A weekend getaway to California–that was supposed to be a sunny excursion with a few friends–seemed like it would be ruined with a rainy forecast and dim days. But with friends, any day can be a good one. We searched out cozy cafes, bought rain coats, and walked around downtown. We spent half a day aimlessly driving around and listening to music in the rental car. All you need is good company.
If you have read much of my blog, you may have noticed some recurring imagery. My husband and I live in a little townhouse in Tempe, and I often photograph the contents of our patio. Though I have attempted to plant several varieties of “easy” to maintain plants, only a couple have survived for long. Yet, there are several that continue to thrive, through the rugged desert heat in the summer, windy monsoons and dust storms, and of course low maintenance on my part. And in spite of my rare desire to tidy the patio of dirt and leaves that blow in, I spend a decent amount of time out there. I cannot stop photographing the subtle changes and beauties I notice each day.
Even a small space can be explored and re-explored to find newness.
We are connected to our past and that of our families through what remains–a few people, and a few objects. These objects become a faint echo, resounding a barely audible insight. They remain silent for years as the objects lie still in a desk drawer, or the shoe box on the top shelf of the closet, until one morning a daughter decides to seek out these articles of her father, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. The perception by human eyes awakes a hum so slight to most–but in the daughter it resounds in the self beyond her own life, made up of the experiences of all these lost people.
Recently, I joined Twitter and Instagram as @kellysotophoto. Follow me all the places to see what I am up to now! Also happy Father’s Day 🙂
As summer begins to fade in other parts of the country, we, folks of the Valley, are elated at the forecast for less-than-one-hundred-degree days ahead. Even as we crank the AC, gulp down water at any chance, the world tells us it is time to wear sweaters, thicker socks, scarves. Time to begin Halloween crafting, or go for a walk in the crisp air to fawn over yellow, orange, and red trees. Time to ingest pumpkin spice in all substances imaginable, especially if it gives you a good excuse to order an extra-large latte or bake a pumpkin cheesecake.
But here, it is still sandal season. It is still iced tea, sun every day, sun screen, sun glasses, reflector in your car so it won’t be a thousand degrees when you get in. Fall leaves? Please. We wish, but we will hardly see a hint of what most call “Autumn” for another few weeks. And that is why we desert folk pretend that it is actually fall, just like the others pretend it is actually hot in the summer.
My husband and I recently returned from a visit to Washington state, and I realized that I had not experienced this season in my hometown for five years. To me, this transition was never about finding a seemingly legitimate reason to spend an unreasonable amount of money on fashionable new boots. It was discovering things to cheer me up when things became mundane as school caught on. Going back at this time of year revealed some of those gentle reminders that every day is different and beautiful, but sometimes to see it, you have to pay attention.
 
