wine

Honey pot

She looked over at me in that way. We were having dinner with some family friends. The hot summer day was finally a temperature we could tolerate. The sun twinkling through delicate leaves just beyond the window. She's eating less now, I've noticed. She always watched what she ate. As children, when she made a mistake, as a punishment we'd tease her that she couldn't have salad for a week, as if salad was her honey pot. but this is different. I know it's a symptom, but every symptom is so quietly apparent, a slithering gas leak slowly moving nearer. One more bite.

 

Everyday

How appropriate it is that yesterday was also my parents anniversary. Two people who love each other so completely. A love that has taken many forms over the last 40 years of being together. In recent years I have come to realize how important it is for me to photograph them, if only to hold onto the present or past. Simple moments.  It's a real pleasure to see a love so admirable, so quiet, so sweet. I wish that love on everyone. It would make all the other stuff worth it. It has to.

 "It doesn't get any better than this: music with my best friends in the moonlight." Dad said as we sat at the table outside on a spring night. 

 "It doesn't get any better than this: music with my best friends in the moonlight." Dad said as we sat at the table outside on a spring night.