Day: December 20, 2017

I grew up around judgmental people, the instinct to judge was deep within me, I work all the time to root it out and remind myself that I am  no one to judge others, and that few people or things are what they first appear to be.

I agree with the philosopher who wrote that by judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace to which others are entitled just as we are. I’ve learned this lesson again and again, but judging other people seems to be part of human nature, it takes a great deal of discipline and strength to curb that impulse.

When I forget to stand in the shoes of other people, I forget much of what it means to be human.

For years, I avoided the Bog, also known locally as Foggy Notions. The word among  some people was that it was a biker’s bar, not always friendly to outsiders like me, city people who have drifted to the country.

There was no hard evidence for this reputation, but I often drove past and saw the bikes lined up on Main Street and I just thought it wasn’t a place that would  welcome someone like me. I didn’t go there for the first 15 years I lived here, and it isn’t like our town has all that many choices for eating out, and I love to eat out.

One gloomy night last year, Maria and I decided to go to the Bog and find out if it was true that their hamburgers were the best around. So we went, and it was true. Not only are their hamburgers thick and juicy, but it was actually one of the friendliest, warmest and most inviting places.

We were not only welcome at the Bog, we felt as if we had been going their our whole lives. It has two of the nicest  bartenders anywhere – Kelly, who you know, and Molly, who works on the nights Kelly is off (like tonight.)

Places like that aren’t designed or marketed, they grow organically,  a natural part of a community.

I went tonight to photograph Kelly, but she was off. I decided I had to take a photo, hopefully of Molly.

Kelly had an extraordinary impact on me and my photography. I saw her very radiant smile and wanted to photograph it, to take her portrait. She never hesitated, she just looked at the camera.  She didn’t mumble about how she doesn’t look good or wasn’t ready, she didn’t check her hair.

It is what is, I could almost  hear her thinking. She just trusted it.

Kelly taught me so much about portraiture, and taught many other people about grace and warmth. She also taught me about competence. She is bartender, waitress, table-clearer, cashier, and when the Bog is crammed, it seems almost impossible that she could run it all. But she does, with a smile and the ability to absorb a hundred things at once.

I’ve never once felt she was annoyed or in a rush, she just handles it.

Bars have changed, I am told. Because of the nationwide crackdown on drunk driving, lots of people, especially younger people, drink at  home if they drink at all.

Except on weekends, bars like the Bog are quiet, almost restrained. Sometimes there is loud celebrating or singing, but I have never felt uncomfortable there, quite the opposite. The bikers are particularly sociable when they come in, and if anybody gets exuberant, Kelly just quiets then down.

I want to take a holiday portrait of Kelly and I will go back to do that, but I thought Molly also has a great presence about her. I had the itch to do her portrait.  She is also very warn and very confident, if you talk to her two or three times, you have a friend as well as a waitress or bartender.

Molly was shy about being photographed, she said she doesn’t photograph well, but I told her i’d take the photo at a distance the first time, perhaps, like Kelly, she would get easy with it. (Kelly never blinked, she just looked me in the eye and said shoot away.)

I’ve found in my photography that I liked showing people who don’t think they look good that they do look good, they are beautiful in their own way, it is not a matter of what is on the outside, but what is on the inside. The outside is besides the point.

Kelly has helped a lot of people understand that and I expect Molly will get there soon enough.

The Bog teaches me not to judge things from hearsay or first or shallow impressions. It is almost an extension of our home now, people yell hello when we come in and cheer when I come up to Kelly with the camera.

Far being feeling unknown there, I feel especially known, and so does Maria. The Bog is especially inviting during the holidays, it is an extension of family for us. People like Kelly and Molly make it so.

I am glad I learned not to listen to what other people say,  and to think for myself. I’m especially grateful to Kelly, who teaches all of us what beauty really is. I’m going back tomorrow to get her portrait in time for Christmas.

In the dark days of early winter, color and light are ever important. Many people move to places where there is no winter like ours, but I love the winter, it helps me define life and seasons and the passage of time.

Our farmhouse is snug and well built, it has withstood many winters, but I especially appreciate the curtains and the sun reflecting on the fruit bowl in the morning. I think the holidays are an effort to inject light into the darkness, and sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn’t.

This is a hard time for many people and many families. My pictures help me keep the light. In my faith,  the Light is not defined solely as happiness and joy, rather it suggests a kind of unending happiness, , the difference between momentary pleasure and lasting fulfillment.

Most of us – me –  have a deep fear that our happiness must end, that it is momentary. When we find serenity and contentment, we think it’s too good to be true, or that we don’t deserve it.

I worry about tomorrow and the days behind. I lose my connection with the Light, to my sense of security and comfort and peace of mind. Embracing the light is about believing that mu happiness will be  with us tomorrow.

Sometimes I can get there, much of the time I can’t. When i do get there, it is a beautiful place to be.

In that state, I have no fear, or worry about the future. I  know what it means to find peace.

Bob is back at the Mansion, recovering from some health issues. His wife Shirley died a few months ago, and the holidays are difficult for him. Sometimes, he sits by the door in the cold weather – he loves to sit on the porch when the weather permits – and seems deep in thought.

Red sometimes comes and sits by him, and today, I noticed that Summer, the Mansion cat, joined them. I thought it was a particularly poignant and meaningful holiday image.

I used the Archomat art lens to get this shot of Maria walking across the big red barn towards the gate, it just seemed iconic to me, a scene from the farm during the holidays, I hope to do a series of photos like that between now and Years.

Note; Tomorrow, my friend Ali will be  driving my way to meet up with me at a halfway point with some of Mawulidi’s carvings, and also so I can give him a check to take the soccer team to see Star Wars this coming Monday.

I think I need to give him a Christmas present of some kind. My eyes have recovered from the exam this morning, and I am starting to see clearly again. I see we are in for a snowy weekend.

 

The best and most thoughttully chosen dogs weave in and out of our lives as if they just grew there, like a favorite plant. They just find ways to fit in. They mark the passages of our lives, we often don’t know for awhile why they came. Or why they go.

In my study is Lenore’s couch, a beautiful restored Victorian sofa from an old farmhouse.  Lenore loved to sleep on that sofa while I wrote, my desk is just across the old parlor. I have a poster of the great clown Lou Jacobs hanging overheard, Lenore’s portrait has moved to the living room.

I have, of course, piled all sorts of camera and office equipment on the couch, but I left a space in the middle on the off chance Gus would want to sleep there sometimes. He loves it, he is often there.

Unlike Lenore, he slips in and out quietly and silently, I am sometimes surprised to see him, there, but it is a safe and cozy spot, and it is becoming Gus’s couch, rather than Lenore’s couch. I am open to change, and do not like nostalgia or lament for the past.

Sometimes, different threads come together. My dogs seem to know that sofa is important.

I have to say I love the image of him peeking out of the middle of the sofa, as if he grew there. I feel like he gets the meaning of it, although that may be a projection.

Gus is a good one.