Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today…
Bringing joy that will last
Laughing, loving, peanutbutter pie, lava lamp, care-packages…
Distance, time or circumstances can never blur- Because when it’s authentic you love it forever…
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Complete thrill meeting artist and inspiration since childhood, Douglas Kirkland. His amazing new book Coco Chanel:Three Weeks/1962
Photo by Douglas Kirkland
Douglas Kirkland was always the name I looked for. No matter if I was sitting in the school library or perched on an idle tractor with a copy of Look or Life magazine. A Douglas Kirkland image provided early escape within the rural confinement from the farm I grew up on. Transporting me before traveling outside of Indiana seemed like a possibility.
A Douglas Kirkland image could contain a multitude of things – Bright vibrant colors to dark mysterious casting shadows on the page.
Sometimes a Douglas Kirkland image would tell a story and other times you’d find yourself trying to see if there was some hidden meaning.
If the image contained old Hollywood, Douglas could present them fresh and if the subject was young up-and-coming he could magically make that image arouse a curiosity.
His subjects could be breathtakingly beautiful but real with pores and lines. Beautiful imperfections.
Before recognizing the word timeless – I understood it’s meaning. A Douglas Kirkland image…
It’s been forty-four plus years. My passion for photography continues. Now living in New York City I have many successful photographer friends.
They love coming to my apartment and looking at my collection of prized photos hanging on my wall. Many friends have made the same comment. “You know Eddie, sometimes I think your collection speaks more for the photographer than the subject”.
Nodding my head smiling and finding the signature that started it all. Douglas Kirkland…
All of my senses were occupied when in the company of children. Loving open-hearts combined with both innocence and wisdom – learning and loving without being concerned how it looks to the outside. Children don’t see things by way of color, size or shape. In the company of children I didn’t have to be the ‘Perfect Boy’ I could breath easy. Even though a child myself, yet never feeling young on the inside- I couldn’t help but marvel over their wonder. Children are created uniquely and beautifully. Celebrating authenticity is a gift you can give your children. It’s a gift they deserve. Never stop unwrapping it. A gift that lasts a lifetime…
We may be different from the rest-
Who decides the test-
Of what is really best?
Being authentic, celebrated and loved…
I pride myself on my memory. For better or worse, I can remember vivid details about my past and the people who were part of my history. Perhaps it’s an article of clothing – a color, a texture or feeling against skin. Our sense of smell is where we sometimes store our most cherished memories. I can see a beautiful hand kneading pie dough- I can still count the freckles. Though there have been times I’d wish my memory would soften or simply not play over and over. One simply cannot cherry-pick memories. The imprint sometimes plays out like a beautiful kaleidoscope in your mind. What a blessing to possess.
Though I remember bits-n-pieces of my grandmother’s last Christmas, I wonder if I’d known it was to be her last, would there be more memories stored up in my mind?
Some of the things I remember may simply have been told to me. My mother tells me how Ma-Maw worried she’d become too much of a burden after she and Papaw had to move in with us. The tears in mom’s eyes as she told me about the cold December night she got up to make sure Ma-Maw wasn’t chilly and needed an extra blanket. Simply to be told “I’m fine but you might want to check on Daddy, he always get’s cold during the night.”
Thinking about that last Christmas, I wondered if the farm was covered with snow? Were the horses standing at the gate like a normal morning or watching our house for movement from their warm barn? Ma-Maw’s last Christmas has replayed the past 45 years in my mind. The tiny bit I remember is crystal clear. It’s like one of my favorite scenes from a movie I’ve obsessed over. I can see it and hear it and love to let it envelop me. I take painstaking care to make mental notes of every character’s movement.
Opening my eyes I listened to the rhythm of my brothers breathing. Normally I’d get my brother and sister up, but Mom had been adamant about staying in bed until the adults gave the okay. Always wanting to ensure Ma-Maw get as much sleep as possible. Lying cocooned within the sheet and blanket and waiting, I heard Ma-Maws voice. “See the baby buggy? That’s from Ma-Maw, no not Santa… Ma-Maw.”
Quietly making my way out of bed so not to wake Timmy, I tiptoe into the hallway. And from there, I can see the living room. Tree lights and ornaments glittering. Casting a beautiful glow. Bent over, one hand holding her side while the other hand pointed at the baby buggy, I see Ma-Maw. She has quietly slipped Sissy out of bed, determined she understand in her little mind that her new baby buggy is a gift from Ma-Maw.
It’s beautiful. My little sister squinting, smiling and trying to understand. Ma-Maw holding her side in pain, simply wanting her granddaughter to experience what I felt from her every one of her days – kindness, sweetness, and unconditional love.
Would it matter if I’d known? Would I have taken time to layer more detail into my memories? Or would it simply take away from that moment I cherish of Ma-Maw’s last Christmas? In the end, I believe so. In the end, she lives in my present because I didn’t know. And that final Christmas memory blazes bright like tree lights in my heart every December 25th.
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Bergdorf Magic
From the time I was young, I loved old movies and old movie-time glamour. The more glittering and glamorous the better. I think it might be when I first fell in love with the notion of glitter – watching those flickering images on televison. Even in black and white, you could see the glitter on those gowns…
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I wanted to be the perfect boy.
A perfect boy would do exactly as asked.
A perfect boy would be loved by everyone around him because he was so perfect. My little brother Timmy was what they used to call “all-boy,” an expression that was the highest badge of masculinity one could bestow on a properly rough and tumble youth. I thought if only I could be like Timmy then my Father might love me. Then I’d be the perfect boy. But the journey to being loved had nothing to do with being that perfect boy…
Every December when we decorated the tree with those old glitter ball ornaments from the 1950s and 1960s, and the glitter would come off on my hands. I loved it and tried to rub as much glitter on myself as possible. Ma-maw didn’t care how much glitter got stuck around the house at Christmastime, and she didn’t care how much got stuck to me. She liked glitter – and liked it even more when she saw how much I loved it.
I wanted to decorate the tree with glitter everywhere. But even decorating the tree with Ma-maw, I worried about how much I was using. It got all over everything in sight. I was covered with it, and despite how much I loved it, I felt compelled to pretend just a little bit of indifference. Hiding my real excitement, I said hesitantly, “This is an awful lot of glitter Ma-Maw – what do you think? Is it too much glitter?” But she just laughed. “Let’s just toss glitter! Just toss it!” and she threw her arms up and tossed the glitter alongside me, making the most sparkly, glitter-filled Yuletide moment a boy like me could hope for. When it feels authentic you love it forever…
Photo by Jeff Elstone
Never assume that I don’t hold faith because my faith doesn’t match yours. Rhetoric like that presumes you can’t be Christian or be of faith and be supportive of LGBT people.
In my experience with my Christian friends and family, is that they see the life and words of Jesus as an example to give and extend love and support. And love and support has no beginning and no end – it doesn’t exclude anyone. Labels are for jars. Reflecting love is for everyone…
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