Friday, January 11, 2013

Sun through overcast and cottonwood spurs

It almost looks as if they are preparing leaf buds at the end of each twig for the faraway (Will it ever come?) springtime! The mist-shrouded sun shone a mysterious light on everything, but meant that there was no catchlight in the eyes of the wood ducks that I was photographing. Catchlights are great, but sometimes you have to do without them. But the delicate  tracery of these branches almost made up for that.
I have been thinking a lot about childhoods--this was caused by reading several biographies or autobiographical works at the same time, some on Kindle, some on paper. (I used to read one book at a time, but lately, I am tempted by the ease of Amazon.) Of course I am interested in this topic, because I have been a parent to children, some of them adopted, and because my childhood as the oldest of seven children looms so large in my legend. (I am full of these phrases and need to start writing on my blog earlier in the day to allow myself more time for revision. Alas.)
The books I am currently in, or have just finished are on
Richard Brautigan (horrible childhood!)
Thornton Wilder (rich but overcontrolled upbringing)
William Wordsworth (parents both dead when he reached age 11)
Robert Schumann (too early to say, only reading sample of book)
Brigham Young (tough, but pretty typical of the era, I guess)
Louis Simpson (bad after his parents divorced, worse after his father died)
Paul Gruchow (very depressive, depressed relatives, too, suicide)
Many of my relatives have large families, and in this time of Facebook, I am learning more about their lives than would have ordinarily been the case. I spent a long time tonight decoding the snapshot of my sister's family taken this summer. It came with a holiday message and the people were so small, because several photos were printed on the same 5x8 sheet. Fortunately, they all stood in family groups, so I was actually able to figure it out. She has eight children (two adopted from Russia) and all except the youngest adoptee and one son (who has a stepson, all have) as it were multiplied. And now she has a new great-grandchild, too!
What was your childhood like? I am pretty proud of doing a post every day for 1/3 of the month now. Next step, make more thoughtful sense, and improve the quality. . . Good night. . .
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