Photographs

My husband doesn’t understand why I can never delete any of my pictures.  He can take 5 photos, choose his favorite and easily delete the other 4.  I don’t have that gumph.  I like the off photos, the pictures that will never be posted on Instagram, that show people in the moments before or after they pose.  Some of my favorite photographs are those where the subject doesn’t seem to know they are being photographed, the photos that are slightly out of focus, blurred.

When I was little, my memories were made from the perspective of a little child.  I think about this as I go through the day with my boys; wonder what they see. I think about how much of the world they are taking in and what it looks like from their perspective.  I wonder what they will remember when they are older and I hope that their memories will be made richer from my photographs.

I treasure the few pictures I have from my childhood, especially the pictures with my mom.  Even the pictures that have long been lost to time and cross country moves but are kept in memory.  I remember her as I saw her from my childish stance.  I can see her hands, the pants she wore, the white moon shaped cuticle at the base of each nail.  I catch glimpses in my mind’s eye of the highlights in her hair that I noticed in the airport one time when she flew back to Arkansas.  I can see her stepping on a shovel as she works the dirt in her vegetable garden in our front yard on Elm Street, the curve in her back as she kneels next to the flower bed, pulling weeds.  I remember the feel of the tubes and dressings on her body, hidden by her tie-dye t-shirt, as I hugged her when she picked me up from day camp, and the stillness of her body, eyes closed, as she lay in the hospital bed the last time I saw her.  It’s harder to see her face, her eyes, to imagine her voice, her laugh, to remember many of the things she said to me, the conversations we must have had.

The few photos that I have of her inform me of who she was, how she felt, what she looked like.  My favorites are the photos that catch her in a laugh or a far off glance. They give me a fuller picture of a three-dimensional woman.  They are a clue as to the woman that I may have known had she been around when I was old enough to care about knowing her more fully.

So I keep the off photos, the blurry shots, the accidentals, the photographs taken when there isn’t really anything to see.  I cherish them, even though I don’t know what to do with all of them.  I imagine them in albums one day and until then simply look back from time to time and remember all the small moments that were shared among our growing family.

Here are some of my favorite, recent, off photos (most of which I think are better then the posed):

 

 

 

Advertisements

The fruiting season


In the Spring, the world is green again.
The soul stirs as tiny buds begin to open.
The trees burst forth in multi colored regalia:
split pea green,
bright cherry red,
cauliflower white.
The fruiting season has begun.

In the Spring, we walk.
Relieved to be outside,
soaking in the sunshine,
reveling in the wide open spaces,
we look for any excuse to meander
down the dandelion lined sidewalk.

I watch our shadows as we walk
stretched like the long warm days.
I study the shadow-mother, wondering:
Is she as exhausted as I feel?
Or are her worries as weightless
as her form?
Her curves are exaggerated,
the bow of her lower back deepened
counterbalanced by the bundle
now strapped to her chest.

In the Spring, everything grows and multiplies.
I study the extra shadow accompanying our walks
the extra set of limbs that expands my edges.
The delicate scent of pear blossoms
The musky molting earth
The jelly-bean colored flowers’
-raspberry, lemon, blueberry-
sweet scents fill my nostrils
and dance with wisps of blonde
belligerently blowing across my eyes.
The fruiting season has begun.

20170419_15182320170418_10434420170417_19181720170410_09265420170414_181144

Moments

Both boys are napping!  It feels like a miracle.  I used the time to finish laundry, eat lunch and sit down to try to write a little bit.  I didn’t get much writing done but I did find this. This was a blog entry that I had written and never published.  I wrote it before Cameron was born- I’m guessing I didn’t have time to go back and edit it and forgot about it, had a baby and never gave it a thought until today.  Reading through it I remember each of these moment with instantaneous and fleeting clarity, each rushing across my memory like a slideshow of snapshots.

sidenote: i didn’t do much editing here.

Moments:

the soft skin of his forearm beneath my thumb as I rub it absentmindedly

standing in his doorway watching him sleep, his face turned towards me, lips puckered open, cheeks puffed out as he exhales

the scent of his hair as he struggles to snuggle closer to me as we sit on the couch

“thank you mama” he says when I bring him more pancakes.
“looks nice in here, good job mama,” he says admiring the rearranged back porch.

singing his made up song as he clangs away on the xylophone “hello apple, hello mango, hello arm, hello eyes, hello dresser, hello apple and mango,” and turning his head, laughing, making sure I am watching  

watching him peddle his tricycle up the driveway, he turns his head to make sure I’m staying put: “mama stay!”

the sound of his feet as he runs through the hall and into our bedroom in the middle of the night

following him into the kitchen as he cries because he can’t reach the pan he wants to get down because he wanted to “make mama breakfast” 

his arm flung over my shoulder when he turns to me in the night as I lay, facing away from him.

so many more….so many unremembered.


Losing my mom, when I was ten, taught me the value of time and memory.  How quickly time passes and how precious are the moments that we have with out loved ones!  It was easy when I was younger, in grief, to turn away from others and to sever ties rather then take the chance of experiencing loss all over again.  It made me uncomfortable to get too close.  Except that inside, I yearned for those deeper connections- for loving, supportive arms to encircle me, comfort me when i needed it and keep me safe when I felt vulnerable.

It’s taken me most of my adult life so far to realize that I alone hold the power to return the gesture when others reach out and that embracing others is the only way to protect myself from feeling alone.  It took having a child to realize how much we need the community of people in our life.

I hold on tight to the moments I have with Casey.  These precious moments that are so beautiful they hurt.  It tugs at my heartstrings, watching him, knowing that he will grow up some day and be big and that I might not remember this moment, or the next, or maybe the next one.  I wonder if I will remember all these tiny moments when I am old and he is grown?

I am elated that I get to do this all over again- babyhood.  Watching another tiny child reach milestones, encounter and conquer his firsts.  I know there will be hard moments and moments of frustration but I feel so much more prepared this time around even as I feel overwhelmed with the knowledge that i will have two boys growing up before my eyes, two boys worth of memories to store and cherish and wonder if I will remember in five, ten twenty years.  I feel more able to find that balance between holding them close and letting them loose without guilt.

~~~~~

(in response)

It has definitely been a challenge some days, to keep up with two boys, feeling like I am running on empty and completely overloaded trying to accommodate the growth and needs of each boy. Finding a balance is easier some days than others.  Most days it feels like we are walking up one of those balance ladders you find at a fair, trying to ring the bell at the top.  Just when I think I’m making some good forward progress, the ladder starts to shake and I loose my footing all over again. 

~~~~~

I peeked in on Casey this morning.  He slept so soundly last night.  Not a peep all night and still serene, on his stomach, his head turned so he faced the doorway as I stood leaning against it watching it, taking my first sip of coffee.  I wondered if I would remember this moment in five years, ten, twenty? I wondered if it would matter then as it does now and then I wondered if the fact that he slept so soundly through the night meant that I should do away with daytime naps, and I shuddered at the though.  Not ready for that day yet.

20160808_120818