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Posts Tagged ‘Inspiration’

late afternoon views through the rippled glass

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pea tendrils

My indoor garden is in a bit of disarray. The nasturtium grew poorly in terms of foliage but continues to find strength to bloom. I’ve got peas in three little pots, their tendrils reaching for the sun. I need to decide soon if I will snip their tender tops to eat (the original intention) or let them grow tall and strong and possibly produce pods!

radish, nasturtium, and red kale greens

radish, nasturtium, and red kale greens

The radish are doing well … but I planted too many seeds and so now I have radish greens growing everywhere. Some of those little pots are designated as future salad greens, but I did find a few strong plants to put in one bigger pot. We’ll see if I can actually grow radishes indoors.  I was very successful growing potatoes indoors. They were marble-sized but that doesn’t really matter. 😉

sage

The herbs are so far doing well. I’m looking forward to the chef in my life roasting some baby potatoes on a bed of sage and maybe doing something with grilled cheese and fresh basil.

As wonderfully disorganized as everything is … I’ve got tarragon growing in a bathroom and rosemary in a bedroom … I cannot help but find joy in this garden and in the knowledge that the growing season has only just begun.

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but for now still mostly bare branches on the oak tree outside the house

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That’s the translation of the little slip of paper on the back of the butterfly, Plique a jour. An enameling technique similar to cloisonne but with no backing so that the light can shine through. It’s meant to be worn as a pin but I might turn it into an occasional suncatcher. A wonderful find in an old shop. A dainty little thing, bits of damage, an antennae missing. Still beautiful. And as much as the design, I like that idea of letting in daylight at any time of day.

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Rocks left on a church table. The little boy handed them to me. Looking at my camera, he asked, “Would you like to photograph these?” “Of course,” I said.

 

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I recently met a man who was rather wizened. His hair and beard were white as snow. He was bent over and not just from the bulging back pack he wore.  He leaned heavily upon a cane.  Still, there was a youthful air about him especially that twinkle in his eyes.  He entered the place where I was working and asked to use the bathroom.  Now even as I prepared to utter the standard words often uttered in the heart of Boston, he stopped me.  “Yes, yes, I know. You don’t have a public restroom.  But this is an emergency.” Isn’t it always, I thought.

But then he proceeded to share the nature of his emergency and so after making a quick call for coverage, I helped the gentleman to the bathroom.  It was a circuitous path down several small flights of stairs and around some corners. He moved slowly and so he and I had time to chat. And as he talked I could not help but remark, “Sir, you do have a way with words.” He laughed.  “Well, I should. I’m a writer.” As we eventually made our way back up the stairs, we talked some more. Once again I remarked upon his way with words.  He chuckled, that youthful gleam awful bright.  “Have you ever heard of The Pilgrim?” I hadn’t. ” Thumping his chest, he said, “Well, I write for The Pilgrim.”

I saw him to the door. We wished each other well and that was that. I forgot about our encounter until today, for some odd reason, and decided to look up his magazine.  I was not completely surprised but still a bit startled to see that it is a publication written by the homeless.  It’s edited by Atlantic columnist James Parker and published out of Boston’s Cathedral Church of St. Paul. You can read more about the publication via this link: http://www.thepilgrim.org/#!about/c69s

After reading several entries on the Pilgrim Blog, I almost titled this blog post “hard reading.” The writing is intense. Of the pieces I’ve read so far, one of the most moving passages, Adam Staggering, was written by someone who is no longer homeless but still adrift.  And then there’s The Bed Lottery by Ricardo.  The print publication must be filled with so much more and that is available through subscription.

I’m glad my path crossed with that of the wizened little man. I only wish that I had asked his name so that I might know which pieces he had written.

 

Image Source: The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Print Collection, The New York Public Library. “Head of an old man.” The New York Public Library Digital Collections. http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47db-ca87-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

 

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… and it fell apart so beautifully. A mammoth bouquet of white flowers with leaves of frosted green whose name I do not even know. I saw it sitting in a black bucket across the store and knew I had to have it. Back on the shelves went a sundry of things because I decided I needed that bouquet more than dark chocolate and such.  It lasted a long time, that bouquet, and during chaotic times I could stare into its midst, with coffee in hand, and just breathe deep.  And it was the breathing deep that got me in the end because after a while, darn allergies, the bouquet’s pleasant scent wasn’t so pleasant after all and so into the hallway it went. With hand over nose, I’d occasionally glance out at its soothing beauty until I needed to be soothed no longer.  As it dried, it fell apart so beautifully.

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detail from untitled photo by joseph a. horne, 1940s

This photo was taken by Joseph Anthony Horne during the 1940s as he worked for the Farm Security Administration – Office of War Information.  As highlighted in a previous chapter of Interludes, he like many other photographers had been sent out across the country, under the direction of Roy Stryker, to capture the American experience. One of the areas that Horne captured on film was southeast Washington, D.C.,  an area not far from where his family lived and an area that was predominantly African American. The photos he took in that community were notable, for me, in part because there was no characterization or stereotyping. He simply photographed in a straightforward manner people living their daily lives. He, like many of the FSA photographers, was very good at that.  Otherwise in commercial media, unless it was an African-American specific publication, there was either no representation of “colored” people or it was often a mimicry.  Out of all the photos that Horne took in this community, I was especially struck by the series of photos of this little girl who had been positioned in front of the camera by a person who appeared to be her mother. No doubt she’d been placed in a best dress for the occasion. And its that dress that caught my attention.

There are people far more eloquent and scholarly than I who have written and who continue to write about how we as humans form our sense of self, our sense of self-worth, our sense of what is beautiful and our sense of how we individually fit within that definition of beauty.  This little girl is lovely and thoughtful. Her face clearly reads, who are you and what are you doing? The little face affixed to her dress is also lovely. Two different expressions of beauty.

This photograph was taken in 1905 and is located in the NYPL Digital Collection. I don’t know the context in which this photograph was taken though there is that accompanying caption suggesting to me that it was in a magazine and meant as a positive image highlighting how far African Americans had come in the 40-years since slavery and that a new generation would have even more success.  Too true as evidenced by the strength in that little girl’s face, and yet I am struck by the doll wrapped in her arm.  Growing up in the 1970s, I too had a lovely doll around which to wrap my arms and I enjoyed combing her blonde hair and wondering why it was so hard, in fact impossible, to braid her hair the way my mother braided mine. I grew up in a far different time than these two young girls but Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, published the year I was born, certainly resonated in my teenage years. I don’t remember ever wanting blue eyes but I think I wanted blonde hair (or maybe a lion’s mane).

These musings come to the fore because of a convergence of recent events, including having the opportunity to explore the imagery being made available through digital collections, seeing images of the past that had not been made widely available before, images that today have the potential to spark positive conversations about the past, present and future.

I recently pulled together research to tell two stories of one place.  One story focused on two sisters of great wealth whose lives are well-documented and whose enduring influences are often remarked upon.  The second story took great effort to pull together, of a gentleman whose image and good works I could only find because of the old texts and photographs being digitized and made available online.  The two sisters were white and the gentleman was black. They lived during the same time period and interacted in the same place.  When I printed my drafts and shared the stories with an elder (whose age I shall not share), she listened politely to the story of the two women but she took the story of the gentleman. We had a conversation and she said, “Cynthia, all my life I have heard about these women and the people like them. I never heard about this man. You keep doing your research. Why is it important? I want people to know that we were here. To know that we were a part of this place.”

Sources

https://www.loc.gov/item/owi2001000491/PP/

Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, Jean Blackwell Hutson Research and Reference Division, The New York Public Library. “A little child shall lead them.” The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1906. http://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47df-9e16-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99

 

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I discovered a second nasturtium bloom! Just one and inspiration enough for this small spring salad of pea sprouts, red onions and tomatoes dressed with a bit of olive oil, salt and pepper. 😉

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