Weekly Photo Challenge - Simple

A photo of a building is pretty simple.  The building itself may or may not be simple in construct, but taking a picture of one is simple enough. It is large, so fills most of the view. It doesn’t move around or get obscured by pesky shadows. So, for this week’s photo challenge, I decided to take a photo of a building. 

It is a big, square office building without a lot of architectural interest. What distinguishes this building is that the exterior is composed almost entirely of glass windows that reflect the sky and thus seem to emit its bluish hue. In Kennewick, Washington, it is commonly referred to as the “Flashcube” building. I’m not sure if anyone younger than 30 or so calls it that. If they do, they certainly have no first-hand understanding of the term.

To those of us a little older than 30 (or so), the name is very apt and just seeing the building can stir up deep-seated nostalgia. For some, they will recall the late 1960’s when Kodak first came out with their ‘Flashcube’ that would allow four flash photos in a row on their ‘Instamatic’ camera. I remember using these, as well as Polaroid cameras, as a kid in the 1970’s.

 

All ancient history, as technology now allows us all to whip out our smart phones and snap a high quality flash photo without having to insert a flash on top while hoping that you haven’t forgotten to change the bulb after that fourth shot, right?

Upon a brief perusal of the Sunday paper, I find both Kodak and Polaroid making the news. Does the news reveal that the brands of my youth are still as young and vibrant as I am? Alas, not as far as Kodak is concerned, who finally threw in the towel and declared bankruptcy. I read that they are planning to restructure and hope to capture some elite high-end photo printing customers. Not the same as the good ole ‘Instamatic’.

The news involving Polaroid is more positive, but is still a nod to the past. The article celebrates a display of professional photographer Robert Frank’s images taken in the 1970’s. What is interesting about this story is that it reminds us of a time when it was new and revolutionary to take everyday photos of simple subjects and to expose these ordinary people, places, and things in our lives to the world. Of course, Frank was a professional and still far exceeds us novices in his skill of light and composition, even with our fancy user-friendly digital cameras. However, many of us do take after his documentary style of capturing the simple images of things we see or care about or find interesting.

I am not a professional photographer, although I enjoy taking pictures. I remember using the ‘Flashcube’, although I have spent more years using a digital camera than an ‘Instamatic’. This week, I am celebrating simple images with a ‘flash’ from the past. I wonder for how much longer people will recall waving a Polaroid photo in the air to encourage the appearance of the image or will use the expression “Kodak Moment” to describe a sweet or funny time they want to remember. People do still say that sometimes, don’t they?

Weekly Photo Challenge: Peaceful

Today, what brought me the most peace was going out alone into a ice-covered world, knowing that there was a cozy home awaiting my return.

Still Smiling

When my two front teeth grew in, they were big. I have no memories of other kids teasing me or calling me rabbit-inspired nicknames. However, with my new front teeth and a "pixie" haircut that my mother swears was in style in the early 70's, my second grade school picture leaves something to be desired. Although my chompers were big, they came in straight and worked well for their intended function and I loved to smile.

On the Friday morning before Valentine's Day when I was a junior in high school, I took a shower upstairs. I dressed in school colors. In stocking feet, I picked up my boom box (the kind that had detachable speakers) in one hand and my pajamas in my other and headed back to my room. On the third step, I slipped and fell. I landed on my butt and thuded down a couple more stairs. My pj's and radio were still in my hands, but one of the speakers was detached. I felt no pain, but my tongue felt a big hole where my front right tooth should be. Needless to say, I screamed. My mom came running to discover what had happened. Then my little brother came. His job was to look for my missing tooth. Below were I sat holwing, there were about five more stairs, a landing, and then four more stairs going both to the right and to the left. After about two long minutes of frantic searching, I heard my brother say, "Oh my God, is this it?!" as he held up an impossibly long white object. Indeed it was. A tooth with its root intact is surprising long, especially one of my big front teeth. My mom wrapped the tooth in a wet cloth and I held another one to my bloody gums. Dad came home to help. He called a family friend who was an excellent dentist at his home as it was before office hours. He agreed to meet us at his office, where he successfully placed the tooth back in its socket. He performed a root canal and sent me on my way, with the warning that I had probably a twenty percent chance of keeping it.

Over the years, the tooth turned a little gray. I finished high school, college, graduate school, moved out west, got married; and still the tooth remained. My current dentist has kept a careful watch and has improved the look of the tooth using composite material. Still, it's big and I have an overbite with extra space between my top teeth. I secretly wished that my teeth had come in crooked so I would have had braces to fix them long ago. As an adult, I never wanted to spend the money and I was used to the way I looked. I still loved to smile.

On last Thanksgiving morning, the gums around my tooth were sore and swollen. I waited until my dental cleaning the following Friday, but the gums were still irritated. I asked the dentist to take another look at my tooth. Comparing x-rays taken over the past many years, he repeated his assertion made four years earlier that the bone was resorbing and the tooth was not being held in very tightly. He pointed to the lack of supporting structure on the x-ray and showed how it has diminished over time. He recommeded that I take control of the situation and, rather than waiting for my tooth to break loose one day, I should begin a course of treatments to fix my teeth properly. First, orthodontics to pull my teeth in and closer together; then oral surgery to extract my tooth; healing time with a temporary tooth; and finally a permanent implant. In the end, my teeth will look the way I always wanted. I was ready.

That's what I thought before I had the braces put on last week. Now my mouth hurts, I can only eat soft foods which subsequently get all stuck in my teeth, the inside of my cheeks are scraped where the hooks and wire ends make contact, it feels weird to kiss my daughter or husband, and I can't whistle. With all the ground-breaking technology out there, braces seem very archaic. I'm sure there are simple ways to make them at least a little more comfortable. All these complaints and I don't even have to have spacers or rubber bands like some poor brace-sufferers. I have a new-found respect for teens with braces. At least it was my own choice to get braces; and I know I will be happy with the results at the end of this two-year torture.

I still love to smile.

Happy New Year

There is something about the start of the new year. Even though I try to resist making resolutions, I can't help but secretly resolve to make this year better than the last. I find myself signing up for a 21-Day Yoga Challenge. I am drawn to stories about dying people's regrets and resolve to avoid having the same. I conciously make myself be more present when playing with my daughter. At the first sign of sun and warmer temperatures, I get outside to walk and run and play and do yardwork. And here I am, writing on my blog - not because I have a particular story to tell or share something I have written, but to just write my thoughts and to practice writing to become a better writer. So, there you have it, I am a hopeless optimist and have gone ahead and made all kinds of resolutions in spite of myself. Above all, I resolve to strive for more moments that make me and my loved ones feel like this:

Happy New Year!

She Knows

This is the story I have submitted to NPR's Three-Minute Fiction contest for Round 7.  The rules are that the story must be 600 words or less and one character must arrive in town and one character must leave town.  I decided to write about Ellie's adoption day.  Hope you like it!

The woman awakens and, even before seeing the butterfly on her wall, she knows.  No one has told her.  She does not have access to the internet; no friend of a friend to keep her informed.  She knows it the way twins separated at birth know of significant events in each other’s lives.  She will not speak of it to her husband, although he shares her pain.  They had made the decision together almost immediately after the birth, exactly one year ago.  Without the money for the necessary medical procedures, it was what they had to do.  Today, however, her pain is bittersweet. 

Today is the child’s first birthday.  She doesn’t understand what is happening, but she feels its importance.  She wakes up at six o’clock, the same as every other day; eats the same hot cereal for breakfast.  Her favorite aunty bathes her and dresses her in a well-worn pink and white striped top and shorts.  But then the aunty clips two brand new kitten barrettes into the child’s short, dark hair.  The aunty is smiling with tears in her eyes.  Another gathers her pink tiger and the little book of pictures that arrived from far away two months ago.  She places them into a plastic bag along with the baby bottle.  These are the child’s only possessions.  Then the child is carried out to a waiting car.  She has only ridden in a car two other times.  The first time, the car took her to the sharp-smelling place where everyone wore masks and moved about very quickly.  She was frightened as the strange men and women poked her and put cold metal instruments against her sensitive bare skin.  The second time, the car took her back to where she lived in a room with eight other little girls her age. 

Today, the car goes on into the middle of the city.  The three aunties in the car with her keep singing and clucking in the way that makes the child happy.  When the car stops, they are all escorted through doors that swing around in a circle, across a fancy tiled floor, and into a large carpeted room where other small girls and boys are waiting with their grown-ups.  The child becomes a part of the waiting crowd - nervous, but too curious to be scared.

A man and woman arrived at the same hotel an hour earlier, after traveling thousands of miles from a distant city.  They, too, are part of a group that is waiting, equally curious and nervous.  The last fifteen minutes feel like the longest in the four years they have been waiting.  They kiss each other one last time as a childless couple before heading downstairs.  They see the child immediately from across the room.  The new mother feels the weight of love and completeness as they place her daughter in her arms while the new father remembers to snap a photo before wrapping his arms around his family.

As the plane lifts off five days later, the mother says a silent prayer of thanks to the woman who gave birth to her daughter.  The girl wonders where she is going this time; but she feels somehow safe with these two foreigners who hold her so close and give her so much attention.  The woman who remains feels hollow but hopeful.  The butterfly catches a gust of wind and flutters out through the open window; and she knows.

The Sound of Happiness

NPR's Three-Minute Fiction is getting ready to launch Round 7 soon.  They prompted would-be contestants to warm up their writing skills by writing a short story (420 characters or less, ) that included the words "three", "minute", and "fiction".  Here is my attempt, although I think I went over the character limit a little.

"Down in the meadow in an itty bitty pool swam three little fishies and a mama fishy, too." Her singing had never sounded so sweet, accompanied by splashes and giggles from the tub.  Happiness can do that - turn an ordinary voice into something special, like a magic spell in a science fiction story.

His mind drifted back to that time in the parking lot when she pulled her guitar out of the back of the little red pickup and played and sang to him for the first time. Her voice wavered a bit. She stumbled over a chord. All he remembers is that she sounded beautiful. Like now.

He would go tell her the news.  But not yet.  In a minute.

SWEPT AWAY

NPR is hosting another round of their 3-minute fiction contest.  The rules this time are that someone must tell a joke and someone must cry.  This is my entry.  My apologies to anyone who clicked on this link expecting an Ellie story.  This one is just pure fiction and shows that I actually can think about something other than my amazing daughter once in a while.

Ellen ran down to the shore.  She knelt by the edge of the frozen stream, caught her breath, and then held it.  She listened.  There!  What was that?  Soft, but distinct; it was definitely a scratching sound on the ice.  “Amy!  Oh my god, Amy!” she cried.  The scratching seemed to be moving slowly downstream.  Ellen saw the spot near the end of the dock where the ice was broken up.  “Amy!  This way, girl, swim this way!”  Ellen’s thoughts raced.  How could Amy know which way to go or how to get back to the open water?  Ellen certainly couldn’t go in after her. 

No one else was around; the other places all boarded up for the winter.  They had only come out to check on the summer camp and to get away for a few days.  A cold rain was falling when they arrived and Ellen had joked, “Geez, it’s raining cats and dogs.  How do I know?  I just stepped in a poodle!”  Amy had groaned appreciatively and shook the rain off her coat in the mud room.  It had been lovely to build a fire in the drafty old stone fireplace, heat a can of Spaghetti-O’s in the coals, and take a long nap.  The heavy gray clouds had parted and allowed the sun to break through while they were sleeping.  The snow had glistened and beckoned them to come out for a walk in the crisp air.   It was the perfect escape from the grind back home - until now. 

What could she do?  Ellen’s fear kept her paralyzed on her knees, listening and watching, willing Amy to reappear.  She pictured her bumping her head up against the ice and frantically clawing at it with her nails.  She must be disoriented, confused, her energy waning.  Melting snow seeped through Ellen’s jeans. 

The first tear seared its way down Ellen’s frost-nipped cheek.  She lowered her head into her mittens and wept.  She wept for Amy and for her own ineptitude.  She wept for her unfulfilled dreams and mediocre life.  She wept for her Grandpa and Nana, who had built the family camp with their own know-how and labor.  She wept for her country, so divided and divisive.  She wept for people everywhere whose lives were destroyed by hatred, hunger, and ignorance. 

But mostly she wept for Amy – poor, good Amy who had been with Ellen through the joys and the sorrows of the past eight years.  She had endured three moves, four boyfriends, and two changes of career.  She kept Ellen active and made her leave work on time each day.  Amy was Ellen’s best friend and constant companion.

Ellen’s thoughts settled and sobs subsided.  She realized there was a rustling in the woods.  As she lifted her swollen eyes and blinked away the crystallizing tears, Amy bounded from the shrubs and ran circles around Ellen.  She barked excitedly and licked Ellen’s salty face.  She had gotten lost chasing a scent and was thrilled to be reunited with her mistress. 

Ellen hugged the wriggling dog tightly, too surprised and happy to think clearly.  She got to her feet and clipped the leash to Amy’s collar for good measure.  Not knowing whether to say “good girl” or “bad girl,” Ellen simply said, “Time to go home, Amy.”  With one last look at the frozen river, Ellen vaguely wondered what, if anything, she had heard.  She turned and walked away, leaving the tears and fears of a billion souls swirling beneath the ice.