We don’t have an origin story, for we met before memories form. Two little girls living across a curved court
named after a man. Pigtailed dancing dolls, we played through seasons until one day you moved and I learned heart-
break. Although I saw your plane fly away, I looked in all our hiding places for you. I’ve never stopped
looking. Time has brought us together over and over—but we always lose each other in the mess. Will this
time be different? I need it to be. You see, I’m tired of playing pretend— saying I’m okay when broken
bits of me want only to be seen. You hugged me tighter this time—do you need me too? Can
we take off our masks and find our old hiding places again? Can we swim together in secrets and show
each other the magical ways we have survived? Grab my hand yet again and let’s run toward the setting sun
together.
*This was written after seeing my childhood friend at a funeral last weekend and never wanting to let her go. Thank you for making sure we made a date to get together. I can’t wait.
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you insane your whole life.” -Anne Lamott
If you’ve been around my blog for a while, you may remember I started my photography journey this time last year by participating in the #100DayProject. It was a wonderful experience of growth and I appreciated how much feedback and advice I received throughout the process. I discovered photography was more than a passing hobby, it was something I love and will continue to do for the rest of my life.
When I saw it was time again for the #100DayProject, I did a lot of journaling about what I might do this year to grow as a creative. The idea of perfectionism kept coming up and my desire to think more out of the box. I’ve been exploring this idea of abstraction in my poetry, but I want to push myself further. As both my children did a lot of watercolor painting in their Waldorf education, and I’ve always admired how the colors blend across the paper, I decided to focus the next 100 days on exploring watercolors.
I’ve always been very critical of my lack of artistic skills. Embarrassed would probably be a more accurate word. Art, to my untrained eye, always appears to contain a fair amount of magic and natural ability I don’t possess. So, it was very important before starting this project to create some guidelines to work within. I’m not trying to learn skills or techniques, but rather to allow for exploration, stress relief, and self-expression. I’ve given myself a few guidelines:
be messy and imprecise
have fun with the process
don’t overthink
don’t plan
don’t judge the finished painting
be brave
This first week was challenging. I looked up images in books and online and when I tried to duplicate them found myself getting into the mindset of failure and comparison. It was only when I started painting my feelings and allowing myself to be silly, it started to feel more enjoyable. Each week I’ll share 3-4 paintings without commentary (other than perhaps this format of including a haiku). I hope you’ll enjoy watching me experiment with letting go.
Here are my offerings for Week 1:
#1 wiggly bright full moon shining in a pale green sky you grow lovely plants
#2 colors dance freely across the watery page revealing flowers
#3 hidden dark red sky delicate flower bouquets spring is almost here
#4 wavy broken lines colorful light bright puzzle what things do you see?
“I sometimes think of people’s personalities as the negative space around their insecurities.” -Lindy West
This week my assignment for the 52-week photo challenge was to capture something with negative space (also known as “copy space” in the commercial-photography industry). It’s a more minimalist style photo and allows space for advertising text to be added.
My first attempt was at our local Green Acres Nursery, but the plants were too close together and I couldn’t get enough space to create the effect I wanted. The last two photos below are the only ones I kept from that shoot. They don’t quite work for negative space, but I really liked how they turned out.
My second attempt was this morning in the rain. I drove around to the farms near my house and I captured these moody photos. I know #8 doesn’t work, but I wanted to include it anyway. Let me know which shot you think best uses the concept of negative space and which is your favorite. Thanks for supporting me!
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9 (This one is dedicated to Cori)#10
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
my body does not understand reacting with sharp vibrant stabs singing fight or flight ballads —do or die chorus numbers where kids say teary goodbyes under too-far-away stars under wet weeping willow trees under rich dark black soil under sadness turned into madness —my wounded heart finally stops
no, I tell the flowers that’s not the real story not yet anyway, not now —curving pink petals nod agreement where hummingbirds take small sips under muted late February sun under thick cotton candy clouds under pale white peach blossoms under folded tissue paper cranes —my healing heart grows stronger
“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” – Robert Louis Stevenson
I was gifted an overnight trip to Tahoe with my daughter and her best friend. I didn’t know how badly I needed this break. It gave me the chance to get away from my chores, marvel at the beauty of the world, make up stories about monsters hiding in dark snow, and sing in the car at the top of my lungs.
While my life has been hard lately, it’s equally beautiful. It’s the dark bare trees standing up in a field of white. I’d like to share a few things with you.
A childhood friend died unexpectedly last week. Cori introduced me to Sweet Valley High books and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I have fond memories of playing in her pool, doing runway shows in her hallway, and snuggling in blankets to watch movies. I’m devasted for the sister left behind as she’s now lost her father and both her older sisters. Why does tragedy strike some families more than others? It’s wildly unfair.
My daughter continues to struggle with her mental health. This week we had some of the hardest conversations I’ve had in my life, but we are moving forward. She’s getting stronger and bolder about her recovery. Healing isn’t linear and sometimes those steps back are necessary to take another leap forward.
My mother is moving more than 500 miles away in less than two weeks and I’m not ready for her to go. I’ll be helping her move and I know this is good for her, but I’m grieving the loss of being able to see her whenever I want. Super plus side, I’ll get to take photographs in Washington and I’ve heard it’s breathtaking.
I’ve been reading poetry monthly at a wonderfully inclusive and supportive bookstore called A Seat at the Table. They’ve offered to help me launch my book career by hosting a reading/book signing for my 52-short story collection in early May. I’ve got a lot of work to do before I’m ready, but it’s exciting and feels like purpose and joy.
I’ve not posted as much lately and I’m behind in reading my favorite bloggers, but I’m back at it today. Thanks to those who continue to root me on, your support means the world to me. Let me know what you think of these Tahoe photos and have a wonderful week!
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
This week my assignment for the 52-week photo challenge was to capture leading lines, which simply means looking for lines that lead your eye toward a certain direction in the photo. It was a fun assignment and although I think it would have been easier to do in a city setting, I’m overall happy with my images.
My daughter and I went to one of our favorite places, Effie Yeaw Nature Center, and met up with an old friend who happens to be a fantastic photographer. She gave me some excellent pointers and we had a wonderful time catching up and shooting together.
Let me know which shot you think best uses the concept of leading lines. I’ve numbered the photos again this week and I’ve included some fun extra images outside the assignment. Which is your favorite? Thanks for supporting me!
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
“It’s funny how the beauty of art has so much more to do with the frame than the artwork itself.” -Chuck Palahniuk, Choke
This week my assignment for the 52-week photo challenge was to capture something using framing. I visited High-Hand Nursery and although it provided me with lots of beautiful shots, I struggled with symmetry and straight lines. Ultimately, my shots fell short. I wonder if I’m trying too hard. It felt easier to take photos when I wasn’t searching for a specific type of shot. Am I overthinking or is this part of the learning process?
My daughter is taking a photography class and my mother recently got a camera, so both joined me at the nursery. It was fun to walk around together taking photos and it was even more fun to see how different all our shots are.
Let me know which shot you think best uses the concept of framing. I’ve added numbers to the photos this week so it’s easier to comment. I’ve also included a few extra photos from the day. Can you guess which photo is my favorite? Have a wonderful week!
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com
There once was an orphan who traveled alone at sunrise through a vast forest. As the pink sky touched the cold ground the wind woke. It swirled and roared. It raged and tugged. The orphan was startled but didn’t stop.
She double-knotted the yellow ribbon in her hair, tucked her silver locket beneath her old cloak, and walked and walked. The world around her was alive with sounds, but she heard none, for she was lost in the depths of her enormous grief.
It came to pass she found herself at the bottom of a steep hill facing a rather large tortoise. The two looked at each other for a long time without speaking. It was the tortoise who finally sliced through the silence with his rough, slow voice.
“I’m dying. There’s no other way to say it.”
The orphan didn’t know how to respond and so she said nothing. The wind blew bits of stones and leaves down the sloping hill, some of them landing on the tortoise’s large, round shell. The orphan picked them off one by one.
“I’d like to die at the top of this hill and not the bottom, for it’s better to go up than to go down. Don’t you think?”
The tortoise spoke with certainty, but the orphan had never thought of this before. After giving it several minutes of consideration, she nodded her agreement and spoke.
“I will help you.”
With this, she and the tortoise started up the side of the rocky hill. The going was very slow as the tortoise was old and the wind blew strongly. Each step required a considerable amount of effort. The girl tried everything to move the tortoise faster—lifting, pushing and pulling. But the tortoise was too large and she was too small.
“I don’t know what to do.”
She sounded defeated, but the tortoise blinked at her with watery eyes and said nothing. He had faith in her and so she had to keep trying.
Hours passed with very little progress and although the orphan tried as hard as she could to remain positive, she soon became gloomy and frustrated.
“Wind, do you hear me? I need your help.”
The wind isn’t used to people speaking directly to it, so it decided to answer.
“What do you expect me to do?”
It didn’t take the orphan long to come up with an idea, for she was a clever child with an earnest heart.
“If you could blow in the other direction, it would help me in pushing the tortoise up the hill.”
It wouldn’t be hard for the wind to change direction, but it was stubborn and didn’t like being told what to do.
“What will you give me in return?”
The orphan looked at the tortoise and at herself. She had very little to offer, but not nothing.
“I will give you my yellow hair ribbon if you help us.”
The wind had been tugging at the ribbon for most of the morning and it did indeed want it. The color matched the sun and the wind thought it would look lovely soaring in the clouds.
“Very well. If you give me the ribbon, I will help you.”
The orphan felt sad, for her father gave her the ribbon, but it was the only way to help the tortoise. She untied the double knot and the wind ripped the ribbon from her hand in an instant. She watched it fly through the air and then felt the breeze change, so it pushed at her back.
“Thank you, wind! Now we will reach the top in no time.”
Indeed, the orphan and the tortoise made great progress up the hill, but as the sun reached the center of the sky they came upon a rushing river too wide to step across and too fast to walk through. The water splashed at her bare feet and she again felt gloomy and frustrated.
“I don’t know what to do.”
It seemed an impossible thing to cross such a river, but the tortoise blinked at her with watery eyes and said nothing. He had faith in her and so she had to keep trying.
“River, do you hear me? I need your help.”
The river was used to people crying tears at its banks or throwing in wishing stones but rarely did someone address it directly. It was impressed by the orphan and decided to answer.
“What do you expect me to do?”
It didn’t take the orphan long to come up with an idea, for she was a clever child with an earnest heart.
“We need to cross your waters but you are too fast. Is there a way you could slow down to let us pass?”
The river could slow, but it rarely did so. It was proud of how strong and fast it flowed.
“What will you give me in return?”
Again, the orphan looked at the tortoise and at herself. She had very little to offer, but not nothing.
“I could give you my shiny locket to dance within your churning waters. It would look very pretty amongst the rocks and the fish.”
The orphan pulled open her cloak and the river saw the sparkling silver heart strung around her neck. It did want to feel the joy of having something so stunning in its waters.
“Very well. If you give me the locket, I will help you.”
The orphan was sad, for her mother gave her the locket and it contained a tiny picture of the two of them, but it was the only way to help the tortoise. She gave the smooth silver a kiss and threw it into the water.
In a flash, the locket was swept away by the fast current. The water laughed with glee and then started to slow. Soon it was a narrow brook, bubbling over a sea of colorful stones. Although their feet got a bit wet, they were able to cross and continue on their way.
“Thank you, river! Now we will reach the top in no time.”
For a while, they walked on easily with the aid of the wind, but soon it came to pass that a giant boulder made of dark grey stone landed in front of them with a booming thud. It covered the entire path and the orphan could see no way around it. She pushed and kicked at it, but it did not move and again she felt gloomy and frustrated.
“I don’t know what to do.”
She wanted to cry for the boulder was so gigantic and heavy, but the tortoise blinked at her with watery eyes and said nothing. He had faith in her and so she had to keep trying.
“Boulder, do you hear me? I need your help.”
The boulder didn’t respond, but a tiny troll hiding within its shadows did. It stepped out and scowled. It looked almost human except for its body was covered in twisting dark mushrooms and its skin was dark grey.
“What do you expect me to do?”
It didn’t take the orphan long to come up with an idea, for she was a clever child with an earnest heart.
“We need to get to the top of the hill. Could you move the boulder for us?”
The troll didn’t trust humans for they always made fun of its ugly appearance, but the child didn’t laugh or make faces. The troll scratched its belly and sat on the ground crossing its legs in front of it.
“What will you give me in return?”
Again the orphan looked at the tortoise and at herself. She had very little to offer, but not nothing.
“I could give you my cloak. It’s not fancy but it will keep you warm and will make it easier for you to pass through town without being noticed.”
The troll liked this idea very much. Moving a boulder was easy for such a reward.
“Very well. If you give me the cloak, I will help you.”
The orphan was sad, for her grandmother had made the cloak for her, but it was the only way to help the tortoise. She unclasped the wooden button holding it in place and handed it to the troll.
With great delight, it leaped to its feet and flung the cloak around its hunched shoulders. Almost invisible within the black fabric, it pressed the boulder hard with its gnarled hands until it wiggled free from the path and rolled down to the bottom of the hill.
“Thank you, troll! Now we will reach the top in no time.”
The troll ran toward town and the orphan and the tortoise continued on. As the orange sun touched the horizon, signaling day’s descent into night, the wind slept and they finally reached the very top of the hill. The tortoise settled beneath the shady branches of an old oak tree and smiled widely at the orphan.
“Thank you for helping an old tortoise to make its final journey. I will die now, but before I do I must ask for one final favor. It’s very important to me.”
The orphan looked down at her pale pink shirt and torn blue skirt. She had nothing for the tortoise and the thought made her very sad. She wanted to help but her ribbon, locket, and cloak were gone. She had nothing else to give.
“What could I give you?”
The tortoise wanted to say “you have given me so much already” but it had very little time left. Instead, it extended its neck as far as it could out of its shell and spoke its final words.
“After I have died and the moon rises high in the sky, take one of the rocks from the ground and smash my shell to pieces. Promise it will be done.”
The girl was horrified at the thought, but the tortoise blinked at her with watery eyes. He had faith in her and so she said she would do as he asked. He smiled, closed his eyes, and within moments the great big tortoise had left the world.
A full moon danced across a sky of bright blinking stars. The girl wept for the tortoise and then for herself. Not only was she an orphan, but she’d given away the last remaining pieces of her life. There was nothing left to do but fulfill her promise to the tortoise and hope for a better tomorrow.
It didn’t take her long to find a big rock, and with her eyes squeezed tight, she hit the shell as hard as she could. It made a loud cracking sound and she fell backward onto the ground.
It was several minutes before she dared to look, but she was astonished when she did. The tortoise shell lay split down the center and instead of exposing the soft body within, the shell was filled with glittering gold pieces and bright colorful gems. It was a large enough treasure to live the rest of her life in comfort and luxury.
The orphan cried happy tears for she would not have to struggle anymore.
“Thank you, tortoise. I shall never forget you.”
The girl tore a piece of fabric from her skirt and made a pouch to hold the treasure. As she walked to town, she imagined all the ways this good fortune could be shared with others. For she was indeed a clever child with an earnest heart and would live happily for the rest of her days.
Note: In my writing class this week, we read an article on the elements of a good fairy tale. It brought back many fond memories of reading to my kids before bed and their years of Waldorf schooling.
With a burst of inspiration, I wrote this fairy tale in a single afternoon. It’s very different than my typical writing style and I actually broke some of my writing rules, but it felt like the thing I needed to write—some levity during a time of struggle. I hope this story brings a smile to your face and maybe you can share it with a child in your life.
he calls my daughter Annie Oakley placing a BB gun in her small hands “you got this, girllll” he croons channeling his inner John Wayne
bravery shines in her blue eyes as the line of empty cans fall he tells her she can do anything
seeing man the man to see
busy hands covered in silver rings he builds a house in the backyard a place for his daughter to play he hangs a horseshoe over the door
I grow up within the wooden walls dancing with my best friend knowing he would protect us
tinker man the man to see
you don’t leave his house without a pocketful of treasure a genuine rock from Mars jewels and books and toys
each item has a tall tale he’ll tell you if you listen with a joke and a wink
storyteller man the man to see
he taught me to fish at 10 with wrinkled moving hands years later he taught my son the same casting tricks
he loved my cooked beans and always made me smile I’ll forever be one of Earl’s girls
gentle man the man to see
This poem is a tribute to my childhood best friend’s father who passed recently at 92. I was only a small part of his long life, but he left a big impact on me and my children.
Bridgette Tales 