ImageGuy

While in Bilbao, Spain, I walked for miles around the center of the city, along the waterfront. And I probably went around the Guggenheim a dozen times. The building is an amazing architectural wonder. Some love it, others don’t. I thought it was fantastic! It’s remarkable from any vantage point and the many bridges across the river give the opportunity to see it from great vantage points.

The outside of the building is covered in sheets of titanium. Many think the building has the shape of a ship in some ways. Fitting for a city that was a major maritime center at one time. There is hardly a straight line any where in the structure. Everything curves and bends and shimmers and reflects. In front of the museum, or perhaps it’s behind the museum, along the waterfront, is a large shallow pool of water spanned by an arching bridge. From under the bridge about every hour, a cool cloud of mist rises from a series of nozzles. An art installation in itself by Japanese artist, Nakaya, it is actually a fog sculpture. On the walkway stands the giant spider sculpture by Louise Bourgeois, towering above the pedestrians that walk by and the tourists that pose beneath its legs.

Unfortunately, I have no interior pictures of the museum, which is as striking and dynamic as the exterior. The museum does not allow photography inside, even in the lobby. But the ceilings soar, and the glass and steel become sculptures in themselves. The Surrealist Show was masterfully displayed with amazing attention to detail and presentation. I notice these things since it’s what I do in my job. And no easy feat since, like outside, there are no straight walls anywhere it seems. And the giant steel plate sculptures by Richard Serra were amazing. Huge, massive, curving gracefully. Overwhelming in size. Fantastic.

I was transported back to Madrid with our painting on Thursday and spent Thursday evening in downtown Madrid with Bill Ayers from the Long Island Museum. It was raining lightly when we left to take the Metro into the city, so I didn’t take my camera which I regretted later. I’d love to go back to Madrid and spend more time there.

Friday was back to the airport and out to NYC on an Iberia plane. The flight back was far better than going over but we arrived to rain in New York. I was guided to the warehouse for storage of the painting until Saturday morning and spent the night at the Beacon Hotel on Broadway in Manhattan. The view from the 25th floor looking back toward Central Park was quite beautiful, evening and morning.

The FedEx Custom Critical truck wasn’t due at the warehouse until 10:00 so I had time in the morning for an hour and a half in Central Park. What a spectacular landscape that park is. Everywhere you turn, the eye is presented with such beautiful arrangements of trees, flowers, water, architecture, and distant views of the New York skyline. Such a treasure, a retreat, in the middle of such an amazing city.

My ride back with Ron and Linda in the FedEx truck was probably the most pleasant part of the many legs of transportation I experienced. A fantastic husband and wife driving team in their highly specialized truck, we talked about everything. Ron was an enthusiastic photography buff and he and I talked photography much of the way back to Ithaca. I felt as though I had almost made this trip primarily to meet these two wonderful people. They treated me almost like family and I was so grateful to have had the hours to spend with them.

All Images are Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

When Art Museums lend works for exhibitions overseas a courier usually must travel with the work, both over and back. These trips usually get offered to curators and registrars, but occasionally a lowly preparator such as myself gets an opportunity when no one else wants to make the trip. So when I was asked, “do you want to go to Bilbao, Spain?” I said, “you bet!” Art courier is no glamor trip. It’s a lot of hurry up and wait kind of stuff, but it’s an expenses paid trip to Europe, so I can’t complain. Okay, maybe I can about a few things, like the airlines.

My Flights started in Ithaca, NY and on day one our plane to Philadelphia was held for four hours while they waited on a mechanic to drive from an hour away only to tell them he couldn’t fix whatever the problem was with the brakes on the plane. Flight canceled! No way to make my connection so I’m already a day late. US Air arranged for my tickets the next day as far as Madrid, but the final leg was on Iberia whom they do not partner with so I had to get the people in Bilbao to make that new fight arrangement. Next day I left on time but in Philadelphia the plane to Madrid was held two hours because someone couldn’t figure out the problem with the air conditioning was a circuit breaker that had to be reset. So finally in Madrid, too late. Missed the flight! And I have to say that the people in Madrid at Iberia are not the easiest people to deal with although their terminal is striking. Long story short, I got to Bilbao about 28 hours late. From there on it was a breeze. Great hotel and the people at the Guggenheim were fabulous.

The painting got packed on Tuesday and wasn’t due to leave for Madrid until Thursday, so I had all day Wednesday to myself. Once I found my bearings I found my way around a small part of town easily and found Bilbao, in the heart of the Basque region, to be a very beautiful city. It was once a very industrial town with the Ria de Bilbao, which flows through the middle of the city, lined with shipping docks and factories. But as manufacturing has left and the shipping industry has declined in Bilbao, the city has rebuilt along the waterfront with a huge initiative to become a major tourist attraction. At the heart of this new rebirth is the Guggenheim Museoa Bilbao. A massive sprawling sculpture sheathed in titanium, designed by architect Frank Gehry, it commands the center of the new waterfront district. The entry is flanked by a huge sculpture by Jeff Koons known as the “Puppy”. It’s a giant West Highland terrier planted all over with flowering plants. It began as a temporary piece but was so popular it was kept permanently. Unfortunately it was being totally replanted when I was there so was surrounded with scaffolding. I believe it’s popularity has made these tiny white dogs very popular in Bilbao, because I must have seen a dozen of them on the streets while I was there. People in Bilbao are big dog fans and walk their dogs constantly along the city streets, most running free off leash, but well behaved and under control.

I’ll post more Guggenheim photos in my next post, but back to Bilbao. Never having been to Spain before, I found Bilbao a very attractive city, but was told that since it is a Basque city, that it’s not typical of most other Spanish cities. The food is very different and the basic architecture of the houses is somewhat unique. They have more of a chalet look such as you might expect in Switzerland or Austria.

There was a beautiful old square very near the hotel with a grand old church. The streets were clean and the parks very beautiful. And all through the city a great juxtaposition of old and new, and construction going on building and renovating. the architecture alone is worth the trip there. Like most old European cities, many of the streets are narrow and paved with cobblestone.

The people were gracious and friendly, and despite not knowing the language well, I had little trouble communicating. The city also has great public transportation. My only regret is that I had only one full day to visit the city on my own because there was much I didn’t see that I would have liked to.

More in the next post.

All images Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

Chapter two: I continued to meet with people to promote my photographs both as fine art prints for galleries and as a series of postcards of the area. The response was very good so have come home to scurry about and make this happen. It means another new website and most people wanting things by Memorial Day. This leaves me only about a month and I’ll be gone to Spain for a week of that. I’m really looking forward to the trip however, to a place I’ve never been before. I’m going to courier a painting back from the Guggenheim in Bilbao so will have a little extra time to shoot some images in Bilbao and in Madrid. I speak no Spanish aside from the basics we all learned in high school, but will learn how to say, “do you mind if I take your picture” and hopefully will have no problems. But back to Florida…

One of the first developments on 30A is a community called Rosemary Beach. They’re almost finished building there and the community is thick with beautiful architecture, lush plantings, beautiful colors, and the feeling of comfort and luxury. I had many images of Rosemary Beach but only included about a dozen in the slide show I took down with me, so felt the need to expand on my collection while there to give a little better representation. It’s not hard in a community like this one to find beautiful images.

Part of the reason I love this area, it’s so visually rich. I spoke with one of the development workers one morning who encouraged me to take a look at one of the pool areas (they have four). The pool is one that has the water filled right to the top so has this amazing reflective surface that appears to float in mid air. Beautiful. Not a bad place to take one’s mind off your troubles and relax for a while. A place of rejuvenation.

Rosemary Beach is a family community with lots of kids and bikes, beautiful lawns for bocci ball and outdoor movies and concerts, tennis courts, and of course, beautiful beaches.

I also drove into downtown Panama City while there to meet with someone at the Northwest Florida Visual Arts Center about exhibiting there. Panama City and Panama City Beach are very different experiences. Busy highways, high rise hotels, miniature golf and rental motor scooters, funky old motels being bought up for huge hotel developments.

Almost a Disneyland feel compared to 30A, but still rich with images. I love this kind of environment too because of the odd juxtapositions you encounter. It’s a rich contrast to 30A where controlled development and Hollywood style mansions mixed with old Florida quaintness prevail.

When I finally had to leave to return home I decided to take a little time to get off the interstate and travel a bit on Highway 11 through the Virginia countryside. It had been raining most of the way home and that morning was thick with fog which gave a richness and timelessness to the landscape.

Virginia is such a beautiful state with rolling hills and mountains, farms and creeks, redbuds and the greenest grass. A beautiful place at a beautiful time of year. I was rewarded for taking a break from the speed of the interstate with a quiet solitude of a lovely countryside. I’ll have to do that again.

All images are Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

When I left Trumansburg a little over a week ago it was cool and Spring was struggling to appear. As I drove down I-81 through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, Spring became more and more evident. The greening trees and redbuds, dogwoods and cherry trees, scattered through the landscape always make me feel like letting out a sigh of relief for Winter is truly gone. Strangely enough, when I finally reached Florida and the Gulf it was less like Spring than what I had left. The wisteria had already bloomed as usual, but a cold front had brought temperatures that didn’t get above 60 for three days. Still the sun and the white sand and rolling ocean waves bring warmth from within.

On the way down I stopped briefly in Eufaula, Alabama, a quaint little town known as the Big Bass Capital of the South on the edge of a huge reservoir (Lake Eufaula) with shaded streets and beautiful old houses along the main street through town. Every year they have a week of home tours to let the public in to see some of these beautiful places hosted by women in antebellum hoop skirts and big hats. Eufaula was obviously a southern boom town at one time. Now it’s quiet and feels very lazy, a place for taking it easy on a warm spring day.

I went to Florida this spring as a business trip instead of vacation. I went to promote my photography. Odd for someone who lives year round in upstate New York. But I’ve been working for about four years on a series of images from the Gulf near Panama City and truly love the area. I’ve been working the area along Rte. 30A from west of Panama City Beach to about San Destin. It’s been building and building with new developments along beaches with names like Inlet Beach, Rosemary Beach, Seagrove Beach, and Grayton Beach. There are still many of the old Florida homes, low concrete block with thick landscaping and cool screen porches. But much of what was vacant scrub fifteen years ago is now thick with three and four story developments with a distinct Florida architecture. This style sort of began with the birth of Seaside, a community that was written up in numerous architecture magazines as the “new Florida”, and has spread across the entire gulf coast. Seaside is famous for being the setting of the perfect town in “The Truman Show”.

I spent my first day out shooting in a couple of the state parks since it was too cold to be sunning on the beach (didn’t I say this was a business trip). Deer Lake State Park on the Gulf has an elevated walk out across the large bright white dunes this area used to be famous for and borders a large lake with dense pine and palmetto woods.

Eden Gardens State Park is what was once the estate of the William Henry Wesley family. Beautiful grounds with huge oaks dripping with Spanish moss surround the restored home with its wide porches, rocking chairs and tall windows. Open for tours, the mansion is an elegant example of old southern architecture that is reminiscent of the days of the Civil War.

I spent my next day before talking with gallery owners and shop managers, riding my bike through Alys Beach. This development is one of the newest on this stretch of 30A and one of the most striking.

The design and architecture are so elegant and beautiful, stark white, simple and carefully planned to offer amazing images with every turn and changing constantly as the sun moves through the day. The design and planning here just astound me. It’s such a visual treat.

I have a lot of images I want to post from this trip, so I’ll continue this in my next post.

All Images are Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

I’ve been getting the van ready for my Spring trip. Tires rotated, oil changed, new brakes. I had a brief time at the mall the other day while waiting for my tire rotation.

For me there are four signs of Spring’s arrival. First of course is the first Robin. Saw that. In fact there are loads of them now and they seem totally oblivious to me as I pass them walking to my car every day. The second is the first warm breezes out of the south. Not just a little warmer, but truly warm and humid with that smell of Spring and the feeling of warm water that rushes over your face. Such that you just want to stand with your jacket off and your face into the breeze and feel the texture of the warm air as it pours across your skin. That was Tuesday. Third is the Spring Peeper. They’re singing now up by the pond across the road. The last is the appearance of the first buzzard (turkey vulture). I call them buzzards because I grew up in the South so always knew them as buzzards. My daughter said she had seen a couple last week. I finally saw my first of the season Thursday. They like to congregate right behind our house and float on the updrafts out of the gorge. Buzzards are ugly birds, but very graceful fliers, and for me, my final reassurance that Spring is definitely here.

I was called for jury duty a couple of weeks ago. It means about a 45 minute drive up to Waterloo to the county courthouse. I didn’t get selected. In fact I didn’t even get interviewed. They filled the jury before they got to my name. So I’m off the hook for another four years. I did get a little time to shoot some up in Waterloo before going to the courthouse. I like Waterloo. Small town with a quiet main street, sitting on the Canal that runs across upstate. Like many upstate small towns its somewhat depressed economy means empty storefronts and closed businesses.

But Waterloo is a proud village and a place of historical significance and patriotism as the Birthplace of Memorial Day. Flags are prominent throughout the village.

With some sunny days I’ve been encouraged to take my camera out again and just ride, despite the current cost of gas. The maple tree sap is running and occasionally you’ll see some trees tapped around the wood lots. The ground is still very wet, but at least my basement is finally drying up so I know the water table is going down.

I stopped at an old empty house on Route 96 that I have passed again and again, thinking that I wanted to photograph there. The light was good in the late afternoon and I had a little time on my way home. I have always had an attraction to abandoned and empty houses and buildings. You can sort of feel the spirits of the past.

Just up the highway are the remains of what used to be the only drive-in movie in the area. It’s been defunct for years, the big screen having succumbed to wind and weather. I wandered in to see what remained of the old buildings there. Remnants of an entertainment industry that has changed with technology. Kind of sad actually. I watched many a movie at the drive-in with my first daughter asleep in the back seat.

Like 45 rpm records and eight-track tapes, black and white TV and dial phones, there are young people who will have no memory of them and people such as myself who can only remember fondly the speaker hanging on the window, the walks to the concession stand, and the warm summer air at night, watching movies under the stars.

All images Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

I recently had an email exchange with a photography student who told me he was using my work as a research source for a theme project where he would work in the style of another photographer. He had chosen work from my blog post about Nature’s Reclamation, saying my style was to photograph rusting metal, so he would work on photographing rusting metal. He had asked me for advice on how I captured my images and my first reaction was to point out that photographing rusting metal was not my style of photography. It simply was what that article seemed to focus on, and even that was more about how nature takes back everything eventually, not just rusting metal. It would certainly work for a project theme, but I consider my “style” something all together different.

I believe most serious photographers will tell you they have a style, that is, a certain way they approach their subjects, certain things they like to concentrate on. I think a photographer’s style says something definitive about how they see and interpret the world, how they see themselves, and what they want to express through their art. Styles change. They evolve just as personalities do. They change as our tastes change and as we gain experience as artists and technicians. This is true of anyone in any creative endeavor, whether it’s architecture or graphic design or clothing design or landscaping or photography and so on.

When I was a very young man, I dreamed of being an architect. I drew houses, grand colonial facades with columns and shuttered windows, I drew elaborate contemporary homes with glass and stone and spreading floor plans. Today, I would prefer an arts and crafts bungalow to any other style for myself. Photography is no different. I went through my black and white phase, my Polaroid phase, my color landscape/nature phase. All of these different types of photography have interested me. But through it all, I think my style has always revolved around design. Around good composition.

All 2-D art, whether paintings, photography, etchings, collages, serigraphs, whatever, depend on elements of composition that have been around for centuries. The Golden Mean, the rule of thirds, pattern and repetition, the basic elements that form successful composition and cause our brain to stay and linger and our eye to travel where the artist intended. Elements that move the viewer and cause us to react in some way. Not always easy to define. Pictorial images, unlike abstracts, cause us to react both from design elements as well as subject matter. More abstract images cause us to imagine, and react more purely to design, to line and form and color and texture. Whether an images is pictorial or abstract, good composition, good design is what makes the image work or not. Simple subjects, if properly composed, can be incredibly moving and dramatic. Complex images rely to a great degree on good design to keep them from being chaotic and confusing. We often are not even aware of why an image moves us so, why its composition works. It’s like a good picture frame, it enhances the image without drawing attention away from it. But if we take the time to really dissect an image we like, we can usually pinpoint the elements of the composition that work. It’s a good way to study composition, much like studying a well written paragraph.

The main thing I used to teach my students about composition is that composition IS the visual language. It is the way to give order and understanding to an image. It is about every element of the image, what is included and what is not included. How every element relates to every other element, and how they all relate to the frame of the image. How one part that is misplaced or improperly included can be such a distraction as to destroy the effective communication of the artist’s intent. Everything counts.

One of my favorite photographers and one of the most influential in my own development as a photographer is Freeman Patterson. His book, Photography and the Art of Seeing probably taught me more about how to see and compose an image than anything I’ve ever read. Freeman talks about “dynamic simplicity”, that point where we distill an image to its most basic elements while maintaining something dynamic and stimulating to keep the image alive. His images are pure and rich and complete.

I have tried for years to work toward the goal of this kind of purity of design. It has shaped my style. And my style has shaped my vision and my art.

Today we strike the sets for the Trumansburg High School drama performance of “Working”, the musical adapted from the book by Studs Terkel. After three amazing performances by an incredibly talented group of young people, it’s time to put the stage back in order.

There were several stand outs among the cast, but it’s so hard to focus an a few when so many of these kids worked so hard and did such a great job. My admiration extends to all of the cast.

Jake Seifert touched everyone with several fine performances as the iron worker, in ensemble performances and especially in the Father’s and Sons scene. Skylar Fairchild appeared again and again with great execution as Roberto, the field hand, the truck driver, and several ensemble numbers.

Mia Goldman as Amanda McKenny, the project manager, Kim Hall singing James Taylor’s Millwork song, Ruth Carpenter as the housewife, Zoe Anderson as the checker girl, Dana Darling as the cleaning woman, Luke Heptig as the UPS guy and the ex-copy boy, and so many others.

Emily Goodell touched hearts as the school teacher and was great again in the cleaning woman number. And Eliza Vann knocked me out as the waitress.

Of course as a father of a cast member my main heart throb in the cast is naturally my daughter, Tessa, who choreographed a few dance numbers in the play and danced solo for the mill worker scene. You rock my world girl and it overwhelms me to see how beautiful and graceful you have become as a dancer and a young woman.

To all those great kids that I didn’t mention here, we are so proud of all of you and thankful for your participation, hard work, and great entertainment. And to all those supporting crew backstage, the great musicians in the pit band, to all the parents that helped with sets, props, costumes, food and transportation, and all manner of other support, thanks for a great play. And especially to Sally Priester and Anne Bialke for amazing direction and coordination. I loved it all.

All Images are Copyright © George Cannon, all rights reserved.

On the campus at Cornell University, as is probably the case at many institutions around our country, there are rituals that signify certain milestones in the student calendar. This past Friday was just such a day at Cornell. It was Dragon Day! Dragon Day is what seems an off-shoot of the pagan rituals of the Spring Equinox, it is the beginning of Spring break and as one might expect, a day to blow off a little steam and celebrate the end of the cold winter months in Ithaca.

As the tradition has it, the students of the Art School create a huge dragon in the week leading up to Dragon Day. It is then paraded across campus to pass in front of the rival Engineering School where it is met by a large phoenix to do battle. Then it is transported to the Arts Quad where, in great fanfare and surrounded by throngs of people and wild students in various costumes and odd attire, the head of the dragon is removed to be whisked away back to a safe place in the Art School, and the body is set ablaze.

Usually Dragon Day is preceded by an evening of decorating the trees around the quad with large quantities of toilet paper. But in the last couple of years this seems to have been somewhat neglected or perhaps discouraged by the administration. Although I wouldn’t think that would prevent the recurrence of this ritual. I think it is more a bit of laziness on the part of the students. All the same, the Cornell Police and Life Safety firefighters stand by as this revelry takes place, left to do their jobs of safeguarding the campus and the students from their own wildness and exuberance.

It’s hard to know just what the themes are that guide the dress of some of these students. But if nothing else, they are very creative and unashamed.

It’s a time for release, for celebration, and a ritual that we all look forward to on campus in that it simply marks our official end of winter (except for perhaps, the grounds crew that are left with the mess to clean up).

All images are Copyright © George Cannon, All Rights Reserved.

It was 57 degrees and sunny yesterday. When I left work I could feel that first warm breath of spring around the corner. It’s coming. I can feel it. Today we had a dusting of snow. Enough to just give everything the look of a lightly sugared cookie or the top of a bundt cake.

A gentle frosting that outlined every branch and etched every black wet edge. It was beautiful. The creeks are already running high with snow melt. We had about six inches of new snow last week, but the warm southern air has sent it all to the gorges and gullies.

We are expecting heavy rain tonight after a bit of sleet and freezing rain, but the rising temp during the night will change it all to rain. About two inches of it so the weather forecast says. That means I will likely have to pump out the basement tomorrow. Living in a 180 year old house with an old stone cellar has its drawbacks.

The creeks were full and the stream above Taughannock Falls was at the top of its normal banks already today. The waterfall out back is roaring and occasionally when out walking the dog I can hear large areas of ice break free and crash to the bottom of the gorge.

I stayed out of work today to take Margot to the vet. She’s had some skin problems on her back and now has ear infections. She was a peach today though, in spite of the poking and prodding and digging in her ears repeatedly, the medicated bath and the antibiotics. She’s such a cute dog and I feel bad for her just as I would for my own child when she’s sick. But still playful and more than willing to harass the cats.

I have been adding numerous images to my other blog, Artcards, and getting steadily more traffic. I’m having a great time experimenting with images in Photoshop when I have the time, and creating photo-art from images that I was already happy with, but have found new potential in.

So, goodbye winter. Sayonara. Arrivederci. Be gone with you. I am ready for green, for the bursting of buds, for the smell of lilacs, for a trip down I-81 through redbud and dogwood country to the warm sands of Florida. I am ready to defrost and put away the boots and jackets and snow shovel. I am ready to not hear the furnace kick on. I am ready for daffodils and tulip magnolias. I am ready for t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops. Come on sunshine! Bring me the Spring!

All images are copyright © George Cannon, all rights reserved.

My daughter’s room is a disaster area in a constant state of flux. We ask often for her to straighten it up, to put things away, get them up off the floor. But her response is usually, “This is the way a teenager’s room is, Dad.” I reply, “But it’s dangerous.” I see myself racing in in the middle of the night to wake her for an evacuation, fire or tornado or impending attack by Huns, and crashing over books and ipods and clothes and bags of tortilla chips and collections of dance shoes, breaking a leg and being left there as the tornado rips the house apart.

She does occasionally pick up and put away what she can when it just gets too disgusting or she can’t find those last three paychecks she got from teaching dance. And I can’t fault her too much. We live in an old Greek Revival house that has no storage space. There are only two closets in the whole house and they are in my bedroom, full to the point of exploding. She lives at her computer, so everything is within easy reach, piled about her on the desk or on the floor behind her. And like every teenage girl, clothes are a passion for her and she has long since outgrown her dresser and chest of drawers that were purchased when she was an infant. So if it’s not in the dresser, it’s in the hamper, or the laundry baskets, or piled on the bed or the floor, or on top of another pile.

Strangely enough, she usually knows where everything is, with the exception of that thing for downloading the pictures from the camera, or that thing she was supposed to send to a friend at Christmas, or whatever. Things get misplaced but it’s usually her mother’s fault. She must have moved it.

When I was young I shared a bedroom with my older brother. We lived in a small two bedroom house with my two sisters and my parents. The boys had one bedroom, the girls the other, and my parents had two large dressers in the dining room and slept on the pull out couch in the living room. My father shared our closet filling it mostly with his suits and shirts. I don’t recall having much that hung in the closet besides a sport coat or single suit and a few shirts and slacks. But the bottom of the closet belonged to my brother and me. There were two large cardboard boxes filled with toys and baseball gloves and army surplus and comic books and all manner of stuff. We had bunk beds to save space and my dad had built a long table top along one side of the room for desk space, study area, and a place to “do stuff”. I built numerous model cars and planes and ships on that table, collected stamps, and coins, and rocks, and dismantled transistor radios and other appliances. My brother’s record player sat in the middle dividing the space. We were never allowed to leave the room in a mess. We were expected to keep things put away and orderly to some extent. Our beds were to be made every day and every Saturday was cleaning day. Sweep, dust, and put away anything left out. My mother sewed for people and often had customers at the house, usually Agnes Scott College students, for fittings and alterations. So things had to be presentable. Little did people know that our hall closet held a huge box of clothes that were clean but needed ironing. If you needed a shirt or a blouse you had to dig through the box and find it and iron it yourself. We had no dryer, clothes were dried on the line outside, and most things were cotton, so “wrinkle free” was nonexistent.

So I guess like most parents, I resist going in my daughter’s room to avoid the feelings of “Oh my God” and try to bite my lip when I do enter so as to allow her to have her own space and her own responsibility for taking care of her own things. Again I can’t complain too much. She’s so busy with dance, and gymnastics, and her friends, and school work. She gets great grades and has wonderful friends, stays out of trouble, watches very little TV, and is an all round excellent kid. And she’s a Virgo like me so I guess I expect some semblance of order and organization.

But to each his own. In a year and a half she’ll be off to college and I’ll miss that mess terribly.