Lately I have been using my phone more and more for taking photos. For one thing, it is always with me. At first it felt a little bit like cheating, but once I started doing a bit of research into how to actually use the camera on my phone, I started having lots of fun.

Many iPhone users suggest holding the camera upside down for some shots, which creates a great perspective. I have had fun with portrait mode, playing with different light, bokeh and blur, and I am finally learning to use night mode.

I tend to take different kinds of photos with my cell phone. tiny snippets of my life rather than focusing on an object that evokes something within me. And every few months I print them off and put them on the fridge. So fun!

 

“I don't know why people are so obsessed with age anyway. I mean, 90 is the new 70 70 is the new 50 and 50 is the new 40 so the whole act-your-age thing? Only up to a point.”
- Joan Collins

He turned 70 last week and as I will follow suite in just a mere six months. I have been spending some time thinking about how age is different than growing older. I mentioned a few posts ago how I was finding it easier to accept the changes that growing older brings with it, after all, I have been growing older since the day I was born. But grasping that number 70, and the preconceptions I have about it when it comes to age, rattled me a bit. So, I did a little research, and it seems 70 is the new 60, some even say it is the new 50. It just comes with a few more doctor appointments, (along with some new screenings,)new glasses every year, and a couple of daily pills to keep you going.

Luckily I can live with those things without too much stress.

We spend the morning making Valentines, talking about the people we love, and how love makes us feel. After lunch I get out my mom’s old button box and I let him play. We sort them by color, working together side by side, talking. Sometimes he holds one up, asking what it came off of, and I do my best to remember. I tell him the button box is a symbol of love for me, a way I remember my mother, wondering how I explain love to a four year old? But he doesn’t question this and seems to understand. Later, after he has gone home, I think about how I am building memories for him. I wonder what he will remember about a table full of cut out hearts, purple glue-sticks and stickers. I wonder if he will remember the button box. I wonder what he will remember about me.

“One thing is certain, and I have always known it—the joys of my life have nothing to do with age.
They do not change. Flowers, the morning and evening light, music, poetry, silence, the goldfinches darting about …”

― May Sarton, At Seventy: A Journal

We are back door people, so imagine my joy when I discover the hellebore blooms under last year’s foliage out front. I immediately drop to my knees and gently tug on the dead leaves, pulling them out of the ground making way for the deep pink of the flower. I do a bit of cleanup around the plants, reveling more blooms getting ready to emerge from the soil. Later in the day, as the sun pours through sliding doors, I find Baker asleep, basking in warm rays. I remind myself that the earth does not sleep, and it is up to me to watch for signs and get the plants ready for warmer weather. I head into the garage and gather my tools from where they were dropped last fall. I bring some inside to clean up and place the others in my garden basket. After all, I want to be ready when she lets me know the time is right.