And Now For Something Totally Different: "Say Cheese!"

I've been doing some genealogy scrap booking the last few weeks. It's been fun to flip through the old photographs of ancestors long gone and chronicle their stories. It sets my imagination in flight to wonder what they were like and how they lived. But one thing has really been bothering me. Why do all my ancestors look so serious? I've never seen such a group of sober, sad-sacks. Were they all that stoically solemn?

My curiosity got the better of me, so I googled "smiling" and "photography" to uncover the secret of this mystery. It seems that during the early years of daguerreotype and tintype photography the accepted cultural norm was to never smile for a portrait. There were a lot of reasons, but here are just a few.

Apparently the earliest photography equipment operated on such a slow exposure speed that victims subjects were required to sit very still for a long period of time to ensure a sharp image. That's why so many early photographs were so blurry.  In fact, some traveling portrait photographers actually ran a pipe up the back of their subjects' clothing to assure that they didn't move. Can you say human popsicle? I give you exhibit A, a photograph of my great great grandfather, Albert Dieckmann, circa 1860's Iowa. Not a very comfortable looking man. Poor Grandpa Dieckmann does indeed look as if he's been skewered. And they say it takes a whole lot more facial effort to maintain a smile than it does an enigmatic stare. (This is a speculation I personally disagree with, but that's another story.)

There is also the theory that women especially did not smile in photographs before the 1930's because photo cards of smiling women were sold as porn. Hence, to display an open-mouthed, teeth baring smile was considered a vulgarity, especially in women.  Smiling head-shots didn't come into acceptance until the 1930's when movie stars made them glamorous. And then again, maybe some of these ancestors of mine just had really crumby teeth. Oral hygiene was probably not a huge priority on the open prairies of the 1800's.  They didn't have access to dentists nor thousands of dollars to throw around on orthodontics (thanks Mom and Dad.)

You have to also consider the possibility that these pioneers probably had a photograph taken of them only once in a lifetime. That would make such an occasion formal, to say the least. And truthfully, I've never seen any other photos of Grandpa Dieckmann, which points to that possibility.

I conferred with my friend, Angela, a professional portrait photographer, and her philosophy of why these pioneers didn't smile in portraits makes the most sense to me. She said, "It was the 1860's. Men were photographed in starched collars and wool suits. Women in twenty layers of clothing and hooped skirts. For God's sake, if you hadn't gone to the outhouse before your sitting, you'd be pretty miserable! What was there to smile about?"

I like Angela's expert opinion. I don't know if it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but...that's my theory and I'm stickin' to it.

The Kitchen Garden Lies Fallow

"There is a time for everything
and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to
     uproot..."

So it turns out the author of Ecclesiastes had it right. Who'da thunk it?

I was vaguely aware of the planting seasons and zones indicated on the back of all of the seed packets I've purchased since January.  But surely that did not apply to my little herb garden project. After all, I started my garden indoors, where seasons and climate have no consequence--right?

Wrong! With the pots of my little kitchen garden either flourishing or withering, I thought I'd make one last attempt to germinate some cilantro and some thyme. You just can't make a good summer salsa without lots of cilantro. And I'd always had success sprouting thyme. (That success simply didn't translate to keeping it alive after the first week.) So I prepared some seed pods and planted...again. Only a funny thing happened. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Not one single sprout poked its head through the soil this time.

Apparently it isn't the "season" for cilantro. Neither is it the "time" for thyme. And...I stand in absolute wonder at the miracle of nature to know that. Each tiny seed holds all that mysterious potential within, waiting for exactly the right time and season to begin its journey through life. And no amount of nurture can force nature.

I know what you're thinking. There must be much more gifted horticulturalists who know ways around this germinating conundrum. But I accept my limitations. My garden fields (pots) shall remain fallow for the summer months. Except, of course, for my basil and oregano which continue to thrive despite my brown thumb. I foresee a summer of Italian menus. Let there be pesto!

The Kitchen Garden Novice Reflects

To Catch a Gentler Breeze

A cactus wren flew overhead
     with loud and raucous cries.
I watched her soar and dip and dive
     beneath the azure skies.

Then, in an instant, gusty winds
     assaulted her mid-flight
And stopped her forward motion
     like a tightly tethered kite.

For one brief moment, wren and wind
     engaged in willful dance.
Suspended there, the little bird
     had ceased her brave advance.

Then quickly she reversed her course
     and swooped beneath the gale
To find a kinder, gentler breeze
     on which her wings could sail.

I marveled at her carefree flight,
     her brave, decisive shift.
It dawned on me how many times
     I’d found myself adrift,
How many times a violent blast
     had knocked me to my knees,
But holy grace had carried me
     to catch a gentler breeze.

Requiem

Its energy draws me in,

a network of vibrating honeycomb.

Old, weathered, brittle, porous, charred...

yet strong by design.

What isn't has much energy as what is.

The voids give structure to the whole,

its chambers a holey...and holy perfection--

a catacomb of life.

How many creatures did it

house during this one life?

How many forms did it take before becoming...

a cactus?

I wonder at its age.

When did it begin to decay?

It is timeless, eons old.

What was, still is

in another form, another dimension--

molecules rearranged,

its energy retained.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

Do you remember Christmas when I was about two or three? The church held a Christmas pageant for all of the Sunday school kids. I was too young to participate, and being a born ham, I was quite inconsolable. It was one of my first memories of the unfairness of life. I remember sitting on your lap in the back pew of the old church, sobbing. You cooed and soothed and rocked me. If grace had a lap, it was surely yours. In that hour you taught me the meaning of grace.

Do you recall when my little brother was born? The day you brought him home from the hospital, I brought an entourage of kindergartners home from school to see my new baby brother. You met me at the door with a firm "No!" That afternoon you taught me the meaning of boundaries.

And do you remember all of the dresses you made for Sis and me? I can't count the times I stood on a kitchen chair while you pinned hems into new skirts and jumpers. And when I rebelled at wearing another dress that matched my older sister's, you encouraged me to develop my own set of style. When I refused to wear starchy, stiff fabrics, you persevered through second trips to the fabric store. And you taught me the difference between "couture" and just plain "pricey."

Do you remember those winter days when I was in Junior high? We spent the afternoons ice skating, and you would welcome us home with hot chocolate. Then you set us to work, pulling taffy for Christmas candy boxes. You scraped hardened candy off the kitchen countertops and once, even the ceiling. Those winter days you taught me that tolerance is a virtue and not to sweat the petty stuff.

And do you remember my first love? Of course you do. He was so wrong for me. But I was in love with the boy, and so, you accepted him into our home as a member of the family. I never once suspected that you had such doubts about our relationship. You must have been in pain from biting your tongue. In those days, you taught me that parenting means allowing your chicks to learn from their own mistakes.

Do you remember my wedding day? It was hotter than Hades, and we had planned a wedding reception in the backyard. In those days, wedding coordinators were unheard of, so you served as wedding planner, caterer, florist, and even bridal gown seamstress. I don't know how I would have made it through the day without you. When I discovered that I had forgotten the clips for my electric rollers, and worked myself into hysteria worthy of Chicken Little, it was you who talked me off the ledge. You made a quick call to one of your friends to borrow some clips. That day you taught me the meaning of "grace under fire."

And six years later, when Daddy died...you taught me how to live with courage and say goodbye. Then it came your turn to transition from your earthly body. You held on much longer than you needed, allowing me to care for you, let go, and say my farewell. You taught me how to mourn.

Yesterday I was missing you a bit more--as I always do around this time of year. Driving to work I pulled into the mall and made a huge blunder. Where the mall entrance divides into a medianed boulevard, I turned down the first pavement into the oncoming traffic lane. Fortunately, no one was trying to exit the mall. But...I immediately flashed back to your last visit. I had been returning you to the airport in Vegas to catch your plane home when I turned into the same kind of divided boulevard--right into two cars trying to exit a shopping center. Forced to stop, those drivers had no choice but to back up into the parking lot to allow us to proceed. The entire time you howled with laughter.

Yesterday, as I caught myself turning down that one-way the wrong way, I distinctly heard your hoots and howls. And I realized...you've never really left me at all. And you've taught me that life is no fun if you cannot laugh at yourself.

Just wanted you to know.

Missing you a little less,

Me