Category Archives: Photography

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Pirates Come To Cornwall

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I’m a bit short on words today so my pictures will have to tell the story. I missed a few activities and didn’t get shots of everything, but I think you’ll be able to see that the children seemed to have a great time at the party yesterday. I was amazed watching them play in a place so beautiful and so close to where we live. I run past this spot which is just off the Camel trail. I can’t imagine what it must be like to grow up with all this nature around them.

If you closely at this photo, you can see ducks in the river and cows in the meadow.

The river is to the left in this shot of the tables and the field is a fine one for play. The woods in the distance were used to hide two of the treasure boxes.

The bottle with the map was hidden near these rocks which are across from the picnic tables.

Here comes the first wave of pirates with John and Jersey Girl joining in the procession.

A little snack before the work of treasure hunting begins.

Pirate Queen  ‘Miss S’

Pirates making a plan.

Finding the map.

Opening the bottle to get to the treasure map.

Finding one of three hidden treasure boxes.

The littlest pirate waits for a hand while the others follow the map to search the ferns.

You can see the gold and silver find in the ‘crystal’ box in the pirates hand.

Time for some video before moving on.

These two were the first ones in the water.

Then the girls began to edge around it too.

Muddy, you don’t know muddy until you’ve played with these two.

Here’s a couple of pirate moms taking a seat across from the river where the pirates are getting muddy and wet.

One of John looking a bit sea going himself.

One of a few games that they played although I’m not sure what they doing.

This is the book and clue I mentioned yesterday which led them to the treasure map. I’ll be a bit more chatty when I’ve recovered from the week.  Thanks for your interest in the party and I hope the photographs give you a sense of the afternoon.

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Boris The Bear Tells Himself A Story

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In the window at home there’s a sweet little bear,

slightly tattered, not torn, but missing some hair.

He sits kind of floppy, and propped with a view,

watching and waiting and thinking of you.


A bear you can see by his worn looking face

that’s been treasured and favored

with his own special place.

Loved from the beginning,

he’s been very well fed

on the dreams of girl

and all the things in her head.

He’s enjoyed the all pleasures of years

two, three, four, five, and soon six,

he’s her favorite he knows,

the one she always picks.


But today is somehow different,

someone’s taken his place,

it’s that silly old Pooh Bear who’s crowding his space.

Beside his dear girl as she goes for the day

he wonders what they’re up to

missing her greatly

in his bear sort of way.


Growing up can be scary for a bear on his own

he’s been a faithful companion and rarely alone.

He sits and he watches and wishes she’d phone.

‘ I am here and I miss you,’ is just what he’d say,

‘ Will you be home soon, are you on your way? ‘


He knows it’s silly to be sad and so blue

as her little girl heart can love much more

than a old bear or two.

One day when she’s older

with hair that’s gone grey

she’ll have trouble remembering

things like his name,

when she got him,

or the games that they played.


He’s heard all the stories

from bears on the street

when the children aren’t looking

and they’ve a moment to speak.

They whisper in passing

of changes to come,

but for now he’s still Boris,

and her number one.

Yesterday after a long day out, I noticed Jersey Girl’s favorite bear Boris sitting in the window. He’d been left there in the morning by JG posed on the window ledge so that he could see outside while she was out exploring with us. I was lucky to see him when I did managing to get two quick shots before she grabbed him up to join us at the table for dinner. She didn’t know I was outside taking pictures and in the second photograph, you can just make out her ear and the side of her face as she is reaching for him.

I began the little bear story this morning and what came out has as much to do with my relationship with an old stuffed bunny from my childhood as it does with Jersey Girl and Boris, her bear. This is one of the things I love most about writing, you begin a story thinking it is about one thing and suddenly another story begins to reveal itself along the way.

I would be interested to know if you remember a favorite toy or stuffed animal and can you remember its name ?

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Budding Director Captures The Moment

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Look closely at the image below and you should be able to see two figures in the distance, one in red and one in blue. If you can’t see them, click on the image to make it larger and if after that you still can’t see them, go get your glasses and give it another try.

Okay, now for the brief backstory … John and I took Jersey Girl down to the river today so I could decide where to hide the clues for my treasure hunt on Wednesday. As I was taking pictures of hiding places and counting off paces and writing down the details needed for creating a treasure map, I happened to look up and notice that in the distance there was something happening that looked kind of interesting. So I snapped a series of photographs that after viewing I just had to share.

When we first walked through the meadow, I tried to teach JG how to hold a blade of grass between her thumbs and blow on to make a series of bird sounds. After working our way through multiple blades of grass with little success, we decided to try again later. When I saw JG with John’s video camera in hand, I knew that John was probably putting the lesson on tape.

Seeing him lift his hands up and hearing him make a few sounds that sounded a bit like a squawk confirmed what I had been thinking and I was glad that I had managed to catch their cute interaction if only from a distance.

The shot below was the one I couldn’t see clearly due to the distance, but by some bit of luck I managed to snap the image of a little budding director giving her granddad the thumbs up sign signaling a successful capture.

I can almost hear her saying, ” Got it, well done, Bapa. “

While the pictures above make me chuckle at the easy confident interaction I’ve witnessed many times between them, it’s the one below that makes my heart feel tender. I haven’t see the video JG made of her Bapa today, but from the look on their faces while reviewing the footage, I think it will certainly be something to remember.

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When You Are Five Going On Six

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When you are five going on six,

you like to help in the kitchen by stirring the mix.

When it’s all done and ready to eat, you pour on the syrup to make it taste sweet.

It isn’t quite perfect as hearts rarely are,

but it’s crunchy and filling and will carry you far.

Boris you see sitting there in his chair, is waiting for help like a good little bear.

When Boris has had all he can eat, we take some outside to give the birds a nice treat.

Since some like a place to rest while they eat,

we’ll leave some snacks on the bird table sure to make them sing, “tweet tweet.”

As you can see we are off to a good start of our visit with Jersey Girl. She assisted in writing the story today with Boris the Bear extending a few editorial comments as well. Thanks too for the heart-shaped waffle suggestions. JG picked from the choices available and I must say, I always like it when the heart wins.

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Distractions – Bright & Beautiful

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When bright flowers bloom

Parchment crumbles, my words fade

The pen has dropped …

~ Morpheus

I make deals with myself sometimes … with the life long experience of a master negotiator, I have whole, silent, in my head conversations that frequently begin with something like this, if you do this for the next three hours, then you can …

Today is one of those days.

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What Remains The Same

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Elizabeth Harper – Athens, Greece – Summer 1981

Yes … that’s me. This image came from an old slide from my army days, one of many that I’ve been moving from place to place for years. With twenty-one just around the corner, this younger, thinner version of me thought she knew a few things about life and while I’d had some experiences by then that most of my friends from high school had not, like breaking down an M-16 rifle in the dark, or leaving home at eighteen for my first military assignment in Germany, I was clearly not rocking the world with my fashion sense.

I mean, really …what was I thinking with that tight curly perm and if that wasn’t bad enough, how in the world did I think it was okay to go out in public wearing those cutoff short shorts! That sock-less running shoe look while not pretty kept me from getting blisters when I ran my first marathon in those bright yellow Nikes and I was still wearing Nikes twenty-six years later when I ran my second one.

These days, I wear my shorts a good bit longer and I ditched the perms twenty years ago, but check out that camera I have hanging around my neck … most of us change a great many things through the years such as behaviors that are no longer useful, bad hair styles, career choices, and sometimes husbands and partners, but there are some parts of us that are with us for the duration and central to the core of who we are no matter where we’re standing or what direction we may be looking.

I bet you don’t need three guesses to know what remains constant for me. It’s there in almost every photograph whether it’s around my neck, hanging off my shoulder, or in my hand, a camera of some kind is always with me and while not exactly a fashion accessory, it appears now it is has become a necessory item for completing my look. How about you, is there something about you that people have come to expect will be there, always the same whenever they see you?

Elizabeth Harper – Cornwall, England – Summer 2008

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London Marathon 2010 – Oh My Aching Feet

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Let me begin by saying that while I have run several marathons in the past, I watched this one from the sidelines on Sunday. John and I went to London a few days ago to watch his eldest daughter run in the London Marathon. She did really well finishing with a great time proving that proper training can make for a better race. We walked all over the race course covering at least 13 to 14 miles ourselves hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but with no luck.

Normally, I could cover this much ground without repercussions, but my shoes let me down badly making me miserable after about 7 miles. I had worn them before for city treks, but I was nursing big blisters on the balls of both feet by the time we made it back to the hotel. Ouch!

It was pretty exciting to be on the spectator side and be able to snap photographs and shout encouragement to the runners. Tower bridge was packed with people and I had trouble getting high enough to snap exactly what I wanted unlike this guy who was way up high on the bridge.

Not everyone was watching the race. I caught the guy below catching up on some email.

I ran out of water during our London walk about unlike the runners below who seemed to have a sip and then toss the rest. During races in the US, water is usually in an open cup making it easier and less wasteful than the bottles that Nestle was giving to runners.

Although there were crowds everywhere,

the London police ( in yellow) had things well under control …

making sure everyone who wanted to … could make it to this location …

or this one if you needed medical help.

This time I was glad to be like this little guy, watching from the sidelines.

Unlike this one though, I was too tired from walking all day to have much appetite.

After it was over, you could spot the runners sporting shirts with LonDone on it and hear people saying in passing to them, well done!

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Obsessions In Photography

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Chris Sneddon is talking about her recent obsession over at Shutter Sisters today and she’s asking readers to share any obsessions they may have when it comes to photography. Her question made me think about why I photograph what I do. My photography tends to be closely linked to what I write about here on my blog. This would include images that provide a documentary look at topics such as the pasty competition posts from the last few days to photographs that are inspiration for personal essays and others that illustrate the mini short stories I’ve written for TMAST.

I take photographs to tell a story and there’s always a story. Whether it’s real or imagined, mine or yours, every picture has a story waiting to be told. My obsession is in the finding, first the photograph and then the words. I have included a few of the 32,000 photographs I’ve taken in the last two years.  32,000  photographs in two years … does that seem like an obsession to you?

I would love to hear what you like to photograph and if there’s any subject matter you think you get a bit obsessive with when you have a camera in hand.

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Tell Me A Story Tuesdays – Saving The One-Shot Cabin

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“Could this be the place?” she wondered. “Harry lives here?”

Kate thought about this as her eyes scanned what could barely be called a yard. Someone had clearly tried to carve out a bit of green space in order to form a civilized boundary around the house, but the area still looked as if it was just one hard rain away from the jungle taking it back. She gave the house a quick glance looking for signs of movement, but saw only an unpainted wooden house with a sagging porch and a crooked set of steps. The tin roof looked as if it was losing the battle with the wet climate a little each day, fighting tiredly against the rust and decay that was an expected annoyance of life on the island.

Seeing it now reminded her of the old sharecropper shacks she’d seen as a child while riding the bus south to see her aunt in Georgia. She bet her last dollar that this house, like those she remembered, would have no running water or an indoor toilet. Swatting her cheek in what was quickly becoming almost rhythmic in its frequency, Kate unzipped her backpack and began to dig through its tightly packed contents for the special spray she had bought based on what seemed like a reasonable claim at the time. Ten hour relief didn’t seem like an exaggeration when she was standing in the Handy Pantry aisle reading all the bug spray labels, but given that these insects appeared intent on sucking the last drop of blood from her body, she wished now that she’d purchased the Jungle strength spray her friend David had suggested she could find on Amazon. David hated bugs about as much she did, but more importantly, as a physician he knew how dangerous a bite could be particularly in the middle of nowhere like she was at this moment.

Her hand found the spray in the side pocket where she had put it for safe keeping. She almost always forgot where she left things even when she thought she had it worked out with a plan. At 43, she was far too young to have such a crap memory, but she had learned to accept it even though friends and family still struggled with having to repeat things over and over. Truth was, she was too easily distracted by an over scheduled life and a brain that barely took a break even at night to rest. Lately it seemed as if she woke up feeling more tired than when she had closed her eyes and she knew fatigue was a killer when it came to concentration.

Kate ripped off the plastic top of the bug repellent and began to spray it around her head and face in much the same way her grandmother had shellacked her blue hair into place before leaving the house each day. Working well into her sixties, she would have kept at it if the owners hadn’t sold the business where she had created a family of sorts from the people she served there. She thought back to how her grandmother had used that same aerosol hair spray to paralyze and kill the butterflies from her garden leaving them as perfect in death as they were in life.

Grandma Bee had liked the way they had added a bit of color and exoticness to the dried flower arrangements she began to make in increasing amounts after she retired. It was a solitary hobby for someone who by then was already spending too much time alone and she began to close the doors in her life, leaving her church and friends behind almost as she easily as she closed off the unused rooms in her house. Kate thought about the way her grandmother had died slowly over time losing the ability to remember the people around her, until she was only a shell of the woman who had once chased butterflies in her nightgown and slippers, in the privacy of her big backyard.

After giving herself a liberal coating of bug spray, Kate stepped a bit closer to the house ducking under the wash line where several colorful towels were draped over a thin bit of rope stretched between the trees. She could not be absolutely sure this was the place until she had spoken to the person who lived here. For a moment she felt a bit afraid out here on her own, but checking her cell phone she could see she had coverage so she took a deep breath and said, ” Hello, is there a Harry Gribble here? ”  ” Who wants to know?” came booming back from the side of the house where she could just make out the shape of a man lying in a hammock partially hidden by some tall foliage. ” Mr. Gribble, ”  she began, ” It’s Harry, just Harry,” he said, interrupting her in a way that left her temporarily more startled than the discovery that he’d been sleeping very near while she had been giving his house a snooty appraisal.

At least she hoped he’d been asleep instead of watching her during her big bug killing moment. Her face reddened thinking how absurd she must have looked as she drenched herself with enough spray to kill anything that creeped or crawled within a hundred yards of her airspace. Well, maybe a hundred yards was stretching it a bit, but she wanted so much to appear sane and intelligent to this man whose help she had determined necessary in order to find what she needed, on this island in the middle of the Atlantic.

“Hello,” she said, moving towards the still reclining man who appeared to be in the process of getting up. Intending to shake his hand and introduce herself, Kate stepped forward extending her hand as she walked towards him, ” I’m …”  was all she got out before tripping over a root she hadn’t noticed and tumbling forward towards Harry. He came out the hammock faster than one normally would, intending to try to catch her before she hit the ground. As anyone knows, climbing out of a swinging piece of fabric stretched between two trees requires a bit more grace than getting into it and before either of them had time to blink they were both on the ground in a heap.

Oh good grief, she thought to herself and as she rolled over while trying to push him off, their heads collided with a sharp crack. ” Oww!” Kate wailed, holding her head in her hands as she heard Harry Gribble ask, ” Lord woman, are you all right? ” with a tone that that made her unsure of just how to respond. Lifting her head from her hands, she found herself staring into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. ” Kate ”  he said, making it more of a question than a statement, ” You’re the woman who sent me the email, right? ” ” Yes,that’s right,” Kate responded breaking eye contact as she stood up swiftly and began brushing off the dirt she picked up in her fall.

Shaking his hand, she said quickly, ” It’s so nice to meet you and thank you for giving me some of your time. ”  ” Well, as you can see I’m pretty busy so let’s move this along, shall we? ” Harry said, hiding a smile which would have told her right away that he was kidding. He had nothing but time these days and privately he had been looking forward to her arrival. Kate felt her heart speed up as she tried to remember the speech she had practiced silently on the plane. ” Well, as you know from my email, I’m looking for something I believe to be on this island and I came here because I heard that you are the very best when it comes to this kind of thing especially with regard to finding what has been lost….” Kate took a deep breath having just said what felt like the longest sentence of her life.

Pausing a minute before continuing, she noticed Harry was smiling. A little confused by his amused response to what she’d been saying, she took a deep breath before carrying on with her story. I’m trying to track down what I believe to be part of a pirate’s treasure that was hidden here around 1783. She watched in horror as Harry burst out laughing.” I know it may seem funny to you, but you can be sure it’s not funny to me! ” Silenced by her intensity, Harry settled down to listen to what this attractive woman had to say. He found himself drifting in his thoughts as she spoke, watching her mouth without hearing exactly what she was saying until he heard her say two unforgettable words,” treasure map.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” said Harry. ” What do you mean, you found a map?”  Kate looked at him as if he was a bit of a disappointment trying to decide if he was stupid or just not listening.” Yes,” she said, ” I have a map ” and began to tell him the story again, but in a slightly different way,

Kate had been living in Italy when she’d received an email from one of her cousins about a decision the three sisters had been forced to make regarding a place that was very special to them all. She could not imagine how difficult it must have been to decide that selling was the only option available for the One-Shot cabin. After the sudden and unexpected death of their mother, the girls had inherited the cabin by the lake which had been in the family since the 50s.

Known as Aunt Wylly to Kate, she was Kate’s grandfather’s only sister and great grandma to her three cousins, Shelli, Mikellah and McKenzie. The One-shot cabin had been purchased years before with money earned from a novella that Kate’s aunt had written for Redbook Magazine. Because this type of story was only published once, it was usually referred to as a ” one-shot ” story which was why aunt Wylly had named the cabin as she did. Kate had already planned a trip back to America, but her cousin McKenzie’s news prompted her to schedule a trip to the cabin and a visit with them almost as soon as the plane’s wheels had touched down.

Renting a car, she stopped long enough to spend one night in her mother’s home and then headed for Lake Nottely the next day. She had laughed and lounged at the lake all day complimenting the girls on the wonderful job they had done with the cabin so it might be available as a B & B. If the economy had not gone into such a downward spiral, this might have worked out so they could have kept it, but it was too late now and Kate had said her goodbyes to the cabin where she had felt such peace as a child. As she sat on the screened porch, she remembered winning a game of Scrabble that she played with her aunt the summer she was twelve. Kate watched the ducks making ripples in the lake as she sat there thinking about the secret creek hidden beneath the lake’s surface that had inspired her aunt’s first children’s book, ” The Secrets of the Hidden Creek.”

Kissing her cousins goodbye, she had driven north needing more time on her own before going back to her mother’s house and turned the car in the direction of the alma mater she shared with her great aunt. The University of Georgia had all of  Wylly Folk St. John’s manuscripts and personal correspondence especially that which related to the stories she’d written. Kate had rented a hotel room close the campus and after a light supper had called it a night. She’d gotten an early start the next morning going straight to the Library and settled into the Rare Books & Special Collections section where her aunt’s papers had found a permanent home after her death in 1985.

Kate spent the day reading the old letters and when she got to the correspondence that included her research for ” The Secrets of the Pirate’s Inn, ” she found a series of notes and letters that she’d never seen before.  Always a good researcher, she noticed a series of numbers that looked a bit like grid coordinates scribbled along the edges of several pieces of paper. Aunt Wylly had always used rhymes and clues in the mystery books that she wrote for children and Kate tried to think like a mystery writer as she worked to decipher the notes. The seven or so pages looked as if they belonged to the book she’d been working on before she died.  While Kate didn’t know much about that last novel, she thought these research notes might have been misfiled by the library staff who thought they belonged in this box because of the words pirate and treasure that appeared in different places. She went over the notes until she her eyes felt grow numb and in the end made copies in her own handwriting before she went back to the hotel to review them in private.

Listening to her story, Harry was beginning to see where this was going. Kate wasn’t just here for some silly adventure to liven up her life, she was trying to save the cabin she had been talking about, this One-Shot place that had belonged to her aunt, the writer. Kate paused realizing for the first time that she was too tired to talk anymore. She was worn out from traveling and right now she just needed some food and a bed. There was so much more to her story, but it would have to wait until later and judging by the look on Harry’s face, she knew he wasn’t going to need much persuasion to join her in her treasure hunt. She hoped he was good as people said he was because there were a few things that were still a mystery to her. Kate felt she had to do something more to try to save the cabin and she just couldn’t stop until she worked it out.

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My story came from the picture above and a topic sentence supplied by Gaelikaa, but the real heart of the story was inspired because today is the birthday of my great aunt Wylly who was more like a grandmother to me than an aunt. I wanted to honor her in a way I know she would understand and appreciate by writing a story with her as a character. She used her grandchildren, nieces, and nephews along with a few neighbor children to solve the mysteries in her children’s books so I thought it fitting she should be a part of mine. She would be 101 today if she were alive, I wish I could share this life I’ve chosen with her, I think she would be pleased.

I used quite a few true facts in writing this story for her and as for the rest of it….well, that’s part of the mystery waiting to be solved.

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Margaret Harper, Wylly Folk St. John (holding Pam Jones) Elizabeth Harper  (1971)

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Thanks again to Gaelikaa for joining TMAST this week her story can be found here and  thanks also to Judy Harper who joined us this week using her own topic. You can find her story here.

I want to thank everyone who left a topic sentence for me and for the others wishing to contribute to TMAST. It’s always more fun when others participate and I hope you’ll consider writing a little story of your own next week.

Please go here to find the pictures for next week’s TMAST and offer up suggestions for topic sentences based on the photographs.

Just for fun, all three pictures have my aunt in them at various stages of her life.