Monday Musings: Memories On Our Walls

A couple of weeks ago, a dear friend posted on Facebook an image of a photo print she’d purchased from me years ago, along with a caption saying she still considered the image one of the things in her living space that gives her joy. I was flattered beyond words. And I thought of her post this past week as Nancy and I finally got around to putting art on our walls.

We’ve only done the living room and dining room (and our respective offices), but already the house feels more like a home. I am itching to put up more. This week, perhaps.

I am fortunate to have learned photography as a younger man and to have captured a good number of display-worthy photos over the years. And so we have framed images from many of our travels that are, or will be, on our walls — pictures from Australia and New Zealand, from Ireland and the American Southwest, from our former home in Tennessee and from a memorable trip to New Mexico a few years back. I’m currently deciding which photos from more recent journeys I should print and frame next.

I am even more fortunate to be the younger brother of James Coe, a remarkably talented wildlife and landscape painter. Jim’s art is all over our house; in the rooms we’ve decorated so far we’ve hung nine of his paintings and prints. I expect there will be more before long. [By the way, you can read more about Jim and see images of his art at his website.]

"The Darkest Road," by Martin Springett (based on the novel by Guy Gavriel 
Kay)What else have I got? Several years back, while attending a World Fantasy Convention, I bought signed prints of Martin Springett’s marvelous cover art for Guy Gavriel Kay’s Fionavar Tapestry. Springett himself was selling the art and he was a charming and effective salesman! Some twenty years ago, while living in our little town in Tennessee, we became friends with Stephen Alvarez and his family. Stephen is an amazing freelance nature photographer, whose work has appeared in National Geographic, Time, the New York Times, and other high profile publications. He and his wife, April, also happen to be fantasy readers, so we arranged a trade: a complete signed, hardcover set of the Winds of the Forelands books in exchange for a print of a gorgeous night sky photo taken in Arizona. I think I got the better deal.

"Knotwork Owl," by Kathryn LoobyWe have a few nice pieces of art that once belonged to my parents. We have photos we purchased just outside of Zion National Park — photos of the park taken by photographer David J. West, with whom we chatted for a time one memorable morning. I have in my office a tiny framed pressed bronze image of a Celtic owl, which I love. And I have yet another signed photo print, this one by renowned nature photographer Larry Ulrich. It was a gift from my siblings for my 50th birthday. And we have a signed print from a Native American artist in the Pacific Northwest that we bought while on our honeymoon in Victoria, British Columbia. This print has hung over the mantel in every home Nancy and I have shared. It was the first piece we put up in the new house.

"Thunderbird and Killer While," by Joseph M. WilsonOf course, we have tons of smaller photos all around the house, of our darling daughters, of our parents and siblings, of friends, of our wedding.

And I suppose the point of all of this is that every one of these pieces of art, every single thing that I have taken care to center on a wall and hang at the right height and fiddle with until it hangs straight (only to have Nancy come into the room and adjust it so that it really hangs straight) brings me joy. They remind me of places we’ve seen that stole our breath and seared themselves into our memories. They remind me of experiences we cherish and people we love.

Each time we put up something new, it invariably puts a smile on my face.

Take a look around your home, and let the memories stirred by the things you’ve put on your walls bring a smile. And if you care to, share a favorite or two on the Facebook feed for this post.

Have a great week.

Monday Musings: Here We Are

By David B. Coe By David B. CoeWe woke this morning to a snow squall, something that happened with ever-decreasing frequency during our years in Tennessee, as climate change made the warm South even warmer. Here in New York, during the winter months, snow is still the default when there’s precipitation, and I love that. I have missed snow and don’t mind paying the plow guy or dealing with snow on the walkways and driveway. The beauty of an early morning snowfall more than makes up for the inconveniences.

We have bird feeders up now, and they’ve drawn in a variety of species, including several species of sparrow, goldfinches and cardinals, chickadees and nuthatches and woodpeckers. They have also drawn the attention of local hawks, who seem to view our feeders as an all-they-can-eat avian buffet. We have a Cooper’s Hawk who frequents the yard, a pair of Red-tails who come around quite often, and, as of yesterday, a gorgeous Red-shouldered Hawk. Our turkey flock continues to wander through the yard now and then, as does a beautiful red fox. A couple of weeks ago, while driving past the farm that borders our property on the western edge, I spotted a young Peregrine Falcon perched on a telephone pole, hungrily eyeing a flock of doves.

I haven’t written in this blog for a few weeks, and in a way what you’ve just read is why. I am working again, we have settled into a routine of sorts. The house still needs a good deal of work, and we’re getting around to that slowly, steadily. We are enjoying this setting immensely. We’re eating fun foods and finding new stuff to stream. We’re spending lots of time with my brother and his family, who live close by, and lots of time with my college roommate and musical partner and his wife, who also live maybe 20 minutes from here.

Life is comfortable and peaceful and, I will also admit, a tiny bit boring. Not to me, mind you, but I can definitely see where it could seem that way to those on the outside. We traveled a lot last year. This year we’re planning to (mostly) stay put and work on our new place. The past several years have been full and fraught, difficult beyond words at times, and at other times so frantic as to be exhausting. This year won’t be like that. Not if we can help it.

And so, yeah, I have struggled to post. I don’t want to bore. I don’t want to repeat material from old posts.

I continue to grieve for my older daughter. I’ll never stop. But I feel I have made that grief part of my life, part of who I am now, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t feel the same need to write about it that I felt last year. And I think many grew tired of such posts. Grief is part of me, but it does not — should not — define me.

I don’t really want to think about the slow-motion disaster unfolding in our nation’s capital. This administration’s attempts to subvert the Constitution and undo a century of progress on Civil Rights, environmental protection, social justice, and a host of other worthy goals is not something upon which I care to dwell. I am too weary to engage in online flame wars with troglodytes and nazis. At some point, I’ll grow angry enough to write a political screed or three, but not now.

And at some point, I am sure, I will have much to say about new writing projects. For now, though, I’m merely editing, and enjoying quiet, productive days in my new work space.

All of this feels healthy, and deeply appropriate for this current stage of my life. None of it makes for exciting reading (or writing). I will do my best to post as I can, to come up with things to say that make something worth reading out of our mundane-albeit-cozy existence. But to those who know us and care about us, please be assured that we are doing well. Better than we would have thought possible a little over a year ago. Some days are harder than others. But we are where we ought to be, physically and emotionally. It’s hard to ask for more.

Wishing all of you a wonderful week.