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Posts Tagged ‘home’

a warm corner

I was originally planning to title this post, “phoning home.”  I’ve not yet become comfortable taking photos with my phone but I really wanted to try capturing the fast falling light in this corner of the living room.  Most of the items lit are gifts from friends and family.  It was a grounding moment, reminding me once more that I am a very lucky person. 😉

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And so the morning began with sounds.  Laying in bed listening to snow slide from the roof.  Over breakfast listening to Steve tell stories of his night.  My brothers’ voices, one via voice mail, him singing a made up song about getting up and getting started with a cup of coffee.  His words inspired me to pour some beans into a white cup and photograph a single image and hope it came out well.

I continued to take random shots about the kitchen, of lemons in bowls and of rosemary.  I don’t think I’m supposed to let indoor herbs bloom but I couldn’t help myself. No sounds there, just lovely periwinkle silence.

During the midst of all this, something happened.  Nothing serious but one of those incidents that can color a day, darken it … if you allow.  I told myself to let the incident go.  To help me do so, I pulled from my bag a list of desired tasks.  One of them was to look up composer Peteris Vasks.  I’d only learned of him yesterday at an organ recital.  The organist had played one of his pieces, Te Deum.  During my research I came across this piece, Dona Nobis Pacem.

A beautiful, calming piece.

As it played on repeat in the background, I wandered around taking other photos, indoors of items on tables

and through windows of ice melting beautifully.

What that music inspired exactly I can’t say.  It did encourage me, remind me even, to be present, to appreciate the beauty before me that I could see, that I could hear, and that I could imagine.  We all need reminders on occasion. 😉

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the day was cold but beautiful

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Growing up in Virginia, my parents made clear quite often that “times are tight.”  Many a fellow classmate wore more expensive clothes but mine were just as clean and it didn’t matter that they were purchased via layaway.  And my brothers and I still share stories of how well my mother could stretch a can of Campbells soup.  But it wasn’t until I was accepted into college, completing financial aid forms and trying to figure out how my family’s income fit on various grids … that’s when one day I looked across the table at my parents and said, “Did you know we’re classified as poor?”  That I did not feel poor despite my family having little money says a lot about my parents and the neighborhood in which I walked.

Virginia Dogwood

It is a very different neighborhood in which the little girl Dasani lives.  It is a Brooklyn neighborhood in transition.  Thanks to the New York Times series, Invisible Child, readers can journey with her through that changing world.  You the reader can walk with her, run, kick, and dance.  You can even hear her voice and those of the people around her because it is a multimedia presentation with short videos at the end of each of the five parts.  It is a series provoking a lot of conversation, dialogue, debate … and hopefully, most importantly, some good actions.  It can sometimes be tough to read and to watch but I hope people do.

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Joy is also found in Steve’s cheese bread that he likes to make on a whim and never the same way twice!  I should have photographed the finished product, all golden brown out of the oven, but somehow eating seemed more important.  I’ll try harder next time. 😉

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We spoke by phone.  I sat in my kitchen in Somerville, MA while my younger brother sat outside his home in Lynchburg, VA.  After I had described my latest walk by the water and what I might write about, he said, “Mmmhmm.  I think you should write some more about porches.”

“Porches?”

“Yes.  About what it’s like to sit on the porch steps at night, in the quiet and in the cool, with fireflies in the distance.  They look like stars.”

I imagined him sitting on his little back porch.  I thought about the seeds I had sent him and his family.  “Next year, I am sending you night blooming flowers.”

“That’s fine,” he said, and then he added, “And you should write about wearing glasses, how we wear them to see clearly, these wire frames that are not heavy but somehow you feel their weight all the time, and if you have long eyelashes you’re constantly batting them against the lenses.  Yeah, there’s always contacts … but somehow when you wear glasses and then you sit and you take them off … you can’t see as clearly and yet there is a certain sense of freedom.  A weight has been removed.  Though your view is a bit blurry somehow you can see with greater clarity the beauty all around.”

“I gave you a blank notebook.  Why don’t you write these things?” I say.

“Because you’re the writer,” he said.

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