It was raining this morning as we left, making it even harder to say goodbye to this stretch of sand that I have claimed as my own for a short month. The ocean has so many moods...and I think my favorite is when it is grey and overcast, and the tide has pulled so far back that the beach is a Daliesque sandscape, marked only by the paintbrush of my children's feet.
Spending a month at the beach, out in all weather, tides, and times of day, you get to know a bit more about it. Coyotes, for one thing. And the endless supply of lobster trap buoys, dead animals (beaver, rabbit, seagulls), sewage plant disks (oh, the power of google), and so many balloons. Which reminds me that I want to read Moby Duck and then rant about cheap plastic consumerism. But that will be a post for another day.
Yesterday evening, my other half insisted on meeting me after work at the Museum of Fine Arts so I could see the Chihuly exhibit. I was tired, and a bit discouraged that over the 4 weeks I hadn't been able to fit it in, and by the time I got there after a long day at the zoo the 2 littlest were asleep. It was our last night in town and I still had loads of laundry and a house to pack and clean, so it took a little bit of cheerful persistence on his part. Then he didn't just stay with the kids in our hard-won street-parking spot, he insisted we all go in, even if just for half an hour, gamely lugging the sleeping 4-year-old while I held baby girl. Yes, I really am so lucky.
We ended up staying for an hour and a half, taking in Chihuly's exquisite installations as well as some ancient art and a few marbles here and there. And because I'd forgotten my camera, I got to spend the time not looking through a view finder, but holding my 4-year-old's hand and seeing Chihuly through his wondering eyes - water spray from a whale's spout, nuts and chocolates, palm trees, flowers. Or marveling over ancient hieroglyphics and mimicking tomb painting postures with my 8-year-old. Sometimes I have a rather obsessive need to photograph and chronologue my childrens' lives. For various reasons I have very few clear memories of my childhood, and my photojournaling is a reaction to that - "all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain." Except, sometimes I wonder if I am creating memories for them rather than enhancing their own. In any case, they love to read the photobooks. And the thrill of a good capture has value in and of itself. But I'd rather they remember that we held hands and laughed, than the exact details of the breathtaking blown glass.
So, no pictures for the blog today. If you want to see some pics, search Chihuly on Flickr, or check out his website. As for me, I'm going to try to get out from behind the viewfinder and go to art museums, even with 4 kids in tow, a little bit more.