It emphasizes to me the importance of photographs and the delight I have in the simplicity of sharing those photos. All it takes is a camera phone for instant graphic updates! A digital camera is good, too, and if we used the professional big camera, the pictures wouldn’t be any more important. It’s because she takes the time to snap the photo and then upload it  that makes me glad she’s got an Iphone and some addiction to it. I would be lost without her little photos peppering her Facebook page. I’d miss her even more than I do–and she still lives in the same town!

The decade's best invention: Camera Phone

Photos are more important than you might think. They create the intertwining threads that bind our memories to the present day. Some of the past treasures I remember ONLY because there were pictures taken. Otherwise, those moments would join the non-descript millions of others that are lost to us. Of course you don’t need to–nor want to remember every moment of every day. But once in a while, it’s nice to see that pictoral diary, that snapshot of life caught up in cyberspace and preserved for this tired old brain to focus on, to enjoy, to be a part of.

Letter writing is a dying art; sending post cards and notes doesn’t happen very often any more. But thank goodness for online communications that make it so easy to stay in touch. And thank goodness for a daughter who likes and understands the technology that allows me to be connected to her, just a little, in very endearing ways. I keep telling my mother that she needs to be online. If she wants pictures of the grandkids, check out my Facebook and follow me on Twitter. And bless her heart, she does.

The photo before I started working on it.

I really liked looking at it because it was old, because it was taken and printed in a foreign country (Poland) and because it was so ornately printed on the back where the photographer’s name and studio were written. The stock was heavy, like 8 ply mat board, which probably kept the photo from being damaged any more than it was.

Somewhere along the way, it had been folded and then taped together, unfortunately directly across the face of the baby girl. My biggest challenge was to recreate the hair and the other missing features, like the chair upholstery.

In addition to that, the tape caused the photo to discolor, so that even once I did remove the marks of the tape and replace the missing features, I still needed to make the yellowing disappear.

I worked on it for quite a while and realized that it looked odd because I had removed too much of the shadowing from the baby’s face. So I had to put it back–especially around the eyes.

All in all, it took several hours over a couple of days to get it to where I liked it. My client didn’t want me to remove all the wrinkles, because she liked the character they gave the photo. The same was true of the rubbing on the edges of the photo. So, I simply corrected the damage from the tape and folding.

The results.

Makes me want to go out and find a chair like this and experiment in re-creating the lighting and the sepia effect.

It seemed to get dark earlier today than usual. Of course, the darkness always settled in early in the winter, but today seemed especially gloomy. The clouds were heavy and a small wind whipped up the leaves that had settled on my scruffy little yard.  I sighed. I really didn’t want to make the trip to see Grandma today, but I knew I should. The more I thought about it the guiltier I felt for even considering missing our date. It was a drive of an hour and a half during which I thought a lot about Christmases past.

I always went to Grandma’s house at Christmas time when I was a little girl. It was a tiny house on a cramped lot in a busy city, but I loved it there, mostly because she always brought out a glass dish full of her favorite seasonal treat—ribbon candy. At her house, I could eat all of it I wanted and most days I’d have one sticky piece after another while Grandma and I would play games or cook or bake. Lately, though, it was harder and harder to find the really good thin, authentic ribbon candy shaped in an endless “S” with two or three colors in it. It seemed to be fading out of existence, just like Grandma was doing.

As I drove toward the nursing home, I felt heavy with emotion. This wasn’t her home, not really. This is where residents shuffled themselves through the hallways in their wheel chairs. Sometimes they yelled out or cried piteously. I hated going there, but I was the only grandchild around and no one else was going to visit her. After all, Christmas was a couple of weeks away and I wanted to preserve one of the last vestiges of nostalgia that I could. She wasn’t doing all that well and I wasn’t ready to let go of my grandma of the past, either.

This would be my first Christmas as a single adult in over 20 years and I wasn’t ready for that. My husband had left because he decided he would rather be living with someone else and although my daughters were older, they didn’t like it nor completely understand. So, they grumbled and fought. They complained about the house we lived in and about what they needed and wanted. They didn’t like the warm winters in Southern California and complained about it not being cold and snowy like it was when they were little and we were one big happy family making snowmen and cocoa at this time of year. They would say things like, “How can it be Christmas when it’s 72 degrees outside?” or, “Why did we ever move here?” I would give them some easy assurance that everything was fine and this was going to be a great Christmas, nonetheless.

By the time I got to Grandma’s room, someone was feeding her a dinner of pureed vegetables, mashed potatoes and something else that didn’t look a bit appetizing. She was perched on the side of her bed and smiled at me when I walked in. I told the attendant that I’d take over and sat down with her. “How are you doing today, Grandma?” I said as I picked up her spoon and dipped it in the potatoes.

When she was younger, Grandma was 5 foot 10 and bulky. Almost all my life she was the tallest woman I knew and had a vibrancy about her that I was drawn to. Now she was smaller than me with pale pink skin and white hair. She smiled sadly, “I’m so glad you’re here, honey,” she mumbled. “Mrs. Peterson, my roommate left a few days ago and I’m all alone. But I think they’ll move someone in here in real soon,” she said in a soft Texas drawl.

“Oh, did her family come and take her home?” I asked

“No, Darlin’, she passed away.” Grandma turned her head a little and nodded towards the empty bed. “It’s just as well. Nobody ever came to see her anyway. But they let me keep her little Christmas tree.” She pointed to a 12-inch tall fake tree with tiny blinking lights next to her bed. “It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?” I smiled hollowly. It all seemed so contrived. This wasn’t where Grandma belonged; this wasn’t Christmas.

Grandma used to be young with fierce red hair and an attitude to match. Winters used to be cold and bundling up by the fire was cozy.  The children used to be small and filled with wonder and easily pleased with inexpensive gifts. I used to be married and have family around. It was all so different this year. I just wanted to go back! Back to when life was simpler and my dad would whoosh me up the steps to Grandma’s kitchen door and inside there’d be cousins and sisters and a big tree smashed up next to the front window. And ribbon candy in a pretty little glass dish on the coffee table, down low where all the children could reach it.

I only stayed a little while after dinner and then headed out to my car ready to drive home again.  I clutched my light coat around me as the wind blew past. It was completely dark and colder now than when I had arrived. “Well, at least it will feel more like Christmas!” I said to myself and thought that maybe the dip in temperature would make the girls feel better, too. I started out for home.

The freeway interchange confused me for a moment, since I was lost in thought about Christmases past, and I found myself headed south when I should have been going north. I was quickly in an area of town that I didn’t know, but I reasoned that if I just got off the freeway, there had to be an onramp close by and I could get going in the right direction. So I took the next exit, but there wasn’t an onramp and I began to wander through town. Follow the main road and head in the general direction you want to go, I told myself. There’ll be an onramp soon enough.

The houses were getting smaller, darker, drearier and more cramped. Corner liquor stores had bars on the windows and cheap flashing lights that spelled out “Merry Xmas”. I was paying full attention to where I was, now, and looking hopefully for an onramp when a young girl on the sidewalk caught my attention. The street light showed me that she was skipping. And singing and laughing and having a great time playing in the wind, apparently without a worry over what she wore or what she owned. The little house behind her seemed gray and forlorn, and there was a splash of warm light spilling out from between the front window drapes that weren’t completely closed. It was only an instant, but I got a sense of twinkling lights and coziness, and yet, destitution.

I didn’t mean to be judgmental, but I knew right then and there that for all I didn’t have, I still had more material goods than this girl did.

Maybe she was anticipating Christmas, maybe there was a great big Christmas tree at her house smashed up against the window. Maybe there were sisters and brothers and a grandma inside playing games; maybe there was one pretty glass dish filled with ribbon candy and they could all eat as much as they wanted. Maybe….

Almost immediately an onramp loomed up on my left and I quickly got back on the freeway heading home. I was looking forward to getting there and seeing my family again. I began to think of a few things I’d like to do for Christmas, like flying with the girls out to my sister’s place in the Tennessee hills for a wintery Christmas and what I could make or buy the girls as presents.

And then, astonishingly, something else happened. It was a flutter, just a bit of fluff, but I saw it: snow. In southern California. It was snowing in San Diego! Little drifts were accumulating along the edges of the freeway and in the median. I saw it illuminated in my headlights for a brief two miles, and then it was gone. But it was enough to remind me that as wonderful as Christmases past might have been, it’s my Christmas present and future that means the most.

Being satisfied with where I am in life—here and now—makes all the difference in the world. When I get home, I told myself, I’m going to hug my children, whether they want me to or not; I’ll ask them to play games, we’ll talk about going to Aunt Terri’s house and then… then I’m going to go out, find ribbon candy and put it out a little glass dish, even if I’m the only one who eats it!

“Ribbon Candy” is a fictional short story written by Jann Gentry (except for the part about snow in San Diego, that really did happen….)

As I turned away from the medal of honor section, my attention was drawn to one old man carefully making his way across the grass with his cane. I followed him, camera in hand, because I read the insignia on his cap: WWII Veteran.

I moved into the midst of the flags. He stopped at the edge and began to look around, as if he was looking for something or someone. He sighed and stood still for quite a while. I lifted my camera and took his picture. I caught his inner feelings to the point where I felt gulity for doing it, like I was peering into a private moment. So I wandered over to him and began a casual conversation.

Charles Smith, WWII Philippines

“It looks great, doesn’t it?” I said.

“It’s beautiful.” He looked through thick lenses at me and then again surveyed the flag-scape.

“So, you served in world war two, right? At least that’s what your cap says.”

“Yep.” He shuffled into a straighter posture. “I was in the Philippines.”

“What branch were you with?” I quietly changed my long lens out for the shorter one. I could sense another photo coming.

“Navy. I was on a carrier. You know about the dropping of the second bomb?” I nodded. “Well,” he continued, “I went over to Nagasaki right after it happened. It was horrible.” He paused and looked down at his hands. “Everything was gone. It was kind of like a junk yard.” He stopped.

“But I got out; I wanted to get married.” He smiled. “We were together only a short time… 58 years…”

“Not nearly long enough,” I said.

“Yep. Not nearly long enough. It’s been nearly six years now that she’s been gone.” He got a far off look in his eyes and focused on his hands again.

At that point, I asked him if I could take his picture. He was delighted and posed for me in front of the flags, smiling and talking about the war while mixing in the present day. It was only a few moments later that the driver of his bus came over to get him. “Time to go, Charlie,” he said. “Everyone else is on the bus.”

Charlie smiled and started shuffling towards the parking lot.

“Bye Charlie,” I said. He turned around and with one more smile, saluted not me, but the flags. My God, I thought. This is why we are free.

Medal of Honor Recipient

Private First Class David Gonzales, US Army, Company A, 127th Infantry, 32d Infantry Division
Villa Verde Trail, Luzon, Philippine Islands, 25 April, 1945

Gonzales was pinned down with his company. As enemy fire swept the area, making any movement extremely hazardous, a 500-lb bomb smashed into the company’s perimeter, burying five men in its explosion. Pfc Gonzales, without hesitation siezed an entrenching tool and under a hail of fire crawled 15 yards to his entombed comrades, where his commanding officer who had also rushed forward, was beginning to dig the men out. Nearing his goal, Gonzales saw his officer struck and instantly killed by machinegun fire.

Undismayed, he set to work swiftly and surely with his hands and the entrenching tool while enemy sniper and machinegun bullets struck all around him. He succeeded in digging out one of the men out of the pile of rock and sand. To dig faster, he stood up, not heeding the greater danger from so exposing himself.

He extricated a second man and then another. As he completed the liberation of the third, he was hit and mortally wounded, but the comrades for whom he so galantly gave his life were safely evacuated. Pfc Gonzales’ valiant and intrepid conduct exemplifies the highest tradition of the military service.

My blog today is dedicated to Bernard Dally, LtCmdr, US Navy, Ret. for 28 years of service to his country, and four years of giving me joy as my husband.

Images that are fun and different make for memorable photos. These can be used in all kinds of marketing material, like brochures, business cards, coupons, web sites, and so on. A little imagination is a great thing! If you’d like to have something different, why not ask us about it? www.gentrystudio.com

golden harley shopping

A few days ago I received an assignment from the local mall to shoot photos for an upcoming calendar and newsletter. The director’s comments to me used the words, “cozy”, “atmosphere”, “place where you want to be.” In the course of wandering around (as any good shopper would do!) I saw this motorcycle parked nosing towards one of the best restaurants in the valley. It seemed fitting to me. I crouched low enough to include all elements in the photo and then added a filter to give the photo a golden hue and misty feeling. Taking the picture at the end of a hot summer day helped with the atmospheric conditions: haze, mist from the restaurants misters, a low raking sunlight…. all the elements were there. I was just lucky enough to see it.

Here’s

Don’t know how I got so blessed as to work on photos every day. It never seems like work, just enjoying one beautiful scenic after another. Of course there are lots of photos that never make it to the web, into an album, or on a wall. That’s because there are better ones!

Working some with high school seniors right now, a couple of weddings and personal portraits. I decided to take myself out shooting again and recently ended up in Old Town Temecula shooting that area early in the morning before other people came around. It was refreshing! If you’d like to see my favorites from that trip, please visit this link: http://www.gentrystudio.com/old_town_shoot/index.htm

Thanks! see you soon….

Laguna Beach Resort

I must be feeling quiet. Lately my pictures are of serene subjects and places. Like this one from a trip to Laguna Beach. I like out of the way spots and places that are not run over by crowds.

It’s getting harder and harder to find such a place in southern California, but here is one. I thought it was nice of the management to make seating available in this cooridor between two buildings. I saw no one there, not even walking by.

Some of my other favorite places include the desert and Death Valley, especially for the solitude. We all need to recharge sometimes.

We’re moving into the busy season for our industry: high school seniors, weddings, vacations, and so forth. I just got a bunch of cards made for handing out and advertising ourselves. It’s something we have to do even if we are busy, otherwise, people forget about us. It’s sad, isn’t it, that you have to constantly promote yourself otherwise you loose ground. Right now (after six years) I am just getting to the point where most people recognize my studio name in town. It’s taken a lot of work, but ya gotta do it!

Ghost Town General Store

In a hot and dusty ghost town, a few miles off the Interstate and baking in the southern California sun, I wandered into the cool darkness of the General Store. The very first thing that struck my imagination with full force was this collection of garments hanging from the rafters.

A fanciful idea settled in my mind that, since we were in a ghost town, these were the off-casts of those who lived here a hundred years ago and then were called to heaven. Only, the old fashioned undergarments were captured by some silver force and remained here, on Earth, forever, while their previous owners were free from the Earthly bounds.

The breeze caused them to flutter; someone walked by and the floor groaned. I think I would have sat down and cried if I had not had my camera with me: this was too good to pass up.

I’m sure more than one casual observer wondered what the heck I was doing, but frankly, I didn’t really care. I was–once again–transported to another place and dimension courtesy of my Canon.