Our Better Story

Many tribes re-enact key elements in their history.  The role playing helps them to maintain a sense of identity as a people.

So often, the reenactment keeps alive decisive battles of war.

Tomorrow, in an historic park down the road from my home, a Revolutionary War battle will replay, like a nightmare from the past.

I am convinced that I disliked studying history in public school because it was measured and marked by conflict.  Struggles for power do not interest me. Later, I would discover that what I had not been given all the facts, anyway.

It was only after I reached grad school that history came alive.  A professor introduced me to personalities that lived in various eras.  Their ideas, their non-physical struggles.  Their contributions that we still celebrate.

Can we find and celebrate our identity as a human species through a history of our failures and successes in becoming more fully human?

Nonverbal Expression

There's nothing like a self-guided tour through the visual arts building at a college.  The experience is not even similar to visiting a gallery.

The college students are amazingly talented, but have not yet established themselves in an art community.  And, their work is influenced by their unique stage of development.

It's interesting to wonder what the artist was thinking, feeling, imagining.

The school my son attends originally had a student body of all girls; it's also no secret that a large percentage of its students are gay and lesbian.  Their art expresses struggles that may be partly social, but also internal.

I could spend hours gazing at the work of developing artists.  Perhaps that's why I wandered the halls with a camera in my hand!

A Concert of Swallows

 Some swallows were nesting under the roof of a pavilion in the park.  The longer I stayed to look, the more nests I discovered.  I couldn't tell what materials the birds had used to construct them, but from my vantage point, they seemed to resemble the hives of mud wasps.  The homes were too high for me to see into their little nurseries, but there must have been eggs.  The adults were quite concerned about my presence, and highly attentive to the nests.

As I watched, I learned.  Each nest was occupied and guarded by at least two swallows, often three or four.  Both the more colorful birds, which I guessed to be the males, and the ones with lesser colors, would swoop down at me, attempting to startle me away.  (I learned as a teenager not to be afraid of swallows; they were often my friends as I mowed lawns, stirring up insects for them to dine on).

I observed community.  If eggs were in each nest, it was more than the parents working to assure the safety of the future offspring.  The whole flock of birds under that roof was working, and caring, in concert.

Joy

When the peeps hatch,

why am I just as thrilled

as the children are?

Rescued and Loving

Yesterday, at a community event, I met greyhounds.  A local rescue group was there, raising funds and educating the public.  Through the humans, I heard about the practices of those who seek to make money from the speed of the dogs.

The greyhounds who were rescued had been kept in crates.  They'd hardly been touched at all, except to examine them.  You probably know the story.

From the dogs, I received hugs.  These soft and gentle giants want only affection.

Longing for the Unsightly

Landscapers came and removed the rotten remains of a tree stump.  No one knows how many years ago a tree had stood there.  The stump wasn't quite flush to the ground and was probably a nuisance to their co-workers who run the gang mowers.  Removing it made sense.

If you're a landscaper.

To a photographer, the decision is disappointing.  Each time it rained, a new and different fungus would erupt from that stump.  Fuzzy or bright orange, round and flat or capped like the houses in Smurf Village.  One variety resembled a woman's breast; another seemed to be puckered up to whistle, with a hole in the very top.  Rain always replenished surprises at the stump.  My macro lens was delighted.

I wouldn't expect many people to understand.  But, I'll miss the unsightly mushroom medium.

Marshmallows and Water

It's a rainy day.  The drought is finally relieved.

But, people seem to have stayed home en masse.  Church had low attendance.  The health fair at the fire hall was packing up two hours early when I arrived.

Our town's tiny Renaissance Faire was down to four or five tents.  Vendors were scarce and customers were few.  Does rain change our plans that much?

Only this woman seemed to be making the best of the situation.  With her marshmallow gun.