Category: writing

Thursday Thanksgiving

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I mentioned Monday (or was it Tuesday?) that I spent the weekend in Bennetts Point with Mama. It was a “girls’ weekend.” Mama wanted to check up on the place down there, visit with some friends, and attend the community meeting to see what was going on. She also planned to attend services at the new community church, but it is not yet ready for occupancy. We had hoped to take pictures of the new church, too, but the weather interfered with that project!

It has been a long time since Mama and I have had some extended one-on-one time. You know, she has always been my parent, but also my friend. We connect on many levels. She enjoys reading; I love to read. She has been crafty in her years—sewing, knitting, wood working, some painting. She loves to learn stuff. She is interested in many things. She has taught me much about being independent. I think she was a women’s libber before it was popular! I could easily picture her as one of the original suffragettes!

Daddy was often on the road for his job through the week. He worked construction as a laborer, foreman, and finally job superintendent, until his retirement. That meant he often went where the work was—Owensboro, Kentucky; Hattiesburg, Mississippi; various places in North and South Carolina and Georgia, leaving Mama to raise three children and keep the small farm going. I learned a great deal about being independent, making decisions, and being strong from Mama during those years. Even during these last months of Daddy’s life, Mama was strong. She told me that she had been preparing herself to be a widow for the last thirty-five years or so, ever since Daddy was diagnosed with cancer the first time in 1976.

This week, I am thankful for Mama’s presence and guidance, and most of all, for her love and support. I am thankful that she “gets” me, even though I am sometimes the “odd one out” in my family. She understands my introversion (my brother is the same. It’s my sister who is the extrovert!); she gets my need to create things. She knows who I am perhaps better than I know myself sometimes.

Mama is not exactly camera-shy, but she does not like us to take her picture unless she is ready for it, so I don’t have a candid to share from this weekend. But I do have one image that I love. The bottle bush at the end of the driveway is still blooming in November. There were maybe a half-dozen “brushes” still on the bush. And they were such a vibrant and deep red. (I wonder if they would grow this far inland. I know the oleander that grows around the house at Bennetts Point does not like the Midlands of South Carolina. Mama tried to grow one at her house in Peak.)

Beauty is all around us in all places and in all weather. It just takes us being wide awake to the world.

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(I “messed” with the editing. The red is more muted in this image, and a little “bluer” than it was in real life, but art is about vision, and this is what I “see” in my head.)

Textures on Tuesday

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I spent the weekend with my mother at our getaway in Bennetts Point, a tiny coastal community in South Carolina. It’s located on one of the “barrier” islands in the ACE Basin. The weather didn’t exactly cooperate for great photographic adventures, but we did do a little exploring Sunday morning. We set out toward Yemassee and the Auldbrass Plantation, which is actually a quite modern plantation designed by the architect Frank Lloyd Wright. It was “tour” day, sponsored by the Beaufort Open Land Trust, and it was crowded. We didn’t stop, and I didn’t get any photographs.

Our next destination, in the same area, was the ruins of the Old Sheldon Church. We did stop and walk around the grounds for a bit. And I did get a few images. There were few people there. There were a couple of folks leaving, but there was a painter set up working on a canvas of the church. He told us that he had already spent about sixty hours on the canvas and had about forty more hours to go. And this was on the small canvas. He had a large canvas to paint the same subject later on.

Old Sheldon Church is one of many Civil War ruins resulting from Sherman’s march through South Carolina. Actually, there are two version of the story of the burning of the church. In one version, Sherman’s troops burn the church. In the other version, freemen, slaves, and white citizens “raided” the church for materials to rebuild homes after Sherman marched through and destroyed homes. After the church was looted, it was burned perhaps to hide the evidence. I don’t suppose we will know the true story.

These kinds of ruins fascinate me, not only because the history behind them, but because of the striking visual image they present. Naturally, I did not resist the urge to photograph them.

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This is my final version of the image. I used two layers of textures from the Photomorphis Artistic Background and Painterly Background collections. I changed the blending modes and opacities, and painted off the textures over the church ruins. Then I applied two actions: a vintage action and a twilight action, again adjusting the opacity and painting off the effects to bring out the ruins.

I wanted to achieve a kind of “brooding” look, a little mysterious, a little ominous, to match the history of the ruins.  The ruins are surrounded by graves of folks long dead. I think again of the lines from Emily Bronte’s novel Wuthering Heights when Lockwood, the narrator, looks out over the moors where Katherine and Heathcliff are buried and says that he cannot imagine “unquiet slumbers.” I can imagine the unquiet slumbers around these old church ruins, and can easily picture the men and women who founded the church and attended worship here.

Thursday Thankfulness (It’s Back!)

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I lost track of my Thursday Thankfulness. I began this series, if you want to call it that, about three years ago or so. In 2012, my family moved into our new home, almost six months after a fire destroyed the home we had. I was no longer teaching in a local public school (for a lot of different reasons), and I was feeling the loneliness set in. Then one day, as I was reading some blogs by some Christian women writers, I saw a call to apply to be an (in)courager. Not at all sure what that meant, I filled out the application, and I became a member of the (in)courage team. I co-led a group of empty-nest moms learning how to fly as our fledglings flew from our nests. One of my co-leaders and I devised a “schedule” for the week: tasty Tuesdays where we shared recipes for one or two people and Thankful Thursdays, where we shared our gratitude lists for the week. Even when I left the role of (in)courager, I kept up the practice of Thankful Thursdays.

And then I sort of dropped the whole blogging ball. I went back to work as an adjunct English professor for a local college. It’s part-time work, and my salary is almost a third of what it was as a public school teacher with nearly 30 years experience and National Board Certification, but it suits me at this season.

I have to admit that I do miss having my “boys” around. They are all grown up and have left the nest. One is a public school band director; the other is working his way up in management of a start-up construction business.  They live in opposite (or nearly so) corners of the state, each setting up “housekeeping” for themselves. I have had to find new identities for myself, and I am still figuring it out.

I am thankful, though, that I have this season to pursue my passions. Music has been a big part of my life from the time I began taking piano lessons as a child. I thought I wanted to major in piano performance in college, but I went another path instead. Now, three years shy of sixty years old, I am taking lessons again.

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I always wanted to be an artist, too. I wanted to be able to draw and paint and create beautiful things. I even taught myself some art techniques. But my real art comes from my camera and Photoshop. I am taking this time to learn to use my camera to create art and to capture the beauty in the world. I am thankful for those opportunities.

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And in this season of grief, I am thankful that I have family to support me. This weekend, I will be going out of town with my mother. We are going to Bennetts Point, where she and Daddy bought a one-acre lot, put up a mobile home, and used this place to get away to go fishing, shrimping, or crabbing. We have some work to do to winterize the place. It will be a good time for Mama and I visit. She has always been one my best friends and inspirations. From her, I learned how to be independent, to make decisions, and to “take charge” albeit reluctantly at times. It was so for Mama as well. I’m sure there will be moments of longing for Daddy while we are gone, but I will be thankful for the memories I have of him playing and enjoying himself in this beautiful place.

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I hope that you will join me in this month of gratitude to share your thanksgiving and gratefulness for all the many gifts you have received.

Contemplative Photography Journey—Day 9 (on the 16th)

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This week, I have found the camera. Actually, I’ve been carrying it around. I took it with me to a family reunion on Sunday, and it sat on the table unused. Instead, I spent the time talking with relatives I see only once a year or so, but have contact through social media and email and such.

I made memories.

I mentioned earlier this week that I took my mother on a road trip to North Carolina to get apples and to visit a vineyard for a wine tasting. The camera rode along, but stayed quietly in the back seat. Instead, Mama and I talked and shared memories of Daddy.

Sometimes, it is important to create the images in my head rather than on a camera sensor.

But now, that Canon 7D calls me and begs me to take it out. The part of me that still grieves four losses in the last two months resists that call. The abyss still looms. Yet, in the abyss, I see beauty.

I am reading Freeman Patterson’s book Photography and the Art of Seeing. While Patterson does not call what he talks about “contemplative photography,” it is very much in that vein. He gives the “theory” of learning to see the photograph, not just through the lens of the camera. It is very easy to “point and shoot” with a camera these days, and digital photography makes it easy to shoot images without thinking, as we had to do when we were limited to twenty-four or thirty-six frames on a roll of film. I’m finding that as I practice contemplative photography, I take fewer images and spend more time looking.

Both Patterson and Christine Valters Paintner advocate looking at the world through what Paintner calls a “soft gaze.” Patterson describes it this way: we look at the scene or subject in front of us taking note of what’s there. Then we allow our vision to go out of focus, still noticing, though what is there, this time in terms of lines, shapes, colors. Then we bring the scene back into focus, looking at specifics until we take our vision out of focus. We repeat the process until we are ready to photograph.

As I walk, I seem to walk without that sense of “focus.” I become conscious of color and shape and even lines (although sometimes I think I resist the lines because of my very global learning style and tendencies). And these are the things that I tend to photograph.

untitled-2My red hibiscus is blooming even in October. Warm days and lots of rain have encouraged it. The softness of the color, the yellow and sort of pink and the cone shaped bud captured my attention.

untitled-14The contrast of the purple and the yellow caught my eye as well as the rays of the petals of the zinnia around the center.

untitled-24 Goldenrod may make me sneeze and my eyes to water and my nose to itch, but there is so much texture in the flowers and the grasses behind it.

The purpose of the practice of contemplative photography is not to make great art so much as it is to teach us to see the world as it is. In this practice, weeds become wildflowers, and wildflowers become beauty.

Coming out of the Abyss—Day 8

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It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.

Joseph Campbell

Today, it is time to start the climb out of the abyss and return to the known world.

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Today, I took out the camera and my trusty Zune player, loaded my “Fun” playlist. It is mid-October, and the world is beginning to shift from its summer greens to the oranges, reds, and browns of autumn. The sky this morning was a clear blue, and the atmosphere was clean that the light almost hurt my eyes. Everything seemed brighter, clearer, and sharper.untitled-2

It seems that I have been in the abyss for awhile, wandering around, trying to find my way out. One thing that helps is to look for beauty in whatever form I can find. And using the camera helps me find it. Beauty becomes the boon that lifts me back into the known world.

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Write 31 Days Reset

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Oh, my goodness! It is mid-way through October. Last week, I was derailed. If you followed the news at all, then you know that South Carolina was slammed by the worst flooding in more than a century of keeping records. We had record rainfalls for a single day, some places receiving more than twelve inches in less then twelve hours. So many people have been displaced; some are still in shelters. Schools were disrupted for up to a week, and the city of Columbia’s water system was contaminated for eleven days. Roads are still closed, bridges washed out, sink holes still forming and collapsing under roadways.

On top of that, the students of the school where I teach lost a classmate, and we all dealt with unspeakable sorrow and grief.

My camera and my voice went silent.

In Joseph Campbell’s discussions of the archetype of the hero’s journey (or the quest), the hero must descend into the abyss, the lowest point of his journey. It is in the abyss that the hero often receives a boon, or a gift of some sort, to take back with him or her when he or she returns to the known world. Sometimes, the gift is a tangible object or a talisman; sometimes it is a scar from a battle wound. This talisman, gift, boon (whatever you want to call it) reminds the hero of the journey and the lessons learned.

Last week, I fell into an abyss and slowly I am working my way upward.

This week, I am resetting myself on the 31 days in October journey. My boon, if you will, was a day spent with my mother on what would have been her fifty-ninth wedding anniversary. Daddy has been gone for two months now, and the grief is still present, still fresh, and still deep. We bought apples from an orchard in North Carolina, and we tasted delicious wines at a local vineyard. We talked, shared memories, and cried a few tears. My mother has been more like my best friend since I was a little girl, and this trip was just another way to celebrate that special bond.

By the way, my mother is a bit “camera shy” and there are not many pictures of her in my archives.

So, today, I begin the 31 days reset. And today, I will seek out other gifts to bring along with me for the journey.

How to be Thankful on Hard Days

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Sometimes I wonder if St. Paul was even human. How did he keep his spirits up when his world was falling apart around him? How can he say that we should give thanks in all circumstances? There are times I just shake my head and stick my tongue out at him.

Paul says in just about every letter he wrote to the early Christian church that believers should give thanks in all circumstances. He implies, if he doesn’t say so directly, that there are blessings in everything. Ann Voskamp reiterates that message in her wonderful book One Thousand Gifts.

The last four weeks have been difficult. If I had to count, the last eight weeks have been hard. My father was hospitalized right after Independence Day (the week after) for severe dehydration. At the time, we also knew that he had some sort of “blood disorder,” perhaps myeolofibrosis. The tests indicated later that not only was he having this blood disorder which caused his hemoglobin to be very low (two pints of blood transfused before he left the hospital), but he also had pancreatitis, which caused the nausea that led to the dehydration. Later, the blood work would indicate lymphoma.

On August 11, Mama readmitted Daddy to the hospital. He was weak and could not stand without assistance. After a long spell in the ER, he was admitted to the intermediate intensive care unit. He was sedated and fell into a sleep. On the morning of the 12th, the doctor told Mama that there was nothing more that they could do: his uric acid level was very high as was his potassium and magnesium levels. His kidneys were shutting down. His blood sugar was very low. Daddy never woke up. At about 10:15, Daddy took a breath and slipped from this world into Paradise, his family surrounding him.

John Donne wrote a poem to his wife before leaving for France on a diplomatic mission called “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning.” In the first stanza, he wrote:

As virtuous men pass mildly away

And whisper to their souls to go,

Some say the breath goes now,

And others say no. . . .

These lines describe beautifully the quiet passing. Pastor Beverly had not yet arrived, but when she did, she spoke the words from John 14, “let not your hearts be troubled. . . . where I go there are many rooms, and I go to prepare a place for you.”  These words also comforted me.

So, how do I be thankful during this hard month of grieving as sorrow? It hasn’t been easy.

First, I have continued my daily practice of listing at least three things for which I am thankful. Sometimes, they are trivial: that cup of warm coffee with foamy Bailey’s Creamer and a splash of salted caramel syrup and honey; or the slant of light through the window blinds at my living room window. Sometimes it’s more “serious,” as the forgiveness I received from a neighbor for something I had been led to believe I had done wrong. And other times, I express the thanks that my father did not have to suffer from the lymphoma (mantle cell lymphoma was the final diagnosis) that had attacked his eighty-eight year-old body.

Second, I am in the process of establishing a meditative photography practice. I take my camera out once or twice a week to walk it (much as we might walk our dogs!). And I gaze at the world around me and notice what an awesome Artist our God is. There is beauty everywhere.

And third, I lean on my friends. I have friends who have been a source of strength and faith throughout this long two months of sorrow, pain, and grief. And I am thankful for them.

I still have to process my images from this morning’s walk. I’m still trying to figure out, though, how to do the Cha Cha Slide while I’m walking and carrying around a giant camera—without looking silly. However, maybe I shouldn’t care! I should just be thankful that I have that kind of problem today!

On Being Brave

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One of my Bible verses that I have used to encourage myself to move forward comes from Moses’s words to Joshua:

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6

The thing is I don’t always see myself as either strong or courageous. I am often afraid and even terrified by “them.” I don’t always live the faith I profess.

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This week, as I sometimes do, I went for a walk around Billy Dreher Island State Park, and I took my camera. I went with the intent of just walking, of course, listening to my music through my headphones, and working on some photography classes. And when I returned home, I posted several to Facebook. I just like to share them.

I had three comments that stopped me:

1. One commenter said she hoped I would put one or more of my photographs in the group’s exhibit sometime soon.

2. Another commenter, a nearly life-long friend (we started school together in first grade at Dutch Fork Elementary—the OLD one that burned about 40 years ago—and we graduated Chapin High School together), asked me if I had considered putting one my photographs in the state fair.

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3. Still another long-time friend said he loved seeing my photographs because they showed that I had an “artistic eye.”

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These comments brought back to the forefront one of my God-sized dreams: to bring the gift of photography to others. I have felt a pull to do something more with my photography than just receive the images and store them on my hard drive (at the end of the year, I will transfer them from the computer to an external hard drive) or share on Facebook or on this blog (which has undergone several incarnations). I thought at one time that I wanted to have a “business,” a portrait business primarily. Now I’m not so sure.

What I do know is that I am afraid, and I am terrified, and I am not strong and I am not courageous to take the steps I want to take. It’s not that I don’t trust that God is with me, because I know He is. I’m just afraid that I will make a mess of things and that I will fail miserably.

Here is what I want to do, and it’s all part of the same dream:

  • I want to lead others to use photography to help them see the world.
  • I want to help others learn to use their cameras to receive and make images that preserve memories.
  • I want to share the lessons I have learned and keep learning.
  • I want create a community that is save for people to try new things.

My son Aaron keeps telling me that I need to put myself “out there.” I wish I had his courage, because that man-child does know how to put himself out there in his world. He does what Thoreau encourages us to do: to march to the beat of our own drummers. But my fears hold me back.

I am not sure how I am going to move forward with this God-sized dream of mine, but I know that I feel more and more that I am called to do this. I am going to take Moses’s words to heart: I will be strong and courageous, and put my fear behind me because God has my back in this. He will be with me and guide me.

Thursday Thanksgiving

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After a month of worry and sorry, it is time for me to pick myself up and change my attitude. St. Paul writes frequently that no matter what the circumstances, we should give thanks. So, I am making my thanks public—on Facebook. Each day I am posting one thing for which I am thankful. Since today is September 3, I am posting my Day 3 thanks here in this space.

Day 3–#RiseinGratitude Yesterday didn’t happen has planned. I should be used to that since the last three weeks have gone nothing like I had planned, but God has a way of intervening sometimes. Yesterday, I felt like being creative. Creative for me often means pulling out my camera and going for a long walk to see what there is to see, to receive (as Christine Valters Paintner says in her writing about contemplative photography) images. In doing so, I see how great my/our God is. What a masterful Creator He is! I did not walk, but I opened some images I had taken two weeks ago and played with editing and artistic choices. Not only did I satisfy that emptiness that lack of making art created, but I also reveled in the beauty that God places in the world. We may have lost Eden in the Fall, but God constantly reminds us of what Paradise is. Just look at this beautiful morning glory! Do you see the hearts? God loves us so much that He reminds of His paradise!#BEDIP

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Belated Thursday Thanksgivings

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Where does a week go when one teaches four days a week from 9:00 a.m. until 10:30 p.m.? Thursday came and went without a word of gratitude from me. I’m falling down on the job here. I should note that even though I am on campus ALL DAY, I do not teach all day. I have two classes during the 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. session and two more in the 5:30-10:30 p.m. session. There is a that three hour “lay-over” between the day and evening sessions that allows me to run errands, eat lunch, catch up on grading, or put my head down on my desk and take a much needed nap. Good thing my little cubby is in the corner and no one can see me snoozing!

I have written several times about parenting a prodigal. The last several years have given me an appreciation for the parable of the prodigal son. I realize that, for me, the parable is more about how to parent such a child. God knows that I go astray often enough, and He does allow me to make my own choices. But when I reach my limits, He welcomes me home with open arms. In the case of my own prodigal, he has reached his limits, and he is seeking refuge at home. And it’s not just that he’s returning to his family and a dwelling place. He is also finding his faith once again, and he is returning to God. I have prayed and prayed; my prodigal keeps me on my knees. This week, God has been moving in so may powerful ways. I can only give Him thanks.

Last week, I had a treat at lunch time. I sat down with my bowl of chicken salad (okay, it was the grocery store deli chicken salad, but it’s almost as good as homemade), looked out the window, and there were four deer grazing on the weeds at the edge of the pond. It was a glorious sight! And yes, I managed to catch a couple of pictures of them. My husband, though, managed to “offend” me by asking if those images were REAL. Would you believe he thought I used some kind of photography trick? Nope, these beauties were grazing in our backyard. I am thankful to share in God’s creation.

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I am thankful that I have a job and a career that I enjoy. Teaching is always frustrating, but when the students are interested in learning and dedicated to making themselves better for the careers they have chosen, when administrators and leaders provide support, it is a pleasure to go to work (even if one must work from sun up until sun down! I enjoy working with the other instructors and sharing bits of our lives with each other.

Life is good.