Day: March 18, 2010

Sometimes I’m able to see how lucky I am, sometimes not. That’ s the nature of diseases of the mind. Or perhaps that’s a good thing, one balancing the other. This afternoon, I see how blessed I am, how lucky to have my family, Maria, the dogs, my work, photography. I am excited to be heading off to Glens Falls to teach my first story-telling workshop (the proceeds of tuition go to LARAC, the Lower Adirondack Regional Arts Center). Izzy is coming. This photo tells a story, and it’s a bit mysterious to me, the coming together of these dogs to mark my life. The flap copy came in for “Rose In A Storm” and I love it. It refers to the “celebrated Bedlam Farm.” Hmm. Might not be a place to move away from.

When I walked past Annie’s community garden in Brooklyn the other day while visiting my daughter Emma and going to her book party, I came across Annie’s Garden, and I thought about how many hopeful and uplifting things I see in the course of a day, and how few of them make the news.

Families are reforming, rediscovering one another, people are pursuing old dreams and connections, and the notion of simpler, more gentle lives is epidemic now. Since this isn’t considered as significant as people screaming at one another in Washington, we don’t hear about it, we have to stumble up on it. But if you keep your eyes open, you will. I am no pollyanna, I can be as gloomy as anybody, but my photography – and my therapy – has helped me to see the small stories that don’t make the news but light up the sky, and my life.

Lenore has found an early Spring hole to jump in and pull up disgusting things and sticks. You know Spring is near.

As Mary Oliver wrote, just put your lips to the world. And live. On this mural in Brooklyn, people are telling their story, and beautifully. That’s my belief. Telling our stories is important. It speaks to our identify, our strength, our creativity. So it’s a fitting photo to put up as I go to LARAC tonight to begin my four-week story telling workshop. I tell my story every day. On my blog,  in my books, in my head, in  my life, through my photos. I believe in it.  People are often convinced their stories are unimportant, or insignificant, or made to feel foolish about them. Our stories are the thread of our lives. Tell them.