Fire

Firey sunset, near Monterrey, CA

What can I say? I love the sunset no matter where I am.

To see what fires other Photo Friday fans have ... uh ... cooked up, click here.

My Little Secret

My Little Secret--Photo Friday challenge for the week

Shhhhhhhh..... Don't tell anyone, but sometimes, when a bout of nostalgia takes over my senses, I pull out this oldie-goldie and transport myself to high school days.

I still remember the first time I heard it. It was the summer of 1970, and I was barely 17 years old, listening to the radio while I ironed my father's shirts. It was the heady years of FM radio--back in the days when the air waves weren't controlled by corporate cash machines but actually played--are you ready for this?--whole albums. Cult favs. Bands with weird names like King Crimson and Jethro Tull. Before Elton John discovered big glasses; before Jefferson Airplane begat the Starship; when we could all recite the parts of the Woodstock album about the hamburger guy whose stand burnt down.

So I'm ironing, and half-listening, and then "Fire and Rain" comes on. I was completely blown away. I called my friend Diane (still my friend lo these many years later) and practically barked into the receiver: "Turn on the radio. You're not going to believe this song." Turns out she was listening, too.

I don't listen to the CD very often. But sometimes, when an inexplicable mood comes over me, it's the perfect memory at the perfect time. Maybe someday you'll do the same.

To see others' little secrets, click here.

Fragile

Fragile: Each Day

See what other Photo Friday fans find fragile by clicking here.

I had a lot of ideas for the Photo Friday challenge this week, and I even took photos of the anti-aging industrial complex (i.e., the serums, creams, scrubs, and salves) at my local Target to go with a post about our fragile egos.

But then I watched the sun sink further and further out of sight this weekend, and I knew that's what it had to be.

What could be more fragile than a day? We start with such high hopes: Lists of chores, endless honey-do's, lunch and dinner engagements, even a concert or play or other nightly activity if we're lucky. But no matter what we do or don't accomplish, no matter how steadfastly we cling to the night, each day soon disappears from our grasp.

Sometimes in a ball of fire. Sometimes without our even realizing.

The days fly by. Then years. And soon we're wondering where our life went and how we got here from there. Or what will come next.

Yep -- fragile.

Far from Home

On Waco Lake Dam, April 2008

See the bright white roof at the left side of the horizon? Look beside it, slightly to the right, and you'll see my condos.

If I had been home instead of on the dam taking this photo, I could've been on the patio, waving hello, shouting out as you came nearer, "Hey! What are you doing this afternoon? Come on by for a cup of tea!"

But, alas, I was far from home.

Found Objects

Plastic Flowers, March 24 2008

Photo Friday theme for the week
To see what others found, click here.

Flowers--even weathered and grungy silk and plastic ones--are everywhere this time of year.

I jumped over the patio railing behind my condo to get a better view of the construction down the hill (binoculars and camera in hand, of course) and found these sad former beauties outside a neighbor's wall.

Found. Captured. Left behind.

The Good Life

The Good Life, March 16

Photo Friday theme for the week.
To see other good lives, click here.

As I was reading the paper this lazy Sunday morning, I looked over to see sunlight streaming through the window, beloved art on the walls, books to read and baskets of CDs to listen to, and my sweet girl Scooter Pie lazing on the chair beside me.

A good life indeed.

Art

Art

Photo Friday challenge for the week

A new project = a new mess. It's inevitable, I guess, but I never understand why I start out with a space about 2 by 4' and end up with, oh, about 8 by 10" if I'm lucky.

If you think I'm exaggerating, I'll fill you in on a little secret: The scene above is after I'd finished working and partly cleaned up, for Pete's sake.

Maybe it's the nature of collage--zillions of pieces of paper, glues, paints, brushes, more paper, tissue, this tool and that, and--did I say paper? Still, it's fun (at times) and relaxing (at times) and invigorating (at times).

So I guess I'll keep trying.

Mainly I'm just glad my winter dry spell has broken and I actually feel like sitting down and puttering in glue pots again.

Want to see what else "art" brings to mind? Click here.

Infinity

To Infinity ... and beyond

Nasher Sculpture Center

Dallas, TX

Isn't this what we do every day?

Stride confidently into the abyss. Set forth as if we know what will happen next. Live with certainty. Live as if our lifetime = infinity.

What else can we do?

"You don't have to see the whole staircase," MLK, Jr. told us; "Just take the first step."

P.S. "Infinity" is the Photo Friday theme for the week. To see others' views of infinity, click here.

What is That?

FREE GIVE-AWAY! (See below.)

looking north toward Gatesville, TX

What is that?

Photo Friday challenge for the week.

To play others' guessing games, click here.

This is an easy one: What is that in top right side of the photo? Leave a comment with a guess and maybe win a prize. Next Saturday, Feb. 16th, I'll put all correct answers in a hat, pull one, and that lucky winner will get a free card from my ETSY store. Your choice!

On another note, I must admit I love these almost-the-Hill-Country landscapes. Texas has everything from the Piney Woods to the beach to Palo Duro Canyon and the most fabulous Big Bend. But the Hill Country is my favorite.

When I don't have time to get there from here, I just head about forty-five minutes or an hour to the foothills, with wide open skies, scrubby brush, and miles and miles of openness to stir my heart.

I'm not from Texas, and I didn't, as Lyle Lovett says, get here as quickly as I could. But it grows on you. And there's a lot to love.

Mountain (Marfa)

Mountain
Photo Friday theme for the week.
To take a peek at others' mountain views, click here.

Maybe there really is something to those Marfa lights stories--even in the daytime: I took this photo last February, on the Chinati Foundation grounds. Check out the light from the top of the image, streaming down to illuminate the mountains in the background.

Untouched by Photoshop.

Best of 2007 (Florals)

early April water lily, from the small galvanized pond in what used to be my back yard

Best of 2007
Photo Friday theme for the week.
To see others' own favs for the year, click here.

I'm no good at choosing "bests." Unless, of course, it's best daughter, and then my Elisabeth wins, hands down. ;-)

Ask me to pick the best book I've ever read, and I'll stutter around until I name three or four or ... ten. Best movie? Oh please. Best food? Right.

After all, just what does best photo mean? Best composition? Best lighting? Best pose? Best idea? The one that makes me happiest when I look at it and remember the moment? All of the above?

Sigh. You see my difficulty, no doubt.

So ... in keeping with the usual year-end count downs, I'm breaking my best-of into two parts: florals and ... well, come back next week, and you'll see.

And now for the 2007 floral runners up, in chronological order:

Florida jasmine, taken in Feb. on a walk in Marfa, TX.

May tiger lilies, in memory of Mrs. Coker, from whose yard they originated, taken in my used-to-be back yard.

July water lilies, San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park.

Mid-September morning glory, illuminated from the eastern sun in my used-to-be back yard. And untouched by Photoshop--that amazing light is the sun shining through the lighter part of the stem.

Sunrise (facing west)

Sunrise
Photo Friday challenge for the week.
To see others' sunrises, click here.

This photo shows what I woke up to this morning--out my northwest-facing back patio.

Rolling mist over the river. A western sky reflecting the brilliant orange of the east. Bare Soapberry branches framing the view.

Tiny Carolina chickadees skittered away to a near-by branch as I opened the back door and awkwardly hauled out the tripod. Several Cardinals nervously hopped from branch to branch in the cedar tree, carefully watching for when I might go back inside. Sparrows, always the bravest, had already hit the front feeder, and titmice would soon arrive to devour a hearty meal.

The cold morning air hit my cheeks with a blast, and I thought of how much I enjoy the cold at times.

The evening before, the meditation group I recently joined had met outside, in the peace garden behind a church near where I used to live. It was cold--and dark--with only a small lantern to light our way. We came bundled for the journey--like camping almost, our breath puffing before us, dogs barking in distant yards, a family walking with their cheerful young son.

We sat closer than usual, two to a bench, warmth radiating from shared blankets, common hopes, peaceful dreams.

Near the end of our 20-minute meditation, the church bells rang at 6 p.m., loudly and long. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Afterwards, I asked those in the group who've been meditating for decades if the bells disturbed them.

"Oh yes," they said. "But you just tell yourself, 'The bells have disturbed me,' and then go back to your meditation."

I'm not there yet.

But I'm trying.

Like the mist rolling over the river.

And the northwestern sky reflecting the morning sun.

Dead of Night

Dead of Night

Photo Friday challenge for the week.

To see some truly stellar and amazing night photos, click here.

What do you get when you combine a small patio, a chilly night, a not-so-great-for-night-scenes digital camera, and a tripod that you stupidly enlarged before you headed out the door?

Darkness. A few twinkling stars. And a line of lights near the airport.

You're looking at it, folks: The view from my patio at night. I do love it. On the front side of my condo, light streams in from the parking lot, and, beyond that, a sometimes busy street lies ready to whisk me away to the Interstate ... or across town to the grocery store.

But behind the unit is ... dead of night. Every night.

The immediate and sharp incline beyond the railing. The meadow below the dam. The woods. The river. The not-so-traveled street to Airport Park, the dam walk, and, beyond that, our own little Hooterville airport.

The hooting of owls. Coyote yips. The occasional rustle of leaves.

And the distant, pulsing strobe from the traffic control tower.

Travel

Travel
Photo Friday challenge for the week.
To see others' "travel" photos, click here.

Where are they going, these birds that roost among us each fall?

Where have they been that busy streets, crowded traffic lights, and trees in parking lots seem a reasonable place to call home?

What do we look like to them, traveling slowly in our protective sheaths of steel and glass, faces raised toward their chatter, shooing them off as we reach our own destinations? How small we must seem from their perches far above. How inconsequential.

No different than the sidewalk. Except that we move about, while the concrete remains static beneath their claws.

An annoyance. Just part of the landscape. Something to pass by as they travel through town.

On their way to who knows where.

Or why.

Silence

Silence

Photo Friday challenge for the week.

To see other's photographic interpretations of the theme, click here.

Silence is overrated, I think. There are so many questions to ask. So many things to hear. So many things to say. And soon, far too soon, it'll be too late.


So sayeth Ms. Emily:

#935

Death leaves Us homesick, who behind,
Except that it is gone
Are ignorant of its Concern
As if it were not born.

Through all their former Places, we
Like Individuals go
Who something lost, the seeking for
Is all that's left them, now —

The City

The City
Photo Friday challenge for the week.
To see others' photographic interpretations, click here.

I read an article once about how much better our cities would be if they operated like small towns. In a small town, so the article said, everyone knows they're being watched--and behaves accordingly.

An example the author provided was of a driver who splashes a pedestrian by driving too quickly through a deep puddle near a sidewalk. In a city, he said, the driver keeps going, probably not even noticing she'd drenched another human being. Certainly not willing to bring her own life to a halt for a complete stranger on a distant sidewalk.

In a small town, though, the driver knows someone will have called her grandmother (or dad or aunt or boss) before she even gets home to tell the tale. So she stops, apologizes, and sees if she can help the pedestrian go home and change clothes. Whether she knows the person or not. Even if she's in a hurry.

Maybe it's true. I'd like to think it's true. After all, fear of shame--personal or familial--can be a strong motivator for good.

But it's incorrect to say that no one's watching in the city. Everyone's watched here, too. Just not by anyone we know. At least, as far as we know. We're watched by cameras on buildings and at intersections. Or in cell phones. By security guards. By police encased in patrol cars or helicopters far above the street.

And the only people the watchers tell are the police, the press (preferably the national tabloids), America's Funniest Home Videos, or the Feds.

Aunt Bea might be watching in a small town, but, in the city, we've just got Big Brother and small time paparazzi.

And, sadly, sometimes, the resulting lack of humanity.

Real Life

Real Life: The Paradox of Freedom

My take on the Photo Friday challenge this week.

To see others' interpretations of the theme, click here.

The Beach

The Beach

Point Reyes National Seashore

Marin County, CA

July 2007

Photo Friday challenge for the week

To see others' photos of beaches, click here.

Unfinished

Unfinished

Photo Friday challenge for the week.

To see others' interpretation of the theme, click here.

The beginnings of a sewing project. Laid out. Readjusted. Shuffled. Cut, torn, re-aligned. But not yet: Ironed. Sewn. Embellished. Quilted. Attached to the apron.

How I yearn for paper and glue. Sigh.

P.S. Tim--do you see your photo? I printed it on fabric! Pretty cool, huh?

Wet

Wet

Photo Friday challenge for the week.

To see others' interpretations of the theme, click here.

Ay-yi-yi. Here's what greeted me yesterday morning after watering the garden.

Is it possible to love the critter but hate its appetite? Why oh why can't these pests ever snack on weeds? And why does it have to look so darn cute as it's getting ready to bite into my daisy?

Another exercise in letting go, it appears.

#6,592.