A Taste of Honey
One and a half disappointments today, so far. Dance class was cancelled, teacher is unwell. And then Cristina’s flight from New York to Chicago was delayed so long that we’re not sure they’ll make it home tonight as planned. Recovering from those two blows, we nonetheless took all Bella’s clothes and her violin and special snacks over to her house, where she saw that the fifteen-foot camellia tree by her mama’s work room has burst into bloom.
Bella, for whom a one-day delay is the same as a year, asked me to take pictures of the camellias for her parents, in case the blossoms have all fallen off before they come back (her dad should be home in a week or so, if nothing changes). That’s when Bella discovered pollen. She knew about pollen and bees already, but she hadn’t actually LOOKED at the yellow powdery stuff before, so she felt it, tasted it, offered me a little taste. We both thought maybe we could just barely discern a taste of honey*.
There was a little article on FB today that makes an outrageous claim in its headline but asks an interesting question about our motivations for taking photographs. The author breaks it down to four areas: for escape, for approval, for the challenge, or to make a difference. He doesn’t mention documenting the growth and development of our loves and life-experiments, but I do go on wondering why I’m doing this, don’t you? I’d be interested to hear your answers, if you feel like addressing the question, and if you didn't groan, "oh hell, another cute grandchild picture!" and quickly move on.
*A Taste of Honey is one of my favorite modern British plays. I love the work Joan Littlewood did with Shelagh Delaney’s script and the Theatre Workshop. It was a model I used in creating workshop theatre in southern Africa in the 90s.
Update: Bella's mom and brother are stuck in Chicago. We hope they get home tomorrow. I love your answers to the question. Thank you. Maybe when I get Bella down to sleep I'll have a little time.