Photo memory of the day - 2004 -Having fun with some of the street art in Aker Brugge Oslo Norway

Having fun with some of the street art in Aker Brugge Oslo Norway a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I had a very dear friend named Berni.  She was a friend from the internet.  We met on a travel web site.  We talked on line for hours on end. She was a very funny lady and kept me laughing late into the night on many occasions.  She loved to collect shoes.  She had closets full of shoes.  She also loved to travel.   We laughed together, we shared secrets, we cried together.  We had a perfect online friendship.  Suddenly one day as we were talking she said to me "Larry I have just been diagnosed with cancer."   I was speechless.  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.   When Berni lost her hair from her chemotherapy treatments I sent her a giant Maryland crab hat. I told her to wear it out in public so she would not attract attention.   She loved it. Everyone who came to visit her had to wear the crab hat and she would send me photos of them wearing the hat.  I went to England to meet her and she was no longer able to wear her beloved high heeled shoes.  She was in a wheel chair.  But we laughed and had some wonderful party moments in London.  Two years later she was near the end and I traveled to England to see her one last time.  She was still so full of life.  She and her husband had sold their home and possessions and traveled the last two years of her life.  This last visit in London was not sad.   We laughed and talked and enjoyed our time together.  My last memory of her is seeing her husband Carl wheel her through the British museum in London.  Even near death she still wanted to see and experience life.  

When I was in Oslo Norway I saw this wonderful statue of a nude lady with red high heels.  I took a picture and sent a copy to Berni.  I labeled it Berni and Larry in Oslo.  She replied back to me "Get your hands off my ass.  Its cold back there."  Oh how she made me laugh.  I learned more about living from her last few years than I had in a lifetime.   I miss you Berni.  But I know your still near wearing those high heels where ever you are and thinking about that still makes me me laugh.  

My Novel

Restored life saving station circa WWII - Corolla North Carolina (3) a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I am not a photographer.  But I love to take photographs.  I am an amateur photographer at best.   I always jokingly say give me a four gig chip for my camera and somewhere on that chip I will take a photo that is good.  I took this photo in September while visiting the Outer Banks in North Carolina.  This location is very isolated.  It’s on the northern end of the Outer Banks north of Corolla.  There are no roads  to reach the location.  We took a four wheel drive sand dune tour to reach this location.  The ride was very bumpy.  Sand was blowing all around us.   We were on a tour to see wild horses on the Outer Banks.  Our guide stopped our vehicle at this restored historic life saving station.    The location spoke to me.  I took a quick photo hoping for the best.  When I uploaded the photo I was so pleased.   For me,  the photo had captured the experience.

The photo seems to tell a story.  It has a romantic feel to it along with a historic perspective.    The photo could be a novel in my opinion.  There is a story waiting to be told.  For different reasons it reminds me of a John Ford western landscape, or I can imagine Jennifer O’Neal walking across the sand dunes in Summer of 42.   There is also the history of the shipwrecks and live saving that actually happened at this place many years ago.     Its easy for me to get lost on the Outer Banks.   It’s one of the few places that I visit where I can literally escape for a few days.   Each time I look back at this photo I can escape again for a few minutes.    Unfortunately the cell phone will ring, or the dog will bark to go outside and I am snapped back into reality. 

I have talked for some forty years of sitting down and writing my novel.    Looking at some of my photos I realize that I have my novel already written.  Its story is open to the imagination of the person viewing the photo, ever changing and ever evolving.   

Embracing Whimsy

Mark and I planned a trip with his parents to New England this summer.  Mark's parents had gone through a very difficult winter.  Mark's father had his second leg amputated this past winter.  He spent forty five days in the hospital for the surgery and recuperation.  Mark's mother spent many hours at the hospital and transporting his father to therapy after the surgery.  They both were in need of a vacation and some time to get away.  When we discussed the trip with them we talked about places we all wanted to see.  There were several different opinions and ideas of what to see and where to go.  One place we all agreed on wanting to see was Salem, Massachusetts.   Researching things to see in Salem we found many references to the horrific witch trials of the 1600's, the history of Nathaniel Hawthorne and his novel The House of the Seven Gables, and a statue to Elizabeth Montgomery and the television show Bewitched. 

The Bewitched Memorial was sponsored by the TVLand television network at a cost of $75,000.   Many residents of Salem were offended by the idea of honoring a fictitious witch character from television in a city infamous for putting to death innocent victims accused of witchcraft.   I can understand their feelings. 

''It's insensitive to what happened in 1692," said Jean Harrison, one of several Salem residents opposing the plan. ''She was a fictional witch, but the people who died were not witches."

Because of its history Salem holds a fascination.  I wanted to see the city, explore the streets where the horrific events happened much the same way I wanted to visit Auschwitz when I was in Poland.  Not to celebrate the events but to have a chance to experience the location where the historic events happened.   But I also wanted to see the Bewitched Memorial and celebrate something that was important to me growing up.  It was a difficult  to embrace whimsy in such a serious atmosphere.  However once I saw Elizabeth Montgomery's image as Samantha in the city square I was transported back to the 1960's.

My mother belonged to our churches ladies home group.  They had weekly meetings every Thursday evening at our church.  My father was never one to "babysit" my sister and I.  He would be at home on Thursday nights but he was not watching the children.  So my mothers sister came over to our house on Thursday nights and sat with us.  We all watched Bewitched together every Thursday.  It came on after That Girl which was another show I loved.  As a little gay boy I watched That Girl each week with the fantasy that one day I would grow up like Ann Marie, move to New York, become an actor, and meet Don Hollinger.    My father and my aunt thought I had a crush on Marlo Thomas and never realized I wanted to be Marlo Thomas.  And then Bewitched came on.  Here was a show with so many hidden meanings and secrets for me.  Samantha had to hide her true self from the world.  She was not allowed to openly admit that she had a secret.   She had a wonderful flamboyant Uncle Arthur who snarled sarcasm and swished around the house and then disappear if anyone threatened him.   How wonderful to be able disappear when you felt threatened that someone would figure out your secret.  I am sure I did not understand all of this at that age, but in hindsight its obvious to me now that there was a connection I was unaware of at the time.  Now knowing that Bewitched was one of the gayest shows ever on TV it all makes sense.  Uncle Arthur was played by Paul Lynde who was gay.  Endora was played by Agnes Moorehead who was a lesbian.   And even the second Darren, Dick Sargent,  was played by a gay man.

So please excuse me.  I understand and appreciate the terrible things that happened historically at Salem.  But I also understand it meant something to me to see a memorial to Samantha and Elizabeth Montgomery.  Allow me to embrace a memory and some whimsy from the past for a few moments. 

The Motown Sound - Visiting Detroit

I visited Detroit, Michigan over a weekend in July 2011.  Detroit seems to get a bad rap these days.  When you read an article about Detroit you see worlds like "war zone", "deserted", "empty".  I was hoping to find a more positive image when I visited.  I know how the press and the media can sensationalize things and distort reality.  Growing up in the sixites Detroit was known as the Motor City because of the car industry.  But for me, a music loving teenager in the 1960's, Detroit meant the Motown Sound, or as Barry Gordy used to call it "The Sound of Young America".  I used to love listening and dancing to The Supremes, The Four Tops, The Temptations, and Martha and the Vandella's.  When I arrived at the very efficient  and modern airport I was impressed and was hoping for the best.  One of the first things I saw in the airport was a gift shop for Motown Records.  This was what I was hoping for, not what I had read about it.  But sad to say, Martha and the Vandella's hit "Nowhere to Run" is more the theme of what I found in Detroit. 

I visited the central business area and found the beautiful General Motors Renaissance Center the waterfront.  Walking through the Renaissance Center I saw huge food courts with vendors offering food like many tourist area's in many major cities.  But there were no customers.  There was no one there except for the people working in the food court.  There was a large display of the new General Motors cars for the public to view. 

They were all fantastic to see, but once again there was no one there looking at them.  This huge skyscraper on the water front was literally empty.  I could hear Martha Reeves in my head singing  "nowhere to run, nowhere to hide." 

We decided to ride on the People Mover, Detroit's elevated train systerm for visitors.  We were able to ride it less than five minutes when we had to exit because the cars breaks were failing.  I was beginning to fear that all that I had read about Detroit might be true. 

There are many beautiful skyscrapers with some fantastic architecture still to be found in Detroit, but many of these great buildings are vacant and will most likely be gone soon.  The streets of downtown Detroit we empty at lunchtime on a Friday afternoon.  And yet all around you can see the possibilities of a great city still hoping for chance.

Leaving the downtown area its gets even sadder.  All of the photos on the Internet, in the magazines, and on TV are all true.  It does look like a war zone.  And it does not look like it's a war that Detroit is winning.  Vacant houses, homeless on the streets, weeds growing in the sidewalks, and devastation all around.  There was no Motown sound to be heard in this neighborhood unless you want to listen to Edwin Starr's anthem from the 60's "War" and The Temptations "Ball of Confusion".

The only music to be heard in Detroit these days is the din of the slot machines and the computerized music buzzing through the speakers at the lounges in the casino's that have sprung up in downtown Detroit.  This is also the only place you will find people in downtown Detroit. 

Like any good tourist I tried to ignore the reality and look for something pleasing to make me feel good about my visit.  And I did find this.  Walking along the water front, viewing the Renaissance Center, and walking through monuments in Hart Plaza I had my tourist experience.  I smiled and posed for the camera.   I read the inscriptions on the monuments.  And then we left Detroit for the suburbs, like most of the citizens of Detroit have done themselves.

I returned home to Baltimore, which like Detroit, is a city in distress.  But Baltimore has been a little more fortunate and has had some opportunity to turn itself around, and it makes me wonder if Detroit has a chance.  I have also questioned how can great cities like Baltimore and Detroit go to ruin.  Who is to blame?  Do we blame the racial divides of the 1960's.  Do we blame the failure of the car industry?  Do we blame the unions, the Democrats, the Republicans, the immigrants?   As I was gassing up my Nissan Sentra this afternoon I realized that perhaps I have to take some of the blame.  I shop at WalMart and Target for convenience and for thrift and buy all of their imported goods.  I drive a Nissan.  My underwear have a tag inside them that says made in Columbia.  I have watched the factories close around me.  And yet there I am standing on the waterfront in Detroit playing the good tourist and taking photos. 

I spent last weekend in Detroit.  This weekend I will most likely be singing some Motown song at karaoke in my local bar.   Life goes on.

Finding something magical and wonderful everyday

St Clair Family Memorial - Rosslyn Chapel a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I am a traveler.  I have found in my later years that there is a bit of the nomad in my spirit.  I don't really want to move away and live somewhere foreign.  But I am nomadic in nature and want to see, visit, and explore as many places as possible.  I never know where my travels will lead me and sometimes I am surprised at where I end up.  Three years ago my partner Mark and I took a journey to Scotland to visit a friend of ours name Sue.  She invited us to her home in the hills of Penicuik.  We were unfamiliar with the area, but we knew it was near Edinburgh which fascinated us.  Sue picked us up at the airport and took us to her home.  It was a beautiful estate with gardens, hills, wild animals, and two poodles.  We visited in January, which is not the best time to visit Scotland.  Scotland is cold and rainy most of the year, but January can be the worst.  We brought warm coats, and warm night wear for our visit.  Our first day at Sue's home she took us on a tour of the ground and we noticed a church off in the distance.  It was covered in scaffolding and under repair.  We asked her about the church and she told us it was "the" Rosslyn chapel of the Da Vinci Code fame.  What?  This was the church of The Holy Grail from the novel?  She told us yes it was that same church.  We were shocked.  We had no idea this church was near her home.  What a wonderful surprise.  It was walking distance from her home.  I love unplanned surprises like this.  We should have researched a little more and been prepared for this, but finding it by surprise was much more fun.

Being a Christian and raised in a conservative Christian Church seeing the church made famous by the Da Vinci Code was perplexing to say the least.  Being a traveler and exploring cultures and history this was a true find.  How does one separate the two.  Do I look at this chapel with its history and legends as just that, legends?  Or do I go explore the chapel hoping for some mind bogging experience.  I am a skeptic.  I have many beliefs that have been in my mind since childhood.  But this was no accident.  I was here completely unaware for a reason.  Is this the actual location where the descendants of Jesus survived.  Are the St. Clairs who still claim ownership of the property the true descendants of Mary Magdalene and Jesus?  There are so many questions without any answers.  But I did see the chapel.  And I saw the memorial and grave of The St. Clair family at Rosslyn.  It was an experience that I will never forget. 

I have been to many other places that have spiritual significance to many religions.  I have been to Fatima where the the legend of the Holy Mothers appearance is significant.  I have been to Machu Picchu where the Inca created a spiritual hiding place.  I have visited the locations of where my ancestors left Europe and immigrated to the United States.  All of these places have their importance and their mark on my history and my beliefs. 

But my friend Sue lives in a beautiful home in the hills of Penicuik where she sees the Rosslyn Chapel from her window everyday.  Its common place for her.  Does that make it any less special, or magical, or spiritual?  I don't know.  I worked in Washington DC for ten years.  I walked past the Capitol Building everyday on my way to work.  It became just another building I saw daily.  But to tourist on the visitors bus its magical and wonderful to see see the Capitol for the first time.  I look at my life each day and try to find something special.    I want to experience a Rosslyn Chapel everyday.  Some days its difficult to find that special moment.  But if I take time, reflect on my blessings, and forget about my problems, there is a Rosslyn Chapel in my horizon everyday.  Its my job to find it.

A long journey from 8th grade English

Larry and Mark at Tintern Abbey a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

 When Mark, Katie, and I started to plan this trip to Ireland and to Wales we all talked about places we each wanted to see. I knew my must see location would be Tintern Abbey. I studied Wordsworth in high school, and unlike most school kids, was fascinated with his poetry. I had read his poem “Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798.” many times and have always wanted to see the location that inspiried this piece of work. Wordsworth talks in the poem of how he carried the vision with him and when he is in a busy city, or in a hectic crowd, the memory brings him back to a day of peace. I wanted to see this place that caused him to write: "In which the heavy and the weary weight. Of all this unintelligble world, is lightened..."

Today Tintern Abbey is somewhat restored. You can walk amoung the ruins. You can walk by the shore of the River Wye. And yes, even being there with friends and other visitors, I was able to understand why this place was important to Wordsworth. Its been a long journey from 8th grade English class in 1964 to Tintern Abbey 2011. But it was worth the journey.

Familarity

Interesting carving on a building in Atlanta (3) a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I love the city of Atlanta.  I lived in Atlanta in the mid 1970's.  I was in my early twenties and had lived all of my life to that point in a small rural town of less than 10,000.  Suddenly finding myself in a big city like Atlanta was pure culture shock.  I had to learn to live in the big city much like the kid who is thrown into the lake and has to learn to swim.  It was exciting, thrilling and yet terrifying all at the same time.   I have returned to Atlanta many times since that period in the 1970's.   Like me, Atlanta has grown and changed over the years.  When I walk down the streets  that  I was so familiar with in the 1970's today, it is at times difficult recognize where I am.  Huge skyscrapers now reach up to the sky where small shops and theaters once stood.  I saw this carving on an old building on Peachtree Street near Five Points.  The carving was one that I have walked past many times and has always caught my attention. The eyes and the expression always stop me when I walk past this building.   There was a small movie theatre next to this building in 1974.  I went to see a really bad movie at this theatre.  The movies title was Bug.  It was one of the later movies in the career of William Castle.  William Castle was the king of gimmicks and promotion for his movies.  His movies were never great, but this one was really bad.  The story was about mutant cock roaches released on the earth by a massive earthquake.  The theatre is long gone.  The entire area around the building has changed.  But this carving which I have always loved still exits.  And so does the memory of a really bad film.   Familiarity exists even when everything has changed.  And at times it brings back to mind a really bad movie. 

April 1977 Mom turns 50. Its a Mohole Party

April 1977 Mom turns 50. Its a Mohole Party a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

Happy Birthday Mom. "They" say time heals all wounds, but "they" are wrong. I don't think you ever get over losing your mother. Its natural and you expect to outlive your parents. But I don't think you ever stop missing them.

We celebrated my Mom's 50th birthday in a bizarre way.  We made a strange cake for her.  We bought those little sugar letters for decorations.  Instead of spelling out words like Happy Birthday we just put the entire card of letters on top of the cake in alphabetical order.  We made dinner for Mom also.  We made tacos for her.  She never had tasted taco's before.  It was 1977 and taco's had not yet become a mainstream family dinner.  She was not sure about them.  I remember we showed her how to put the seasoned hamburger into the crispy taco shell.  She loved them at first bite.  At 50 she had found something new that she liked. 

We made paper hats for everyone one to wear.  They had no design or description.  We called it a Mohole party.  I can't explain why, but at the time it seemed like a fun thing to do.  We laughed the entire evening.  Weird cakes, taco's and strange hats.  There was no alcohol at the party but you would have thought we were all under the influence.  It was one of the most fun parties I have ever attended.

We lost Mom way too early.  She died at the age of 70 just twenty years from the time this photo was taken.  I am now 58 and realizing just how young Mom was in this photo. That young man in the photo is me.  I was 25.  It was another lifetime.  I was married.  I would have two children just a few years later.  Looking back I hardly recognize  that person in the photo.  But there is no question who Mom was.  She was the grand matriarch.  She ruled the family with a strong but loving arm.

I wish Mom was still here today. I wish she could know the man I am today.  I wish she could have watched my girls grow into beautiful and strong young women.  I wish she could have met my husband Mark.  I know he would have loved to laugh and to sing with her in harmony.  I wish she could have met Danielle's partner Andrea.  And I wish she could be here to hold Katie and give her big hugs right now, that she needs so much.

I miss you Mom.  But I know you are watching over us and talking to Jesus about us in your heavenly home.  We will all be together again some day in the future.  And the love just keeps on growing.

The Class of 1970 had its dreams

Group photo - Class of 1970 40 year reunion a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

My high school class had its 40th reunion last year. I have heard many people talk about high school reunions over the years. Some say they would never go back to a reunion. Others go and have a wonderful time. I have enjoyed my high school reunions very much. This past year my high school class seems to have reconnected on many levels. Many of us have become contacts on Facebook. We have been able to share good times, felt bad for each other in sad times. We have sent prayers to each other when our families have been sick or have had problems. It has been a wonderful experience. Our reunion last October seemed to culminate all of this into a big party where we were able to celebrate who we are now, who we were then, and to be around to see who we become in the future.

We are all now approaching sixty much faster than we want to admit. We all realized that waiting five or ten years to have another reunion is just too long. So we have had a couple of mini reunions since  that have proved to be even more fun and more meaningful than the big party last October.

A group of us got together this evening at our classmates Laura's home for a pot luck dinner, some beer and wine and lots of conversation. We talked about husband and wives, ex's, children, grandchildren, teachers, parents who are getting older and frail, the events of 9/11, retirement, and jobs. Its been wonderful to reconnect and look at the roads we all have taken and been amazed at how those roads have kind of brought us back together.

The class of 70 had its dreams. Today we have our realities. But there is a bond of love and friendship now that many of us had thought we left behind back when we moved that tassel on our graduation caps so many years ago. I am so thankful for these friends today. We are comfort for each other now when many of us need it the most

I love you guys.

In Bondage

Day 170 0f 365 days - Or should that be day 1 0070 of 365 days a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

In 1962 I was ten years old. Every Saturday my mother would give me a quarter so that I could go to the Saturday matinee at the State Theatre in my little home town of Havre de Grace. Before the feature they always showed previews of coming attractions. I will never forget one Saturday afternoon in 1962. The previews started to play and the announcer said "You will not want to miss Dr. No, first in a series of James Bond films." For some reason the words first in a series caught this ten year olds attention. I had never heard of James Bond, Ian Fleming, or Sean Connery. But with this one announcement they all entered my life.

I was so excited. I was going to be able to see the FIRST in a series. I waited for two weeks for the film to open. I waited in line as usual with the quarter held tight in my hand for my admission. This was an event I was not going to miss.  They dimmed the lights in the movie theater, and closed the curtains covering the movie screen. This was always a big production at the State Theater. After showing the previews and a cartoon, they would close the curtains and the theater would go completely dark. Then the curtains would open as the movie started. I sat there as the curtains opened and the now familiar guitar riff of the James Bond theme entered my consciousness for the very first time.

I sat through the movie and never blinked an eye. I was totally captivated. From the images of Ursula Andress walking out of the sea in the bikini with the big knife strapped on her hip, to the images of Sean Connery in all his shirtless glory, this ten year old was mesmerized. I remember I stayed and watched the movie twice that day. Back then once you paid your admission you could stay and watch the movie as many times as you wanted. I could not leave. I had to see it one more time.

Since that day I have been in Bondage to the Bond films. Now almost 50 years later I still wait in anticipation for each new Bond movie. I have read all of Ian Flemings books. I have the entire movie series on DVD. I have the soundtracks and its not unusual to find them playing in my car CD player on any given day. The picture of me here is one that I had fun setting up. Its me with the Wii that my daughters gave me for Christmas in 2009. I have a Wii gun that I can use to do battle with Bond and wipe out the bad guys. I am like that ten year old kid all over again.

1962, first in a series! I never thought then that in November 2012 when I will turn sixty I will be first in line when the next Bond opens. Its almost like they have planned them all just for me.

Identity crisis solved

Just like me - German and Irish - St. Patricks Day Parade Baltimore Maryland a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I enjoy researching family history. I have spent many hours working on family trees. I pay a monthly fee to use the Ancestry.com web site. For some reason its all very important to me. I have heard many stories told to me over the years about family history. My mother loved to talk about the family and share stories that had been told to her. My research has challenged some of the stories that were told to her, but that also adds to the mystery and fascination with tracing ancestors.

This week I will be celebrating St. Patricks Day. Part of my fathers family immigrated to the United States from Ireland in the 1840's. I celebrated St. David's on March 1 for the other half of my fathers family. They immigrated from Wales and met the Irish half of my family right here in Maryland.

My mothers family immigrated from Germany in the late 1840's. They immigrated from the Hessen area of Bavaria. The patriarch Peter Christian Roth was in the Bavarian Army and brought his family to the United States after he was released from the military.

I was at the St.Patricks Day Parade in Baltimore on Sunday. I saw this beautiful daschund at the parade dressed in green shamrocks. This is me. A German wrapped in shamrocks.

I am going to Ireland and Wales next month. Mark and I are taking my daughter Katie with us as part of her 30th birthday celebration. Mark also has Irish roots to his family. It will be great fun visiting the homeland of our ancestors.

Still Shining - Concord Point Lighthouse - Havre de Grace, Maryland

This says Hometown to me - Concord Point Lighthouse - Havre de Grace a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I have seen the Eiffel Tower. I have been to Ushuaia, Argentina the southern most city in the world. I stood in the magical Incan city of Machu Pichu in the Andes. I drank Sangria in Barcelona, and ate perogies in Warsaw, Poland. But if you ask me where is my favorite place Concord Point Lighthouse in Havre de Grace, Maryland would be the answer. This lighthouse's history dates back to the War of 1812 and it still stands today as a symbol of the small town of Havre de Grace.

I was born in Havre de Grace and lived there for the first forty years of my life. I spent many hours with this lighthouse. I lived just one block away from Corcord Point when I was a child.  I played in the marshy swamps around the light house for hours. I used to go fishing behind the lighthouse with my Aunt Louise and her cousin Mary when they had their one week vacation each year from the local shoe factory. They worked very hard on the assembly line at Bata Shoe Factory and earned that week off with their sweat. So this week was always special to them and to me. My Aunt Louise was also the lady who bought me first camera.

My mother did not allow me to play down by the river when I was young. Her first husband had drowned in the river not far from this lighthouse, so her fear was honest. But it was not appreciated by this young boy. So although I wasn't allowed, I still spent many hours playing behind this lighthouse and along the water front. Today this location is very popular park with a boardwalk filled with town folks and tourists walking around daily. It was isolated when I was a kid and made for a great place to go skinny dipping. It was a different time. The town was very small. Parents were not afraid to let their children leave the house in the morning and not return until time for supper. Of course if my mother knew I was skinny dipping behind the lighthouse,she might not have felt so safe about letting me run free everyday.

I would never want to return to Havre de Grace and live in a small town again. But when I visit and see this beautiful lighthouse the magic of life in that small town returns.

I love Paris

Eiffel Tower a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

It sounds trite.  But its true.  I do love Paris.  Paris was always a fantasy for me.  From the time I was a child I always wanted to go to Paris.   I remember watching the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes on the old Saturday Night At The Movies on NBC when I was a child.  I watched Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell sit at a sidewalk cafe singing When love goes wrong, nothing goes right.  I knew then that I too wanted to see Paris and sit at a sidewalk cafe.  Maybe I couldn't sing with Marilyn and Jane, but in my mind they would be right there with me.  It was a fantasy that stayed with me.

I married in my twenties, had two daughters, bought a house and any fantasy of travel was far from a reality.  I finally was able to travel to Europe for the very first time when I was forty nine years old.   The person I was traveling with had a business conference scheduled for Marseilles.   I was going to France!   Although Marseilles is no where near Paris I was not going to France for the first time and not see Paris.  So we flew to Paris for three days and then took a four hour train ride to Marseilles.  I literally traveled from once corner of France to the other on that trip.

Paris, the city of lights was everything I had hoped for.  I sat at sidewalk cafes.  I walked along the West Bank.  I saw all of the sights.  And then there was the Eiffel Tower, the crown jewel of Paris.  I will never forget my first view of the tower, the elevator ride to the top, and the view of the Seine from the Tower.  My mother used to sing the song "I Love Paris" when I was a child.  It was a favorite of hers.  She never got to Paris.  But when I climbed up the Eiffel Tower her voice was with me singing that song all the way to the top.

I returned to Paris again eight years later.  I was concerned that it would be a let down.   I was afraid it was not be as magical the second time.  I was wrong.  I have done a lot traveling between my first visit to Paris and the second. I have seen many beautiful cities.  But for me nothing compares to Paris. 

I will return to Paris again.  And I know it will woo me and charm me once more.  Marilyn and Jane will be at the cafe. My mother will be singing.  And I will be making the fantasy a reality once more.

"Every time I look down on this timeless town
whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
more and more do I realize:

I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paris every moment,
every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near." (Cole Porter)

Unplanned moments

Just by chance - Lima Peru a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I have learned one big lesson in life. That lesson is to live in the moment. I sometimes forget this lesson. When I do stress can set in letting doubts and fears can take over. When I start to worry about what will happen tomorrow, next week, next month, life starts to lose some of its joy. That is because I am not enjoying the moment I am experiencing. I am wasting that moment worrying about what is going to happen in the next one. For me this is bad for my relationships, its bad for me, and its mentally unhealthy. So I try to remind myself to stop and enjoy who I am, where I am, and what I am doing in the moment. I don't always live this way, and I can tell when I forget and slip back into the old mindset. But its such a waste to miss one moment of joy today because I am worrying about tomorrow.

This photo I took in Lima Peru in January 2010 reminds me of this lesson everytime I look at it. I just happened to be in Lima the very day the city was celebrating its 475th anniversary. It was completely unplanned. I had no idea when I planned the vacation that I would be there on a special day. I was in my hotel and heard loud drums and music outside the window. I walked out of my hotel and followed the noise to Plaza de Armas just a couple of blocks away. When I arrived in the plaza I saw a huge parade full of colorful costumes, musicians, religious floats, and huge masses of people on the street. I immediately started to take pictures of the scene. I was trying to capture the feeling of the day with just the right photos and became frustrated because there was so much going on that I could not make up my mind where to plan the best photos. Finally I turned around and snapped a quick photo. Completely unplanned and unedited I came up with this photo. I could have stood in that crowd for hours planning and hoping for the best photograph. Instead I accidently snapped a photo without any thought or plan. I could have missed the moment had I overthought or overplanned.

There are too many wonderful moments in life to chance missing them by wasting the moment worrying about tomorrow. I need to print that statement out and post it over my monitor so I can read it each morning.

Nun in Crocs - Warsaw Poland

Nun in Crocs - Warsaw Poland a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I love the way great artists named their portraits with very simple names that describe the portrait exactly.  For example Vermeer's painting Girl With The Pearl Earring.   Or Da Vinci's Woman with an Ermine.   So in like fashion I call this Nun in Crocs. As an amateur photographer I am always looking for something just a little bit off, just a little bit out of the ordinary when I am taking photos.  Most of time I don't find it.  The majority of my travel photos are of churches and cathedrals, European castles, rivers, and food that I have eaten.  But every now and then I come across something that speaks to the quiet rebel in me.  I was in Warsaw, Poland last spring.  I was taking my usual castle, church, food photos.  We walked down a small alley just off the main tourist street in Warsaw.  I saw this beautiful blue archway between two old buildings.  The blue on the wall seemed to jump right out at me and demanded a photograph.  I took several pictures of the arch from a couple of different angles and eventually came up with one that satisfied me.  I was looking forward to getting the photo on my PC so I could work with it and maybe print it out for my house.  Just as I was preparing to walk on, two nuns walked right in front of me and walked towards the archway.  At that moment I had to continue talking pictures.  The two nuns in their habits were the perfect touch to finishing off the photograph.   When I looked a little closer I realized one of the nuns was wearing crocs.  This really spoke to me.  Two nuns in full habits walking in the street in Warsaw and one was wearing crocs on her feet.  I fell in love with  that nun at that moment.  She was a quiet rebel.  She was devoted to her church.  She wore the habit as her order required.  But deep down inside she kept that little bit of individuality which makes her unique. 

All around us is the ordinary.  But you never know when a nun with crocs will cross your path.  Keep your eyes open.  Look for the unusual in the norm.  And you may be surprised at what you see.

In Cars..dedicated to Dad

Model cars at Mark's friends Ralph and John's home in Los Angeles a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It's the only way to live
In cars

Here in my car
I can only receive
I can listen to you
It keeps me stable for days
In cars


Here in my car
Where the image breaks down
Will you visit me please?
If I open my door
In cars (Gary Numan)

The lyrics to the classic 1980's song Cars by Gary Numan could have been written for my father. My father loved cars. And I do believe that like the first words of the song, my father felt safest of all in cars. My father had MANY cars over the years. And I do mean MANY. We never knew what to expect when we looked out to the driveway in front of our house when we were growing up.   On any given day there could be a new car sitting unannounced in the driveway.

I have no idea how much money my father paid in car loans over the years. He rarely took the time to pay off a car loan before trading the car in for a newer model. The local car dealership knew him by name. The salesmen would practically trip over each other trying to get out to the lot when they would see him drive up. They knew the minute he drove up a commission was in their immediate future. He loved the challenge of the trade and working out the deal never realizing that he was being used unfairly by the dealership.

One of the saddest things my sister and I ever had to do was to take the car keys away from our aging father. In his later years he developed alzheimer's disease and it was unsafe for him to continue driving. We both knew we would never be able to get him to give up his car, so we had to work with his doctor's to take away his keys. We took him to the Veteran's Hospital where he was being treated and had the doctor ask for his keys. At first he was in tears, then he became very angry. He told the doctor and the nurses to just go ahead and kill him. They had taken his life from him. We brought him back home from the doctors visit and his car was sitting in the driveway. He got out of the car we were driving and walked over to his car and touched it lovingly. We watched as he walked around and around the car touching it in disbelief. I know it was all but impossible for us to both hold back our tears that afternoon.

Last October Mark and I took a trip to Los Angeles to visit a high school of Mark's named Ralph. Ralph's husband John collects die cast car models and has walls of them on display in his house. The minute I saw them I thought of Dad and all of the cars he owned. Many of them were represented on the wall at Ralph and John's. I could almost see my father there in the house, walking along the wall looking at the cars and touching each one remembering all of the ones he had owned.

My father passed away many years ago now. But he is still around in many ways. Looking at the cars on the wall that day I could almost hear him saying those last lines in the lyric of the song:

Here in my car
Where the image breaks down
Will you visit me please?
If I open my door
In cars

Union Soldier and Sailers Memorial Baltimore Maryland - Photo editing

Union Soldier and Sailers Memorial Baltimore Maryland a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I recently downloaded the Picsa photo editor.  I have been having fun editing old photos with Picsa and seeing the new results..  This is an interesting photo I took last year.  I posted it to Flickr and had a few hits on the photo, but it was not an outstanding photo in my photo stream.   I edited the photo today and reposted the new version.  Within one days time I already had more hits on the photo than I had for a year on the original.  Its amazing what a little editing will do.  Its the same picture, but its presented differently.  It really makes me realize what a difference presentation can make.  I think it can also work on a personal level.  I am the same person that I have always been, but how I present myself on a daily basis can make a difference in the way others see me. With a little editing each day I can change the way people see me.  It does not change who I am but it can change the way the others perceive me. 

The object in the photo is interesting in its own way without any editing, but editing brings the attention to the photo that it deserves.

  Baltimore is a city full of fascinating monuments.  You can tell much about any cities history from its monuments.  Maryland was a divided state during the Civil War.  Much of the state supported the Confederacy although Maryland never secceeded from the Union.  This is the only Civil War monument in Baltimore dedicated to the Union.  One the opposite corner of the Wyman Park Dell you will find the  monument to Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson of the Confederacy.

The statue was created by Adolphe A. Weiman and was dedicated in 1909. The monument depicts a Union soldier striding forward with the Goddess Victory to his right and the Goddess Bellona (War) to his left. Behind Bellona rises a fig tree.

On the Trail - Clifton Park - Baltimore, Maryland

On the Trail - Clifton Park - Baltimore, Maryland a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

Last year I was taking photographs around Baltimore of various monuments and memorials.  Baltimore is known as the Monumental City due to the number of monuments within the city.  Some are well known but many are obscure.   Clifton Park is home of "On the Trail," a 7'4" bronze sculpture of an American Indian by Edward Berge.  Berge is from Maryland and has several other statues in the city.  The statue in Clifton Park was created by him at the Rodan School in Paris.  The statue is difficult to find if you are not sure where to look for it.  It is hidden in Clifton Park on the north east side of Baltimore.  It is within a golf course and standing in tall weeds near the road.  You can drive right by it and not see it if you are not aware that its there.  He does seem a little out of place here, lost in a golf course.

When I was a child I went to the Salvation Army Camp Tomahawk in Martinsburg, W. Va.  At the camp we ate all of our meals in a small quanset hut.  After each meal we were encourage to clean up the plates at our table by singing the song "Where or where is big chief Tomahawk?"  The table with the cleanest stack of dishes was awarded a small statue of Chief Tomahawk which remained at the table until the next meal. 

When I was in high school our school team was the Havre de Grace Warriors.  We also had a girls marching group for parades and football games called The Warriorettes.  The girls would wear short American Indian styled dresses and feathers in a head dress. 

It was a more innocent time back then. Before the days of political corretness we never thought there was any harm in these things.  Today these concepts seem about as out of place as an Indian in a golf course.

The Real Braveheart

William Wallace Memorial in Baltimores Druid Hill Park a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

The Real Braveheart

I am not a fan of Mel Gibson. My Scottish friend Gillian has told me that most Scots are not fans of Mel Gibson either. His portrayal of William Wallace insulted many people in Scotland for its historic inaccuracies. But that’s Hollywood. Historical epics are not made to tell history, they are made to make money. While in Scotland in 2009 I was able to visit Sterling Castle and see the fields where William Wallace led the battle for Scotland’s independence. It brought back to memory the statue of William Wallace I had seen here in Baltimore in Druid Hill Park. I told my friends in Scotland about the memorial here in the park. That’s part of my love of travel, to be able to visit other countries, meet friends, and then be able to make a connection with something familiar back home.

After returning from Scotland I drove over to Druid Hill Park to take some photos. The William Wallace Memorial in the park was created by artist David Watson Stevenson, who was a member of the Royal Academy of Scotland. The monument was presented to the city of Baltimore in 1893 by William Wallace Spence. It was then rededicated one hundred years later by the St. Andrew’s Society of Baltimore. I really like the way the statue stands with his sword lifted facing the skyline of Baltimore.

Having been to Sterling and seen the castle and the battleground there, this monument has a special connection for me when I see it. Another connection is the fact that for the past few years Baltimore’s Gay Pride Festival has been located in Druid Hill Park. William Wallace now stands surrounded by the GLBT community each year in the park. The state of Maryland is now involved in a large battle for marriage rights. The battle for freedom continues today. I find it appropriate that he stands here today representing the fight for freedom. Move aside Mel Gibson. Here is the true Braveheart.

Here's looking at you...the first blog

Although I enjoy reading blogs I have never put much thought into creating one.  Every spring I try to come up with a  leisure project for the new year.    In 2009 I decided to take some time exploring the city of Baltimore to take photographs of the many monuments around the city.  I enjoyed this so much that last year year I decided to do another series of photographs.  This time my subject was Baltimore Churches.  Before anyone reading this goes any farther let me explain that I am not a professional photographer.  But I have had a love of taking pictures since I was 8 years old.  My Aunt Louise bought me my first camera when I was eight.  She bought it at a little store located at the old Bata Hotel behind the Bata Shoe Factory in Harford County.  She worked very hard on the manufacturing line at the factory and my appreciation of the fact that she spent some of her hard earned money to buy me camera has always stayed with me all of these years.  I immediately started to buy film with my allowance and took many photos as a child.  Some of them were kind of strange.  I used to take my younger sister Shelley out and pose her in obscure places to make what I thought were dramatic photos that told a story.  I still like to take photos that tell stories, real or fictional.  So, I am going to take photos and write a blog about them for my spring 2011 project.

To quote my favorite movie Casablanca: "Here's looking at you kid."  I hope we meet here again soon.

Flickr

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