the strongest form of magic

i remember this me well; awkwardly adolescent, dreaming grand , assuming small, dauntingly mixed 'n' matched, sporting silly slippers but no self-confidence
whatsoever.
i don't remember the curls - i fear they were concocted for that 1962 christmas - but i do achingly recall that homely hi-fi, and the snap-swish-slap of falling 45's, and the sweep of a soundtrack i would later regard - from cliff richard through manfred mann and beyond - as totally, and specifically, and wonderfully mine.
"return to sender" was number one when this photograph was taken. "good vibrations" was number one when we waved the homely hi-fi adieu, and moved home to canada.
both songs - and all those in between - can carry me, unerringly, back, so that i relive as purely as i remember.
i can almost - cross my nostalgic heart - feel those pompoms jiggle.

over sleepy garden walls

"dreams are the subtle dower/ that make us rich an hour/ then fling us poor/ out of the purple door."
-emily dickinson (american poet, 1830-1886)

i'm still getting the hang of scanning my own negatives (or positives: expired provia, in this case) and i suppose i could maneuver away the mauveness in this image if i really really tried, and if i really really wanted to.
but i won't.
and i don't.

the eyes have it

the seller and i had agreed: i would run a test roll through the camera, and, should it disappoint, i would hustle it back to leidschendam, and my euros would be refunded.
two weeks later, though, i had encountered little more inspiring than the hydrangeas in my back garden, so i nudged my lovely - and sublimely photogenic - young colleague saskia down to the end of the corridor, and shot the eight remaining frames in half as many minutes.
*
sas can't take a poor picture (as they say) but i have been known - tsk - to buy a poor camera.
not often, though.
and definitely not this time.

like a bird released

we lowlanders spent the entire first half of this season optimistically anticipating true summer, trusting the meteorologists who promised - every single day - perfect weather starting (ahem) tomorrow.
*
yesterday, they finally got it right.

in water, in butter, in wine

two of my colleagues are infectiously enthusiastic about this restaurant week in amsterdam: dozens of top dining venues are offering set three-course meals for bargain €25-per-person prices.
"set?" i am dubious, and slightly fearful. "does 'set' mean i have no say in the matter?"
"oh," they assure me, "you can have preferences. you can stipulate, for example, no pork, or no......"
"no fish, no eggplant, no mushrooms?"
"well....."
"no offal?"
"well....."
*
i have never been a great proponent of eating what's put before one: we are individuals, and we have individual tastes.
and i would rather peruse a menu, and make a slow and studied personal selection
than struggle through someone else's idea of deliciousness.
*
so there.

just spaces where photographs were

"only irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar and fat."
- alex levine

ah. but this is not an irish coffee.
sipped at 11 o'clock on a norfolk morning, anything with more punch than a latte would numb me to my particular inspirational certainties:
east anglia, a best friend's company, a beloved camera, the time and freedom to appreciate all three.
*
i have endless square images.
i may try posting one each august day.

the flags, the future

my beautiful daughter, so far away, turns 25 years old today.
"a quarter of a century!", she exclaims, and frets at time tumbling, with so much left to do, and so much left to see..
i have not a single doubt that she will do, and see, it all.
*
happy birthday, marieke!

in each and every moment

my memories of cape breton island - that grey, that wind, that wild, that wet - were gently, and retrospectively, altered when i picked up the images taken there.
i forgot the cold. i recalled the calm.
and the word "chill" took on a whole new meaning.
*
this is the horizontal - and cropped to panorama proportions - version.

jiggity jig

it was a wonderful holiday, brightened by happy reunions, if not by constant sunshine.
home again, home again: hello!

even cowgirls

march - march in cambridgeshire - is a dismal place, dour and distrustful, brightened only by the presence of my best friend, and the blue of the railway station.

the blue is causing bedlam.
the friendship, though, is beyond question, and beyond doubt.
*
i am off to canada - kingston and halifax - for three weeks.
be well.