Sweet Orange Memories

The day was overcast and rainy. Mom drove north to Maine, rather than driving south from New Hampshire toward home, because she just needed to see the ocean. Walking into the sand, she hung her bag on the tree that stood on the rocky edge of the beach. 

Like this photograph, there's not much to the story. Like hanging her purse on the tree, it was just a very “Mom” thing to do.  But I have never lost the feeling of this moment, even when I thought the photo itself had been lost to time.  

It took me a decade after mom died, and having 2 kids of my own, to get over my grudge against the month of May. The double whammy of her birthday coupled with Mother's Day, and May was as flat and grey as this photo. 

Learning to be a mother, without my own alive to talk to, I often focused on what was missing. Last year I realized I had to find my way back to what I was lucky enough to have. I also had to find a way to make that monumental task a bit less daunting. Since they say the way to tackle something difficult is to start small, I made a point of recalling the little things. 

Buttered Rum Lifesavers! I spotted a roll one day in a checkout line, and in a flash I was 6 years old, digging in my mommy’spurse. I could practically smell the Revlon lipstick blotted Kleenex. Then thatmoment of delight when she would say with a smile, “Sure baby. Here you go.”  Did mom know that 30 years later her words would be so much sweeter than the candy? 

As parents I think we all know those glittering, exceptional moments when the gauze slips over your vision and you want the world to just stop and let you soak in all the undeniable perfection. No one crying, everyone giggling, contentedly enjoying the same slice of time. I live for those moments. Or maybe it’s that I live in them? Either way. 

Do you ever stop to ponder if your kids recognize that same moment? Does it imprint on their brains the way it does ours? Lately I wonder more and more – what mental snapshots are they taking? 

I have vivid memories of watching rain splatter on the suburban streets of my youth. Sitting with my mom in the hatchback of our car, garage door open, waiting for the lightning flash so we could count until the thunderclap hit us. Sometimes we’d be snuggled in blankets, huddled close. Usually there was no real conversation. We were just listening. Together. 

My 5yo son also has a vivid memory. He loves to recount the adventures we’ve taken; he’s partial to the times we’ve checked out the vacancies in our apartment building. He and his little sister love tearing around the empty rooms, playing hide & seek in closets, their squeals bouncing off the bare walls. Twenty years from now will he still be delighted in this perk of being the Super’s kid?

My Boy. Most days he wakes up before the Sun, the sound of his heavy footfalls on the bunk bed steps are amplified by the monitor that still sits by my bedside. Truly, he sounds like a small elephant crashing through any dream world I might be in.

Although I curse his complete inability to sleep until after dawn, I already miss the way he used to barrel into our bedroom, bounding onto my side of the bed. “Look Mom! It’s the sunrise! The Sun is rising!” Grabbing my phone to check the time, I got into a habit of taking a photo to post on Instagram later, even as I’d whisper, “Yes! Isn’t it a beautiful start to the day?” Then I’d try to coax him to lie down for a few more minutes.

Now, avoiding Mommy trying to get him to rest more, he heads to the living room; I find myself reluctantly rising to joining him on the couch, hoping to play the scene out there instead.

Let’s be honest, as this kid gets older I am learning I need to take my cuddles when & where I can get them.

So as we sit quietly in the dark, our sleepy eyes dazzled by the Sun’s bright orange light rising over the skyline, I can’t help but wonder if all these mornings of cuddling up will blend together. Leaving only the gauzy memory of a picture perfect sunrise.

The Shy Poet & Unexpected Treasures

What follows is the twisted tale of how my photographs came to be published in a best selling poetry book. If you find this to be far-fetched and completely random, well, I would wholeheartedly agree with you. It is, nonetheless, entirely true.

Like all good stories, we must begin with a prologue:

Not so long ago, but in a part of my life seems so very far away, I designed the album artwork for a band. (Like for real, it's on iTunes and everything.) 

You see, my significant other was a friend of the guitarist, & we'd seen them perform countless times. They weren't a "hair band", though oddly all had fantastical hair. Each performance I'd think “I have to bring a camera and capture all of this.” So, naturally, I did just that; taking photos during bar gigs, playing at being Annie Liebowitz or something. 

Maybe they just liked my chutzpah, or probably because they wanted me to knock it off during shows, I found myself invited to shoot during their rehearsals. 

Yada yada yada... my proximity to the band led to me doing not only some photography, but all the graphic design for the band's EP. 

As it happens when artists work well together on one project, the guitarist and I became collaborators on any number of things. Some, like the band’s EP, were brought to fruition. Others, well, not so much. You know how it goes with “artistes” and their artistic endeavors: personalities clash, passions and tempers flare, relationships explode... Finally the project, no matter how utterly brilliant or beautiful, is abandoned. 

Flash forward about 6 years. Which is also a rewind to just a few months ago. But that’s confusing, so never mind. 

So my friend Chasity (aka The Shy Poet) announces she has a deal to publish a book of her original poetry. In our little corner of the Internet this is a very big deal. Her poetry is universal, approachable, often heartbreaking & lovely. 

Not terribly long into her work on the book, she publicly declares a need for images that are not previously published or copyrighted. 

I was sure I’d have a photo or two that she could use & if it would help her, why not? So I threw my hat in the ring & offered up my photography. As did about 90 other people. I mean that literally. And I am being totally honest when I say I NEVER imagined she’d want to use any of my work. Well, maybe one or something, to be nice. I offered because I wanted to help my friend. The fact that this was for print publication was so far out of my thoughts it barely registered.  

So you can understand my total fecking shock when she tells me she’s not only hoping to use some of my photos, she’d really like to use only my photos.

Oh, and can we do this in a matter of days?! Deadlines… 

My first thought (after OMG, yes!!!) was “Whoa... she wants 12??? That means she needs to see a collection to choose from. No, no, no… Oh dammit, I can’t pull together a portfolio of photos for her to pick from in a matter of hours!” Yes, friends and neighbors, full on panic was the emotion. Elation? Yes. But massive panic. 

Then it hit me: The abandoned project.

The guitarist & I had been working on an audio-visual piece under the working title of “Pure.” Had it been destined for gallery installation or YouTube? We weren't sure, but both of us had been pumped. For my part this meant all my spare time was spent editing photos and video montages. With the project shelved, hundreds of photographs went into cold storage on my hard drive. I was too disheartened to do anything with them. 

In that abandoned computer file was the answer to my anxiety attack. I had an archive of photos that were unused, unseen, and easily sorted in a matter of hours. I was able to present Chasity with a portfolio of photos I loved but hadn’t had a reason to work with for years. Finally some of these pieces would get to be a part of something extraordinary: a collaboration with a friend & an artist that I could trust with my work. As intended. 

Problems resolved, I hurried to get things sorted out so Chas could make her deadline. It was days after she'd seen all the photos & maybe not even until the whole project was wrapped that I realized how remarkable the situation was.

Truly the stars had to align for these photos to finally find a proper home. 

Serendipity. Queen of Silver Linings. These are my monikers because I know I have stumbled my way into some fairly remarkable things. I've always come out of the darkness of yesterday into a brighter tomorrow. I continue to be honestly surprised (and humbled) by the path my life has taken. 

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