October Sky

The other day I was rushing around like a mad fool – coming from town with a zillion things needing to be done and running late to be at the Little Church. It was torture. Not the pressure or stress, but the fact that the sky was so incredibly incredible and I could not take time to soak it in or take hundreds of pictures of it.

The were still lots of leaves and the combination of the colours: the sky, the trees and white fluffy clouds with smudges of gray illuminated by the sun ... was stunning.  It literally took my breath away. I wanted to re-decorate my house in that exact palette. I so wished that I had hours and hours to take my camera and drive around and just capture it all. I knew that in a blink, the grayness of November would be upon us and I would desperately long for this moment.

So I took a detour to our house, grabbed my camera and shot back to where the scene grabbed my attention. Within those four minutes, it had totally changed. The sun had gone behind a cloud and the vibrant blues and grey-blues and green-yellows and white and deep gray were all gone. It was muted and it didn’t move me at all.  That is the magic of it all. You have one brief milli-second to grab it. It’s a disappointment when you miss it, but a huge joy when you succeed.

I missed what I was after, but I did get some cloud shots. They were amazing too. Actually, this fall, the sky here has been spectacular. It must be something to do with the atmosphere – the sunsets have been especially glorious and the clouds have been a world of their own. Two year old Gibson even noticed them the other day and said to Ashley ‘Look... fishes in the sky.’  It looked like their aquarium to him.  Even Brian has taken notice. He commented that he has seen more rainbows in the past month than he has in his entire life. It pleases me that he is being attentive to the sky now too.

October Sky ... warm, beautiful moments to bring out in the days to come.

I'm Back

Since the first of September my life has been crazy. Well, in actual fact, it is ALWAYS crazy, but the past eight weeks have been shades of the even crazier days when I was going in way too many directions at once. Moving too quickly. Spinning.  It’s Monday. It’s Friday. It’s Monday. It’s Friday.  Three weeks gone.  Six weeks gone. No time to write. No time to read. No time to think.  Worst part is that my babies are getting bigger without me having enough cuddle time.

A new grandbabe, 2,500 hundred photos from two weddings to edit, two weeks out in Newfoundland, two weeks of trying to pull my creations together for the show, the Artisan Show itself and then all the things that it takes to put things in order from there.

All wonderful stuff. All behind me now so I can start to focus on the next step – getting my Christmas line on Ebay. Still lots of other stuff coming up in the next few weeks – a concert we’re organizing for the Little Church, the Vineart fundraiser for Gallery 96, meetings with a new organization I’ve joined, some workshops that I’m offering.

And … catching up on this and The Daily Muse.  I miss writing. I miss playing pictures.

But I’m back!

A few shots of the show - VERY few ... was too busy visiting to remember the camera.

Ten:Ten; Ten.Ten.Ten

Years ago, we were sitting around the dinner table one night when Brian and I got to talking about our Moms' pumpkin pies. I was telling him how good my Mom's pies were - that I could still taste them. He said, 'My Mom's pumpkin pies were awesome too.'  'Yes, they sure were,' I recalled fondly, 'they were different from my Mom's but I grew to really enjoy them, even though I'm not much of a fan of pumpkin pie.' 


Back and forth, the conversation went - recalling the texture and the spices and the whipped cream. "My Mom's pie...", then "MY Mom's pie...". One of the kids piped up and said: "Well, we've never even tasted OUR Mom's pumpkin pie."


Sad, but true.  They haven't. I have never once in my life made a pumpkin pie. Never. Ever. No pumpkin pie memories for an entire generation. Shame on me.


Actually, I don't make any pies. Except for when I am in Newfoundland. There is rhubarb growing in front of the house and partridgeberries behind it. I use Brian's grandmother's recipe for both and I must say, it kind of tickles me to make a pie out there. Seems like the thing to do when you've got fresh and free fruit growing at arm's length.

I'll eat pie; I just don't make them. I have convinced myself that they are just too much work for the length of time that they last. When I make something that takes a lot of effort, I like it to last for years.


So today ... 10.10.10 ... at 10:10 AM - what was I doing? Something out of character and totally memorable. I was making a pie. Three pies in fact!  Lemon meringue, chocolate cream and banana cream. THREE pies.  That's more pies than I have made (other than rhubarb & partridgeberry) in the past ... hmmmm.... ten years.  And I'm not exaggerating - ask my family; they'll tell you.


Ten, Ten, Ten at Ten:Ten AM, I was making pies and at EXACTLY Ten:Ten PM on Ten, Ten, Ten, I am posting about pies.  Insignificant for everyone else in the world - memorable for me!

Sunset

Poor Brian. I think I might have given him a bit of a startle last night. I was working away at the stove, making supper when I glanced out of the window.  I gasped "OH MY GAWD!", threw the stuff I had in my hand, rushed in the livingroom and grabbed something and torpedoed out the door. All the while, he was saying: 'What?' ...'WHAT?' ... 'WHAT???'. I was moving so fast that it took three Whats to throw back 'The SUNSET!!!'. The thing I grabbed was my camera. 

The sky was spectacular. Shockingly spectacular. It darn near made my heart stop. My frenzied response nearly made his stop. There was the brightest and most brilliant shade of pink and intense, deep blue spread over the entire west - from one side to the other, not just the usual hot spot that contains the magic.

In my attempt to get closer to it, I had to climb the fence and go across the donkey field. In my slippers.  Without soles between that and my feet, I was feeling the odd pile of soft stuff.  It wasn't possible to avoid it because I could not take my eyes off of the sky for even one split second. Sunset is fleeting; slippers wash.

Just a couple nights ago, Brian had been witness to my Sunset Frenzy as I rushed down to the causeway in our place in Newfoundland. There's a wide open view there of the water and the hills and the evening sky. 


What might have been a few minutes turned into a long excursion because a neighbour who I had never had the chance to meet,was walking along and we had a nice visit. She said 'I thought it was some tourist taking pictures.' 'Nope, not a tourist.' I replied, 'Just an appreciative local.' 'Oh maid, there's been a lot better sunsets than this.', she informed me. 'You should sees it some days.' 'Well, this one's not too shabby.' I responded, assuring her that I didn't consider it a waste of time at all. The sunset was done and the sky was basic black by the time I returned.  Poor Brian was likely thinking that I had fallen into the sea, as I've been known to climb the rocks to get a better shot, just as I climbed the fence last night.

These are just a few from the other night:

Glorious sunsets get me downright excited.  Always have. There just aren't enough of them. Any time that the sky turns into an artist's vibrant palette, I stop anything I'm doing and glue my eyes to it for the duration. 


If I'm driving now, I pull over. I used to try to glimpse them as I carried on, but now I stop and savour the gift.  I remember numerous times, driving along with my kids in the car, saying to them 'Look at that sunset!  LOOK!'. They'd humour me and say 'Yeah, Mom - we see it.'  I'd insist 'No ... LOOK at it. Really SEE it!'.  They never seemed quite as impressed as I thought they should be. They'd have their heads down, doing whatever it was that they were doing and mine would be swiveling like one of those bobbing puppies that people used to have on the back window ledge. I'd be going from the road to the sky to the back to see if they were looking, then back to the sky and the road and another shot at them in a frantic attempt to make them learn to appreciate the treasure that we were being given. I've told them 'When I'm gone and you see a particularly gorgeous sunset, think of me. If I was here, I would be saying 'Oh my gawd, would you LOOK at that sunset!  Know that wherever I am, I will still be doing the same thing.'

When I returned from my unexpected diversion last night and resumed frying up the wonderful cod that we brought back from the island, Brian said to me: 'There's something I'm curious about.' 'Yeah ...', I replied. 'I'm just wondering ... what exactly do you DO with all these 'oh-my-gawd-it's-wonderful' sunset pictures?'. I looked at him incredulously. 'What do you MEAN... what do I DO with them?' 'Oh, I was just curious ... do you DO something with them?  Like, are you making a book? Or are you putting them on that thing you write on? '(meaning THIS thing). 'No, not necessarily.', I answered. 'I just capture them so I can revisit them another day; but I suppose I could put them on that thing.'

So I did.

Yet Another Season Finished

It’s a good thing that I have kids and grandbabes at home that I want to desperately see. And friends.  And Abby and the donkeys. And the farm.  It’s the only thing that gets me out the door when it’s time to close this place up for the season.

I get a little weepy. Not boo-hoo, all-out-sobbing, but the lump in the throat and bladder just below the eyeballs type of weepy.  I am going to miss my family and my friends here. And our place.  It wraps around me and begs me to stay just a little longer.  It does that with the air and the clouds, and the beginnings of fall colours that tease me with the splendour to come. It does that with the sun shining bright in my kitchen window and the rocking chair beckoning for ‘one more sit’.  It does it with unbelievably delicious smell of the laundry as I bring the last loads off the line and bury my face into it, declaring each and every time ...'How can anything possibly smell this heavenly?!'

It especially does that though, with the smiles and laughter and embraces of the folks that I will miss so much over the next nine months.  It’s hard to turn the lights off and leave one more house darkened over the long winter months.

This morning, I made one last trip out to sea with Heber.  He fished; I observed. I watched those experienced eyes intently scope out the landmarks. I watched with great fondness as he dropped his line in  - remembering countless times over the past seven years when he’s done the same thing with the boat filled with my family or friends. Today it was just the two of us. I quietly savoured every moment and soaked the time deeply into my being.

He fished. I observed. I watched the clouds – gentle smudges on the pale blue sky, suddenly as the wind change, turn into it into a deep, gray palette that totally changed everything about the day.  One moment is was July – warm, pleasant t-shirt weather; then literally seconds later, it was late autumn – jacket, hat, blanket and a darkened November feel. Both were stunningly beautiful.

He fished.  I laid back and felt the roll of the sea.  The waves advanced and receded, advanced and receded – similar to the emotion I was experiencing.  I scanned the horizon for whales, that were out there somewhere, and dolphins, which had been spotted the day before on the big causeway.  Two of our neighbours drove up to compare results with Heber, then picked their spot a few hundred feet away.  Later he told me that they had a number of sharks encircling their boat … ‘little ones’ – just three or four feet. I would have like to see that – I had my camera this time. After missing the sea of hundreds of dolphins, I was not about to leave home without it ever again.

I took snapshots in my head too: the entire image that is far beyond a four by six; and the feel – inside and outside.

When I got back, I made my usual rounds of goodbyes, which takes me throughout the neighbourhood and up to the hospital. Two of my sweet friends are both 93 years old.  One fella’s response to my cheerful ‘See you in the spring!’ was a matter of fact: ‘Don’t be too sure of that. You likely won't see me.’ The other, just as matter of fact, said ‘I just might hop in the car and drive up there to Ontario to see you - don't be too surprised to see me.’  They both made me smile.

I thought about some goodbyes last year, which indeed were the final fall farewells for some dear and precious friends. And again the tide of emotion washed over me and the sea rose up to my eyes. I allowed myself those moments of bittersweet memory. Sweet, in that they had so unexpectedly come into my life, and bitter in that it was much too short.

And then I switched gears, got busy covering things ups and taking a mental inventory of what I need to/want to do next year. That and the thoughts of the other half of my world awaiting two thousand miles away, sent the tides rising once again. This time, Joy and Gratitude for having such a doubly blessed, rich life filled with the most amazing people and places.                                

Photography

To say that I like taking pictures would be an understatement. I LOVE taking pictures. I am passionate about taking pictures. I am consumed. It's who I am. It's what I do. Last week I drove by an old shed in the middle of a bean field, somewhere out in the country and last night I just had to hop in my car and go and find it again because it was stuck in my mind. 

That's the kind of photos I like taking. Ones that catch my eye or my imagination. Ones where the colour speaks to me, and even more importantly, the lighting.  I get downright excited about that.


I like to capture things. It's like hunting or discovering treasure. I like to do the photo journalism thing too, catching the moments that tell a story. And I absolutely love taking photos of faces as they go about life.


The other kind of photography, where you have to pose people and set them up with the perfect lighting where you have to figure it out or invent it rather than have it call out to you, is not a favourite activity.  All my Inadequacies scream to me then.

They say: 'You have no idea in the world what you're doing! Who are you kidding - you are NOT a photographer. You do not have the right equipment. You don't have a professional type camera. You don't even own a flash.' Actually - they're wrong about that - I bought one for a wedding I'm doing this weekend, it's just that I've haven't been able to bring myself to open it.  They dog me anyway: 'You know you DON'T have proper lighting. You don't have the technical knowledge or the education and you know darn well that you well that you have major mental blocks when it comes to f stops and apertures and that sort of thing.' Now, that is the truth. I spend hours each and every day playing with photos, but I have to confess, I cannot absorb the technical stuff. I have a rebellious nature about instructions and subconsciously I seem to go to great lengths just to figure out things my own way. In my own little world, it works. It's when there's an expectation beyond that, those irritating, persistent Inadequacies go on a tangent. 

But yesterday I had to shove them down and get on with the job of trying to capture my precious wee grandbabes.  After the fiasco with Spencer in June - five hours and only one photograph, I have been letting the Inadequacies win and have stuck to the fields. I keep thinking 'He's still little - we'll do it one of these days.' I thought that because he was such a little guy, we'd get to keep him tiny for longer.  Well, seeing him with Georgia yesterday was a huge wake up call. I absolutely have to get past all those issues and capture those sweet faces quickly.

It was a three person job. Over two hours for with only one set up. Almost three hundred pictures and just a couple that are usable. Again, confirmation that this type of photography is NOT what I can do, should do or want to do. It is best left to the professionals and I will stay as far away from it as I can. But for my own grandbabes, I'm going to have to make an exception. They hopefully won't be judging and evaluating the process.


If someone was to be observing how we got this done - the table cloths and the coffee table and the desk lamp, they would surely side with my Inadequacies.


BUT ... it has got to be done. So, Inadequacies, leave me alone - our babies are growing. We're going to give it another shot today.

As an example of my usual 'stretch' in not having the right props and having to come up with something creative afterwards ... have a look at his covering.  Of course, I can't put fully naked pictures of our babe splayed - newborn is one thing, but 12 weeks - well, that could be downright embarrassing for a guy. Any clues to what his 'blanket' is?

The Georgia Homecoming

While Andy went to pick up his girls, Gibson and I got ready for the big homecoming. He was quite serious and focused on getting the job done, which really had more to do with the fact balloons were involved more-so than a baby.

After the balloons, it was time for the sign. Enthusiasm for markers and paper follow right behind balloons. He made sure every square inch of that paper was covered; his favourite design being 'hands'.  He needs no encouragement to draw - he finds a pen and it won't be long until he finds a surface to use it on.

As it turns out, balloons and markers don't hold a candle to his greatest pleasure with the task - his new found fascination with duct tape.  I know exactly what to get him for Christmas. Other than the fact that every second piece gets 'wrecked', it will be a very cheap way to entertain him for hours.

Then Georgia arrived home. He was very cool about it - not overly impressed one way or another. The only reaction there was from him was when they were talking about rooms and Ashley asked him if Georgia had a room. He laughed and said 'No.' with such a chuckle, as if she had just said the most ludicrous thing in the world. 

Cool as a cucumber, that little dude was.  You'd have to wonder if he really grasped that this newbie was going to be moving in permanently. But soon it was fully apparent that he understood the program.


When Ashley sat down on the couch, she noticed new pen mark that hadn't been there when she left.  She said to Gibby, 'Did you write on the couch?  You know you shouldn't do that.'  He replied, with such seriousness: 'No. De BABY do dat.'  Ash shook her head and said 'No Gibby - YOU did that.' He looked her right in the eye and again he insisted with great conviction and emphasis: 'NO. De BABY do dat.'  

Two years old, minutes into his new big brother role and he's found how totally handy it's going to be to have a sibling. He's a sharp cookie for figuring that out in record time, and she's a sharp cookie for being able to draw at 48 hours old.