blood out of a stone
idolatry © Laura Kicey
The summer squeezed so much out of me, I felt like I was done. I was ready to walk away from this life, start over somewhere else. Convinced there was little left for me here and I had drained the well. With the relocation of Mr. D to the Philly area coinciding with having numerous brushes with new people full of zest, I am discovering a wealth of places for future adventures along with the possibility of joint creative endeavors... and ultimately reasons and ways to keep doing what I am doing without losing it.... my mind or my creative edge. Every Autumn, I am new again.
quarter horse © Laura Kicey
This last weekend was no exception. A new non-flickr photofriend, who has a penchant for prying boards from windows and making her way into pitch black abandoned homes led D and I on a fantastic adventure, punctuated by hundreds of worthwhile thorn jabs.
Every one was worth it.
She and her friend had been to one of the two houses we explored a number of times. From items they discovered, including letters, documents and photographs, they had pieced together the history of a man, 6 years dead, and snippets of his life.
finery © Laura Kicey
From his work as a photographer for the armed forces during WWII from negs we saw in teh house of aerial views of planes in formation, to his love of breeding dogs, and phtography in general. His wife Floss, had died some years before him and the house had been abandoned for at least 6 years.
range © Laura Kicey
His bathroom, kitchen, and cellar contained products that have long been out of production. Painting a fuller picture of a widower, ailing and alone. The accumulation of his wife's old clothes, the bottle of whiskey in the hall, the dishes set out on the counter to dry. Christmas decorations on the floor.
nausea dizziness fatigue © Laura Kicey
I had never really been inside a proper residence that had been abandoned like this. The truck stop motel was a different brand of melancholy. The remains of people who were nowhere, whose stories were strewn across state lines and their underwear and hot plates gave away few secrets in the anonymous rooms.
The knowing. Being able to glean so much from what was left behind. Seeing the things this man was devoted to. His hobbies, his wife, almost being able to watch his decline, seeing the toppled walkers in the various rooms. One half expected to see his laying there, wasting away on the bare matrress in his bathrobe, on oxygen.
wearing thin © Laura Kicey
To offset this weird detached nostalgia, I offer up the booty from a visit to Qmart.
head over heels © Laura Kicey
It bore a very close resemblance to Saturday's Market in Middletown. And while it is hardly a long trip from Philly, the crowd was identical to the one in Central PA. Most unsettling. And visually thrilling, without having to fill the gas tank so much.
hot lips © Laura Kicey
Welcome to the renaissance. I know I still have readers. And enough people have been complaining to me that I haven't written, so I hope this will tide you over for a spell. This weekend the D and I will be Central PA galavanting, mini-roadtripping, hitting some unexplored territory in the depths of Nowhere. Stay tuned.