Stoop Sitting in the Spring

When I was five, we left the city of Schenectady to move to a small village. For those precious five years, much of the springtime was spent sitting on the stoop. Once we were in the village it was a porch. Wonderful as well, but just not the same vibe. Now as adults, we have moved back to a city, and my two and a half-year old is enjoying the same pleasures I did as a "tiny giant." P.S., that is her nickname for herself. I have no idea where it came from, but I love it. I digress...that tiny giant has been spending hours sitting on the stoop watching the world travel by in its various forms. Wagons, and yellow taxis, SUV's and bicycles. Two feet and four feet. And all of the variations. Then one day, recently, today in fact, she decided to turn her attention from the street of colourful characters and their methods of transportation to the stoop itself, rough-hewn boards of texture just beckoning to her sidewalk chalk. As she drew "pockets," her other obsession, with the vibrant chalk, I began to study the grain of the wood.

I fiddled with blues, oranges and pinks, my hand began to trace the grain with the chalk. It became three dimensional in the meditation of the stroke, each bringing out another strata of grain.

So, I photographed the grain sketches with the intention of printing them and sending them out into the world to greet friends that are sorely missed. So I will be, in a sense, sharing my stoop with people in far off places and dreaming of how they are moving about their day, in a taxi on a bicycle, or in a wagon.

My coming home to Rochester, NY was not like the Yankees returning home after the championship. There was not a ticker tape parade or screaming fans. But what there was were wonderful friends and my Mum and Father. And in my Mum's hand was a set of old keys. And in the way back of my Father's car an old trunk. Not unlike the show American Pickers, my parents have spent much of their time on earth collecting pieces of American history. Objects and items that have been loved by people from the past. This trunk was no different. My Mum had come across it at an antique store that was closing. The sign on it said ten dollars, and the trunk was locked, with no evidence of the matching key. As she returned home to "Rainbow Farm" (our family name for their 6 acres of land that often sports a rainbow over its hills), she was determined to find out what treasures lie within. Unearthing a ring of keys from my Father's stash of collectibles, unclaimed skeleton keys and such on a key ring stamped with the words New York, she marched with purpose towards the trunk. Lo and behold, one of them fit that trunk and the magical treasures were revealed. Spectacles and letters sent home from far away travels and postcards that were over 100 years old. I hope that in this explosive electronic age, we never forget to hold respect and honour possessions of the past, and learn from them and pass them onward into the hands of others who will love and care for them. We are afterall, each museums, carrying information of the past and looking forward to the future. The trunk has become a museum for my daughter, for her future. A collection of treasures and letters and cards and shells and stones and pebbles and marbles and...

O.K. Martha S., yup, you! Now, I do not want to be you, I have never wanted to be you, but there are times I enjoy taking on one of your little projects (or, you know, one of the projects dreamed up by one of your 1200 staff persons). So this month, when I was flipping through your flippingly cute magazine (thanks Mum for the subscription), I saw these fabulously uncomplicated looking paper eggs. And I said to myself, "self, how cute would these be packaged up in one of those nice priority mailboxes with Dove chocolate eggs within shipped all over the continental U.S." Yes, that is what I thought to myself. So this past unseasonably cold (not really unseasonably, but in my mind of sunshine and warm breezes it most certainly was) weekend, I unearthed my Modge Podge from the depths of boxes and baskets that have yet to be unpacked, and collected all sorts of bits of stray and orphaned craft paper. Purple and gold tissue, scraps of Italian wrapping paper that I carried back after my 37th birthday in Siena. Little packages given to me by precious friends wrapped in papers so pretty I would have left a score behind to carry the scraps back. Anyway, scissors, balloons, New York Times clippings etc., etc., etc. Ready, set, GO! Here are some notes in case any of you decide to have a go at this ridiculous feat. First, buy small balloons, in this case bigger is not better. The big ones take too long to cover with 1000 paper strips (O.K., 1000 is a bit of an exaggeration). Avoid tissue at all costs. It rips and it sticks in all of the wrong places. Buy a VAT of Modge Podge. You will go through ONE bottle to make just three small eggs. Cut your strips, thin and short, thick ones just refuse to find their way around the balloon shape, they buckle and twist and ball up. No, be smart and cut short ones. And be prepared for your arms to ache after the hours it takes to make one egg.

SO to all my friends and family who are hopeful that one of these will arrive on your doorstep, keep the faith. I am going back to conquer the eggs. Maybe they will get there by Christmas.

Enjoy the photos a la moi. Please see Martha's link to the right...in case you would like to try some of these yourself.