txtourista2022

Just a few shots from a couple of walks around town. I couldn't maintain Tom's extensive front gardens by myself, so a while back I faced defeat and had them tilled up and converted to lawn. Some of the daffodils didn't get the memo. My favorite spring flowers are the squills that turn up on their own in random spots in my yard. Seeing them always reminds me of the Amy Lowell poem "Patterns," which begins I walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The garden paths. I love the contrast between the constraints that bind the speaker and the freewheeling nature of the squills.  And there's nothing like crocus to bring a smile and thoughts of summer.

Probably the most popular entry in my St. Augustine blog was about the wild variety of windows in the Old City there. So I took a walk in Bangor to see what kinds of windows I could see. Bangor's history as a lumber capital, with loads of woodworking companies, is still in clear display: many mid- and late-19th Century homes are abundant with fretwork and other decorative geegaws. There was a big surprise: often the most decorative windows were in the attics. Maybe the windows people actually used have been replaced over the years. But that's just a guess. For the best view, click on the first image to bring up enlarged versions:

Somehow this week feels like a downer. The novelty of being home with few commitments and no calendar--license to watch movies all day!--has worn off. The days are gray. It should be spring, but it isn't, really. Rusty sewing skills and scant supplies made for very frustrating mask-making. So the photography expeditions have been few. Hence some random shots from what little I did accomplish, from a narrow field of exploration. I spotted a couple of nice shadows when I watered the plants. And I had another walk in that oasis of calm and beauty, Bangor's Mt. Hope Cemetery.

Finally, some sunshine, and a sign of spring in the yard. A few brave chiniodoxa blooms contrast with the dreary aspect of the garden bench with its chorus of dead leaves. The Brewer riverfront walk is a great place for six-feet-apart walking. Thanks to another photo-mentor, Tim Smith, for his injunction to "follow the light." I'm working on it!

Winter hangs on grimly in these parts. Snow overnight, though just the ugly kind that turns to rain and melts quickly. Great day to stay inside and read! And make bread (thanks, Eric Peterson, for the sourdough starter and recipe!). But I got out the close-up (50 mm.) lens I haven't used in a very long time and poked around the house a bit. Seems tulips turn into grotesques when they die:

Everything I know about photography, which is not a whole lot, I learned from three men in my life: my brother Alan, my son Steve, and my late husband Tom, all of whom are/were camera wizards. So today I'll thank them by sharing some of their work. After years of hiking with Tom and trying to be patient while he fussed with his camera, I finally bowed to his insistence that I needed one of my own. He was a great teacher, offering praise often and giving advice only when I asked for it. Which was a lot. His spirit of playfulness and ability to see beauty in the tiniest everyday objects still inspire me. Alan lives in close proximity to Puget Sound and the Olympic mountains. He's endlessly fascinated by the night sky, as well as landscape and portrait photography. He does spectacular work. He taught me the rudiments of night photography and led me on a couple of hilarious dawn outings. He's recently put a collection of his work on Etsy.  https://www.etsy...