Category: Photography

Not Like the Others

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As a kid of the 1960s and 70s, I knew I was not like the other boys. It didn’t mean I was special. It just meant I was different.

While I was more verbal, intuitive, and sensitive than most boys at ten, twelve, fourteen, and so on, I didn’t have the language, understanding, or role models to help me explain how I was different.

Instead, I craved the word games and visual puzzles in Highlights magazines in doctor and dentist office waiting rooms, which prompted me to find the differences–the missing pieces–among a pageful of images.

All the while, I subverted my attractions for other boys–my genuine feelings for other people in general–to conform with the suburban norm. I didn’t dare to be different, but I always admired the kids who did.

Decades later, I’m comfortable in my body. As a visible member of the LGBTQ+ community in the Phoenix metropolitan area, I have no difficulty wearing goofy socks, pastel colors, or bold rainbow-colored sneakers.

During the first half of May, I captured these ten photos of items close to home that caught my attention or grabbed my interest. Each is beautiful in its own way. The final one–like me–is clearly not like the others.

As the summer heat settles in here in Scottsdale, Tom and I will apply our Scooby-Doo sunshade (replacing the plain old silver one we bought nine years ago) to the windshield of our Hyundai Sonata whenever we park our vehicle under flaming blue skies.

It’s our way of protecting ourselves (and our hands when we reenter our sedan and grab the steering wheel), while telling the world it’s okay to remember the light-hearted moments of our past lives … to be playful no matter our age … to take pride in being different in these Sixty-Something Days.

Anything But Ordinary

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On this Easter Sunday, it would be easy to pass by the emerging April blooms of a hidden succulent.

But I forced myself to stop, to welcome, to examine nature’s delicate offering outside my desert door.

Though barely visible beneath the eaves of loss and loud proclamations, it is anything but ordinary.

They Still Remain

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Without words, they supply sounds, scents, and texture to our everyday lives.

Their furry souls exist unconditionally, by our sides, under the table, on the coolest tile, or the warmest trail to nowhere special or somewhere sacred.

While they are present, our ever-lovable companions spread beauty, comedy, continuity, responsibility, laughter, goodness, grace, and wisdom across crowded kitchens, cozy front porches, and boundless backyards.

And, when nature calls and they pad along to another plane, they still remain family, they still inhabit our hearts forever.

***

For Mason, Katie, Poly, Maggie and all our furry friends who have gone before us.

Beyond the Palms

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If we live long enough and look beyond the palms, we see the arc of our lives and the hint of a rainbow. We remember where we came from. Who we were. Who we are. How far we’ve come. Our best intentions. Our mistakes. Our progress. Our loves. Our losses. Our lessons learned. The connecting tissue that has made us who we are. All of it.

***

Fifty years ago, in June 1975, I graduated from Affton High School in south suburban St. Louis.

Tom and I travel back to St. Louis tomorrow for a reunion with my class of 1975 mates over the weekend.

I’m excited to see old friends. I also expect a few bittersweet moments.

Either way, the journalist inside me is sure to return with a story or two.

Because I am a writer. That’s not what I do. That’s who I am.

Between

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In the latter half of July, Scottsdale transforms into a forgotten destination for many, who escape triple digits. But this blistering period is my refuge. A few clicks on the calendar beyond another birthday. A quiet space between the high of choral performances and planning for upcoming literary endeavors.

At sixty-eight now, I need this time to recharge and replenish. To submerge body and soul in Chaparral Pool’s cooling waters. To pause for a brief stroll and acknowledge that the rugged scenery and tangerine sunsets where I live are pretty cool, even when summer’s forecast and reality are ridiculously hot.

In This July

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Wednesday night–in this July–actual raindrops fell from the Arizona sky. They pinged–hypnotic, soothing, and steady–on the roof of our metal carport.

Our mini monsoon was enough to wash away the dust and scrub the air, but not Thursday’s dastardly news of puffy politicians selling unfortunate souls down the river.

Away from the madness, Poly found a dry patch of concrete beyond the storm and platitudes. She rolled side to side, then flicked her tail, as if to say:

“I may be a stray, but I’m not stupid. I know how to get by. I know when to stop by your door. When to come in out the heat. Stick with me. You and I are survivors in this and every July.”

While We Are Away

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Tom and I are heading to Chicago to celebrate two family milestones:

Kirk’s and Jen’s (my son and future daughter-in-law) engagement and Sharon’s (my sister-in-law) retirement from teaching.

While we are away, Poly is sure to keep an eye on things.

See you in June with more stories.

Just Dropping By

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I haven’t stopped in lately.

I won’t apologize for that.

I’ve had important things to do.

Pressing places to go.

Unexpected treats to devour.

Birds to stalk. Make sense?

I know you’re busy.

New flooring tomorrow?

But it’s Easter, right?

Like my grand entrance?

Anyway, just dropping by,

To shake your tree,

Add a little levity,

Which only I deliver,

And then I’m outta here,

Cause that is what I do best.

Compressed

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Why do we gravitate toward

an idealized arrangement

of natural design and beauty,

heaping layer upon layer

of flat stones separated

from orderly round ones?

Do these walls stand

compressed in architectural

tribute to planned selection

over the stew of spontaneity?

Why does man’s comfort

with the squashing power

of conformity supersede

the messy-but-meaningful

marrow of our diverse story

… our diverse history?

Backyard Faces

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Sunday through Monday–when desert winds blow freely or not at all–I prefer nature’s ever-present sweet, sunny and determined backyard faces to yesterday’s and today’s front-page disgraces.

Katie’s sweet face
Arizona’s sunny face
Mason’s determined face
St. Francis watches over nature in Glenn’s backyard

In early March, while Glenn was away, Tom and I (along with an assist from St. Francis) cared for our friend’s lovable Newfoundland dogs–Katie and Mason–in their peaceful backyard.