Moments of Time

       A homemade banana nut muffin and a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

      Two friends having a conversation.

Time is the equalizer. We all have time. Yet, what we do with it makes us unique. The time it takes to gather the ingredients, assemble, and bake a batch of muffins may not seem like much to some, but it has the potential to persuade for a long time after it has been consumed. Those individual moments are greater than their sum.

holding life

We all wonder, where did the time go? Did I squander it? Or was I too busy looking ahead and trying to figure out what my next move would be? Planning and scheduling seem to take on a life of its own

                        Remove the flour and sugar from the cabinet. Open the refrigerator and                               retrieve the eggs. Pour the walnuts onto the cutting board.

Time flies when you’re having fun! Was that really fun? Oh boy, I am exhausted. I need a vacation from the vacation. Will this merry-go-round ever stop?

                       Remove coffee cups from cupboard. Grind coffee beans. Brew coffee                                beans. Remove desserts plates for the muffins. Set table.

Recently, my father has been scanning photographs and uploading them for the family to see and hopefully enjoy. I know the people in the photos, but I cannot pull that moment in time from my memory. What was I feeling? Was I happy to be there? Was everyone happy to be with me? What did I say? There are so many moments to remember and yet they seem as if they were in a different lifetime. If time is an equal opportunity employer, then where did my time go?

Time is a commodity.

                Am I making a good investment? Or am I frittering it away?

                               Delicious smells. Confirming words. Attentive eyes. Affirming gestures.

An investment of time. Moments remembered.


Where are you going?

Where are you going, my little one, my little one.

Where are you going, my baby, my own?

Turn around and you’re two.

Turn around and you’re four,

Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of my door.

Turn around, turn around,

Turn around, and you’re a young girl going out of my door. 

The day after you take one of your daughters to college and your mind continues to loop the thought,  ‘How did this happen so fast?’ The silly imagination and clothing choices that may have been a bit fashion forward had been molded and shaped into a grown up version of a vibrant and earnest girl. I just turned around, just for a brief moment…

Turn around and you’re tiny

Turn around and you’re grown

Today she still exudes that same childlike quality. Her love and passion for all things are undergirded with wisdom and grace, and bit more life experience. There is so much more to learn in the journey that lies ahead. When I turn around, my days are richer, saturated with moments that are beyond that which I could have ever imagined when I first held her in my arms so many years ago.

There is one more, one more girl to watch and remember as the moments gather in my mind as I sing, Where are you going, my little one, my little one…

Turn Around by Malvina Reynolds

Musical Influence


On a recent day trip, my husband and I visited Stetson University, a liberal arts college in Central Florida. Our visit was not so much focused on the university, but an event that was hosted there. The Florida Bandmasters Association was recognizing a friend whose achievement in the classroom had won him the honour of being inducted in their Florida Bandmasters Association Hall of Fame.

With a banquet hall filled with music educators, we had the privilege of hearing personal testimonies of many who were influenced by those being honoured. Even though I had never sat in their band room, I was touched by the dedication and passion for their students and the arts.

Many years after I was a student, I remember the music teachers who nurtured a love for the arts, especially music, in me. My memories are vivid and emotions are strong when recounting moments in private lessons, rehearsals, and concerts. Friendships have spanned decades.

As my husband and I sat by our junior high band director and his wife, my first flute teacher, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. A legacy of creating music has been handed from teacher to student.

The rudiments and repercussions are generational.

Those Daunting Lists!

You remember to write it down. You even look at the list in the morning because you remember writing it down last night. That look comes over your face, a sort of cringe, your brow furrows just a bit.

That has been my routine for quite a while. Intentions are just that, intentions.

There have been two things on my perpetual list: continue my work of documenting aging and dementia through art and blogging. The first began while I was a student at Rollins College. My digital photography course required a semester long project culminating with a peer review of our work. Throughout the semester, we were also required to blog about our ongoing work. Well, the end of the semester came, as did my time to graduate. Silence.

Through much encouragement from my own family, I am picking up the torch (a.k.a. camera) and getting back in to the driver’s seat or saddle (which ever applies to you) and moving forward with my art and this blog.

Until next time…

Final Portfolio in Photography


Photography can have a powerful impact on both the audience and the photographer. As the photographer, this series has been very cathartic due to the personal aspect of the project. After losing my mother recently, the quickly progressing dementia in my father-in-law had pushed me into a place where I needed to process the emotions. Shooting these images has enabled me to find a place of purpose and use the influence of art to share a story that at one time or another touches us all.


 Artist Statement                                                                                                The inevitability of aging and the peripheral ailments that accompany this process is something I have witnessed first hand through the relationship with my father-in-law. I have watched him deteriorate over the years, first mentally and now physically. The memories in my mind of a vivacious and loving man are in contrast with what I see now, the slow unraveling of life. With mortality as the subject, my images are not of just anyone. They are images that provide an intimate and private perspective of a man’s difficulties as well as his perseverance and resolve.


My project challenges the viewer to look closely with their eyes, imagine what they might hear with their ears, and reflect on their own life and ponder their own mortality. My photographs capture the evidence of an ailing man’s life to communicate the soul that still exists within the universal inevitability of aging. Using a documentary style, I seek to explore the visualization of life through the consecutive moments that pass before our eyes, literally and figuratively.





Venae Cavae: Blog post response 13

The interesting aspect of Newark, NJ and any other metropolitan downtown area, are the sights and sounds that intermix and layer on top of each other to create a scene that is unique unto its own. The Gallery Aferro, located on Market Street in Newark, is  “an artist-originated organization serving a diverse community through the import and export of ideas.” They also have a year round residency program.

In a recent exhibition, Venae Cavae,an interactive video art installation by artists Marc D’Agusto and Eric Valosin, uses sculpture and light installation, as well as video.

“Like the veins of the same name in human body, which carry deoxygenated    blood back to the heart to be revitalized,the viewer and passersby are            transported into the landscape, to become signs of life, light, and vitality amidst the ambiguously apocalyptic landscape.”

 The interactive installation is activated by those that walk in front of it. This creates a relationship between the art, the viewer, and the space in which it is seen.


Venae Cavae

Marc D’Agusto

Eric Valosin