chronicled & illustrated

white lilacs,
originally uploaded by nuanc.

Lilacs.

Lilacs were not a part of my life until I moved north in my thirties. When I discovered them the first spring, it was as if I had dreamed them. They felt that important and that personal. And yet, I never remember a conscious thought of lilacs before then. Growing up in southern Texas, lilac wasn’t a flower, or a smell—lilac was a color.

In my fifties, I moved even farther north and now I have lilacs in my yard. They are white.

I have to re-dream lilac.

The lilacs in my yard are old; some so tall that we don’t bother to even try to prune them. I can see them from the second story. I imagine they were first planted by Florence Forbes around the turn of the last century when the house was built. She married George Forbes, an engineer and—by reputation—a sweet man, after the death of her first husband. Her daughter by the first husband was named Ava and Ava’s daughter was named Flora.

George and Florence’s house, though large, was a smaller version of his brother’s house nearby. That house was gone by the late 20’s, first abandoned, then vandalized, then burned. The brothers’ family was from Scotland. In fact, George, the elder, was born there. They named their homes after castles in Scotland. The brother’s large house was named Craigevar. George’s more sensible house was named Moneymusk.

George and Florence had no children of their own and when they died in the 1920’s within a few years of each other, the house they built was left to their granddaughter, Flora. But Flora wasn’t the only grandchild. There was another offspring of Ava’s named Billy and Billy, in the vernacular of the times, was a ne’r-do-well. He was a gambler, a drinker (in the times of prohibition) and incidentally, a cripple.

The house was inhabited by Flora and Billy, and soon all of Billy’s nefarious friends. Flora loved the house as she had loved her grandparents. She had lived with them off and on in her later childhood. By that time, Craigevar was no more and her relatives all lived far away in Glace Bay and Baddeck. Some lived in the States. She saw the house she had inherited being turned into a house of ill-repute.

There was a family nearby who had worked for George and Florence. The father did caretaker’s duties and the wife came in to clean. They had four children. In an act of desperation —trying to regain control of Moneymusk from her half-brother, Billy, and his friends—Flora invited the family to come and live in the house.

One can only imagine the sobering effect it had on the ruffians to have a poor, working family with children living in the house. Perhaps there were scenes. Perhaps the friends—who were, after all, only drunks and gamblers, not evil persons—simply left one sunny morning when they realized there were decent people, a family, in residence.

No one knows what happened to Billy.

Flora lived with the family for some months and then, for reasons lost to time, decided to go to the States.

The family stayed and took care of the house. Flora never returned and they stayed and stayed until the mother and father died. The house was left to the oldest son, John R., who stayed and stayed—for many years with his sister, Georgie, who did all the cleaning and caretaking. In his older years, John R. married and he and his Dutch wife continued to care for the house until they grew too old. Georgie and the widow of John R. still live nearby and have told some of these stories but have been careful not to tell other parts of it.

Some of this is fact, and some the stuff of dreams.

But this is true: all this time, white lilacs came back fresh and new every June, becoming thicker and taller with each passing year and if lilacs are white, any of it is possible.

FINISHED: I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes
by Jaclyn Moriarity
BEADED CURTAIN RATING:
READING: Causeway by Linden MacIntyre
EDITING: Big Enough, a short story
WRITING: NetWorld, a short story
SMELLING: Oh yeah, lilacs
GROWING: Looks like mostly varieties of peas and squash
HOPING FOR: Some beans, too
MOOD: Dreamy

learning our colours,
originally uploaded by nuanc.

One evening while in Maine, I picked up my granddaughter, Acadia, and took her for a little drive. It was getting toward dusk. We stopped between my son’s house and my rented cottage several times as Cadi was asking to “see the water.” We got in and out of the car and took short walks.

These days, she holds tightly to one of my fingers as we walk. I showed her things. A bird flying. White cherry blossoms and lilacs. Bees on the bushes. A feather. A pine cone. The sound the water makes as it rushes over the rocks. The older boys playing on the other side of the street.

Our last stop was where this photo was taken. The wetlands at this spot are always stunning to see whether it’s sun, fog, rain, morning, noon or night. This day had been gloriously sunny. One of those late spring days when the new warmth, super-blue sky and the fresh young leaves and grasses combine for a spectacular crispness that will soon blur into summer fullness—rich, deep green, hot, but no longer new.

As the sun went down I held Cadi while snapping a dozen photos or so. She was patient with me and afterward we talked about what was happening to the colour of the clouds. I reminded her that they are usually white but that sometimes when the sun goes away for the night they change into a variety of colours. Cadi’s only just learning her colours. She has the idea now, but the specifics as to green, blue, red are still in process. Sometimes she gets them right and sometimes she doesn’t.

I started naming the colours in the sky.

“Pink.” “Orange.” “Violet.”

“Yellow,” whispered Cadi, her eyes fixed on the sunset.

“Yes,” I agreed, so pleased that she was with me, “yellow, too.”

READING: I Have a Bed Made of Buttermilk Pancakes by Jaclyn Moriarity
WRITING: NetWorld, a short story
PLANNING: Our new front porch
WATCHING: A mama woodpecker feeding her babies in a tree outside the bedroom window

This is my wonderful 2 year old granddaughter, Cadi. I’m in Maine right now for her birthday celebration. This was taken on my first full day here. I got to stay with her while my son had some well-deserved r&r. Cadi and I took a walk into the little town where there is a school playground.

I took a dozen or more photos but this one and only a couple of the others are decent. Cadi’s difficult to take pictures of as she moves fast, does not—to say the least—like to pose and often looks away if she sees a camera.

I like that in a little girl. While there’s nothing wrong with a child who knows how to “turn it on” for a camera, it’s pleasing to me that Cadi doesn’t see the need to do so. She’s been seeing images of herself on my laptop screensaver and she definitely enjoys the photos. “Dat’s Cadi,” she tells her dad. She seems to remember certain ones, what she was doing and where she was, even though many of them were taken at Christmas. But she obviously doesn’t like them enough to make herself available for my lens. She’s got more important things to do with her time. Right on, Cadi!

Now, I just need to get a camera with a faster response time!

The jacket and hat that Cadi is wearing were brought from Cape Breton. I ‘won’ them in a silent auction at Girl’s Night Out, a fund raiser for the Sydney women’s shelter. It was made by a local woman who’s name, unfortunately, I didn’t get. I planned on giving it to Cadi as a birthday gift but didn’t really have an expectation that it would fit or that she would like it. But the day we were going to the playground was a little cool and Ty hadn’t brought her a jacket, so I immediately busted this out. She took right to it and especially loves wearing the hat. And doesn’t she look grand in it? I love it when a non-plan comes together.

first sketchbook-sized gel pen doodle,
originally uploaded by nuanc.

This is by far my most popular piece of art work on flickr, and very close to the top of my most popular images. Just today another sweet person found it in the depths of my photostream and favorited it. I’m so surprised by the response to it.

I do not have good instincts about what people are going to respond to. Of course on an individual basis, one can never predict what a stranger is going to like. Because of this, artists—in my opinion—aren’t doing themselves any favours by trying to please others. But it does seem as if it would be useful to be able to predict in a broader sense what might be popular.

The only thing I’ve learned for sure on flickr is that cute animals will always rack up the viewers. Photos of my dogs are among my most viewed and most favorited though they are certainly not the best photos I’ve taken. Two golden retrievers of different shades are naturally lovable.

I suppose this drawing is popular because it’s accessible. I call it and think of it as a ‘doodle’ but of course, it’s an elaborate one and one that took many hours to draw. But most people can relate to doodling, so on a doodling scale, it’s probably *high end*.

The main thing I’ve figured out is that what people like has nothing to do with how much care and time I took with it or how much skill did or didn’t go into the creation of it. Sometimes I feel frustrated that I can’t get any attention for the things that I’m more proud of, things that I regard as having been more difficult. I need to get over that! It’s the finished product that matters. No one else can know or cares what kind of blood, sweat and tears went into to it. In fact, if the bodily fluids show on it, it is doomed to failure. It needs to look effortless whether it was or not.

I’m finding that the same is true in my writing. It’s just possible that I tend to over-think, over-complicate, over-work my writing. Unfortunately, there’s no flickr for the written word, but I should probably keep this image in mind as I write. The finished work needs to be accessible, at the high-end of what’s expected, and with no evidence of my personal DNA on the page.

Reading: Tales of Protection by Erik Fosnes Hansen
Planning: A short story about a computer game designer who avoids real people
Collaborating: On editing an anthology of short stories
Writing: Words of Paradise, a novel set in the 60’s
Suppose to be: Finishing the EPIC website
Travelling: To Maine for my granddaughter’s 2nd birthday
The Roller Coaster: Just barely on the way up

deep pink blues,
originally uploaded by nuanc.

The photograph is a mock-up cd cover that I did for a utata project last summer. The guitarist is my son Carson who is a singer /songwriter in Albuquerque. He’s been slowly working on a web home for himself and his music all this year, and is, in fact, my inspiration for moving my website-family to wordpress. I THINK it’s been a good move. He’s on my mind, because I just took a look at techornati tags this morning and found that he’s put in a link to my zine. The “web” is indeed a fine metaphor.

I brought this fun project out of the archives because it relates to one of the themes of my life this year. That of self-promotion. I’m terrible at it and always have been, but I have accepted that as a fault; something that I must overcome. Even as I do it (mainly on the web, at this point) I feel that others won’t like me. It’s an old primal tape running in my head. Mustn’t draw attention to ones achievements. Particularly if one isn’t absolutely sure of that those actions/behaviors/products can be counted as “achievements.” Yes, there are always doubts.

And yet, I’m pushing myself to make connections, promote my sites, feel happy that my photo was the needle found in the haystack of flickr for the german beer ad. Perhaps age has taught me a few things—usually three or four words at a time: Things take time. Little things add up. Life is too short. People like success. Pride cometh before a fall—

Oops.

Old tapes.

I titled this Pridefall because those two words are firmly associated in my mind. I have experienced the relationship many times. Pride makes us boastful, boastfulness makes us vulnerable to tripping because our nose is in the air? I don’t know. It’s a firm relationship, but not a useful one.

I’m proud of my son and his music. I’m proud that he’s hung in there with his creative endeavors even as he works so very hard at his academic and teaching careers. And in that, there is no fall. Being proud of others is ok.

By the way, the title of the album and band on my mock-up cd cover are not my son’s.
His site is carsonmetzger.net. Go. Find out his names. Read his words. Listen to his music. Go see him perform. Understand my pride.

Tobago,
originally uploaded by nuanc.

“Poetry…making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.”
Allen Ginsberg

This photo and this quote coincided in my life today. The photo is one I took four years ago on a wonderful vacation in Tobago. I posted it on flickr two years ago when I was in my first frenzy of uploading. There was something so freeing and new about having my photos online for a lot (or even some) people to see. It was a rush.

I’ve always liked photography and wanted to do more of it, more seriously. Digital photography was the spur I needed to make taking photos a part of daily life. Then flickr came along and I was hooked. It’s changed for me over the two plus years I’ve been a flickr member. Now I upload several photos a week at the most. But for a while, I uploaded EVERYTHING.

The Tobago photos were done before I had a digital camera so I scanned in a few and put them on flickr, too. I was proud of them but knew that the real credit went to the island of Tobago: the land, the light, the sky, the water. It’s possible to take a bad photo there (I know because some of mine were bad) but with so much glorious scenery to work with, I felt I couldn’t go too wrong.

Today a fellow from Germany who’s working on an ad for a “Mexican-style” German beer asked if he could use this photo in a collage. Here’s a mock-up of the ad with my palm tree and sky barely showing in the background:

Of course I said yes. I’m pleased. I’m pleased he found it. I’m pleased he picked it. And more than anything, I’m pleased he asked. As we soon find out if we put anything on the internet, it can easily be taken for free. That he needs a higher resolution may be the reason but whatever it is, he’s offered to pay me for it and I hope he does. If nothing else, I put in a day’s work just trying to get a high resolution scanned on my home scanner!

So what does this have to do with Allen Ginsburg and the quote about poetry? It’s that online photo sites and blogs and so much more, have—for those of us who choose to be involved in it—made our private lives public. It can definitely have a dark, down side to it. But, such as for me today, it also has it’s upside.

My little vacation photo is my first foray into *professional* photography. Whether it’s the last remains to be seen but I’m happy I had the opportunity to make the photo public rather than to have it sitting in a box in a cabinet in my house where no one ever saw it again.

Cheers!