what if my family was big enough to fill the movie theater? would i grow weary of so many arms hugging me? so many pies to eat? or would I finally be full?
“Things blossom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.” —Neil Gaiman
This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to create an image with a blurry foreground. My daughter and I went to the McKinley Rose Garden in downtown Sacramento at sunset, but I found it hard to not focus on close-up photos of the gorgeous petals. I spent hours messing around with the settings on my camera and getting very annoyed at myself. I left grumpy, covered in mosquito bites, and feeling like a fraud.
On Friday, in an attempt to feel better, I grabbed the camera and took a few shots of my darling nephew. Unfortunately, I’m not sure about those shots either. It seems I’m discontent with everything I create right now. It feels like I’m stagnant or perhaps I’m too close to see my own growth. It’s making me feel insecure, needy, and impatient. Ugh.
All this to say, I really need help in picking an image to share with the photography group this week. Any favorites? Also, any advice on beating the creativity blues is more than welcome. Thank you for stopping by and smelling the roses. I hope you have a fantastic week!
#1#2#3#4#5#6#7#8#9#10#11
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
you get stoned say you’re proud say you’re sorry say I’m beautiful
I believe you motherhood cuts deep your scars shine
like mine
My Daughter
you’ve inherited broken glass jagged-edged shattered dreams that are not yours
I tried smoothing them with cold ocean waves deep muddy lake dives but they still cut
you don’t believe me because fresh wounds sting lines etched into softness but I see you
I’m proud of you I’m sorry you are beautiful
Mother’s Day isn’t an easy day for many, but I hope today you find solace in knowing motherhood binds us more than separates us. We all come from birth. We all are broken. We are all doing our best. May you find a piece of love to hold today and every day.
“It is required of every man,” the ghost returned, “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death.” —Charles Dickens, “A Christmas Carol”
After spending two nights in Astoria, Oregon we traveled to the beautiful and sleepy town of Seaview, Washington. We were lucky to get an attic room in the Shelburne Hotel which was built in 1896 and is the longest continuously operating hotel in Washington State. The big draw for me was the feeling of stepping back in time, but it was the rumors of ghosts that excited my daughter. Who doesn’t want a little adventure?
From the moment we parked our car and walked in the front door we felt welcome. The hotel is very LGBTQ-friendly and has a tremendously calm feeling. We arrived early and the staff encouraged us to explore the hotel while they finished cleaning our room. One employee showed us the secret library (swoon) and told us a bit about the local spirits—Georgina in the garden beside the large tree, the original caretaker Charles Beaver in the second-floor hallways, and a girl named Nina in the attic.
Now, before I go into the details of our possible ghost encounter, I want to share these photos taken with my iPhone 13 to give you a sense of the place. Almost all my photos are slightly crooked or off, which fits the mood perfectly.
All the stained glass was rumored to be repurposed from a church in Morecambe, England, that was being torn down and dates back to the 1800s.
The very creaky stairs up the attic.
Our bedroom. The little nook off to the left is where my daughter slept.
The hotel restaurant was divine. I particularly loved the wine and crème brûlée.
Now, here’s the part I’m a bit hesitant to share. You see, almost all of what happened can be explained away with logic. However, if you choose to believe in spirits…
After eating in the restaurant we retired to our attic room. We got into our pajamas and watched a few episodes of RuPaul’s Drag Race before deciding it was time to rest. My daughter climbed into the little nook area and I sprawled across the bed. Before I went to sleep I said a prayer of protection and asked to be left alone. My daughter said she wanted to see a spirit and was open to an encounter. The bed was comfy and although we both heard some creaking on the stairs and a few bumps on the outside walls, I drifted to sleep fairly quickly.
I woke several times with an incredibly warm feeling against my back as if a dog or small person was curled up beside me. The room was cold but I was sweaty and uncomfortable. Each time it happened, I sat up and checked on my daughter and found her sleeping peacefully in the little nook. In retrospect, I should have been scared as I’m usually a complete baby about such things, but I wasn’t.
About the fourth time this happened, I whispered into the room.
“I need my rest.”
A few minutes later I felt a hand tap my left leg three times. It was comforting, which if you know me, is highly strange. I’m the type of person who jumps if someone comes into the room unannounced. I’ve been known to freak myself out and think someone was in the backseat of my van while driving home late at night and pull over at a gas station to check every inch of the back in the bright lights. I don’t even like scary movies, yet this touch on my leg felt natural and not at all scary.
At 3 a.m. I woke to my daughter softly calling my name. I sat up groggily and saw she was still in her nook but she looked strange.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know…”
She was terribly cold and shaking violently.
“My stomach hurts…”
She has a very sensitive stomach, particularly while traveling, and I figured maybe the rich dessert didn’t sit well with her. I didn’t want to tell her, but I started to get scared for the first time. The room felt different and I quickly turned on all the lights. Her skin was ice cold, her face pale, and she couldn’t stop shaking. At that moment I wanted to pack everything up and leave, but before I could say anything else she ran to the bathroom and threw up in the sink. Within a few minutes, she started to feel better and crawled into bed with me. The heat I’d been feeling on my back was gone, but so was the scary feeling that had arrived when she felt sick.
Unable to go back to sleep right away, we watched another episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race and then turned out the lights. I said another prayer of protection, including my daughter this time, and fell asleep fairly quickly. The warm feeling on my back didn’t return and I didn’t wake until I heard the call of a common starling outside the window in the morning.
My daughter woke up a few hours after me and told me what she saw right before falling asleep. A young girl was standing near the foot of the bed looking at her. She was wearing a white dress and had short black hair curled around her face. She didn’t say anything and her face didn’t show any emotion, but after seeing the girl she was able to sleep soundly.
The staff told us that sometimes things get moved around in the rooms, but we didn’t notice anything different in the morning. I showered and we had delicious coffee and tea in the lobby. We wrote down our story in a journal kept behind the front counter and left. We talked about our experience and could explain all of it away. It wasn’t until arriving at our next hotel we thought perhaps we did experience something supernatural. Digging through my bag to get my swimming suit for the hot tub I found this:
One of the first things my daughter said when we walked into the attic bathroom was, “Look at this cute makeup towel!” My bag was never in the bathroom and we didn’t take the towel off its hook. Maybe, just maybe, Nina gave it to us as a souvenir or perhaps an apology for my daughter getting sick. Regardless of how it came to be at the bottom of my bag, I’ll be mailing it back. We won’t soon forget our night at the Shelburne Hotel.
Thanks for reading and let me know if you’ve had any experiences like this. I’d love to hear it!
Note: To my regular readers, I’m back home now and will return to writing poetry and short stories soon. I’m also terribly behind in reading all your beautiful blog posts and hope to get caught up this week. Be ready for a batch of comments on your blogs soon!
“It’s OK, you’re a Goonie, and Goonies always make mistakes.”
When I was a small child I’d always watch “The Goonies” when I was sick or sad. It was my comfort movie and I can practically recite it for you word for word. This week I moved my mom from northern California to a small town in Washington very near Astoria, Oregon. When I found out it’s the home to several filming locations for “The Goonies” it felt right. I’m sad and I need my comfort movie.
After taking two days to drive here and get my mom settled in her new place, we spent the day exploring all the filming locations around the area. We had deep conversations about our connection and my mom told me she was proud of me. It feels like a big moment in my life. We always want our mom, but she needs to do this for her.
“Don’t you realize? The next time you see the sky, it’ll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what’s right for them. Because it’s their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it’s our time. It’s our time down here.” —Mikey, The Goonies
The jailhouse from the opening scene. It’s now a museum filled with artifacts from the film.I was just a wee bit excited! “Out in the garage, ORV, four-wheel drive… …bullet holes the size of matzo balls!”—ChunkChester Copperfield’s wallet, the skeleton key, doubloon, and a Lou Gehrig baseball card.They had Data’s complete outfit including his pinchers of power! Data is played by Ke Huy Qua who just won an Oscar for my new favorite movie “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”“Yo. Hi guys. How’s it going? This is Willie… One-Eyed Willie. Say hi, Willie. Those are my friends… the Goonies.”—Mikey“Goonies never say die!” The actual house. It was less than a minute from our hotel.This is the window at the beginning of the film where Chunk presses his pizza and milkshake against the glass to watch the police chase the Fratellis. The building is now a bowling alley and was closed but we all took turns reenacting it on the outside. Isn’t my mom cute?This coffee shop is featured during the opening scene when Rosalita is crossing the street.The Flavel House Museum is where Mikey’s dad waves to the kids when they are riding through town on their bikes.It’s an interesting and slightly creepy house. My daughter did some research after we left and found out they left out some big parts of the family history.What a thrill to stand here.Beautiful beach. Not sure if those are the rocks that lined up with the doubloon, but I choose to believe they are.My daughter and mom.After our Goonies exploring we visited two spots my mom loves.Flying together down the path in the wild winds.
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
what if the calling crows think you are a makeshift scarecrow built for chasing them away from their dreams? will they peck at you with sharp beaks so far from my grasp? will I be able to run fast enough to save you? the shifting rice tells me to take a deep breath. this isn’t a cornfield and the cranes won’t hurt you. but grey skies mean trouble so run to me anyway my boy. mother needs you in her arms.
Shoebox Poetry: This is the fourth poem in my series based on an old box of photos I inherited when my grandmother died in 2004. The back of this photo reads “Gary in rice field Nov ’53.” It’s a photo of my dad, but it made me think of my own boy. He turned 18 in December and is finishing high school in a few months. This poem poured out instantly along with some tears. I guess I have some feelings.
Here are the other poems in the series if you missed them:
I am dancing yellow flowers moss growing on a cracked boulder dragonfly battles waged through cattail forests sleeping rocks tucked beneath rotted boards wide-winged hawks quietly circling prey
I am daring spring sunshine fields of green miner’s lettuce wet with dew twisted trees reflected in muddy puddles colorful floral crowns skipping around a maypole teeny tiny frogs in a toddler’s hand
I am dandelion fluff wishes bubbles caught in a spiraling spider web fat white clouds pressing through a rainbow afternoons spent reading in a hammock soft rabbits hiding among wild buttercups
I am lively starry jubilation moon struck open-armed happiness deep water thick-boned delight galaxy swirling sweet poetry madness freckle-faced daisy ringed freedom
Shoebox Poetry: This is the third poem in my series based on an old box of photos I inherited when my grandmother died in 2004. I love the joy in this photo and I hope my words match its beauty and grace. Happy first week of spring!
“We’re all ghosts. We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.” -Liam Callanan
I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandmothers lately. Both of them were strong ladies filled with secrets and heartache. Neither of them lived a happy and fulfilled life. They passed onto me a restlessness and a sharp sadness I feel in my bones.
I don’t have a place to visit them, so for our photography lesson today I took my daughter and mother to our small local cemetery. It was a peaceful morning and I walked around thinking about what legacy I will leave my children. How do I want them to remember me?
I keep coming back to the idea that they need to see me happy. It’s by far the greatest gift I can give them—a legacy of peacefulness and joy. They need to see me publish my book, be active and strong, and cultivate my own happiness. I want to leave them a legacy far different than the one passed onto me. I have work to do.
It’s not my photography day, but I want to share these photos with you anyway. I edited them boldly, exaggerating the colors, and I hope you find something interesting in them.
Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
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