Tag Archives: photos

Take a Kindness…Leave a Kindness

He couldn’t help it – the little red mailbox had the flag up, signifying he had mail. It hadn’t been up when he left the table in his favorite little coffee shop to grab a book from his car, had it? He couldn’t remember. He looked around with curiosity, then took a sip of his mango tea from the heavy blue mug.

The red mailbox had Take a kindness…leave a kindness scribbled in black Sharpie on the door. He opened it and found a small notepad with a happy little robot on it. He flipped through, reading each handwritten thought, until he turned to the final page that said “You never know. Right now someone could be looking your way and thinking That could totally be my soul mate.”

He looked up and saw an adorably cute girl with short blond hair smiling at him. She waved.

Special thanks to my favorite coffee shop, Burlap and Bean, for the inspiration.

When a Tree Falls in My Yard My Heart Makes a Sound

As I look out my kitchen window, a vast emptiness consumes the view. The tree is gone.

I love my small property in suburban Philadelphia more than I can explain. Sure, I can’t stand the neighbors, the cramped street, the parking, but my house is another story entirely. I have (or should say had) four trees which shaded my house beautifully in the summer, keeping the heat at bay and my electric bills down.

And then there were three.

Storms claimed my lovely tree, an elm that has slowly deteriorated over the years. My neighbors were afraid it would fall on their homes, and during the last ice storm even I became concerned when the branches that fell at 5AM were so big that the sound rattled my whole house. So I gave in and the tree had to go.

I promised Mother Nature, myself, my close friends, my girlfriend and family, everyone really, that I would plant another. Nobody seems too concerned about it, but this tree, every tree means the world to me. So for now, as the ground is still frozen, I wait until the moment when I can finally plant another. And for now, when I look out any window facing the alley, I can feel that emptiness of the view, the lack of something, and even though I can see the beautiful blue sky that is out there today, I miss the branches, the leaves, the drooping arms of what was once a beautiful elm.

Sigh.

Valentine’s Day is For Suckers (And I Guess I’m One of Those Suckers)

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yup.”

I’d never been a fan of Valentine’s Day, honestly. It’s a Hallmark scam. It’s a holiday that is celebrated once a year to show someone you love them when that’s something you should show them a little more often than that. Maybe not so often as daily, but not so rarely as once a year. Also, who wants to do what’s expected of them? I would much rather give someone flowers for no reason and as a surprise; it’s more fun than sending them a dozen roses at work on a day where everyone gets roses at work.

“Am I going to get flowers?”

“I gave you flowers last week. Remember? I surprised you with them.”

“But what about Valentine’s flowers?”

“What, so you can show everyone at work that you got flowers? Lame. You could show them the flowers I get you randomly any other week. Why do you need flowers today?”

We both think quite differently. She enjoys having a caring and loving boyfriend and wants everyone to know about me, about us. It’s cute, honestly.

People are often surprised at how little I care for Valentine’s Day. I’m an obvious hopeless romantic and everyone knows it, especially my girlfriend. And I think that’s why I just can’t get behind the idea of celebrating your love for someone once a year when you could be enjoying it more often.

Her big blue eyes are widened with excitement as we sit on her leather couch and discuss this. I can see anticipation in them . She is sure I wouldn’t have let her down on this holiday of romance.

“So what, just because you want to show off to your single friends that you have a caring and loving boyfriend, I should go all out when you know I’m against everything this day stands for?”

“Yup. And FYI it’s not just for the single friends. It’s for everyone.”

I think about the valentine I made her sitting on the table in the other room, cleverly hidden under today’s paper. A simple one I made on the computer using the design program I work with daily. A picture of me giving the thumbs up. The words, I may hate Valentine’s Day but I don’t hate you in big letters on the inside. The cute but inexpensive earrings I got her, mostly because I felt obliged to get her something she could wear today at work so when people asked she could show them.

“So what, you expect me to believe you did nothing in anticipation of today?”

I think of the full breakfast I made her while she was still asleep in bed, simmering on a low flame in the kitchen, her favorite: French Toast with blueberries. A fresh coffee brewing.

“You know how I don’t love this day.”

“But you’re a romantic.”

And yes, I think of the delivery man bringing her flowers at work, even though I think it’s a terribly common idea. Her favorite flowers, no less.

I smile at her as she expectantly waits for me to produce some kind of gift. She hands me a package, carefully and artfully wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper.

“I know how you don’t like this day, and how you think it’s a scam to sell heart covered things, so I used the comics.”

I open it and it’s a beautiful writing journal with my name etched on the front.

“I know you would want something useful, not fabricated to make Hallmark more money. So I decided on this.”

She knows me well.

“And I also know you got me stuff. I can smell French Toast, and coffee, and I know you probably made me a card, and you got me something. So come on, out with it!” Her smile is almost cocky, and this whole moment reminds me how much I love her.

She knows me too well.

“It’s somewhere in this room, right now you’re cold.”

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

Dust

Image by Danielle Suzanne Photography.

“You’re going to miss me, right?”

She finally said it. Susie had been wondering if Tine would ever actually verbalize it, or if she would continue to keep her feelings bottled up.

“I love you Tine. You know that. I’m not going to go off to college and forget you.”

She shifted her weight on the old table in their secret place, an abandoned home on the outskirts of town. Her slight movement brought up a small cloud of dust. She sighed and then coughed a little when she inhaled. They laughed.

“We really should have cleaned this place up when we found it. When was that, eight years ago?”

“At least,” Susie said with a smile. “Right after we became blood sisters.”

Tine’s shoulders drooped a bit.

“I wish I could go away to school. But-“

Susie pushed Tine’s long curly hair behind her ear. “Your mom needs you. Nobody would be around to take care of her. You’re making a huge sacrifice, but it’s one of love.”

Tine tried to look her in the eye but only made it up to the blue and white stripes of her shirt. “I’m afraid I’ll resent her. I’ll keep seeing your facebook statuses, and everyone else’s and I’ll be able to see every single little thing about living away at school that I’m missing. I’ll see it but never experience it.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to her. What could she say? She noticed the handprints they kept leaving in the dusty surface of the table. The room was littered with their handprints from the past eight years.

“I’m sorry. You’ll visit me though, right? And I’ll make sure you have a whole semester’s worth of fun in a weekend!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll even get you laid.”

At that Tine started laughing and shoved her in a hard but playful way, forcing Susie to jump off the table and land on her feet.

“Bitch!” she said with a humor-filled tone so Tine would know she was kidding. “Now I’m only going to hook you up with ugly guys!”

Tine started laughing at looked at her watch.

“I should really go. Mom will need to eat soon. And I have some chores.”

Susie walked over to her and took her hand. “You’re my best friend, Tine. And nothing will ever change that.” Tine held on for a brief moment and then made her way to the door.

“Love you.”

She stopped with her hand on the knob and didn’t turn back. “Love you, too.”

“I Wish I Had My Very Own Luck Dragon”

“Huh?” I asked her.

“A luck dragon, it’s-“

“I know what a luck dragon is, silly,” I interrupted.

She smiled. “Of course you do.”

“Would you name him Falcor?”

“No, duh! That’s too obvious. I’d name him…”

“Lucky?” I guess.

“No! That’s not what I was going to say.”

I give her a knowing look and she tries to hide in her oversized gray sweater-hoodie. After a few attempts to disappear under the hood she peeks out. I can tell from her eyes she’s smirking.

“You were totally going to say Lucky, weren’t you.”

“Yup,” she whispers.

“So would you ride him through Fantasia?”

“Who said he’s a he?”

“You just did. You called him a he. He’s a he.”

She thinks about it and shoves me a little. “Wise ass.”

“So what would you do with your luck dragon not-named-Lucky?”

She pokes her head out of the hood, more like the turtle in Neverending Story than a luck dragon. “First I’d scratch him behind the ear. They love that. Then we’d go for a ride and I’d see the city from above.”

“Well you better wear a coat. It’s only 20 degrees out.”

“Of course.”

“Where would you keep him?”

“You don’t keep a luck dragon, silly. He’s your friend. He’d be free to fly. Experience. Explore. Conquer. But he’d still show up whenever I need him most.”

“Really?”

“It’s just what luck dragons do. You know this.”

“I do.”

“You’re just messing with me.”

“Yup. I can totally see why you would want a luck dragon.”

“It’s not to skip out on tolls.”

“I know.”

“Or avoid traffic.”

“Or red lights. I know.”

“It’s just about the magic. That childhood tendency to fall in love with films.”

She sighs and pulls the sweater a little tighter.

“Come on. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

Inspired by the most amazing post on Indyink here.

 

Footprints in the Snow

“I’m coming to Canada on a school trip. I’ll be staying right near you. I checked.”

“What?” she asked, a surprised look on her face that he could see via Skype all the way from Philadelphia.

“My professor is organizing a trip for next month for our geology club. He has some crazy notion that there’s a group of kimberlites that might have formed diamonds in them so he wants to abuse our club to become rich.”

She shifted in her seat and he could see she was uncomfortable. Either that or nervous, he couldn’t tell.

“Aren’t you excited? We’ve been online friends for two years now. Here’s our chance to finally meet.”

She thought back to that conversation as she sat in one of her favorite spots a month later. She’d come across the old cabin doing a nature shoot for her Digital Photography course and noticed the dilapidated hunting cabin that was falling apart from disuse. It was cold out and the recent snow made it stand out in the woods; she doubted anyone had set foot in the building in decades. From inside she could see enough of the snow through the giant cracks that had formed between the logs, and while a draft did float through the building the aged walls still kept some of the cold out.

Today was much like that first day she found the building. A fresh snow accompanied a cold day, and she was so nervous about meeting him that she didn’t even think to bring a coat. In her hands she held the best gift she’d ever received from a boy. Last Christmas he bought her the small porcelain carousel, inspired by a trip she’d taken over the previous summer photographing vintage carousels across the country. They reminded her of her father before he passed, and somehow the photographs all seemed to capture that, which she always thought helped her win the contest that helped her attain her first gallery show in the city.

She was to meet him in one hour in a café near campus, and even though they had Skyped for hours every week, he still insisted she bring the small toy so he would recognize her. She had romantic notions which were leading her to such nerves that she needed to collect herself in the cabin, the place she often found herself in moments of doubt, nervousness or deep thought. This one was all three.

She walked to the window, the most comfortable place to sit, and brushed the ledge off with her hands so she wouldn’t get her favorite flower print leggings dirty, just in case. She had no idea where their meeting, or date, was it a date? would lead. She’d fallen for him over the past two years of constant texts, calls, IMs, and Skype dates but never had the desire or nerve to tell him. Why bother? He’d never been a real person she could touch before. All the boys she shunned, all the dates she subconsciously sabotaged were because of him. She hadn’t even kissed anyone in over a year, which was right around the time she realized her feelings. Even though she knew she would never meet him.

But now he was coming.

She turned the little carousel over in her hands, listening to the subtle jingle of the parts inside that would play music if she wound it. They sounded so far away, but she knew she could just twist the knob and they would echo through the cabin at a high decibel.

She looked at her watch. Forty-five minutes until he would be sitting in her favorite coffee shop, the one she’d talked about often and even Skyped with him in so he could see it. She wanted to show him everything she loved, and there was only one place he hadn’t heard of, and this was it.

Maybe she would bring him, show him the hideaway she visited for the big decisions. But then he might notice the fresh footprints and put the clues together, somehow realizing that she loved him. He might say “Were you here today?” and she couldn’t lie to him. She would have to admit it. And he would look into her eyes and ask “What was the big decision you had to make?” and she would blush and smile and he would take her in his arms and she would feel him for the first time after years of wishing and hoping and their lips would meet for the first time in her favorite spot and she would share it with him and maybe, just maybe, he would fall in love with her in that moment.

She would bring him here. They would get tea in little to go containers, and she would show him to her favorite place and hope he noticed her footprints in the snow.

Photographs by Danielle Suzanne Photography. Check out her website or her Flickr.

His Reading Spot

He sat in the bright orange room and took in, rested in the moon chair where he liked to read and took a sip of his hot, unsweetened Earl Grey tea with a splash of milk. The glow of the sun warmed him on the cold day that start with snow and ended in sun. The wind blew flakes against the nearby window, which mesmerized him for a moment before he picked up his copy The Living Sea by Captain Jacques Cousteau from the nearby red Ikea table and settled in for a day of reading and happiness.

Thanksgiving Alone, 1913



Rebecca stared at the empty post card, unsure of how to apologize for missing her parents’ fiftieth anniversary party. Her cousin would surely be there, and she just couldn’t deal with seeing him again after their encounters. It would be too painful. He would get that look of excitement on his face, she would see his smile, and they would end up back in the situation that she’d already put an end to more than once.

She bought her parents a Thanksgiving post card to combine both excuses in one shot; he would be going to that as well. She thought back to the first day when they were hiking to the top of Mount Glade to the famous sunset lookout. Time was running out because she wasn’t in as good of shape as she’d thought and they needed to rush to make it in time. He beat her to the top and as she climbed the final rocks saw him with myriad colors in the background, holding out his hand to her, and she accepted it. Her hand stayed in his without either of them noticing until it was too late.

Thanksgiving was an enormous loss for her. Some of her best childhood memories were those of her father giving thanks before they all dug in. He always named each of his children on that list, and the rare attention from the patriarch always made her heart skip a beat. Of course, he was always thankful for the roof over their head, meals, and baseball games, but she sat anticipating the sound of her name coming from his lips. And now she would miss it.

As she started to scribble the kindest words she could muster for her parents, they flowed rather smoothly. She finished and looked at it, rereading every word and wondering why her hands were shaking. It was horrible to avoid her family because of a few mistakes, but she had no choice; seeing him again would start it all back up and it was wrong. She read the letter once more and realized that it sounded more friendly than loving, but she had to send it as is. Thanksgiving was in two days and it she didn’t have time to go out and buy another card.

A Warm Vacation

Click the image for my Etsy store.

Dear John

Vintage photograph sent to me by Gina Esguerra. Click it for her blog.

She sat down to write him the last letter he would ever get from her. Years of letters had gone unnoticed, unreturned and discarded in the waste bin. She was tired of it all, of him. Thousands of meals, never a single thank you. She didn’t know a single one of her friends who had the guts to leave their husbands, but she would do it. A job was lined up, she had a room with her sister’s family, everything was set.

Maybe he would learn to appreciate the next woman who came into his life. Maybe not. But more importantly, she would be happy.