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Posts Tagged ‘Photography’

I know I’ve got too much going on when I feel too agitated to sit down and write a short letter or send a funny card to friends and family.  So this Sunday, I took a moment to sit at the kitchen table and send out a few notes to find out how people are and to share some updates from my life.

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“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

This year in particular I am made aware of the seasons and how, as Annie Dillard writes in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, “There is a bit of each season in every season.”  The sun is shining later, and so I am able to spend more time outside with my camera, and I swear, there is already a bit of green to be seen even through the snow.  When Spring does arrive, I am truly looking forward to participating in my second Somerville Open Studios with collaborator Zoe Langosy where our exhibit will focus on the complex overlapping beauty of the seasons.  But first up I am excited to be participating in the 2011 SOS Volunteer Show at Bloc 11 in Somerville.  The exhibit opening will be Monday March 14th from 6:30 – 8 pm.  I’ll have on display the luna butterfly above, taken in Maine this past summer.  Maybe I’ll see you there. 😉

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Do you know the story of Who Killed Cock Robin?  I was reminded of the tale (and of this photo taken years ago) while visiting with family this past weekend.  My uncle told a tale of growing up in rural Virginia, in the ’40s I believe, and of being infatuated with little speckled sparrows.  One day, he had a grand idea.  To capture a sparrow and make it his own.  And how would he do that?  Well, he chose a mouse trap as his device with bread crumbs as his bait.  The bird was of course caught and the bird was of course killed.  As for the connection to robins …

For years afterward, his sister, in the way of older siblings, found a unique way to mess with her little brother when he was getting on her nerves.  If he was getting too big for his britches, she would simply start reciting that poem about the murder of a little bird.  “Every time,” my uncle said with a chuckle, “Every single time, she had me in tears.”  And then he began to recite:

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the sparrow, with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the fly, with my little eye, I saw him die.
All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing
When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin,
When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin.

Who’ll catch his blood?
I, said the fish, with my little dish, I’ll catch his blood.
Who’ll make his shroud?
I, said the beetle, with my little needle, I’ll make his shroud.

Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said the bull, because I can pull, I’ll toll the bell.
Who’ll dig his grave?
I, said the owl, with my little trowel, I’ll dig his grave.

Who’ll be the clerk?
I, said the lark, if it’s not in the dark, I’ll be the clerk.
Who’ll carry the coffin?
I, said the kite, if it’s not in the night, I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll bear the pall?
I, said the wren, both the cock and the hen, we’ll bear the pall.
Who’ll sing the psalm?
I, said the thrush, as she sat in the bush, I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll be the parson?
I, said the rook, with my little book, I’ll be the parson.
Who’ll be chief mourner?
I, said the dove, I’ll mourn for my love, I’ll be chief mourner.

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The Stare Down … Stone Lion-Style

 

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So the way our schedules have been working out lately, Steve races off to work across town, leaving me to work from home on various writing projects.  As he heads out the door, I toss him a lunch I’ve quickly prepared.  Just leftovers pulled together from his fridge.  Some sliced fruit.  A bit of cheese.  Nothing elaborate I thought.  But recently he commented on the fanciness of these petite meals.  I rolled my eyes.  Me? Fancy? Not!  But then this morning, a realization.

I had chopped sun-dried tomatoes, scallions and capers and then layered the concoction over cold pasta from last night’s dinner.  After peeking in various cupboards, I decided to finish off the little dish with a bit of garlic and a little parmesan cheese.   As I stepped back to admire the marriage of color and textures, it hit me.  These lunches have become a creative outlet of sorts.  Almost like culinary morning pages, warming up my mind and fingers for the day’s work.

Many of my current writing projects involve taking the basic ingredients that make up my clients’ programs and putting those ingredients together in a proposal or a report in such a way that they whet the appetite of a potential funder.  Time will tell if I am successful in that endeavor. Meanwhile, Steve doesn’t seem to mind my morning experimentations.

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