writewrite

1. Crocus by the back door
2. Flies in the barn
3. Spring peepers in the stream by the barn
4. Dogs driven mad by a thousand scents in the spring air
5. Mad dogs escaping and running through the streets of Richmond, baying at the scents in the spring air
6. Even more mad dog owners chasing escaped dogs
7. Poison ivy, first sighting
8. Mud
9. Horses rolling in the mud
10. Horses covered in mud (and other things not as lovely as mud)
11. Horse caretakers covered in horse mud … etc.
12. young girls wearing tank tops and skimpy things when the temperature goes above 50
13. young boys completely distracted by young girls wearing tank tops and skimpy things
14. teachers, teaching classes in rows, not circles, in vain attempts to counteract disctractions
15. motor scooters
16. winter clothes on 75% clearance (sweet)
17. pollen superbursts at 5 a.m. (not sweet)
18. basketball, outdoors
19. the dawning realization that the five pounds (okay, maybe ten) gained over Christmas break are still here.  Still here.
20. A sudden fixation on the calendar and the realization that there are five — five — weeks of class left until the end of the school year which is not even nearly enough time to do all that needs to be done

…add your signs of spring…

Recently, I’ve watched a friend go through the misery of skin cancer surgery, including the removal and reconstruction of the entire lower eyelid, and suturing the eye shut for at least six weeks so it can heal properly.  She was lucky, she was told, to not have lost her eye.  Her surgeon, she learned, has removed many eyes because of, and who knew, skin cancer.

Can you imagine removing an eye?  Losing an eye?  And because of skin cancer? My friend is not a person who seeks out the sun deliberately.  She is simply, as am I, a person who loves the out of doors.  I must admit, however, that I grew up in the 70s when a suntan was a required part of your wardrobe.  A tan, grosgrain headbands, the perfect pair of Levis, and whatever the latest thing that Tammy B. was wearing this week.  It all mattered, and mattered a great deal, but the tan was the key.  Year round if possible (and it was for those who took skiing vacations in February, and went to Florida in April), but definitely in the summer.  So, like my friends, I learned how to get a tan.  We would “lie out” in the sun, timing ourselves — 30 minutes face up, 30 minutes face down — like broiling a piece of steak.  Some of us even devised tinfoil reflectors to bounce the sun under our chins for the perfect all-over brown.

I cringe now to think how foolish we were.  But, I suppose forgiveness is possible: we didn’t know then what we do know now.  And now it is this: wear sunscreen.  All the time. 

The Indiana University Research website has posted a nice story about the upcoming film 1:47.  Here’s a link: http://research.iu.edu/.  Click on the black and white photo at the bottom right of the page for the full story.

And thanks to Thomas Kemp for his post… LINK

Today, the temporary website was launched for the documentary film entitled 1:47.  This film tells the story of the downtown explosion in Richmond, Indiana, on April 6, 1968, and how this event changed the lives of hundreds of people.  The full-fledged website will be up within the next month, before the 39th anniversary on April 6.  But in the meantime, have a look, and please share this web address with anyone who might be interested:  http://www.147film.com/

These photographs are gorgeous.  Check them out: Tara’s photographs.

I don’t know about you, but I love these images, the colors, the textures, but most of all: the vision.  That’s really it, isn’t it?  In photography, in writing, in anything — it’s how the artist sees things, and how that seeing transforms the world for anyone who views the art. Seen through an artist’s eyes, the world looks different.  When I look at these photographs, all I can think is: who knew that cinnamon sticks looked like that, little UPS delivery men crowded together, wanting attention?  Or, that a keyhole lock could become so mysterious.  Or, a wheatfield so gorgeous, like a choir, in full summer color; or in winter, so solemn, a black and white a cappella lament. 

Nice job, Tara.  Really nice.