The Other Half of Me

30 06 2012

I have my mom’s slight frame, her sister’s smile, and her great-grandma’s eyes.  My sister’s daughter looks like me when I was her age, and my brother’s daughter looks enough like me to be my daughter.

For all 49 years of my life I have seen myself as my mother’s daughter.  I’m not a prude – I know I wouldn’t be here without my dad.  It’s just that I’ve never identified with him or his side of the family.  We didn’t spend much time with them when I was younger, and I don’t resemble anyone on that side of my family tree.  And he and I didn’t have much time together; he died soon after my 16th birthday.

A recent conversation has redefined how I see myself.

I was sitting outside at dusk on a picnic table talking to friend who was asking questions about my photography background.  His questions reminded me that my dad was a newspaper photographer before I was born.  “I never made the connection until now that we both enjoyed taking pictures,” I wondered aloud as the sunset yielded to the first stars of the night.  “We never got to share our interest.  My dad died before I bought my first camera.”

That got me thinking.  Dad had also been a staff writer at the newspaper.  I vaguely remember him congratulating me when I won an essay contest in junior high, but we never really talked about liking to write.

And this week my mom added another surprise to my already churning thoughts.  She mentioned that Dad kept a detailed scrapbook of his published stories and photos.  My dad a scrapbooker, too!  Maybe I’m more than just my mother’s daughter.

I started making a mental list, tracing photography, writing, music, love of nature, playing practical jokes, long walks in the woods, the quest for a simple life, doing what’s right (not popular), back to my dad’s influence.  How did I not see that before?

Unconsciously, I defined myself through a filter that didn’t include an important half of who I am.

Lately, I’ve been enjoying getting to know my dad— and myself— through the interests we shared.  At every stage of life I have grieved not having him around.  Now I find myself wanting to ask him how he would have framed a shot.  And I would love to know if he would have made the jump from film to digital.  I wonder if he would have had a blog; or at least subscribed to mine.

The dawn is putting out the stars as I finish writing in the quiet of a summer morning.  Looking out the window at the rain, I am mourning that we missed each other, like the two ruts of a forest trail—both going in the same direction, but never meeting.   And yet in a sense, as I turn to focus a shot, there he is, smiling beside me.

I am my father’s daughter.

 

A grade school photo of my dad





Noticing

20 06 2012

Why does it take you so long to vacuum?  I’m glad you asked.

Get vacuum out of closet, unwrap cord, and plug in. 30 seconds.

Notice dog nose smears on window, get rags and cleaner, clean window and windowsill.  3 min.

Notice other windows have dog smears including the back patio door, continue cleaning all windows within reach of dog nose. 5 min.

Notice plant by back door is dusty and in need of trim.  Find scissors, trim and rotate plant. 1 min.

Back to vacuum.  I am now 10 minutes into vacuuming but haven’t turned it on yet.

Notice couch is frumpy and in need of a detox.  Lightly spray couch and pillows… and dog’s chair while I’m at it (WIAI).  2 min.

Notice end table is sticky when setting spray bottle down.  Get a clean rag out and wash/dry table.  Clean light switches WIAI on the way to drop the now-sticky rag into the washing machine.  5 min.

Start vacuuming, ignoring the light globes that need washing and the black entertainment center components that are a dusty shade of gray, but not the piece of Christmas wrapping paper peeking out from behind the couch.  (“How long has that been there?” I wonder, in a dazzling display of mental duh-ness.  “Since Christmas,” I answer myself, giving myself a mental headslap, since my hands are holding the vacuum handle and the shard of wrapping paper.)  Living room floor is vacuumed. 10 min.

Now I deal with the light globes and dusty entertainment center. 15 min.

Standing on the dining room table removing the light globes, I notice the couch spray on the table, so I flip the cushions, vacuum them and under them (such a lot of crumbs for a couple who don’t have a lot of parties!) and spray the whole thing again.  18 min.

One hour later, I am pushing the vacuum through the kitchen into the family room.

There are four more carpeted rooms in my house.  My husband can vacuum them all in 30 minutes.

This is one of the few times I wish for male-pattern blindness.








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