueless about what will happen next.

Closed Shades

Light and shadow all mixed up inside the house lately.

Found this mid-morning.

Two for Tuesday

It's not the perfect photo, but I can't resist these two boys talking on a park bench after their swim. The one on the right with his swinging legs always draws me into this sweet moment.

As a child, my friendships divided into school friends and summer friends. With my summer friends, there was plenty of ocean swimming.

Looking at this twosome I can practically feel the salt on their skin and the way their stiff hair clumps together in pieces.

Friday Hop

Let's talk about being in a good mood. I mean, seriously. Can we?

It was Friday night downtown Winston, and the hop was an especially hoppy brew - tomatoes, and black theatre festivities, open galleries and who knows what all. The joint was jumping, to quote a phrase.

When I saw this lady walking down Trade Street, dressed up and looking ready to play, I jumped from my seat. She was unmistakable, unmissable fun. I really needed a closer look. To smell the vibe of such obvious happiness.

Thanks, Mizz J.

A Private Place

Q: What is the biggest life lesson you've learned?

A: Affirmation comes from a private place.

Thanks to photographer, Gary Schneider, for such a great answer.

Two for Tuesdays

The sloping, warping wave of those aluminum seats seems like worn skin and those arm rests look animated, like arms themselves. There's something curiously anthropomorphic in this twosome.

Without any people sitting with their bums down and backs leaning, I can hear a conversation, a familiar back and forth that's been going on for years.

You hear from Catherine lately?

Nah, she's still mad about the shower.

Still?

I know. Ridiculous to hold grudges over nothing.

I made this photograph during a day spent wandering the streets of Seattle. Wished I had a friend to join me for a sit down on this inviting pair of very red red chairs.

My Dad Loves Degas

Couldn't wait another day before posting this pearly moment. Sometimes things are better than you even imagine. This here is a case in point.

I'd hoped for that weird focus and buzz.

I knew beauty stared directly into my eyes.

I hadn't known that the magic would show up too.

Always glad when that happens, and grateful.