When you are surrounded by the big love I’ve been gifted with, every birthday is an opportunity to shimmer and shine and reflect all that goodness right back. Cheers dear world! I am overwhelmed by your colorful surprises and chance encounters.
Tag Archives: Photography
I Wish I Could Talk to Dead People
Yes, it is true. There are too many people who I really could still use in my life. Their years of experience would certainly come in handy, (never mind their love). Personally, I want to ask them for guidance as I navigate the new terrain I find myself walking on. Not that I listened too much while my elders were alive, but their pearls found their way into my major decisions and guided me when my direction was clouded. Beyond my own need for their shepherding, I often pause when I hear something outlandish and wonder what my grandfather would say about the destruction of the Republican party, and their tearing down long-held principles. I know how sick my mother would be over the continued lies bantered about immigrants. My father, an esteemed surgeon, would be appalled by those who turned down a vaccine and instead believed the misinformation spread like a careless wildfire. Daily I wish my elders still sat around our dinner tables so that we could debate and analyze facts derived from reality instead of the lies that now filter our social media feeds and bias our conversations. I do wish I could talk to dead people because I could use lucidity instead of the smoke and mirrors offered. 
Swimmers
I was born into a family of swimmers, destined to dive into whatever body of water appeared in front of us, with little thought about temperature or current or logic, and I must say this one familial trait is one that I am most grateful for on the day to day through all my years. Both my parents were keen swimmers from start to finish and made sure that their whole brood learned the skill, as they did for my children too. Despite all their best preparations, I did almost drown one summer afternoon when I was probably five or six and we were all enjoying Jones Beach on Long Island. I followed an older brother out beyond my own ability, and eventually lost my strength. He buoyed me as best he could until the strong arm of the lifeguard pressed tight across my chest and ferried me to shore where my panicked parents stood waiting. When I recall that singular event I feel no fear only the salt water coursing around me, waves clipping my face, the broad blue below and above equally enticing, feeling safe somehow. I remember the whole experience with love too, water logged love.
Nine Cent Girl 