Wild Flowers

I hope you all had a great holiday weekend. It has been super hot here in NY but early Saturday morning I grabbed my camera while it was still cool and headed across the street to capture a few shots of these pretty purple wild flowers. This is the view I can see from the bottom of our driveway. I always wanted to live near the water and reservoir or not I love it.

I wanted to get some macro shots of the flowers. I have a Canon D10 with a macro setting. I have been wanting to get a separate macro lens for my Canon XTi but need to save up the dough for that one! I did however get some great macro shots with the smaller D10.

And then I wanted to get even closer. . .

I am very pleased with how the shots came out. These are such tiny flowers but so pretty and what a vibrant shade of purple!

It has been too long since I have grabbed my camera and headed out the door. As I have said on this blog before it is one of the creative outlets that takes me out of my cluttered busy mind and into a colorful moment.

Do you have a creative outlet? If so what is it? How does it make you feel?

All images are © Cathy Bueti and may not be used or reproduced without permission.

The Deepest Cut

In a past post I talk about photos and the kinds of feelings they evoke in us. I thought about this as I was rummaging through photos for a recent interview about Breastless in the City. One of the photos requested was of Paul and I. I cringed as I read the request. Then I wondered where I could have hid them. Then I thought about how I didn't want to look. It would be too hard to see his face again, to see us together, too hard to remember. In the past 15 years that he has been gone there has not been a day that he doesn't cross my mind. But looking at pictures of him is like dumping some alcohol in a fresh cut. I knew it was going to burn. It would burn my heart.

As I opened the closet and dug out the box I felt dizzy and my heart began to race. I grabbed handfuls of disorganized photos from my entire life hoping the sting wouldn't last too long. I wanted it to be quick like ripping off a bandaid. I watched photos drop to the floor around me and there it was...the picture of my dad and I circa 1971. I was about 2 years old at the time. It was Easter Sunday in the Bronx. I had hair in my eyes and was crying. My dress was mint green. He had his arms around me trying to stop my tears.

So as I was searching for a photo of Paul out fell my dad. I wasn't expecting that. Next week it will be a year since he died. I quickly realized that my box o' photos is crammed with dead people. All of the family I lost and miss so much. That is why the box is hidden away, why it is always closed. Just as I wish sometimes I could close away that part of my life. Because maybe the pain would go away...

Picture Perfect

Yesterday my husband and I did some spring cleaning.  Him more than me.  As I have confessed to before I am the clutter bug in our house.  As I was wafting through a stack of papers he pointed out the dust which had accumulated on our bookshelf.  I keep framed photos on that shelf.  Each shelf tells a story.  Some make me happy, others make me sad, and yet some are bittersweet.  

Besides cleaning the dust he wanted me to change some of the pictures.  He suggested I change them to more recent ones.  Too much of the past he said.  Too many people we have lost.  Although I could see his point I was startled by his idea.  As my eyes scanned each shelf I realized that there were more from the past then the present.  A couple of people I no longer speak with.  My favorites are the ones of he and I, on vacation and others from our wedding.   It was when we were our most happy.  It was before everyone started to die.  

I have always found comfort in photos.  Comfort in the past.  It makes me feel closer to those I have lost at the same time it makes me feel sad.  After my first husband died I spent countless hours over many years sitting on the floor with boxes of photos wet with my tears.  It was how I spent time with him, the memory of him.  It was a comfort until it stopped me from moving forward.  

These days I am feeling stuck in the past.  Too much missing the ones who I have lost.  I can't help but wonder if I should put those pictures away.  Would it make me miss them less?  Would it help me pull my feet out of the mud?

Do you find comfort in pictures?  Does it bring you joy?  Does looking at pictures ever make you feel like you are stuck in the past?  Are yours on display or tucked away for a rainy day?