My Father and Me

Rain...with the possibilty of the season's first snow.

Snow...with a mix of rain.

November.

An old man dies. A baby is born. Children - on their way to school - laughing. Life does go on.

Acutely aware of this moment of quiet...this pause...this place that finds me somewhere in the in-between. In between decades. In between seasons. In between the generation before me and the one that follows behind.

My sweet pup lies here quietly at my feet. Breathing. Her furry coat - gently...softly...comforting...warming.

Somehow - I've grown to like this in-between...this uncertain space...this not-yet-knowing the answers to the questions I have yet to ask.

Soon - in a few short days - I'll be celebrating 55. It's not a big birthday. It's one that could too easily go un-marked and un-noticed as most of the others. There's nothing about this mid-decade mark that carries with it any particular signficance or note.

And yet...

The snow is falling mixing itself in with the rain....or is it the rain that's falling mixing itself with the snow. I don't know.

It's nothing. It's everything. It's the age my father was when he died. Too young. Too vibrant. Too alive. Like me. Like this. Like now. Like today.

No question or doubt -  we share the same genetic make-up. I look like him. I walk with the same slightly lilting tilting hop and his skip. I've spent countless hours and days seeing and feeling and capturing and portraying the world that surrounds. Like father...like daughter. Maybe.

I've been left only with questions and with a visual legacy of unfinished parts and pieces. I knew and loved him as the father he was to me. But - who was he?

I'm wishing - now -  for a conversation. I'm preparing myself to ask new questions. I'm imagining that he might respond...that I might hear his voice anew. Really - I'm just wanting to understand..to become re-acquainted and always to better know. Me thru he...and he thru me.

In front of me sit files of unprocessed...un-printed...never-before-seen photographic negatives. Stacks of boxes of images we've all seen. In one instant I'm daunted by the enormity of this project. On the other - I know that this can no longer wait.

For this 55th new year - I'm setting myself a new intention and direction.

We're going to talk - me and he. We're going to have this much-awaited and long-overdue conversation. I'm going to ask those questions. Maybe he'll answer. Maybe he won't. I'm expecting nothing...and hoping for all. If only to understand...to see thru his eyes and not just my own.

Rain and snow? Me and he?

November.