i have a very good friend, i won't say her name because i know she'll be embarrassed, who is the best photographer maybe ever! i strive to be half as good as she isand i'll spend my lifetime trying, no way! but i love walking through life with my camera. even and especially when i feel blue or lost, the lens reminds me that i live in a beautiful world, that it is up to me to see.
here are some of my photo snippets along the way, in no order, in no specific season or year. just people and places i am blessed to know
#9, the magic cottage
the house my father and grandfather built. my parents
I am am mostly an optimist. But I no longer try to convince myself that something bad will be something good for me in time. And I complain and whine with the best of them.
But mostly, I believe people are good, relationships and connections are just about everything, passion and commitment matter, and karma keeps things balanced. This is what I believe.
But I have to say times feel tough. In America, a congress has fallen apart and there is not much mention of abundance anywhere. The weather is weird and worrisome. And there is weariness.
I say all this at the same time I am having my best summer in four years. I like my work, I'm so psyched writing my book, I'm working out (finally), I love my family, my friends, my garden, my house, Provincetown, the weather.
But I believe the planet is shaky. There is something not healthy and it festers.
I'd like to be wrong. Do you think I am?
What do you think is going on? Do you feel a general of vague sense of worry, of discontent?
In December 2010 Tessa Edwards died. . To many of her friends here in the blogs, and probably in all parts of her life, Tessa being terminally sick was a fact that defied her elegant beauty and international sophistication . She was a South Afrikaner relocated to England, always a colorful South African exquisite painter, an intelligent writer, a humanitarian, a mother and wife., a woman any other woman would be proud to call her friend. . I always thought I would meet Tessa one day. She was deeply involved in helping in Swaziland along with dr. Maithri, and I thought I would somehow volunteer with them for 2, 3 weeks. . Tessa was probably already sick when I first told her about this intention. It was not possible to know that because, unlike our beloved mutual friend Renee, Tessa did not talk much about her illness until near the end of her life. And when she died, it was a shock. . Just weeks before, she sent me a lithograph she made for some of us. She called it “Friendship.” I think she did that to be remembered by, to confirm the permanent bonds of friendship, a reminder that death doesn’t end that. . A few nights ago, my partner JB presented me with a collage she created from Tessa’s paintings, from Tessa’s women. JB is a sometimes reluctant and very talented artist herself and I am close to tears looking at this gift she has given me. She has honored Tessa and captured her vibrant legacy. I will frame this piece and I expect I will always keep it near. . If you knew Tessa, or if you look at this collage and can just tell how special she was, would you like a copy of this original? I will have three (3) good quality prints made and will ask Emily Rabbit to draw three names.The only requirement for you to be eligible for this drawing is that you have to say one way that one person can make the life of another person better. (We are all better when we share things like this.) . One thing about blog relationships: you can’t grieve losses in the same way. Renee died and then Tessa died. I didn’t know their families, their friends, I didn’t get to say my best goodbye. But that doesn’t change the fact that something permanent, something good, has been imprinted and will remain in my heart, always. . P.S. I will never forget you, Tessa. I hope you like what JB has done with your work. I know you do. Please give Renee a long kiss from me. Take care of one another. Together Strong. . Love kj
This is the Provincetown Monument. Many people including me see Donald Duck when they look at the Monument head on. JB and many others see nothing and have stopped trying. I offer you your own peek.
I wrote a post but just deleted it. I didn't like it. I will leave the photos and instead say thank you for your friendships and visits and comments. Some friendships will be life long. I cannot find the right words to express how much our collective blogging experience means to me. I am inspired here.
My beloved Jessica turned 34 this week. She will have her third child within the month. ♥ to you Jess. love kj
Please join me in remembering YET ANOTHER great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Dough Boy died yesterday of a yeast infection and traumatic complications from repeated pokes to the belly. He was 71. Dough Boy is survived by his wife Play Dough, three children, John Dough, Jane Dough, and Dill Dough, plus they had one in the Oven. Services were held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes
thanks to Laura at my workplace for sharing the news
I needed to change Drew's diaper. He is two and very wiggly so it is sometimes a challenge to keep him stationary. The diaper was on the coffee table and I was ready. Drew was on the couch he was ready. No diaper. I looked on the floor, under the table, everywhere nearby. No diaper. I had just seen it so it was not possible that it had disappeared. But it had.
I stood up, went into the bedroom, got another diaper, and came back to the coffee table.
There in plain sight was the missing diaper. On the coffee table where I had last seen it. It had somehow reappeared. Somehow the molecules reconfigured? Or my ability to see and then not see and then see again shifted?
Has this ever happened to you?
I could provide an easy dozen examples: reappearing objects, sounds and sights that don't make sense, messages from a beloved pet direct from heaven, the special flower my Father sends me every year without fail, appearing where it should not, when it should not.
I have been wondering why it is that these windows and mysteries are not acknowledged and not encouraged at very early ages, when we are young children; why, quite the opposite, what we see and what we know is discouraged and dismissed as illogical and impossible.
I wouldn't trade the ability to SEE. Sometimes this means I see more and sometimes I see less, but I wouldn't want to miss the any of the unexplainable.
Sometimes there are glass balls where there should be flowers. I have no problem with that.
Hello everyone, it's me, Emily.I have been very busy reacquainting with Gregory Squirrel and Muck, Truck and Fuck Duck in Provincetown. Gregory and I have been swinging through trees and one time we knocked over some sculpture that looked like a naked wrinkled man but it was just standing there below the tree and when we jumped on it, the jellybean bag I was carrying knocked off the head but really what kind of a head would roll off like that just because a jelly bean bag hit it? We hopped and ran away very fast because you may remember Gregory and I were arrested last year and kj said I would have to use the allowance i don't by the way get if I have to ever get bailed out again so I am trying to avoid that.
Anyway, what I want to write about today is exercise. Did you know that kj is working with a trainer and she is pulling and pushing these bars with her stomach and arms and legs and even toes and she keeps saying her muscles like the attention but maybe I'm not supposed to say she is doing this anyway I have some exercises that I KNOW everyone will like:
The Bunny Bop: Jump off a couch and land on both feet at the same time. The more advanced version is to jump off a couch while holding a ice cream cone with one scoop of chocolate and the super advanced version is to jump off a couch while holding an ice cream cone with two scoops of mint chocolate chip , and whatever version you do, part of the exercise is making sure nothing drips.
The Push Somebody: This is easy: you just walk in a crowd and push some one who looks mean and you use your arms or hips or legs to push but the best part of the exercise is you have to look like you aren't pushing because if it's obvious get ready to get in trouble. The person you pushed could even have you arrested.
The Boo Hoo Kick: You lie down anywhere like the floor and kick your feet in the air in all directions, BUT you have to cry from your stomach at the same time while you are BOO HOOHOOHOO BOO BOO HOOING. This exercise is also for temper tantrums and it works very well but you have to be sure you don't kick an 8 year old cry baby who will tell her mother and get you in trouble.
This is enough to get you started, right? I hope you will not be influenced by the fact that kj has refused to do these exercises except that she did jump up not down one time with a cup of cherry garcia ice cream but that shouldn't really count because cherry garcia is not even one of the exercise ice creams even though I might be willing to consider it. Yours truly Emily Rabbit
It's 10:15 on a beautiful night and I have been writing most of the day. And yesterday too. I missed my deadline to complete my 200 page manuscript by June 30th and even with this extension I will not have more than 25 pages to share with the four women who along with me are writing a book length book. There are five of us, counting me, and we began writing together two years ago. We meet every eight weeks or so and we write and send out 30 pages at a time for review and feedback when we meet on one Saturday for the day, lunch included.
The instructor has so much enthusiasm and writing knowledge that I am so lucky to have her guidance and encouragement. Among the other women, one has written a magnificent story about her grandfather and his brother who won an Alaskan goldmine in a poker game in the mid 1800's. She started off writing her grandfather's story in Alaska but it has also become her story, so it spans a hundred years or more.
Another woman is writing about her dysfunctional family and what it meant to a ten year old child when her father walked out of the family and a compassionate priest helped her find her strength.
The third woman, who is struggling with her own permission to find her words, writes about her son's cancer and the dissolution of her marriage.
JB asked me today what my book is about. I don't know how to answer that, yet. I think it is about love and betrayal and transformation and redemption. It is about one relationship that is enduring and steady and another that is dysfunctional and passionate and it is about a journey to let the heart break open but not the seams.
As of now I have completed nine chapters and 30 pages. I have another 200 plus pages in draft form, some just dialogue, some story snippets, some quotations and letters and some efforts at penance and some hateful harmful words.
It's my job to tie all of this together into a coherent compelling story that somehow transforms not just the characters but the reader.
I told a friend last night that I know I am not a great writer but I love the process of trying to be a good writer. Right now I am sitting in my new breezy porch with all the giant sliding windows open. It is jet black outside and I can see a corner of light in JB's Magic Cottage, where working her own magic. My dog Stella is restlessly on the floor in front of me; she is not well much of the time but this week she has told us clearly that she wants to be here and we will help her do that as comfortably as she can be.
In writing this my second novel, which is a novel with some parts relived and some parts made up, some of the past five years has been stirred up and not all of it is good. I still don't know how my book will end. Really, I have no idea. My writing teacher, who has seen several drafts already, advises me to assure the reader early on that the character Casey will be okay. I wish I could do that, and I probably can. But I have feeling Casey wants more than just 'okay'. And why shouldn't she?
It is now 10:40. I am half way through four days that I can devote primarily to writing this book. I have weeded the garden, visited my Mom, gone out with JB shopping and eating. But I have time to write this weekend. Tomorrow I will let go of 25 pages and send them off to my writing group in near final form, off for them to read and respond. What a gift.
There are moments now when I feel contentment taking root. Maybe you don't know I've had a hell of a few years: loss, betrayal, vilification, unforeseen shock through all of it. I still believe I am learning a lesson that is not yet clear to me. But I still believe.
Would you be interested in taking a walk with a four year old boy who with his grandmothers is going to the shell shop to buy a special shell for his beach collection and another special shell for a special place?
You might see some interesting sights; after all, this is Provincetown...
Not your average fish pond, don't you think? (enlarge to meet the Barbie Family) :^)
Just outside the Shell Shop we find two fire trucks and an ambulance. They are responding to a big event: smoke in the public rubbish can. This kind of hullabaloo can only happen in a small town (approximately 3500 people in the off season, up to 20,000 each summer)
Then in we go:
Looking at everything before choosing two special shells
Stopping on the way home at a special sanctuary to startle the fish
and look at funny statues
Even stop for a drink
try a different kind of mirror and then....
wade through the crowds of a beach town on a fourth of july weekend
past a house that a certain grandmother wishes were hers
and finish on the walkway where gram and BB live, leaning down and placing a special red shell specially chosen
in a special place under the porch, where gram's friends Marianne and Felix did the same thing a year ago.
And while you're at all this, if you happen to be a grown up, you just might stop for a moment and let it register that this is a very nice way to spend an hour on a warm vacation day with a curious wonderful little boy holding your hand the whole way.