These photos were taken by Joan and Sid in June of 1979 while they were on the Isle of Capri, Italy for my parents' wedding. Film photography does an excellent job of capturing the Capri light and the colors...As amazing as digital photography is, it just can't quite compare.
Jonathan and I traveled to Capri in August of 2010. You can see some of my own photos of Capri here.
I love this group photo of my great-grandfather Clyde L. Stroup (third from right on the second row) and his fellow Cleveland and Nottingham Equipment Works Supervisors Club members. It was taken a few days after Joan's 12th birthday (the one where she received the piano I mentioned earlier this week).
We have plans to hang this photo in our powder room along with several other vintage group photos of various family members and their coworkers and friends. It should be cool!
Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892
Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves— the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?
It's easy to overlook miracles when we're caught up in the every day chaos of life. Our pastor shared this poem by Walt Whitman in church on Sunday, and it resonated with me. Whitman was right -- Miracles happen every single moment of every single day. How awesome is that?
On a personal note, Porter (our black lab) and I are both having surgery this week. If you don't mind saying a prayer for each of us (and for Jonathan, our caregiver), I would be very grateful. It's going to be a long week, and we could use all the positive energy we can get!
I love the muted colors of these early 1970s photographs of my great-grandmother's garden. Photoshop has some awesome filters, but nothing is quite like the real thing. These photos feel like a summer garden should feel....warm and soft with flowers and trees everywhere. Add in palm trees and the most breath-taking views imaginable, and you have summertime perfection.
