Laundry

     Yes, I took a picture of the stack of shorts I ironed for my husband. What can I say? Sometimes even ironing can be a beautiful thing.

     And there is also the blossom of satisfaction in catching up, and the sweet fruit of tending to the needs of someone I love.

     Furthermore, I have gained new insight into the word stone-colored.

Above the Earth

     My husband and I attended a conference in Southern California last week. We stayed in a hotel on Mandalay beach. As appealing as the days filled with salt-wind and sunshine were, the most memorable portion of the week was the morning that astronaut Jeff Williams came to speak to us. Colonel Williams has taken more photos of the earth from outer space than any other astronaut and he brought some of them to show us. Out of the billions of humans who inhabit the earth there are, by comparison, only a handful who share his unique experience and perspective—less than 600. By the time he was finished speaking to us, I felt so crammed with creation I was ready to burst with the wonder of it.

     Colonel William’s interest in photography developed during his first six-month assignment aboard the International Space Station. He said that, while he had the option of watching movies or reading during his free time, he chose to spend it doing things he couldn’t do on earth; so looking out the window and taking pictures from 200 miles above the planet became his passion.

     The astronaut’s words resonated within me as our plane departed from the Los Angeles airport a few days later. I usually read while flying and had a book in my bag that I was already engrossed in. But it was a clear, sunny day and I had a window seat, so I left the book in my bag and spent the first two hours of my trip enjoying a vantage point I couldn’t appreciate with my feet on the ground. At sunset, as we began our descent into O’Hare airport, I remembered I had a camera in my bag and pulled it out to take pictures of the sunlight glancing off the cloud tops.

     Even though I am not much of a photographer, I regret that I did not remember my camera sooner. I took pictures with my memory, of course, but my memory often frays as time goes by. Still, I carry with me a mental image of the boundary waters of a continent, the wave-worn shores of a sinuous blue coastline dissolving into mist; the diamond-glare of solar fields harvesting sunlight in the desert; and the sudden wrinkle in oceans of dust as they climbed into mountain cliffs and dove into deep canyons the color of sunset. I watched two whole hours of landscape pass beneath me before clouds began to intrude over the Rockies. Even then, the clouds have a quality of mutable wonder belonging only to them and are worthy of remembrance.

     I think that the next time I fly I will keep my camera closer than my book. 

"The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder."

                                         ~ G. K. Chesterton ~

My Picture Gallery - Just a Hare

Field Hare by Albrecht Durer

     It began with just this one hare hanging over the piano in our first apartment. We bought the frame at a garage sale; my husband cut the matting for it with a hand tool. Herr Albrecht was soon joined by others--hares and rabbits alike--and not just pictures but plaques, figurines, book ends, napkin rings, plush toys, cushions, Christmas ornaments and even a lamp finial and candle.

     They do tend to multiply.  

     Eventually I grew weary of rabbit bric-a-brac and many of them ended up in garage sales. Not this fellow; I have never grown weary of him.

     I have bought many of the pictures I own because they speak to me in some way, but I bought Field Hare just because I liked the look of him. Herr Albrecht has been hanging in our home on one wall or another for nearly forty years. His clothes have changed—new matting, new frame—but I am so accustomed to having him around that I have developed a sentimental attachment to him. He will probably hang around for as long as I do.

Stoned

     We went to the beach last week. It was a lovely blue day with big clouds and easy breezes. We ate fried chicken and cherries from the Piggly Wiggly then walked along the shingle shore.

     I stopped to pile stones on a driftwood log, and then put some in my pockets to carry home.

Short Stack

Sunnyside Up

Nestling

Swing

    Pebbles are a sociable class of clast, so I put the extras together in a shallow stone bowl where they wouldn't be lonely.

Dancing in the Moonlight

     We went for a walk at dusk yesterday. It was a cool, quiet evening with a gibbous moon teasing shadows out of the twilight and fireflies winking across the lawns like fairies. As we walked, night strolled past trailing darkness in its wake. We spoke in hushed voices. Then, on the far side of the neighborhood, I noticed a thick piece of chalk some child had forgotten on the sidewalk. I picked it up and wrote:

Gossamer fairy was here dancing in the moonlight

     I wish I could have been hiding in the shrubbery this morning to see the expression on the chalk-child's face.

Fireworks

     Fribbles, the youngest of my grandchildren, was frightened by the fireworks on the Fourth of July, so I held her on my lap. She covered her eyes and peeked from between her fingers. Later, as her mother was tucking her into bed that night, she said, smiling, that the fireworks were scary and spicy but it was safe and hugs on Grandma's lap.

Not a Self-Portrait

     This is me, Grandma Nib of Nib's End. Girlybird made this portrait of me when she was a preschooler. A rather striking resemblance too. When I asked her why my left arm is so crooked, she said it is because I am getting ready to hit the mouse. Can you see the mouse? That black speck in the lower right-hand corner may look like an insect to you, but it is almost as big as my shoe. I am winding up like Popeye after he has eaten a can of spinach, and, despite the look of terror on my face, I am going to despatch that threatening rodent straightaway. Thwack!

     There are those scattered moments throughout your life when you are given the opportunity to see yourself through another's eyes. Sometimes those moments are flattering, sometimes they are not. I realize there is a measure of idealism in young children, but in their simplicity they are often the curators of the obvious. Perhaps my granddaughter sees me as more courageous than I see myself. It is nice to feel like someone's hero now and then.