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Posts Tagged ‘storytelling’

ethereal

Posted in Inspiration, Music, Nature Notes, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 12, 2013| 7 Comments »

Why “ethereal” as a title?  Well, I recently chanced upon a very short video of ballerina Janie Taylor dancing in designer Chloé’s “dance-inspired spring/summer 2011 collection.”  The dance was set to Philip Glass’s “String Quartet No. 3, ‘Mishima’: IV. 1962: Body Building.”  I enjoy much of what Philip Glass composes.  I have not been able to get the dance or the music out of my head.  On this windy day, I went for a walk in hopes that the movement and music would inspire me to photograph something sweeping, cascading, flowing, etc. In the end …

… nothing.  Not a single “sweeping” thing caught my attention.  I put away the camera and headed home, pausing just long enough at a market to purchase a few pieces of fruit.  At home, I placed the items on a side table figuring I’d put them away later.  Back at the computer, I hit play and repeat on that darn video, and began to outline a writing project.  But the wind kept rustling the plastic bag the fruit sat upon.  Frustrated, I got up and went to the table. With Philip Glass blaring in the background, I looked down and thought, “That’s it! That’s the shot.”  Anyway, that’s my story of this image and I’m sticking to it.  If you’re curious, click here for link to the video.

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the colors in a story

Posted in Inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2013| 4 Comments »

As a child, I loved all literary critters from Stuart Little to Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web.  I also loved the feisty young heroes in books like Little House on the Prairie, The Black Stallion, The Secret Garden, The Swiss Family Robinson and so many more.   I wanted to be those young people and see the places described in those literary worlds.  Those young people and those stories helped to shape my initial views of my country, the world, and of myself.  I think I turned out okay. 😉  But I do recognize as writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie asserts in the following TED presentation how stories — or the communication of “a single story” — can have unexpected consequences at many levels.  In her eloquence on a thought-provoking topic, she raises both my awareness as reader and writer.  I hope you have a chance to view.

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is creativity a tool?

Posted in Inspiration, Kitchen Inspirations, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 27, 2013| Leave a Comment »

This morning I received several different examples in my inbox that referenced the use of creativity.  First I received a Daily Reflection courtesy of Alive Now Magazine, a publication in which I’ve had photos appear.  Today’s reflection was “Imagine you are giving a party inviting the poor, crippled, lame, and blind in today’s world. How would you need to engage your creativity to offer them your hospitality?”  You can read the full reflection here. It was strange to see this reflection about using creativity to offer up hospitality, and then to read this NYTimes article and some other articles highlighting how people are engaging their creativity to devise new strategies for relocating the homeless, and not always in positive ways.

A Rodin Sculpture at Boston MFA

A Rodin Sculpture at Boston MFA

The articles made me mad but the reflection brought to mind my mother.  One holiday season she invited to dinner a mentally challenged neighbor.  He had no family coming to visit that year and we had plenty of food.  But, you see, my mom was a very private person.  For others, and maybe even this same man, in the past she had always made up a plate and sent my father or brothers down the street to knock on doors and share some food.  I do not know why she invited this man to our house this time.  I think she was creative in her approach so that she could do this “good deed” and maintain some sense of privacy that was important to her.

Gerber at the Kitchen Table

Gerber at the Kitchen Table

The man was invited to sit in what the family considered “Pop’s chair” in the living room.  My mom served him the first plate, and my dad served him his refills.  After eating, the man watched TV and even took a nap.  My younger brother and I were small enough to ask out loud, and too loud, “When is he leaving?”  She shushed us but I could tell my mom felt the same way.  After he did leave, my mom swore she’d never do such a thing again.  She never did the exact same thing again (that I can remember) but she did do other things of a similar nature — good deeds that sometimes exceeded her comfort zone. Deeds done creatively.

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the human voice

Posted in Inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , on August 15, 2013| 2 Comments »

That first time he pulled me over after the library alarm had sounded, I actually put my hands on my hips and said, “Come on! You’ve got to be kidding.  I’ve been coming to this library for years.  Do you really think I’d steal a book?”  All he said was, “This way, ma’am.”  Together we walked over to the machine.  He had me empty my pack of all books and together we discovered which one I’d improperly demagnetized while doing self checkout.  During the whole procedure his face never changed.  Aside from the initial pull over, and then a statement about “it’s the rules,” his lips never moved.  He could have been a Nubian statue.  I became determined to make him smile.  Years later, I’ve yet to succeed.  Our relationship has progressed.  Now when I race by to drop off and pick up books, I make eye contact, smile and wave.  He blinks once or twice and then nods in acknowledgement.  Sometimes there’s a subtle bow.  One day, I’m tempted to dance a jig just to see what he does.  Bet he has a great laugh.  Meanwhile, my interactions with this guard and others this summer have had me musing about both silence and the human voice.  Not sure what will become of such thoughts but they have led me to the following lovely little video.  It’s less than 3min long, but if you’d prefer to simply listen to the original recording, click here.  Hope you find time to view and/or to listen. Have a good weekend.

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“wait! i have to wash the frog off my hands first.”

Posted in Inspiration, Nature Notes, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 12, 2013| 3 Comments »

Steve has a ritual.  When he buys chicken or steak at the grocery store, he returns home to immediately separate the meat into smaller portions, prepares a marinade of red wine, soy sauce, garlic and black pepper that he then pours over the meat which he then freezes.  And that’s what happened yesterday.  After a short hike in the Middlesex Fells Reservation, we stopped by the grocery store on the way home.  As he was about to prepare the meat, he shouted, “Wait! I have to wash the frog off my hands first.”  Why would he shout such a thing?  Well, because he was helping me corral frogs in the Fells.  Not to keep for cooking or anything, just to photograph for Melissa.

Melissa loves frogs.  For years, I’ve sent her all things frog related.  Stickers, stamps, charms, etc.  Rarely photographs. Though I’m glad frogs are in the world, normally I don’t feel a need to get close to them and rarely have I had an opportunity to photograph them like this weekend.  They were popping up everywhere!  As Steve and I chased the little critters around the woods, I kept telling him, “I’m doing this for Melissa. Only for Melissa would I be getting this close to this creature.”  But when I spoke with Melissa this morning she reminded me that I apparently sparked her interest in frogs in college over twenty years ago.

“It’s true,” she said.  “We were walking from Central Campus to the Quad, cutting through Duke Gardens.  It was summertime and I remarked about the sound of the loudest crickets I’d ever heard in my life.  You told me those weren’t crickets but frogs singing.  Then you pointed them out to me, sitting by the edge of the pond.  And then you went off on this lovely discourse about frogs, why they’re important in the world and how through song they were trying to  … you know … get together and make babies. I’ve loved frogs ever since.”

Steve did manage to pick up this fellow and hold him in the palm of his hands, and thus the need to wash the frog off his hands.  I don’t know if there will be anymore impromptu frog photography shoots, but I will try to remember to step more carefully through the Fells and I will treasure a lost memory regained.

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“like a dandelion without light”

Posted in Inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 8, 2013| 4 Comments »

As soon as my brother uttered the words, I smiled and shook my head.  Once again I was proven right.  I may feel compelled to put my words out into the world, but it is my brothers who are the poets in my family.  In this case, my youngest brother was simply sharing his growing understanding of what it means to be a father — the ups and downs and everything in between.  And with this understanding he was able to look into the past from a different perspective.  “I remember,” he said, “walking towards Pop.  He was sitting in that chair, lost in thought, tilted over, looking like a dandelion without light.  I don’t know which of us he was worried about that day or if he was sitting there wishing he’d done some things differently in life or maybe he was just missing Ma.  But then he saw me and he straightened up and he smiled.  It was like the sun had come out.  I was his light.  That is what my son is like for me.”

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the music man (a vignette with 2 footnotes)

Posted in Inspiration, Music, tagged , , , , , , , , on July 25, 2013| 3 Comments »

This past spring I met a man in Boston Common.  He sings.

I don’t remember if he had an instrument in-hand that first meeting. Most striking were his looks and that voice. Skin as dark as night. A scraggly beard and bushy eyebrows, all white as snow.  His voice carried across the park.  A gentle rumble.  Bass, perhaps.  Imagine Paul Robeson in sound.

“Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some chaaaaaange?”

At first I ignored him.  I generally have no spare change.  And I have mixed feelings about giving money to panhandlers.

“Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some chaaaaaange?”

But then one day we made eye contact.  It has been ingrained that if eye contact is made with a stranger no words need be exchanged but at a minimum try to nod in greeting.  And so I did.

“Can anyone spare some … ooooh … Does anyone have a pretty smile?  Does anyone have a pretty smile?”

Ever since that moment, when our paths cross in the Common, which is not very often, he will change his song for me.

“Oh there’s that pretty smile.  There’s that pretty smile.”

I know I can’t be the only one he does this for.  I have yet to place coins in his cup, but he sure does make me feel like I brighten his day.  At some point, I shall have to tell him that the sound of his voice brightens mine.

—

Footnote 1:  Checkout the blog Lust & Rum by photographer Anton Brookes.  There, he shares pictures that are heartbreaking and deeply moving of the homeless on the streets of NYC.  Following his photographic journey helps remind me to keep my eyes open to those sights I might like to ignore.

Footnote 2: If you’ve not heard the voice of Paul Robeson, you can hear a sample via the following 1 minute and 22 second clip.  Enjoy.

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you should write …

Posted in Guest Contributor, Inspiration, Nature Notes, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2013| 6 Comments »

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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images from the abbey room at the boston public library

Posted in Inspiration, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 30, 2013| 6 Comments »

The Abbey Room is located on the second floor of the McKim Building in the Boston Public Library in Copley Square.  Its high walls are covered by a series of mural paintings depicting The Quest for the Holy Grail.  A lovely place to hang out on a rainy day in Boston.

Painted by Edwin Austin Abbey.

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Porches Revisited

Posted in Inspiration, tagged , , , , , on May 16, 2013| 5 Comments »

I have learned that my brother and I have been independently dreaming of front porches.  We live in homes now that have porches of a sort but not the porch of our childhood.  Each of us is feeling that call that comes at this time of year to make ready the porch.  Paint and put out the chairs.  Hope the maple tree next door will provide enough shade.  Try to grow some potted plants.  And so on.  In honor of those memories, I share this link to an essay I wrote not long after moving up north from down south:   Sitting on the Front Porch.

By the way, when I wrote this essay, my brother still lived in the house.  He now rents it to an older lady who likes to grow tomato plants in all available space including along the front porch.  And the elderly lady who appears near the end of the essay is still alive.  I visited her during a trip back to Virginia.  She was very welcoming from her front porch and even took us inside to sit for a bit where her children had to remind her at some point, “Mama, you are 99 not 89.”  Her response was “Is that right?”  And so it goes. 😉

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