Happy Birthday, Dad!

Happy Birthday, Dad! Hey, you are finally old enough to retire, hahahaha. Enjoy your 65th!

I found some great old photos of the two of us through the years. I am only going to post a couple for today, in honor of my old man. :)



Could this be any more 1970? I think not. The floral couch, the hilarious little mustache he is sporting, my avocado green knitted vest and plaid pants...CLASSIC.

The thing about my dad that has never changed is that he likes to give smooches to his daughters. Sometimes I don't want one.



And sometimes I do.




He almost didn't make it to my wedding because he was sick and the doctor told him not to fly. But he did, and he walked me down the aisle and did all the things that dads do at weddings. We even got to dance. My face is hidden, but trust me, I am losing it there.



Happy Birthday, Daddy! Love you.

Calendar: October 2009

Fall in Connecticut

By Request: Comstock Bridge

This is the Comstock Bridge over the Salmon River in Connecticut. It was drizzling and gray when I went to go shoot these, and I'm not entirely pleased with how they came out. But the river is about fifteen minutes from my parents' home, so I'll try to go back on a better day my next trip. There are usually a lot of fly fisherman hip-deep in the water under the bridge, but not that day.

My Dad requested seeing these shots, so here you go! I got an interior one, too, so you can get a good idea of the color.

My childhood home

(A larger view is available here.)

When I was thirteen, my parents moved us from tiny middle-of-nowhere Northford to what we considered the more "urban" Wallingford, into this gorgeous big old house. It sat on a side street right in the middle of downtown, a half-block from the library, police station, drugstore, and the firehouse where my grandfather worked for many years. The house was over 150 years old, drafty and creaky with twelve-foot ceilings and weird built-in cabinets and extra windows you could only see from the outside. There was a huge curving staircase in the foyer, and my L-shaped bedroom above the add-on kitchen used to be the servant's quarters. It was beautiful, and my parents did a lot to restore it to its full glory while still encouraging our family to enjoy just living in it. I sure did enjoy it.

We drove past during my trip there a couple weeks ago, and it was a little sad to see how it's become so shabby since my parents sold it several years ago. The new owners repainted some of the Victorian gingerbread trim with the wrong shades of pink and green, and let the trees and shrubs overtake the side yard. At least the cherry tree we planted was still there and in full bloom. (I'm not posting the shot of the left side of the house, where the ancient stone porch is visibly crumbling apart.)

It will always be beautiful and majestic to me.

Lessons passed down

A father teaches his son to ride a bike, on the same stretch of street where he learned to ride many years ago.

Auntie Nellie

This is my great-aunt Nellie, who is 92 years old. She's the last of her generation in my family, but I was lucky enough to have been able to spend time with many of the others before they passed on. Nellie, my Babchi, and my Auntie Mitzi were friends from childhood, and they stayed friends until the end. When I was very young, Babchi (my grandmother) used to take me with her when she visited them, and we would play bingo and cards together. Later, when I was in high school, I remember the three of them sitting together at family parties. Nellie always had a big glass of seven & seven, and she would regale everyone with stories. She was always "the pistol", the one who broke all the rules, my mom says.

She's lived in the same little house since 1939. The place is immaculate, and in pristine condition. She's got the old metal cabinets in the kitchen, with one of those huge ceramic one-piece sinks, and there's not a dent or a scratch on it anywhere. Her lawn and flowerbeds are her pride and joy. She told me this weekend that after her husband Duke died (who she still misses and talks about, twenty years after his passing), she cried and cried for two years. Then one day she bought a push mower and started to take care of the lawn herself. She was over seventy years old at the time.

She is a pistol, indeed.

Connecticut River Bridge

A couple extra views of the bridge I shot in Middletown, Connecticut, last December. Something about the dreariness of the steel in front of the changing sky reminds me of the cloudy skies we have outside today.