Disheartened Patriot

13 Sunday Jul 2025

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Living Our Values, Perserverence, Social Responsibility, Words matter

Tags

Disheartened Patriot, Faded Glory, Leadership, Lost America, tattered principles

In 2020, I wrote “Pragmatic Patriot.” Since then, I have lost much of my positivity about the United States of America.

What changed?

So many bonfires continue to burn, with our most sacred and vital principles as fuel. Tribalism has grown worse. Education is abandoned in favor of indoctrination. Books are banned, hard-fought rights revoked. The undefended among us are violently threatened, gleefully attacked, detained, and arrested by armed, masked, and unidentified persons. The United States military is supporting these terrifying acts on American streets, under the guise of a psychotic government position that criminals and terrorists are invading the country. A nation that once soared to the moon now sends people to twenty-first-century concentration camps.

Conspiracy theory is exacerbated by ugliness and amplified by a willingness – even eagerness – to make all manner of accusations against our neighbors. Hate decorates shirts and hats and slobbers out in rants and posts. Many who fuel the rabid bile serve in positions of power in our government.

Still, for every act of aggression, there are acts of generosity and resilience that define the best of what America may again be. In small towns and big cities, millions of Americans rally in protest of a crumbling morality, testifying against the terrible, illegal, and cruel acts directed by our most senior elected officials. Our courts are filled with patriots waging battles for the Constitution against lying madmen and women.

Has the time passed for the dream that is America?

I am disheartened, no longer pragmatic. But I have hope that our better angels will return.

And I am still a patriot.

Marian’s Key

24 Friday Jan 2025

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Beautiful Cambria, Dreams and Reality, Friendship, Home, Living Our Values, Words matter

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

art, Community, creativity, inspiration, writing

The table stands next to the front door, up the stairs or down, depending on whether one is coming or going. The deep red color, now faded and worn around the edges, reminds me of New England autumns, where barns sit in fields of drying grasses, bracing for the coming snows.

The table saw its share of snowy Connecticut winters. Now, it serves in the mild Mediterranean climate of California’s central coast. Its main enemies are sunshine and scratches from things dropped or scraped along an edge. Grocery bags, recycling bins, and grandchildren brush by or bump against the graceful lines of its simple, sturdy design.

The table holds keys for cars and doors. They drop on the way in and scrape on the way out. The miscellany winds up in the miniature brass bathtub atop the wood. It is adorable, clanky, and whimsical.

A particular key, attached to a yellow plastic tab with “Marian’s Key” written in Sharpie, has been living in the tub for a while now. It looks like several others cut at the local True Value hardware store. The tag is always angled to the left, pointing across the street to where Marian’s house stands.

Much like its owner, the house is both simple and elegant. The more you get to know them, the more the sophistication and effortless ambiance delight and surprise. From the beautiful oak that shades the front to the “oh my!” delights of the outdoor spaces, there is no shortage of oases. What at first glance looks to be a single level unfolds into a multi-tiered journey into serenity. Outside, a turn to the right at the rear of the home reveals a luscious blooming preserve, rosemary bushes sharing their signature aroma with brilliant flowers and shrubs.

None of this happens by accident.

The home has evolved over the twelve years we have been neighbors. A thoughtful renovation, done lovingly over months, transformed the property. A soft sage green seats the place into the environment rather than imposing itself boastfully on the neighborhood.

The landscapes are all Marian. Many days, I look across the street to see her with a sun hat pulled low and garden gloves tight, wielding an arsenal of garden tools and, on occasion, brute strength to place, move, plant, gravel, and stone the perimeter. She’s never quite satisfied with how things lay but doesn’t grumble about it.

Soon, she will have a new place to transform, closer to her family, farther than the short walk across our shared street. Many friends and neighbors are both happy for her and sad for ourselves.

A lot of things change over twelve years. We age, we struggle. Families grow closer and move farther apart. Life brings health and heartache, each in a different measure. We selfishly hope for one more page, another delicious paragraph, a pithy phrase in a breath-stealing sentence. We slow, but we do not stop. We will move on to the next chapter and remember the stories that came before.

The red paint fades as the bathtub’s brass patina grows warmly tarnished. The yellow-tagged key’s title may rub away, but each color will remain vibrant in the picture etched in our hearts.

Good neighbors, good friends, good memories.

Old Man

31 Saturday Aug 2024

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Dreams and Reality, Living Our Values, Perserverence, Words matter

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Memory

Greyed hair mumbling heart
moving slowly
slowly losing
moments courage faith
Wizened but no wiser

Gauzed and threadbare dreams
the boy the young man the father
sepia-edged
colors drained
sounds muffled
memories mottled

In the gloaming
reality lies soured with regret
what fight remains ends
in the privacy of his ridiculousness
where spent passions fade away

Reluctant Samaritan

30 Tuesday Apr 2024

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Communicating, Homelessness, Living Our Values, Social Responsibility, Words matter

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Do Unto Others, Fading, humanity, inspiration, Judgement, Losing reason, religion, self, what we forget, What we remember

A visit to the doctor turned into a bout of self-examination.

Appointment Day

The late April Friday was cool and windy. My wife and I headed out to our medical appointments in San Luis Obispo, a reasonable and beautiful drive from our Cambria home.

My session was a follow-up for a recurring problem common to men of a certain age.

I checked in a few minutes before my 3:15 pm appointment and was soon escorted to an exam room. As I started down the hall, I heard a familiar voice prattling away – a voice that caused me to duck my head and turn away quickly. It was a voice of a man I had come to know over the previous few weeks.

And here he was, sharing a confusing explanation for his lateness in getting to the office.

Simon

My first encounter with Simon was not great. He had come into the business center agitated and demanding. It was difficult to figure out what he wanted, and the more I tried, the more combative he became. After a few tense exchanges, it became evident that the whole situation was headed towards the shredder. I’m usually able to work with difficult people, but not that day. Thankfully, a cooler head intervened, defused Simon, and figured out what he wanted.

I later learned that he had a reputation for being aggressively hostile, becoming more disagreeable as he aged. Is he experiencing an acceleration of decline? Perhaps.

Over the ensuing weeks, he came back to the store and was, for the most part, calm and a bit contrite. His confusion seemed more evident with each visit: missing documents, missed appointments, and an inability to explain what he was there to do. My teammates and I were able to help him with a few tasks, but we were always on edge, not knowing which Simon we would face.

Reluctant Helper

With my consultation completed, I headed downstairs to rejoin my wife. Unaccustomed to the parking lot, she headed towards an exit further down the complex, exited, and turned onto the main road leading us back home. As we headed north, I spotted Simon shuffling down the sidewalk, heading away from the office we had just left. It seemed odd since the medical complex had plenty of parking and easy access to public transportation.

So why was he heading further away?

I realized that, like him or not, Simon seemed to need help or a quick check to see if he was in trouble. Should we turn back? A short moment of indecision was soon followed by an aggressive U-turn , and there he was. My wife let me out of the car and pulled into a parking lot to wait.

The Woman

I walked back and met Simon, but he was not alone. His new companion was an older woman walking a bicycle laden with what appeared to be her worldly possessions. They were engaged in conversation, which I couldn’t quite hear. I called out, “Simon, is that you?” He looked at me, but there was no recognition. The woman asked if I knew him, and I responded, ‘Yes, we live in the same town.” Simon then asked my name and how he knew me, clearly struggling to connect the dots. I explained to him where we met, then where I work, and something registered. I asked a few soft questions to ascertain his condition and ability to care for himself.

During this exchange, the woman watched us closely, again asking how I knew Simon. She explained how she was helping him locate his car and would walk with him until he found it. I realized she was trying to help him and was not keen to leave him with another stranger. I assured her I would help Simon find his way and that she didn’t need to worry. She watched warily as Simon and I continued down the road.

A Long Walk

As we walked, Simon kept repeating things to me, explaining, as if talking to a dull student, exactly where we were headed. He was as much a petulant child as a frightened elderly man trying to find his way home. I found myself acting as a caregiver, holding his arm as we navigated rough patches of sidewalk and busy intersections. He shared why, running late, he parked half a mile from the medical offices but couldn’t find the building where he thought he was supposed to be. He was baffled by the nurse he swore he did not know but who knew all about him. I flashed back to an overheard phone conversation with the receptionist, giving directions and encouragement to someone on the other end of the line.

He spoke of a postman who wouldn’t help him and students who didn’t even acknowledge his requests for assistance.

We walked on, Simon confidently describing his car’s year, make, color, and Rotary sticker. He kept saying “404” and “just past the Jack In The Box.” I knew where the fast food place was, so on we trundled: Simon, an old confused fellow, and me, a not-young man, wondering why we were on this path together.

And there it was. Just past the Jack In The Box, a few steps down the side street. A small motel with the number 404 on the front. The car sat at the far end of the lot, just as described. I asked him if that was his car, and he responded by raising the key fob clutched in his hand. The lights blinked, confirming success. As we got closer, I saw the Rotary sticker affixed to the rear passenger window, as he had described. The car sat unlocked, and the driver’s window rolled down. Simon stared at it, then at me, and said, “The window is open. Did I leave it open?” Then, “Tell me your name. How do you know me?”

I was concerned about him getting behind the wheel and driving the thirty miles back to our village. He answered my doubts by describing his route: exit the parking lot, turn right onto Santa Rosa Street, and head straight north until home. And he was right. So I said goodbye and wished him well.

I walked up the short hill to the corner where 404 and Jack In The Box faced each other and waited. After a few minutes, the beige Toyota appeared, turned right, and drove slowly past me. Simon, hands at ten and two, eyes straight ahead, was on his way home. Maybe a guardian angel sat, invisible, helping him navigate the scenic road back to what I think of as heaven on earth. Or perhaps he just had great luck. Either way is fine with me.

Reflection

As I walked back to where my wife was waiting, my mind spun. Why did I avoid Simon at the doctor’s office? Why did we take a different exit from the parking lot? Why was I so reluctant to go back and check on him? What changed on the walk? And how do I reconcile all these questions, doubts, and painful awareness of my bias?

I don’t practice a particular faith, but two parables come to mind. First, was this my road to Damascus moment, where my blindness lifted, and I immediately became a new person with a passion for doing good works? Yeah, no. I was responding to my moral compass.

The second parable rings more true. Though the priest and the businessman were replaced by some callous students and a harried postman, a Good Samaritan did indeed appear, offered aid and comfort, and watched over Simon as he went on his way.

I wish I knew her name.

The Augary of Beauty’s Demise

Karen Sorensen, Artist

Because You Never Know

23 Friday Jun 2023

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Community Involvement, Friendship, Living Our Values, Words matter

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Cambria, Cindy Steidel

I’ve been thinking about our dear friend Cindy Steidel, volunteer and passionate supporter of all the good that makes Cambria a shining community. There is a long list of things that add up to the legacy of the person I came to know through her public service. Her fairness, diligence, quiet determination, and overall compassion, displayed under the pressure of her elected office, were at times inspiring, humorous, and occasionally aggravating but always thoughtful. She listened carefully and respectfully. I can think of no one more prepared, informed, and willing to engage in profound discourse on matters critical to the town’s future and all who call it home.

Cindy, to her credit, was not shy about identifying bad behavior and would occasionally push back against abusive comments and personal attacks against herself, her fellow elected Board members, and the staff that keeps Beautiful Cambria functioning. Though some found her adherence to order and decorum to be heavy-handed, she applied the guidelines equally, to the chagrin of some who enjoyed setting their own rules. Cindy had the temerity to tell me my three minutes of public comment time was up!

Outside the noisy bubble of public office, Cindy was hilarious, engaging in conversation, and a bit bawdy at times, but always filled with the insatiable drive to service. Every mutual friend I’ve seen since she left us has said similar things. Nobody shared anything but love for the woman who always showed up. Cindy didn’t have enemies, just friends with who she occasionally disagreed. She told me, firmly yet nicely, that the cake portion of the Memorial Day meal was self-service! A hug followed, then a whispered “I miss our conversations” and a promise to call.

And that was it.

Good morning!
Where there is a community, there is Cindy demonstrating the values of service and caring. Even we old folks need role models, reminders, quiet leaders, and doers. Thank you for all you do.
MC

Very generous words, Michael; thank you so much. Being an old folk myself and often in need of a “being quiet” reminder, your words are much valued.
Best, Cindy
Our final email exchange.

Cindy has gone on her next adventure. I hope we share small bits of her character, loving heart, and passion for service wherever we meet.

Positive Steps For Active Recreation

03 Monday Apr 2023

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Beautiful Cambria, Community Involvement, Living Our Values, PROS Commision, Social Responsibility, Words matter

≈ 1 Comment

The Parks, Recreation, and Open Space ad hoc team continues to move forward with discussion and action on finding activities to enhance the recreation options in the area of the East Fiscalini Ranch designated for a community park. Though there have been many suggested uses, along with a well-researched Master Plan, not much has happened outside the development of the dog park.

The committee has taken an open and inclusive approach to revisit the possibilities for the land, actively engaging with and seeking input from every corner of the community. Over the past months participation in community meetings has grown, attracting interested and concerned residents into the discussion. The overarching philosophy of the ad hoc is – every voice matters, and every concern or suggestion is captured and discussed. The results, to my eye, have been terrific.

The forum takes on the concerns in a collaborative, positive way, with questions encouraged, responses backed with facts and data, with none of the harshness and pugnacious attitudes often seen in public discourse. I leave the meetings recharged, believing that things can happen without frivolous conflict.

Such was the outcome of the meeting held on Saturday, April 1, at the Chamber of Commerce building. Community members took the lead in further defining three main project opportunities. They presented what the projects are, what they could reasonably cost, and how they would fit into the footprint of the designated area.

Community member Shannon Sutherland led the discussion on exercise stations. Shannon did fantastic research, contacting various manufacturers and providers of such stations. Options discussed included everything from simple, pressure-treated, build-it-yourself stations to powder-coated metal fixtures and extruded, molded resin modules. Each option has plusses and minuses, and as the conversation moves forward within the PROS Commission, it will be refined and shared with the community and the CCSD Board.

Community members Mark and Susan Garman presented their work on the proposed Disc (frisbee) Golf course. The enthusiastic pair have invested a good amount of their time visiting systems around the county and brought a collection of photographs and descriptions of styles and materials used to build and maintain different-sized options. It was clarifying to see the pictures, as they demonstrated the ease of integrating this low-impact, environmentally sensitive, and accessible sport into the existing natural beauty of the East Ranch. The Garman’s research also included a first-pass look at potential costs for a course’s design, build, and maintenance. The figures are subject to change after a more detailed review by a course designer and all the appropriate staff to ensure compliance with the existing EIR and use conditions.

PROS Commissioner Kermit Johanson presented his findings and recommendations for enhancing the existing trails to accommodate runners and ensure ADA compliance. He shared a color-coded topographical map showing where the enhancements would fall within the existing footprint and a rough estimate of cost and effort based on configuration, materials, and labor sources.

Each presenter fielded questions and concerns and, in collaboration with the PROS ad hoc members, will present the information to the full PROS Commission, get input, and formulate a unified presentation to the CCSD Board and the public at an upcoming Board meeting.

After all the presentations and discussions, the attendees were asked – Do you support moving forward with the next steps for the proposed projects? Every hand went up in favor, including representatives of the CCSD Board, Beautify Cambria, Cambria Community Council, concerned residents from the surrounding neighborhood, members of the business community, and long-time residents and parents.

The PROS Commission will hold its regularly scheduled meeting on Tuesday, April 4, at 10:00 am at the Vet’s Hall. The session will also be available via ZOOM.

https://us06web.zoom.us/j/89840296865?pwd=a0tmRUM3NVFpTXZIcWFZeUU4THU0QT09

Everyone is invited and encouraged to join in, listen, question, and share ideas.

Questions and thoughts can also be sent to the ad hoc group at

getoutdoorsadhocrec@gmail.com.

Beautiful Cambria in action.

The Final Telling

26 Thursday Jan 2023

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Living Our Values, Perserverence, Words matter

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Final Breaths, Last Hours, legacy, passing on

In the 2003 film “The Last Samurai,” Captain Nathan Algren is asked by the young Japanese Emperor to tell how the titular character, the Samurai Katsumoto, died. Algren responds, “I will tell you how he lived.”

How do we spend our last days and hours, especially when we know they are just that? Do we die as we lived? Are deathbed conversions a spiritual revelation, or the chemicals of the mind and body boiling together in one final fire of life? Do these fading moments reveal our true hearts?

I have seen the last hours of family and friends who knew the show was about to close. The masks dropped away, leaving the bare face that is the soul. In the last light of life, they revealed who they were across all the days they lived.

Mother

My mother’s life was very confusing to me. I can recall moments of tenderness, of humor, of fleeting kindness. But never joy. She suffered from significant physical ailments that ruined her body and her mind. She seems, in retrospect, to have been an always-angry person, bitter from multiple children and the exciting life dreamed but not lived. The diseases that tortured her were mental, physical, and spiritual. She tried to cope with prayer and alcohol, incense and cigarette smoke, and with rage, her constant accomplice. Her body twisted, and her mind followed along. Things meant to soothe her demons only excited them, letting physical and emotional violence rain down and run amok.

After many false endings, time wrote her final chapter. Facing the unknowable, she was in her last hours as she had been at her worst hours. Raging and loud, angry beyond reason, lashing out with more fierce energy than her rapidly failing body should have been able to muster. Her last breath, drawn just hours before her sixtieth birthday, did not call out to God but rather goddamn you all. So, for all the mercy and understanding, the darkness won.

Sister

My sister followed my mother a few short months later. Anne Marie was a funny, kind, beautiful soul who, at the young age of thirty-two, was stricken with an unusual and cruel illness that appeared suddenly and relentlessly stole her body, but never her spirit. Her last weeks were a torture of desperate treatments and experiments intended to heal but instead just delivered more destruction. She fought as she lived, not passively but not with the outward rage shown by our mother. Her concerns were for her family, especially her two young daughters. She knew her passing would be unbearable for them. And for the brothers and sisters that stood by her bedside, fighting to make the right decisions. Though most did not believe in miracles, we wished for one.

Through it all, there were moments of great conflict, terribly unfair decisions asked of those tasked with making them, and pure dread. But from Anne Marie, there was gentle humor and compassion for we who suffered and mourned her passing.

In her last minutes, she lay peaceful, quietly breathing until there were no more breaths. I stood, with our sisters and brother-in-law, holding her hand, and felt her let go. It was devastating and beautiful. There was no darkness, just the light of a gentle soul. Nothing in my life, before or after, changed me more than that moment.

Father

My father, emotionally battered and broken by the loss of his wife and child, somehow managed to find a way forward, though his body, scarred from years of bad health, stuttered and faltered occasionally. He continued being a dad to me and pappy to his grandchildren, finding bits of happiness in the warm sun of his new home in Florida.

When his systems began to fail with greater frequency, he struggled to live in a way that didn’t upset the individual bonds that extended from parent to child. It was difficult to do, impossible really . So, in the end, he chose to fight no more and let the natural process come to him.

He lay sedated in a hospice bed, two of his daughters and I, his oldest son, sharing the watch, each of us urging him different things. In our last minutes alone I said, “You’ve done enough, so you decide when to let go.” His face, still handsome till the end, transformed from the one I had seen throughout my life into my brother’s face, revealing a familial lineage I had not recognized before. It was the only moment, aside from the sadness of the circumstance, that genuinely unnerved me. As he was shutting down, his brain, soul, spirit, whatever one believes, expressed his final protests in muted groans and fleeting grimaces.

I stepped out, realizing I needed to dash to the airport to pick up another sister who had flown down to be with him in his final hour. As I got to my car, my phone rang. He was gone. I drove to the airport, greeted my sister’s flight, and shook my head as she came down the jetway. It was over. Dad died as he lived, trying to make everything okay for everyone. He realized the impossibility and chose what was right for him. Not passive, not angry. Just accepting.

An accurate telling of how he lived can only be found through a kludged kaleidoscope of memories and interpretations. I saw, at the end, the person I always knew.

Friend

My friend and colleague Janice and I were not related, though our parallel Bronx Irish Catholic upbringings and shared values could argue that we were a part of a much larger family. Janice was smart, funny, bossy, and overly loyal to her co-workers. She was also one of the most tenacious people I have ever known, made so by the battles she fought in her unfairly short lifetime. A young widow raising three daughters, a breast cancer survivor left with lingering physical issues from that battle, Janice was ultimately thrown into an unwinnable war with pancreatic cancer. We often spoke as she underwent treatment and a brutal surgery that tortured her body and spirit. Her sadness and fears were not solely focused on her destiny. She was all about her daughters Denise, Susan, and Megan—her girls.

Janice fought on for what seemed like forever, moving from Connecticut to Boston to be with her family. On a cold and grey day, Denise, whose home became the gathering place, let me know the time was near. I drove north through an endless traffic jam and reflected on our unlikely friendship. Denise and her sisters welcomed me, and I joined them and other family members who had come together, as families do, to comfort and support each other in the fading hours. I was able to spend a very few minutes with Janice. We sped through ” I’m so sorry” and “I love you, my friend” and got to Janice’s core—her girls. She was worried for them but also sure that they would be fine after she was gone. She raised them with her spirit and courage and left them with us all after her eyes closed and her pain dissolved into the universe.

At her funeral Mass, I had the opportunity to give a short remembrance. I practiced my piece so I wouldn’t stumble too badly. I did okay until the end, when I looked up and saw her family, her girls, and choked up on my final line, “I will miss my friend.”

Unwritten Endings

In the years since these passings, I have experienced the loss of other friends, some gone quickly, others after great, almost heroic battles against an unbeatable foe. I found myself confused about my responses, often profoundly emotional for friends not seen in years. We shared a time when we couldn’t contemplate any of us dying, wandering through our lives intact until we were not so young. And then they were gone.

At the wakes, the funerals, the memorials, and the reunions, we squint to find traces of our missing friends and families in the faces and voices of the children they begat. Will they need someone to tell them how we lived? Or will they know us by how we passed?

In his last moment, surrounded by the horrors of war, the destruction of his tribe, and the end of the Samurai, Katsumoto attained the peaceful beauty of perfect cherry blossoms. Birth, death, beauty, and violence. He died as he lived.

Photographs and Memory

20 Wednesday Jul 2022

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Art and Artists, Living Our Values, Music and Art, Photography and Memory, Treasured Finds

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Cambria, Debbie Gracy, Maureen Calderwood Wiltsee, Memory, Morrison Gallery, Nigel Paul

For a person with minimal photography skills, I take a lot of pictures. Most will fall into the “so what?” category, filled with poorly framed generic shots of trees, clouds, people, the occasional animal, and shorelines that could be anywhere along the Central Coast of California. They will have little meaning to anyone other than myself. But still I snap away, not for any great artistic reason, nor as gathered testimony to a historical event of a searing moment. I do it to trigger my memory, tomorrow, next year, or whenever. I recently came across a series of pictures I took a few weeks before my wife and I began our transition from east coast to west.

Day Tripping

Over the years, we made day trips up the road to the Kent Falls area, a short drive from home. The Morrison Gallery was a favorite place to spend an hour or two, wandering the spacious, serene, and thoughtful spaces that homed fine art, contemporary painting, and sculpture. On this particular visit The Gallery featured playfully sculptured ravens hanging out on different pieces of discarded items, including old cans. For some reason, these pieces resonated with us. As we moved about the space, other, much larger sculptures, including life-sized pair of mountain lions and, outside in the garden, massive elephants drew us in . Many of the pieces, by artist Peter Woytuk, had been part of an installation around Manhattan.

I snapped away with my trusty cell, not holding out much hope that I would capture anything worthy of wall space in this, or any, art gallery. I remember the day, the feel of the wood floor under my feet, the room’s scent, and the colors and shapes of the art. I can retrace the route around the main hall, the small alcoves and rooms off to the side, and the never-failing streams of natural light shining in service of the artist’s vision. And I remember turning to speak with my wife and stopping, stilled by her beauty, equal to any display. She paid me no mind, her focus instead on the literature accompanying the exhibit.

Art and Craft

As weak as I am with a camera, I am equally good at being captured by the work of three artists who possess the eye, the soul, and the skills that force my heart to open and transport me to a place I may have never been, but through the grace of the artist, can easily imagine. I may not have stood where they stood or followed whatever spiritual beam led them to the perfect picture, but their art moves me personally.

I have sought and received permission to share a few examples of their work, and note the images here belong to them. As with all creatives, what appears in final form begins much differently. Art meets craft, imagination meets technique, and time, time, time is spent making what we get to see. Please enjoy the art, and respect the artists.

Nigel Paul

Nigel Paul represents a natural blend of Art and Craft. Nigel has an impressive history as a concert audio engineer, working with a roster of top-tier progressive rock musicians who compose and perform complex technical pieces, with virtuosos filling each position within the group. The audio engineer’s job is to translate the complexities into a clear output that delivers the breadth and depth of the artist’s composition and performance. Doing it well requires incredible technical skill, next-level focus, and a creative, musical mind that translates it all into the performance the audience hears.

Nigel’s photography reflects all of those characteristics. The detail he captures in his wildlife pictures is stunning. The feathered breast of the burrowing owl, the life in the eyes of the weasel, the complete intensity in the bobcat’s posture and glare – they are life. Imagine the time and patience it takes to find the spots where these animals live, then the stealth and skill needed to stop, wait, and carefully bring the camera to bear on creatures that are not likely to stand still for too long.

When I look at his collection, currently featured as part of San Luis Obispo County’s Cambria Public Library, I see the beauty and mystery of life in this part of California. His backgrounds and colors are reflective of the environment. I can smell the sage, hear the rustle of the dried grass, and in the distance, the faint roll of waves rushing around the shore.

In addition to his wildlife photos, Nigel is passionate about classic and unusual automobiles, as seen in the picture below. Please visit Nigel Paul Photography and enjoy his galleries.

Debbie Gracy

When I need a New England fix, I look to Debbie Gracy’s photographs to fill my heart with beautiful, classic, and unique images. From her home base in Hollis, New Hampshire, Debbie sets out across the northeast’s back roads and byways, capturing uniquely American landscapes that bring me back home.

I have been blessed to know Debbie and her amazing family for twenty years and have been an eager observer of her development as an artist. I proudly feature four of her pieces in my home, including a pair of winter scenes, heavy wooden gates half buried in snow, either opened or closed. They are the first images I see as I enter the front door. Down a short flight of stairs hang two more of her photographs; happy sunflowers against a brilliant blue sky.

Through her images, I feel the chill of Autumn and the scents of Spring. The grass, the trees, and the vast skies look, feel and smell completely different from California. Debbie seems to stand a step or two aside, giving her captures a barely-noticeable offset perspective. Her work radiates wonder, happiness, curiosity, and always beauty. Which also describes Debbie’s artistic soul.

Treat yourself to the vast landscape of Debbie’s photographs at the Debbie Gracy Collection

Maureen Calderwood Wiltsee

I have known Maureen since I was zero. My sister has a passion for photography, building a cache of images that feature brilliant seascapes and coastal hideaways from her beloved vacation retreat on Cape Cod. I love the way she captures the light that blankets the scenes below. Always a line of color and a sense of connection to the sea.

Maureen has been a fixture among the community of photographers and visual artists that live in the Northern New Jersey/New York corridor, displaying and winning awards for her striking images. Every year, brothers and sisters would drive to a small New Jersey town to see her work standing tall amidst an impressive gallery of visual artists.

“The Peacock” featured below hangs in my home, cased in a classic white frame that keeps the focus on the subject. It causes people to stop and wonder at the depth and detail captured by the lens, an extension of the eye and artist heart of the photographer.

Thank you to Nigel, Debbie, and Maureen for allowing me to feature your beautiful pictures. And thanks to all the others who capture moments and memories, whether by luck, determination, or good fortune. The world is a beautiful place indeed.

Thoughts From The Back Of The Room

~ Words Matter

Category Archives: Living Our Values

Marian’s Key

Old Man

Because You Never Know