The Egg on the Sidewalk

Not far from where I used to live (we just sold our house), there is an inviting manmade lake not far from the county’s sports complex.  A mile long sidewalk wraps around the lake.  Not only is it a great place to work up a sweat, it’s a great place to observe different types of birds, mostly Canada geese, ducks, and every so often, other water fowl.

One particular morning, as I was into my second mile, I spotted a round, white object on the walkway, up ahead.  As I got closer, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

My approach didn’t seem to disturb the few Canada geese and ducks that were nearby.  Some walked around the egg, as though they were shoppers in Wal-Mart, circumventing a pile of clothing that had fallen off nearby shelf. 

At first, I didn’t know what to make of it.  I joined their circle and stood, staring in silence with them.  Finally, I couldn’t keep my peace.

“Which one of you did this?” I sternly asked.  The birds just looked around.  One practiced a single leg stand, but not a single sound from any of them. 

Looking towards the domestic ducks, I asked,  “Is this yours?”  Since I’m not an expert enough to determine whether the egg was a domestic duck egg or a Canada goose egg, I thought it was best to interrogate both parties.

I repeated.  “Does this belong to any of you?” I was sure both sides would have been pointing a wing to the other group. 

Sadly, there was no one willing to claim the offense.  Not one honk on its behalf.

 I bent down and gently picked up the abandoned egg and placed it on the grass alongside the walk.

It deserved that much.

Rust in Peace

Photography is pretty simple stuff. You just react to what you see, and take many, many pictures.  (Elliott Erwitt)

I’m always game for a spur of the moment road trip because it interprets “photo op”.   When hubby agreed to spin off from a business trip, I couldn’t wait to see where we’d end up.  It happened that he chose to point our Honda Pilot in the direction of Carrabelle, Florida.  All I can say is I knew it would be an adventure.

The ride was uneventful.  I kept a close eye for some unusual or breathtaking site, but after miles of staying vigilant, I finally gave up.  All of a sudden, I could see something quite large ahead, but I couldn’t make it out.  As we got closer, I can only describe it as the most magnificent display of rust. “STOP!” exploded from my mouth.  There was a circular driveway, but the ruts were too deep to safely pull in, so hubby looked for a place to make a U-turn.  

I had found Mater’s family.

Your photography is a record of your living, for anyone who really sees. (Paul Strand)

Hubby pulled over as I fumbled with a lens. I swung the car door open, jumped out, and hurried towards the lineup.  One of them was holding a sign, “May You Rust in Peace” which made me grin all the more.  Mouth like grills and eye like windows stared back.  It was as if they were waiting for me to speak that one magic word that would bring them, once again, to life.

As I moved from one truck to another, clicking the shutter, I began to think about the people who were attached to these historic pieces.  Who were they?  Where did they drive these treasures?  What did they look like when they were first purchased?

I squatted down to change my perspective.  There didn’t seem to be a bad angle.  

No matter where I stood, I loved them all.  It was one of those times when I wanted to share my find with everyone.  It was a place that needed a guest book.

In the world of photography, you get to share a captured moment with other people. (James Wilson)

Those ten minutes were like eating the finest dark chocolate.  One or two or six just weren’t enough.  I wanted more and more and more.  I felt like an addict.  There’s no telling how many photographs I would have taken had I had more time.

During the remainder of our drive, there were the usual coastal views to photograph.  I took a few beach shots, and some around historic Apalachicola, Florida.  I missed an opportunity to get some Pelican shots, but that’s okay.   None compared to these gems.

On our way home, we passed Mater’s family and friends for the last time.  I felt a little sad and hoped others would stop to appreciate their beauty as I had.  

I wonder if Mater knows everyone is okay.

If you’d like to view more of Mater’s family, https://www.flickr.com/photos/29202967@N03/sets/72157653847300202

My Mandala Monday

I colored my first Mandala, today. About a month ago, I ordered my "coloring" book from Amazon, but it's been hiding between two spiral notebooks on the dining room table.  A couple of times, I thought about it while hubby and I were watching television, but I didn't have enough nerve to make it public.

Today, was perfect for it because I was subbing at school for the online recovery credit class. Having the kids all on computers gives me a lot of time to read, write, ....or, color.  If it weren't for purchasing an inexpensive travel set of colored pencils the other day, I might not have started.

I thumbed through the assorted designs.  I didn't see any one in particular, so I just made a random selection.  I unzipped my black travel kit of colored pencils. Did I mention thrill? Inside, to the left, were a dozen newly sharped pencils - yellow, orange, purple, red, pink, dark blue, light blue, green, dark green, black, white, and brown.  They were held in place by 2s with two black elastic bands. To the top was a small white eraser and a blue pencil sharpener that would accommodate two different sized pencils.  Both items were held in place the same way.  To the right was a small artist pad for sketching.  It, too, was also held in place by two bands of black elastic.  The case also had a nifty little strap to loop around my wrist. Not a bad buy for seven bucks.

It took me a few seconds to decide what color to start with and where to start.  I wanted the process to be more involuntary, if that were even possible.  If only the whole ordeal were separate from my control, like a colorful free write. I began to focus on how I held my pencil.  I held it like a knitting needle in my right hand, using the side of the lead, rather than point on to do most of my coloring.  My art teacher encourages me to hold my paint brush like that to keep my painting from being so "anal" (as she puts it).  The only time I was direct on the point of the lead was when I had to squeeze into the tight angles of the star like shapes. 

As I swept back and forth across the page, I noticed how gently and carefully I was coloring. I was very conscious of staying with the lines.   All sorts of thoughts began to flow. I thought about my own personality. Controlled.  Comfortable in the lines.  Another thing I noticed was it was easy to finish one area before going to the next. And, even if I didn't, I could jump right back I where I was before.  I liked the containment on a smaller scale.  I wish house work went this easily.

Mandala comes from a Sanscrit word meaning circle.  It represents wholeness and our relationship with the infinite, whether it extends beyond us or within our bodies and soul.  Some of my friends and I joke about getting together for a Mandala afternoon.  I wonder what kind of snacks I should serve?

Sail On Sydney Lanier

The Sydney Lanier Bridge

"How many more pictures are you going to take?" My husband's tone was a mix of frustration and tease.  Okay, so I have this thing about the Sydney Lanier.  It's not just any old bridge, to me.

It's a tall ship announcing its arrival on the inter coastal waterway. It gives me goosebumps. You know, like the Statue of Liberty in the New York harbor - "Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor..." Majestic in its own right.

It was 1999 when we crossed the original Sydney Lanier bridge.  My husband had taken a job at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC).  We were moving to Brunswick, Georgia from Phoenix, Arizona.  The bridge was like a gauge that said 'you have successfully reached the east coast!"

In 2001,  the bridge was rebuilt to accommodate the growing area.  Even after all these years, the feeling of awe has not faded.  I feel like I'm on top of the world when I'm at its crest.

"I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles, oh yeah."

It wasn't until I started working in the school system that I really connected on a deeper level with Sydney Lanier.  I happened to be perusing one of the literature books when I came upon a poem by none other than Mr. Lanier, himself titled, "The Marshes of Glynn."

"By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.
Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band
Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land."

"Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea?
Somehow my soul seems suddenly free
From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin,
By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn."

Mr. Lanier had been a soldier in the Civil War.  It was during that time he contracted tuberculosis. After returning to civilian life, he turned to poetry in order to allay the suffering of his illness.  It was the beauty of the salt water marshes and the surrounding area of the Golden Isles that gave him solace.

The sails are set

Every view is a good view.  Sydney Lanier, you will be sorely missed.

Harry's Oak

Harry's Oak

Harry's Oak proudly stands on our church's property.  I gave it the name because our church is located on Harry Driggers' Boulevard. Every week when my husband and I go to take care of the church vans, I stand and admire it, thinking what a beautiful painting it would make.  This'll be the last year I get to enjoy these ancients with their diaphonously hung Spanish moss among the branches.

I don't know much about Harry Drigger, except he was one of the earlier builders around town. He built the homes in our neighborhood back in the 70s.  It's been said that he lived in one of the two story brick homes at the end of our street.  Mansions, in those days. They have gorgeous views of the marsh, overlooking the waterways towards St. Simons. No doubt, Mr. Drigger loved trees because water oaks dominate our neighborhood: the very reason we chose to live here over fifteen years ago.

As beautiful as water oaks are, they're a pain in the butt.  This time of the year they drop millions of very narrow leaves.  It's almost impossible to rake them up because they get wedged in between the blades of grass.  How inconsiderate of them. It's best to mulch them in.  By mid-May, they'll have stopped shedding their leaves, and it won't really matter anymore.

By mid-May, we'll have closed on our house.  We'll be packing up the last of our household goods and making our way back home, back north to our beginnings.  It will be the last segment of our lives: whatever's left of the next quarter century.

***********

Forty years, we've traveled long
distances, from coast to coast, creating
memories.  Many are tracked deep into our hearts
like rich loam stuck to the bottom of our shoes.

Narrow leaves of time become wedged
in our lives.  No sense trying to rake them out.
Leave them and let them mulch into the rich
soil of who we've become.