Project 365 - The Family Bible

I do not come from a tremendously religious family.  In fact, religion pretty much left my routine some time during high school when my father had a rather nasty falling out with our minister over whether or not to build a new, bigger and better church.  My Dad lost.  He left the church and never looked back. The minister left too, but not before putting in motion his grand scheme.  The new church was built.  Turns out my Dad was right.  The church of my youth is now a senior center.

My mother kept on attending church after the fall, but primarily would only go to the very quiet and sparsely attended 8am service.  She was raised a Methodist.  Her denomination changed to Episcopalian when she married my father  in 1949.  She did her best to be Episcopalian, but, truth be told she never really was.  The better part of her remained with the church of her childhood.

My siblings and I have drifted from religion.  In and out, bouncing here and there.  But, as it stands now, only one of us has an official church of record.  None of us are Episcopalian.  I dance on the edges of Quakerism, but, unlike my son, have yet to commit.  He is a member.  I am best described as a sporadic attendee.

So, why is it that I have held onto this old and battered collection of bibles, prayer books and hymnals?  They stand in the corner of our living room.  At the ready.  I wonder if it isn't more about the connection to family and their connection to a higher power than my own.  A sense of history that grounds me.

Project 365 - Deep In The Woods

A walk in the woods often leads you to new and interesting places.  A waterfall just out of sight, foreshadowed by the joyful sound of water rushing toward bigger and better things.  A spring flower that has pushed it's way through the winter layers of leaf liter and snow to bathe in the warmth of the early spring sun.

You do not necessarily expect to stumble into a piece of forgotten family history.  But there it was, walled off and semi-cared for, the Russell family plot.

There are seven souls occupying this clearing in the woods.  The youngest is an unnamed infant in an unmarked grave.  The oldest is 50 year old John Russell.  They say that John is buried standing up.  Something about fox hunting and hearing the hounds as they beyed.

There is a bench on top of the hill where the Russell family rests.  I put my camera bag there as I changed lenses.  And when I had taken the images I came to get, after I gently closed the wooden gate and latched it tight into the notch carved into the encircling stone wall, I sat for just a moment in respectful silence for them all.

Project 365 - The Sycamore

There are some things that are at their best when you least expect it.  The Sycamore tree is a fine example of that.  All summer long these majestic beauties are covered in huge ratty looking leaves.  As the summer turns to fall, there are no brilliant, blazing colors encircling our stately friend's botanical brow.  Instead it is a headdress of brown and crumbling decay.

Now she stands exposed.  It is then that her true beauty is realized by all who take the time to see her.  Her multicolored bark arranged in random patterns taking on the textures of rough and smooth simultaneously.  Her long and twisted branches reaching far beyond her roots reach below.

The older the Sycamore gets the more pronounced her beauty, the more she stands apart from the average oak or maple. A testament to maturity and strength.

Project 365 - The Capo

My son, John, has no guile. He would make a lousy spy. He leaves a trace of himself wherever he goes.  It is quite unintentional, but there is a definite trail of breadcrumbs to follow when he is around.  Sometimes it is a stray sock stuffed down behind the sofa cushions, a tee shirt that has seen better days left on the stairs to the third floor, or a capo made out of some rubber bands and a blunt ended pencil attached to his sister's guitar.  You always know where he has been.

Mostly, though, you know that John is around by how you feel.  There is a mischievous air, a sly smile and an open heart ready for you to crawl right into. Last Christmas as I was flying around the house in panicked preparation mode anticipating the arrival of family for dinner, I happened upon a bit of John.  Tacked to just the right place was a sticky note.  The note simply said, "Remember to breathe."  That's John.

Project 365 - Yellow Ribbons

Tiny yellow ribbons bursting into
Winter's last glow
Fresh citrus fragrance
Lingers, daring spring
To show her face.

Project 365 - Leaving on Jet Plane

Yesterday, I put my 18 year old son on an airplane bound for Tel Aviv.  The trip is sponsored by his school and, as his senior project, is an important part of his requirements for graduation.  He has been looking forward to this trip for almost a year now.  He wants to experience first hand what it means to live in deep conflict steeped in ancient history and religion.  I admire him.  I would not have had the courage at his age to take advantage of this worldly opportunity.

I would like to tell you that  I watched him pack his luggage without worry.  I would like you to believe that as I smiled while he practiced his haggling skills with his Dad, a shadow did not darken my mood. That as I watched him help an elderly man retrieve his boarding pass from the ticketing kiosk at the airport, I did so without anxiety.  But, I didn't do any of that.  I admit to fearing for his safety as he lives with a family in the West Bank, as he walks the ancient, narrow streets of Jerusalem, as he tries to understand the separation wall, and as he swims in the Dead Sea.

I guess there is only one explanation for my behavior.  I am his Mom. And this growing up business is harder than it seems.

Project 365 - Bluebird

My mother gave me this little wooden bluebird.  He has followed me around the house.  Flitting from room to room, making himself visible in brilliant blue and red. There is something special about his simplicity, his primitive form that, I think, spoke to my Mom as she held him in her hands.  I like to think that I can still feel her hands around his tiny body.  That we hold this bit of blue together.  Our hands overlapping, gently enveloping each other with the promise of things to come.