Project 365 Day 90

Antique Me

I have a friend who has access to lots of estate sale things. I love estate sales (because I don’t have to work them). You see some incredible things that you may never see again, because they don’t sell them at Target or Sears or Ikea. You look at them and wonder what stories they have to tell; what kind of things have they seen and what history have they lived through. In one of the places I lived in England we were within walking distance of a place my parents called a junk store (they refer to it as an antique store if it’s mentioned now...but they were young then and the stuff was more like old junk). We would walk in and there were almost goat trails through all of the stuff. And walking up the stairs to the second level I can remember things even on the stairs to look at. And the smell, not so good, but deep, like it could help conceal secrets that were trying to remain a mystery. I can’t afford going to antique stores, or estate sales for that matter. I see too much I fall in love with. Garage sales on the other hand are more my speed. What is it they say? One person’s junk is another person’s treasure? Well, at garage sales I can very often find a treasure that was junk to someone else. Actually, it usually ends up being junk to my husband, too, but we won’t go there. I picked up a gorgeous frame at a garage sale once. Carried it around with me for half an hour while I looked at other things trying to decide if I really needed it. Well, of course I did. It’s one of those old tilting frames. You know, it holds about a 5x7 photo (about a 5x7 because they had photo sizes that were all over the place back then...whenever back then was) and you can tilt that part of the frame back a little but it sits on a solid base. Anyway, I bring this frame home (I got it for $5)and it’s got this gorgeous portrait of a woman who is probably in her mid-20’s to early 30’s in it and I can’t bear to remove the photo. No kidding. So I named her Aunt Vi (short for Violet). No family history, just Aunt Vi. So, I think I should have a really amazing portrait done of myself, and I’m going to put it in a really cool frame. And on the back of the photo, I’m going to write my own history. Well, a made-up history, because mine is kind of boring, but I will tell them that my name (Candy) is not a nick-name, it’s my given name, and I wouldn’t have had the sweet tooth I do if my parents had named me something cool and sweetly romantic...like Violet.

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A Whisper of Breath

I had my week planned - art all week. I was going to talk about growing up with an artist (my dad) and that literally as far back as I can remember, art is there. And then yesterday my dear friend told me that closing arguments in her daughter’s murder case would be today, and I told her I wanted to go with her to the courthouse. She said she would rather I stayed home and kept her daughter’s memory close to me. So, I did. With the whisper of breath used to say her name, I kept her here with me and my grand-daughter as I made Playdough from scratch (which I hadn’t done since my children were toddlers and pre-schoolers). Dear Megan (there, I whispered her name again) loved arts and crafts. As a young adult (she was barely 21 when she died) she still loved them, and would buy supplies for her friends’ kids so they could craft things. We had fun today, the three of us. I could almost feel Meg laugh as my grand-daughter took a bite of her neon handful of squishy fun and made a face usually reserved for something like brussel sprouts or yogurt (okay...I love brussel sprouts, but yogurt I just don’t get). I found out this afternoon that the jury now has the case. And I feel like I did as much for my friend by staying home as I could have done for her there. After all, I laid down a new memory of her daughter, with just a whisper.

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A Shoe In

I love old things. They feel like history to me. You know when you’re a kid and people would ask you what your favorite subject was in school and the answer was always recess and gym? I would say Reading and History. I hated gym. Jim should only be a man’s name, not a subject. And I think a part of my love of old things was the fact that I spent a great deal of my time growing up in England, where there were alot of really old things and I thought they were really cool. I have some really old shoes. I tell my kids I still have shoes from the 1900’s, and I do. The first “shoes” I remember were flip-flops when I lived in Texas (I was in 1st grade). I remember them mostly because I would be running along and pick up a goat-head on my foot and the ensuing pain involved. If you don’t know what a goat-head is, it’s a loose thorn that, when it lands on the ground has “sharp” on all sides. And I remember a pair of brown Hush Puppies I had when I was 10. I remember them because, although not a fashionista at that age, I knew it was not right to wear dark brown Hush Puppies with a buttery yellow dotted Swiss dress. If I hadn’t known it then (and I DID, Mom!), I definitely know it now. And I loved shoes in the 70’s. I had a pair of 6” platforms that were TO DIE FOR! sigh....I miss those shoes. But shoes really are not my friends. My feet are very hard to fit, so when I find shoes I like, I wear them until they fall apart, or my feet start to suffer. Which is why I told my dear husband this last Saturday we were going shopping for me some new shoes. We’ve been married for 31 years. He knows what it is like to shop for shoes with me and was not excited, to say the least. I did manage, however, to find this lovely pair of Nike Livestrong running shoes. Humorous, considering I still don’t run. But my feet slid into these like they were old friends. You know, I was just thinking....I know people who work at Nike. I wonder if they would like to hear my ideas for some really great, orthopedic-style athletic platform shoes. We could just do it, and maybe make a little shoe fashion history. After all, waffle irons worked!

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It Finally Happened...

I was able to take so many great photos this morning that I couldn’t decide which ONE to use for the day. Last night was the stupid night to change the clocks and lose an hour sleep (which I, by the way, will dearly miss until the fall) and I won’t set my alarm if I don’t have to, so I woke up an hour later than I usually do (but it wasn’t really an hour later...am I the only person that for a month will go, yeah the clock says it’s THIS time, but I know it’s really THIS time). So, I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet and my husband points out that it’s snowing. I swear, I will not plant primroses again. If I had room here I’d write it 100 times. I’m better at predicting the late winter/early spring weather than that poor groundhog they wake up every February second. I can tell by the light and the clouds that it’s not going to be snowing very long, so, like any insane photographer, I jump into yesterday’s clothes, grab a travel mug, my camera and a memory card. No. I don’t even brush my teeth or my hair (and if you don’t know, I have long hair that really should be brushed before I leave the house and take the chance thatI may run into someone). I hit the road and figure I have maybe 10 minutes to shoot so I head to a corporate park that is just a few miles from my home. In 10 minutes I get this gorgeous shot of snow falling on one of the ponds; I get images of dozens of ducks hiding out under still-bare trees eating grass (immediately “Duck and Cover” stories start going through my head - if you’re old enough to remember ducking under your desk and covering your neck to protect you from the nuclear bomb that has just been dropped); I captured an image that had 151 robins on the snow-covered ground, all listening for little shivering worms that they could have for their breakfast. And I know that there were 151, because I took my little PS magnifying glass, and hit every one of them with a little red brush because in my head I figured there were probably 100. So, which photo do I use? Well, of course,the one with no story. Just a quiet, silent moment that will maybe someday push out the harried morning that preceded it. I wonder what I would have shot today if I hadn’t planted those primroses last week? Hmmm....

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