Sweet . . . Tart

Posted on May 18, 2013 by

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It’s difficult to fathom how to commemorate some of the dates and occasions which unsettle the subconscious and make one feel the pull of shadows of scenes past.

One of those is the anniversary of a death.  My clever plethora of sisters-in-law found a  way to observe the day, sending a mountain of strawberries –ahead of their time here,   outlandishly outsized and vivid and bright and sweet, as was our Jim.

This time the children and I, who had raised and clinked water bottles on a mountain top for Father’s Day without him, toasted him with strawberries.

As the family memory keeper from our children’s pre-verbal years, it occurred to me that summer fruits are not as quotidian as one might think.  They are part of the extraordinary ordinary, carrying soothing pictures with them: picking strawberries in a field with our visiting California friends and their little girls when both of us had one toddler and one infant (between us we added another five children); guanabana in Ecuador (a rich fruit that, as one son observed, is neither iguana nor banana-flavored); Jim kneeling in our garden and instructing our youngest daughter, in a pale yellow dress of puckered cotton, in the fine art of cultivating strawberries and raspberries, blueberries and grapes; Jim planting and caring for fruit trees which still sink with the weight of pears and apples and impossibly juicy peaches; discovering as a newlywed that although I could not cook for the life of me, I could manage to get fresh strawberries to dip in sour cream and dust with brown sugar.

One of my sisters-in-law recalls that Jim’s high school yearbook quote was about making lemonade when life hands you lemons.

(Mine was about rebels and tilting at windmills; Jim and I always did have quite the yin and yang going.)

How many people live by their high school yearbook quotes? Continue reading →

Posted in Love and Loss | 1 Comment

Supremely Sweet

Posted on May 17, 2013 by
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Charles Street Cupcakes

My blogger friend spannerr nominated me for a “Super Sweet Blogger Award.”  Thank you, spanner! Perhaps best of all, for those who know me…..this comes with a pastel cupcake graphic!  

For those not in the know about my intense relationship with cupcakes, I shall just say that on the day before Mother’s Day I came across the Best Looking Cupcake in the World (chocolate with salted caramel frosting) at a Farmer’s Market last weekend.  I then badgered my youngest child so relentlessly with ham-fisted hints about procuring this cupcake for Mother’s Day that she finally told me to take a five dollar bill, “Go get yourself the cupcake and keep the change.”

super-sweet-blogging-award Of course, naysayers may protest there is not a prosecutor in the world who would describe herself as “sweet.”  Adversaries no doubt describe me in far, far harsher terms. . . some of which I can hear you muttering in court, guys. (Also, there is perhaps a reason why my daughter’s boyfriend made me this awesome wax envelope stamp for Mother’s Day, but I’ll leave that for another post. . . .)062

Some special rules attend this sweet distinction:

To have a Super Sweet Blogging Award, you have to:

  1. Thank the Super Sweet Blogger who nominated you.
  2. Answer 5 Super Sweet Questions
  3. Include the Super Sweet Blogging Award image in your blog post.
  4. Nominate a baker’s dozen (13) other bloggers.
  5. Notify the nominees of their nomination on their blogs.

The 5 Super Sweet Questions: 

  1. Cookies or Cake? Cake.  So much cake.
  2. Chocolate or Vanilla? Seriously?  Does anyone prefer vanilla?
  3. Favorite Sweet Treat? Salted caramel chocolate anything. . .with the possible exception of some fruits and all vegetables.
  4. When do you crave sweet things the most? Constantly, except when I am too stressed to eat anything
  5. Sweet Nickname? Sweetie-pie…..Mmmmmmmm: pie……..

Bakers Dozen (13 lovely Nominees):  I am so sorry to limit this to thirteen, and these are listed in random order.  So many wonderful bloggers write prose and poetry and take photographs and create artwork. . . .I’ve tried to give samples  among very different types of excellent blogs.  Nominees can just list other nominees; I’ve decided to add a few words on what I love about these blogs.

1.  The Mudflats.  The first blog I fanatically followed.  The writing and photographs are wonderful. . .check out the Alaska skies, not to mention the mudflats themselves. . . and its followers have developed a true community.

2.  Bornbyariver.  The first blogger who followed me, and showed me there are people out there who might actually want to read what I write.  She has a lovely way of writing about meaningful moments and memories.   Also, you can’t think about her blog without hearing Sam Cooke in your head.

3.  Andrew Sullivan.  Because he’s awesome, and because my husband Jim read his blog several times a day.  He and his staff constantly unearth little gems which make one think about the most important issues in life, sometimes with just a “Poem For a Sunday.”

4. Don’t Call Me Doctor. . . Yet.  This blog is written by a medical student–not just any medical student, but one of the medical students who worked with my husband’s body at his alma mater.  The zest, the amazement, the hope, the sheer arduous hard work of becoming a doctor, is captured in her vignettes, which include the incredible “My Donor” post. Continue reading →

Posted in Love and Loss | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Weekly Photo Challenge: A Smattering of Patterns

Posted on May 16, 2013 by
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Parrot-Patterned Tulips, Portsmouth, New Hampshire

A photograph that says “pattern“?

I’ve been stymied by over-abundant choices.

I’m particularly enamored of changing patterns: something may catch my eye from one vantage point, in one cast of light, and then shift, flicker, and disappear.

Of course, I have a proclivity towards patterns in fabric and quilting–especially the “pitter-patterns” I design for baby quilts.

I don’t know quite where to begin or end, so I’ll share a smattering of patterns in my life:

A repeating pattern welded into a Boston sculpture reminds me of soaring birds
Another sculpture’s curved pieces reflect the sun into a bright pattern something like silver wood bark
Lamp light creates a row of ghost spindles
My husband Jim took this photograph of a butterfly whose wing pattern echoes the flower on which it alights
A quilt pattern for a baby named Cadence uses the marching band drum line’s musical patterns
Through the use of color, shade, and pattern, one repeating shape can be transformed into endless variations
A wooden lattice reflected on a polished wooden table creates a wavy work of modern art
Morning light superimposes a rectangular background on the smaller pattern of a bamboo screen
Victorian fish-scale shingles atop brick patterns are a common sight in the neighborhood
The Zakim Bridge’s cables form a vast variation of linear patterns from different angles
Posted in Love and Loss | Tagged , | 7 Comments

From Above: A Heavenly Perspective

Posted on May 9, 2013 by

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London_100317_093

In many ways–some of them quite idiosyncratic–I feel that my husband Jim and I are still a team.

One of the ways in which he remains with me every day–and in which I still can share him with others–is through his photographs.  As I’ve noted before, he was panoramic where I tend to the macro.  He was a big picture kind of man.

During the months before his diagnosis–when he may have sensed just a shadow of the ping of pain that would signal the presence of that hideous tumor–Jim took an extraordinary number of panoramic shots from high up.  He climbed Fibonacci stairs and snapped away from magnificent stone buildings.  He shot swaths of Fenway Park from atop the Green Monster.

Sector-by-sector, he captured slices of bustling cities, ancient structures side-by-side with modern ones.  Century after century, generation after generation, were laid out below:  great vistas above which we were but a fleeting presence.

Some treat the view from above as a sad thing indeed.

Among the high-branching, leafless boughs   
Above the roof-peaks of the town,   
Snowflakes unnumberably come down.
I watched out of the attic window   
The laced sway of family trees,   
Intricate genealogies . . . .
I cried because life is hopeless and beautiful.   
And like a child I cried myself to sleep
High in the head of the house, feeling the hull   
Beneath me pitch and roll among the steep   
Mountains and valleys of the many years
That brought me to tears.

Jim never saw life that way: beautiful, yes.  Hopeless?  Not ever.

After Jim died, our friends in Pennsylvania wrote that they imagined Jim with his camera, surveying sights we can only imagine.

It’s such a comforting image to me.

My Jim, from above.

Posted in Love and Loss | Tagged , , | 6 Comments