November 22, 2019

Barn on the Edge of the Pond  ©Tracey Grumbach

Dear Driftwood,

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.

[Thanksgiving Day Proclamation, 1963]”
― John F. Kennedy 

It is Thanksgiving again and another year we celebrate without you here but you're always in our hearts. As John. F. Kennedy pointed out 55 years ago and you pointed out to me many times in my life, thankfulness is better shown and not heard. I have always taken that to heart and I hope I am doing you proud by showing my gratitude for even my smallest blessings on a daily basis. After all, I truly am blessed beyond deserving.

We are keeping our Thanksgiving small this year since Tyler and Brenna are only briefly in town from school. Although it will be small, just seven of us, it is a huge day to be sure since all of my children will be under one roof together. That happens less and less nowadays, so I am so thankful for this opportunity.

I wish you, dear Driftwood, a beautiful Thanksgiving wherever you may be. And to the rest of my friends and family scattered about out there, I hope you stop today to count the many blessings you already have...family, friends, food, health, a job, a car, a home, electricity, clean water, clothing, etc. Not everyone has the joy of these simple pleasures, so be sure to live each day, not just today, remembering just how truly blessed you are.

Until next time,
Me

November 8, 2018

When Mums Die  ©Tracey Grumbach

Dear Driftwood,

Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,

Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams

And our desires.

-Wallace Stevens

I came across this poem the other day and I was so struck with how well it fit with this digital art piece I was creating at the time. So many people just don't get why I enjoy taking pictures of dying or dead flowers. They think I am strange and perhaps I am. But, when I read these lines from the poem "Sunday Morning" by Wallace Stevens, it occurred to me just how much beauty I see in the downtrodden, the history, the life-well-spent, the dying. The beauty isn't always about when something is at its aesthetic peak. Instead, I find the beauty in the story and history of the flower, which is only revealed in the dying process. 

That reminds me of a conversation I had the other day. After my iPhone photography class, I sat talking with one of my students, a woman in her senior years. We were talking about editing portraits and how friends her age didn't want portraits of themselves anymore because they didn't like to see themselves with wrinkles, sags, and age spots. While I totally understood what she was saying and why people would be sensitive about having a portrait done at an older age, it made me sad. I told her that I thought the beauty of portrait of an older person is the lines, the spots, and the sags. The beauty is in the story that unfolds from those wrinkles-not the tightness and flawlessness of the skin. I love black and white portraiture of older people for that very reason. She was happy to disagree with me and tell me I only felt that way because I was only 46 and that I would feel differently when I am her age. But will I? Perhaps she is right, perhaps she isn't. Only time will tell how I feel about myself as I age but for now I do know that I absolutely adore images of older people.

Remember that time, Driftwood, that I bought an old potting table that was used in someone's barn and used it as my kitchen table (after cleaning it up,  of course). You always teased me about that table and would ask me if I got it out of a junk yard. Well, twenty years later I still have that table, crooked leg and all, in my art studio. It is the history of that table, the holes, the hammer marks, the chipping paint, that make it beautiful to me and I still use it today. 

Ok, so maybe I am strange for loving beat up, old, imperfect things. Or maybe I am just sentimental and see the value in history and stories. Who knows.

Well, goodbye for now. I will write again soon. All the mums are beginning to die off here and winter is knocking. Until next time...

Love,

Me

October 31, 2018

Early Morning, Autumn

Dear Driftwood,

It is that time of year again when the earth feels fully pregnant, ready to heave forth all of her bounty and deliver what is needed to make it through winter. There is a sense of urgency this time of year here...animals scurrying to collect, store, and eat as much food as possible. Some will build or find shelter to hunker down in the coming long winter months. Some, like the gaggle of noisy geese I saw today, are filling their bellies and increasing their energy stores to fly further south, migrating to warmer climates for the winter. Kids are all settled back into the routine of school, brimming with energy, starting to anticipate the winter holidays. This is the time when world becomes one giant splotch of vibrant paint, colors seeming to radiate from every living thing- a giant patchwork quilt of color woven together one dying leaf at a time.

As you know, this has always been my favorite time of year. I love the sense of coziness it brings...the sense of comfort and belonging and kinship among friends, family, and neighbors. Football, bonfires, harvest parties, Halloween, hiking through crunchy trails littered in confetti leaves, fluffy sweatshirts, fuzzy boots, steaming hot mocha...all of these things bring me joy and thankfulness that I get to experience them again this year. I think back to my childhood and autumn holds many of my sweetest memories...back to school time, fires in the fireplace, football and cheer-leading, homecoming dances, bus trips to the apple orchard with my grandparents. It seems just like yesterday all of these things were happening and yet here I am watching my own kids experiencing these exact moments. How could that have happened so fast?

I wonder what autumn is like where you are, my dear Driftwood...

Yours always,
Me