rose hill on film


Earlier this month, I shared bits and pieces of a weekend trip to Evansville. I also put together a post devoted the Jewish cemetery for which my friend is a sexton (a word for which we try to find deliberate and unnecessary use). My friend's house is, quite literally, right next to the cemetery. It is housed on the same grounds, and the kitchen window overlooks many of the gravestones. Though I will not argue its potential creepiness, I actually found the area peaceful. The property rests atop a hill, so, late in the day, the shadows are long and the sunsets glorious.

On my last evening there, I took a walk through the cemetery, up and down the paths. I looked at flowers, shrubs, memorials, interesting gravestones, dates and names. It was calm in its own, morbid way--a way reminiscent of how you feel when you wander Arlington, Gettysburg, an unnamed Civil War memorial along a highway.

disposable number three

This past winter, I had two disposable cameras that I played with; I froze one, colored the lens of another, scratched lenses, held matches up to them to warp them. (You can see some of the altered results here.) When I went to Canada, I took another camera with me. I had had it my possession for awhile, and I was eager to use it in areas I typically don't see.

Unfortunately, I forgot to use it most of the time (which is why there are only eight photos here). However, I am pleased with the results. The first photo is my favorite, but I also love how RED the sides turned out in the sixth photo (which was taken in Niagara Falls, Canada). Honestly, I would love to explore film more. The waiting for the results is dramatic and mysteriously romantic--sometimes, you remember what photos you took (the one below). Sometimes, you don't (the bicycle above). But there is always an electricity in your hands when you finally flip through the printed images, an excitement to hold them, see them, have them.


Kensington Market area, Toronto

This photo reminds me of my dad; in fact, I took this in part because all of the shirts reminded me of him. He has/wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts, and the blue one in the middle of this photo, the one with the palm trees, is very similar to one he owns.

I don't know who or what got in the way of this photo, because I would have loved it even more if the object/person hadn't been present. That's the mystery of film, though; sometimes, you never know what you'll end up with on a roll.

our hotel in Niagara Falls, Canada

Niagara Falls, Canada

Niagara Falls (the American & Bridal Veil Falls), as seen from the Canadian side

clouds on the way back to Indiana, taken through the windshield

you, too, were a beautiful fool

“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless." -- Ernest Hemingway in A Moveable Feast
 


[+] the ending of The Great Gatsby




[+] This May 1, 1920 issue is the first issue that Fitzgerald's name appeared on the front. Fitzgerald contributed to the magazine for most of his life. 




"Scott was a man then who looked like a boy with a face between handsome and pretty. He had very fair wavy hair, a high forehead, excited and friendly eyes and a delicate long-lipped Irish mouth that, on a girl, would have been the mouth of a beauty. His chin was well built and he had good ears and a handsome, almost beautiful, unmarked nose. This should not have added up to a pretty face, but that came from the coloring, the very fair hair and the mouth. The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more." -- Ernest Hemingway in A Moveable Feast

[+] Tom Hiddleston as Fitzgerald in Midnight in Paris

[+] Fitzgerald and his daughter, "Scottie"


[+] Fitzgerald was friends with Ernest Hemingway. Both are considered to be a part of the "Lost Generation."

[+]  F. Scott Fitzgerald House (also known as Summit Terrace) in Saint Paul, Minn.This is where Fitzgerald's parents lived, and where he rewrote This Side of Paradise



[+] a postcard Fitzgerald wrote to himself 




[+] from Out of Print Clothing


 



Happy Birthday, Scott Fitzgerald. Happy Birthday.

the journey is the destination

This past weekend (and even now, as this is a scheduled post), I am in Lafayette, celebrating the birthdays of these two. This is the first time that the three of us have been together since the trip and--given that I am prone to such emotional observations--it seems appropriate that I feature them today. 


I have only a few things to say to both you:

-- *grumble grumble* GET OFF MY LAWN
-- Look at that vista! ... that's some good vista.
-- Well, this place is a wash.
-- I love you. There is nothing I would change ... nothing. I had forgotten how easy it was to have fun, how easy it was to forget the unimportant stresses of daily life.

When people ask me what my favorite part of the trip was, I always ask, "As in, what places we visited, or what particular moments we had?"

"Both."

"Toronto," I respond immediately, "I loved Toronto. ... but my favorite moments? Those were the moments in the hotel room with my friends. The moments before we went to dinner, before we went to bed. When we sat on the hotel beds and cried from laughter. When we held entire conversations in inside jokes and quotes. When we watched The Birdcage until two in the morning, sharing a bed and a beer. When we talked about moving to Canada. When we talked about fried foods at the state fairs. When we shared food, forks, memories, thoughts, politics. When we finished each other's sentences. When we ate scotcheroos and watched Moonstruck for no reason other than the fact that we were all lying on the same king-sized bed. Those were my favorite moments; the moments at which I knew I could not be happier, would not be anywhere else with anyone else. It's the irreplaceable things that were, and are, my favorite."

Thank you, both of you, for being such wonderful people, such wonderful friends.

Home by Edward Sharpe on Grooveshark

So here's all of us--bits and pieces of us--from each other's eyes.


And one more thing: the journey is the destination.
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