childhood

Innocence

“The knowledge that makes us cherish innocence makes innocence unattainable.” —Irving Howe

1512-05_140m_f28_60_i200

Nikon D700, ISO 200, f/2.8, 140mm, 1/60th sec

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Left Behind

Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and
sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
– John Betjeman

Nikon D300, ISO 200, 6 sec at f/22, 35 mm

This post is in honor of my grandmother, who passed away yesterday at the age of 99. She was an amazing woman, living on her own and keeping socially active to the end. We were very close; I will miss her and our phone calls and chats which, invariably, consisted of her complaining that she’d barely gotten out of the house that week although she’d been to craft club and church and out to lunch and …

I’ll never forget the time about 5 years ago I tried to encourage her to buy new curtains for her living room. The ones that had hung there since the early 70’s were finally, visibly, falling apart. She looked at me and reminded me that formal drapes were expensive and she needed to save her money for when she got old. THAT’s the spirit that kept her going and that I hope I inherited.

She was so looking forward to turning 100 in November; she’d been talking about it since the day she turned 99. She’d tell anyone and everyone how old she was, after proudly asking them to guess her age for themselves. It’s okay, Granny; considering the life you lived and how close you came, we’ll just tell everyone you made it.

Sleep well until we embrace again. I love you.

Phyllis A. Mueller (aka “Granny”)
November 6, 1912 – July 2, 2012

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The Yellow Iris

“We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.”
― Louise Glück

Nikon D300, ISO 200, 1/8000 sec. at f/2.8, 50 mm

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My Favorite Things


I’d give all wealth that years have piled,
The slow result of Life’s decay,
To be once more a little child
For one bright summer day.
~Lewis Carroll, Solitude

These were a few of my favorite things...

The greatest poem ever known
Is one all poets have outgrown:
The poetry, innate, untold,
Of being only four years old.
~Christopher Morley, To a Child

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