my shadow threw flowers
into the sea for you. floated
words on petals, threads
for you to pull. calling
through bright sun, casting
into murky waters. see
how closed curtains float
when blown. fresh lemon
wind leaning against bark
until the wood vibrates
you—again and again.
8/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
sweet girl,
when those fast feet dance
outside the library
to music living inside your bones,
and my screen glows awake
to swallow the moment,
do you know
it’s the years i’m holding?
you, right now—
a bright flash of wild curly hair
saved for later.
you call out “gigi dance”
and I do,
because my tired body
wants to always remember
what it feels to move with you.
your small hand
guiding my heavier bones.
we play, talk, and say hi
to our oak tree,
but it’s when we sing together
and you press your head into my chest
before climbing into your big girl bed,
i feel the new weight
of your lengthening limbs.
3/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
cars zoom past to anywhere but
here, each carrying someone’s entire
world. bees swarm inside my chest,
heavy and frantic, a hum vibrating
beneath my ribs. only my finger
moves, pressing each letter
into my phone, like sitting
years ago in the sand, pushing
rocks down as far as they would go.
maybe if i press hard enough now
it will reach you. a little gift
from my hand to yours. a single bee
let loose across the distance. do you see
the sun cutting through the leaves
too? does the air taste like honey
there? i need everything to be okay,
for you, for us.
clouds streak white, smudges in pale blue.
buzzing slows to a quiet ache.
i just need to hear you say—
it’s all going to be okay.
one more thread for us.
2/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
“She did not succumb to the battering of the brutal elements in her life. No, instead, with nourishment and strength from those surrounding her, and from her own deep, strong roots, she continued to grow; not just grow but thrive! So much so that she did not buckle under the weight that was not her own.”—Claudia
For the month of June, my model was my lovely friend Claudia. We met during sunrise, to avoid the heat, and our time together was magical. We wandered the same wooded area I had taken photos in last month, but it looked different, more golden and less dark green. I focused my camera on capturing her lovely energy, smile, and how she connects to nature.
I met Claudia when our kids started first grade together. My first memory of her is volunteering together to paint the school office. She was working hard (something I learned is how she’s wired) and we got to talking. I instantly knew she’d be someone I wanted in my life. She’s caring and kind, but doesn’t allow boundaries to be crossed. She’s a loving mother who taught her kids to speak up for themselves and is the very epitome of unconditional love.
I’ve seen my friend go through some very rough times in the last few years and really focus on healing. She’s in such a good place right now and I saw it, radiating off her (see the photos at the end for photographic evidence, maybe?) I’m really loving these sessions with my friends and can’t wait to keep growing and sharing my photos with you all.
Enjoy!
What makes you proud?
Watching my kids advocate for themselves and set boundaries, and knowing that I provide well for them, not just physical needs but in all of the ways that matter makes me really proud.
What makes you feel brave?
Reminding myself of how much healing and growth I have done these past few years makes me feel brave.
What gives you hope?
Trusting the path that the universe has set for me, believing that it has good things for me, and reminding myself that it has always taken care of me (even though I endured a lot of pain and trauma), gives me hope.
When we first starting taking photos together, I told my friend to just take a moment to look around the woods. Relax a minute and feel the energy. I snapped this shot. Although it’s most likely just a unique sun flare, my first thought when I opened the image was “did I capture her aura?” I had to share it with you all too.
And here’s some extras, just because I like them:
These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using several different lenses and edited with Lightroom Classic. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.
“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” —RuPaul
For the month of May, my model was my lovely momma. We decided to include her best friend, Olive, in the photo shoot and I’m so glad we did. My mom is a lover of animals, loyal to those who are kind to her children, and a bit silly. She knows how to make me laugh, is always there when I need someone to listen to me, and loves me more than anyone else on Earth. I credit my mom with giving me my resilience, a childhood filled with animals, and being my number one fan.
My mom lives in Washington now where she and her dog can take daily hikes in the woods, her favorite thing to do. While she was here for my daughter’s graduation, I had to get her in the woods for some photos. This little spot filled with oak trees and a few wild flowers was perfect. This shoot included way too many burrs in our clothes, a tiny bit of rain, and a lot of giggles.
Thanks mom for being a light in this dark world. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
What makes you proud?
My kids and grandchildren make me very proud!
What makes you feel brave?
When I’m out walking in the woods with my beloved dog Olive.
What gives you hope?
Looking into the eyes of my granddaughter and grandson. I hope for greatness for them both.
I’ve got over twenty photo shoots under my belt now and I’m starting to find my stride. I’m currently on a trip to Vegas with my daughter and her best friend, and leaning into a more documentary style. I’m experimenting with leaving the images a bit grainy, editing less, and exploring more with composition. I’ll be curious to see what others think of those images when I post them, and what you think of these. I also did very minimal editing on these, and I think I’m starting to find a sort of style I like. Let me know what you think, and check out the others in this series if you missed them.
Thought you might enjoy some extra photos of Olive. I’m particularly proud of the first shot as you can see the trees reflected in her eyes.
“A winner is a loser who tried one more time.
Not the smartest.
Not the fastest.
Just the one who didn’t stop.”
—George M. Moore Jr.
For the month of March, my model was my dear friend Penny. I met her in 2013 at the table read for the Listen to Your Mother stage show. We locked eyes across the table, and instantly connected. She possesses a warmth and kindness that allows her to make people feel profoundly seen, a rare gift. She’s a singer, writer, storyteller, caregiver, and one of my favorite people on the planet.
We met last week at the beautiful St. Ignatius Loyola Catholic Church, where she sings as cantor. The space was gorgeous, and she was a natural at posing. We only had an hour to spend together because of our schedules, but we made the most of it. She trusted me fully, and I think it shows in the way she’s looking at the camera/me.
Penny normally doesn’t like her photo taken, but she said it was fun with me. And she loved the photos! That’s the whole point: helping my friend see her own beauty. Each time I do another shoot, my confidence grows and I’m learning more and more. I’m so grateful for this growth! Please, give her some love in the comments below and tell me what you think of this shoot. Do you have a favorite? Do you see improvement in the quality of these photos?
What makes you proud?
For most of my life I have been able to do what I loved, what I was good at and things that made a difference on the planet. The fact that I usually also got paid was icing on the cake.
What makes you feel brave?
I’ve been a family caregiver for over 30 years. If that didn’t break me, nothing will.
What gives you hope?
Children. They are the future. The fact that God keeps sending them is a sign that He hasn’t given up on us yet.
Thank you to everyone who is cheering me on with my photography. I’ve been very focused on it lately, but I’m still writing. I’ll be sharing some words soon. Promise!
“One day you will look at those photos with much kinder eyes, and say, ‘dear God, I was a beautiful thing!'”—Catherine O’Hara as Moira Rose
Today, I’m starting a new series where I photograph the amazing women in my life. I’m hoping to improve my photography skills while at the same time honoring those who make my life so beautiful.
My daughter, Lola, agreed to be my first model. I’m grateful for her creative spirit, willingness to try new things, trust in my abilities, and endearing vulnerability.
Let me know if you have a favorite and have a great weekend.
What makes you proud?
Pushing through things and still being here.
What makes you feel brave?
Sharing my art and performing music.
What gives you hope?
The kind, beautiful people in my family and life.
birthday soon
leaves begin their autumn dress
eager wind rushes to receive
only in dreams, summer remains
—Neil, 2021
As many of you know, my dear friend and fellow blogger, Neil Reid, left us last November. Today would have been his 78th birthday. In honor of his kind heart and beautiful writing, I’d like to share with you two poems that will be in our poetry collection coming out next spring. The first one I wrote in honor of Neil, and the second is a favorite poem of his. He had a way of stringing together many different ideas to make you understand a deep truth. The photo above is of his beloved dragon statue which made it’s way to me. It’s magical, like him.
I miss him so much.
If you have a favorite Neil memory, please share it. Or, if his writing is new to you, read more and let me know what you think.
you are my moose
four legs rooted in soil
stars dancing in dark pupils
sniffing for ripe plums
running from wolves
you hand me threads
wrapped around words
unraveling big pills
not wooden, real live boy
feet kissing earth
you turn toward light
living moss-covered verbs
bowls of ocean water
melt like sugar does
children need sunlight
you wanted Neverland
stories told under willows
hunger turned into warmth
forgetting ancient lost faces
harvest moon dancing
you call me mother
as in honey comb
solid tree branches
bend into dream blossoms
nests, fragile eggs
you remain soft bear
flowing tidal kindness
snuggling soft memories
chocolate cake, closed eyes
embrace salty breath
you return home
tail, fin, gills, scales
shyness turned into galaxies
unafraid of unknown shapes
love is a bucket
we keep filling
forever
—Bridgette
when I can’t quite see you. unclear. obstructed.
cluttered by stray thought. sound but no sight.
although more than an arm’s length away. or,
maybe it’s just smoke. fine bits of something
recently burnt. a particulate suspended mass.
describe smoke
when I called, you came to me. only a few steps
measured away, but it meant you had to get up,
get out of bed. something in the dark looked
awry. my height marked in pencil, ascending
on the doorway jam. yours by a calming hand.
describe mother
she was always there. more than anyone. her.
feeder of stray cats, any cats. hands that held
no threats, not to anyone. a gingham dress.
always. at least my always. memory bigger
than me. mother of mother.
describe Janet
you come from out of the ground. you come
from mountaintops. you come from high and
grey and green and white and dark, clouds we
say. one drop at a time still makes an ocean
to waiting watchful acolytes. thirst. we drink.
describe water
check mark all of the above. a first beginning,
eagerly. tell me all the stars. tell me all the
worlds. tell me about me and about you. I’m
all ears. I’ll bring the old cooking pot.
describe everything
you come from the ground when I call. you answer thirst.
you bake bread. I comb your hair. cat’s asleep on the bed.
you are rolling brown grass hills. my hand knows the curves.
you are a bowl of soup. you are inside when outside is rain.
describe loving
—Neil
You’ll forever be my water, Neil. Happy Birthday.
I’m not doing great.
After the tremendous high of self-publishing my book in April, I’ve spiraled into a funk so deep I’m hesitant to even speak about it. I’ve resisted naming it or giving it power, but the truth is as plain as the sweatpants I’ve been wearing for days.
I’m not doing great.
While I can rally when my friends and family need me, it takes everything out of me. My default Pollyanna attitude, always seeing the joy and wonder in everything, is slowly fading away. It’s harder and harder to put a positive spin on things, and as a result, I’m dissociating more and more. I check out for hours and days at a time by playing on my phone or binge watching TV, often doing both at the same time.
The creative spark I had just months ago seems lost.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. I’m picking fights with my family, crying easily, and my body hurts all the time. I feel myself stiffening in all ways. It could be stress in my life, the state of the world, perimenopause, or most likely, all of those things combined.
It’s time to seek help. Again.
Sigh.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I think part of getting through this is going to be recommitting to blogging again. Reaching out to this beautiful community as my whole broken self and saying, hey, I sort of need a hug right now and maybe you do too, so how about we hug each other with words? That sounds weird, but you know what I mean. We aren’t alone. None of us.
So, yeah. I’m here.
How are you? I seriously want to know. Good? Bad? Tired? Energized? Did you get a new dog? Your cat do something funny? What projects are you working on? Tell me all the things.
I might not be doing great, but I’m going to show up. I’ve taken a ton of photos lately and it’s time to edit them and share them with you. Maybe the joy of the tiny details will help me in my recovery, and who knows, maybe you’ll find something about them to love too.
I’ll leave you with this photo my daughter took of me in Washington earlier this month. I remember thinking in a world where an artist creates something this magical, anything is possible. I’m holding onto that feeling, even if it’s tiny.
I hope you are too.
some say we return to stars
light returning to source
but I won’t say it to you
as your child left too soon
instead I’ll focus on moonlight
grief rippling across the land
a sliver of silver beside Venus
how small words feel now
once he pulled my giggly son
across a green lawn over and over
“you can stop anytime,” I said
he shrugged, “but he’s so happy”
some say we will meet again
across the rainbow bridge
but I won’t say it to you
as your boy left too soon
*Dedicated to my aunty Nel and my cousin Josh. I wish I could be there today to celebrate his life with you. He will be greatly missed. I love you all.
Bridgette Tales 