












writer, photographer
“All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost.”
Gandalf in his letter to Froda, Book 1, Chapter 10, “The Riddle of Strider” in The Fellowship of the Ring. J.R.R.Tolkien
I arrived safely home from my first international trip since the beginning of the pandemic. It’s been such a long time that I almost felt like a travel newbie again! Add the complications of frequent airline changes and COVID documentation and I felt that I had to stay constantly alert for plan adjustments. As I told a friend, international travel these days is like brain exercises. And that’s a good thing because I need it—pandemic solitude has put me in a stupor most days this past year or two.
The trip started with thunderstorms that I was afraid would create another flight delay but not to worry. We flew through the storm clouds. I was really glad I had my monochrome camera with me. I just kept clicking and clicking and luckily, caught one of the thunderbolts that kept illuminating my plane window. I’ve always said I would rather be lucky than good, it’s more reliable. And this photo was definitely one of luck.
Banff was staggeringly beautiful, of course. The last time I was in Banff was with my two wonderful kiwi friends, Anne and Roger, so this revisit prompted many fond memories. And on this trip, I was with a small group of very kind, talented photographers whose company was very enjoyable and added to the adventure.
What I did NOT anticipate were the physical problems I had to cope with. As I have also told friends, physicians make the worst patients. I’ve had a moderate iron deficiency anemia for the last two years that will require an in-hospital stay for iron transfusion. I’ve been putting the intervention off because, well, it’s been a pandemic. And it hasn’t really caused me many problems at home (other than possibly being a co-factor in the stupor previously mentioned ? ).
However, it was a big problem at altitude. My resting saturations were less than 92% most of the time which meant that my heart rate was pretty consistently in the 80-100 range. My normals at rest and at home are saturations greater than 95% and a heart rate in the 50s. So, it was a big change and I felt myself huffing and puffing on all our hikes. Grrrrrrrr! Getting old is no fun! Being unfit is no fun! I guess I’ll have to address the anemia issue sooner rather than later. Particularly if I travel again to altitude and cold.
But the unique glacial blue mountain lakes around Banff glimmered in the sun and reflected gorgeous colors at sunrise. Elk and Bighorn sheep frolicked along the roads we traveled. And despite the fact that I was slow and languished behind my travel compatriots, I got to see and enjoy it all.
Peyto Lake is one of the phenomenally impressive glacial lakes right outside Banff. Unfortunately, the road to Peyto Lake has been closed for two years because of construction in the park but we were fortunate to be in Banff when it opened this year. The first day we tried to visit, we had to turn away because of severe weather conditions negatively impacting the access road. No problem! Plan B involved photographing luminous cypress trees alongside the road.
But by the next day, conditions had improved and we revisited Peyto Lake. We hiked through a winter wonderland of snow-covered trees to get to the elevated view. And then…there it was! The ‘wolf head’ that is Peyto Lakes identity. Someone said only children are able to see the wolf head naturally. That the only reason adults see it is because they’ve been told to look for it. Regardless, it was beautiful.
And we were so fortunate on our last night to have the opportunity to photograph the aurora over Emerald Lake. Stunning visuals and one of those memories that you file away to be savored in the future, over and over again.
All in all, a memorable start to, once again, begin my ‘wanderings’. Next stop? Kenya!
Good light and safe travels to all!
So, it’s been a few weeks since last I posted. I’ve been in a bit of a slump, I’m afraid. September 11 always puts me in a deep, meditative inner soliloquy. I know I’m not alone in that response. For many Americans, it is a sentinel event in our lives. The anniversary and subsequent personal effects generally result in my taking a sharp turn in my life path. The year after 9/11, I climbed Kilimanjaro. A few years later, I ran a marathon. I’ve made major life changes, generally as a consequence of the meditative process that 9/11 precipitates. So, there’s that.
And I continue to have deep fears about the state of my beloved country. COVID continues its ruthless rampage. The leaders of our country are divided and bitter and seem absolutely unable to manage the country. And maybe it’s me—but my home state seems to always make the national news as a negative example. On a recent Frontline investigative documentary about the medical benefits of cannabis, the Alabama penal system was shown to be a racist and unjust system with huge numbers of individuals incarcerated for lengthy periods for cannabis use. And this at a time when many states have legalized its use. That investigative report was followed a few days later by the governor of our state allocating federal COVID-19 relief funds to build more prisons!
The other slump inducer recently was the Photoshop World Guru awards. Of the three final images in the Wildlife category, two of them were mine! How exciting! But, unfortunately I was not the winner. I’m afraid the lyrical refrain to Meatloaf’s song ran through my head, over and over again.
'Cause two out of three ain't bad Now don't be sad 'Cause two out of three ain't bad You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach You'll never drill for oil on a city street I know you're looking for a ruby in a mountain of rocks But there ain't no Coup de Ville hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box
But I’m a lucky person, I know that. Whenever I hit the slumps, I rebound pretty quickly. Because I know that I’m blessed, I know that my life is a good one.
And there is always a light at the end of a dark tunnel.
I’m leaving next week for the Canadian Rockies and I know how beautiful it is. And I’m going with good people whose company I will enjoy. I’m about to engage in a new adventure in a land of ice and snow and I KNOW that it will be a wonderful time.
AND (and this is the big news!) I’VE BOUGHT MY DREAM CAMPER VAN! It will be next spring before it is delivered but I pulled the trigger on something that I have been thinking about for several years.
HOORAY! LIFE IS SO GOOD!
Dying in the Air
Dropping,
jumping,
diving,
falling…
bisecting————-
The shaded North Tower, The sunlit South Tower,
Oh God, save their souls! Maybe they’re just birds, honey.
They were blown out, forced out. But no jumpers! No one jumped.
All homicides. Not a single suicide.
Desperate,
graceful,
despair,
freedom.
We saw you die, when thousands died private.
Does every death deserve a witness?
Falling through space, falling through time,
Falling through memory, falling through history,
Falling into the arms of angels, falling to God.
What did you see? Blue sky? Rising ground?
Did you close your eyes? Did you watch your life?
Leaping,
lunging,
hurtling,
soaring…
An exclamation point!
Simple physics trajectory, at terminal acceleration—
150 miles per hour. Left leg akimbo,
arms by your side, upside down.
PLIGHT sized up? Decision,
a torso, an arm, a head, a heart.
It must have felt like flying,
while you were dying in the air.
Diana Davidson, 2020
Memory is a fragile butterfly with gossamer wings. It is birthed from the cocoon of our minds, created anew every time it becomes a conscious thought. Perceptions, emotion, rumination, chemistry and new synapses are the intertwined threads of its DNA. Ephemeral, beautiful—and transient. Once it flits away from our consciousness, it crumbles into gauzy filaments, only to be resurrected as a new entity when, once again, it is pulled into consciousness by the human brain.
How remarkable is that? Memory is incredibly important to human beings. Memory is how we make sense of our sentient life, our movement through time, our relationship to the reality in which we live. It becomes an integral component of our perception of who we are and who we believe ourselves to be. We rely on our memory to prepare us for the future by teaching us about our past.
And yet—what is equally remarkable is the ability of the human brain to study itself. And it is from those studies that we have come to realize just how unreliable memory can be as a reflection of past reality. In fact, the abundance of neuroscience studies on the fallibility of memory is creating a tidal shift on the reliance of eyewitness testimony in the justice system. According to the American Bar Association, of the 21 wrongful convictions overturned by the Innocence Project in 2011, 19 involved eyewitness testimony. More than three-quarters of wrongful convictions that are later overturned by DNA evidence were based on eyewitness reports. Psychological scientist Elizabeth Loftus has spent her career studying false memories. I highly recommend her Ted Talk, “How reliable is your memory?” Loftus has also written a book, Eyewitness Testimony. Based upon her and other scientists research on the malleability of eyewitness testimony, particularly as it is influenced by external realities, the justice system has started to rebalance the weight given to such testimony.
It reminds me of a childhood game that my friends and I played called ‘Gossip’. I think the adults who taught us the game were hoping the lesson learned would be on the unreliability and dangers in gossip. We would sit on the floor in a large circle. The person chosen to start would whisper (quietly and quickly) something in the ear of the person next to her. That person would then whisper what she heard into the ear of the person next to her, who would then do the same. By the time the whispers finally reached all around the circle, the last person would say out loud what they had heard. The fun of the game was the fact that what was actually heard usually differed significantly from what had initially been whispered. Our memory seems to work the same way, every whisper is a new retrieval of a memory.
There are many biological scientific studies that document cellular and chemical attributes that contribute to the unreliability of memory. The explanations that resonate with me, however, are the ones based on social/behavioral studies.
One of the main reasons for an unreliable memory is that when we want to recall our memories, we reconstruct the events based on our current knowledge and thoughts. Thus, while we are remembering past events, we are in fact mixing the present and the past. This is known as ‘retrieval-enhanced suggestibility’— the fact that memories change spontaneously over time, as a product of how, when, and why we access them.
Another effect documented by social scientists is referred to as the ‘audience-tuning effect’. When we describe our memories to other people, we frequently modify the story depending on our audience or the point we are making in the conversation. Research shows that when we describe our memories differently to different audiences, it isn’t only the message that changes but the memory itself.
The point is that memory recall is not like pulling data from a file cabinet in our brain. Rather, memory is a reconstructive process that is susceptible to distortion. All memory is colored with bits of life experiences.
I really do not like the term that some have used to describe the infallibility of memory, ‘false memory’ because our memory is not false—it is an integrative creation based on past and present truths, it is a true reflection of who we are at this moment in time.
The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
William Butler Yeats
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