The sugar maple trees that are changing (us)

There are some sugar maples not far from my kids' school that are changing. They're changing form and color and they are changing the little community in which we live.

I see our friends post on instagram how grateful they are to have these giving trees in which their kids can play in the leafpiles. They share snapshots of the trees, their tops starting to shed, suddenly looking immodest as if Autumn were the worst kind of closet-raider.

The sugar maple tree in itself has a lovely shape. Strong but elegant, the kind you want to capture in a silhouette and put on a wedding invitation.

I have a colleague who knows plantlife and he was the one told me the trees were the sugar maples. I am not very good with botany or ID-ing arbors. I am not typically observant of details--I am more intuitive, feeling the changing of seasons in my bones first and then with my eyes.  But it seems that everyone has been noticing these gorgeous sugar maples in front of the school. Men, women, children, the trees are the talk of the town.

I took my lunch break to capture these images. I've worked at places where taking a lunch anywhere other than in your cubicle was practically an act of civil disobedience. And if stomping around on school grounds to admire some sugar maples is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

I'm not about to go all The Lorax on you or make reference to #leafporn. I just want to share how this feels. I cannot remember the last time a community (e.g. a neighborhood, a school, a workplace, a family) was abuzz about something marvelous. Usually the trending topic, the Facebook feed is rife with scandal, controversy, shocking statistics. It's rare for our eyes to be collectively pointed to beauty.

I just want to be swept up in the autumnal adoration, especially because I can't remember the last time we were all rallying around the glory of leaves.

[tweet bird="yes"]

I can't remember the last time the word on the street was, "Wow.

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TP's wedding

There's a chapter in Lena Dunham's new book where she talks about her little sister Grace. It's a story about a little sister becoming herself and the big sister not really being ready to accommodate all that.

Dunham writes: “What I really wanted, beyond affection, was to feel that she needed me, that she was helpless without her big sister leading her through the world.”

I could have written it. Big sisters have to protect, filter, make things infinitely harder for little sisters. It's not just our job, it's who we are.

My baby sister got married this month. Before she walked down the aisle, I said, "I"m so happy you found your person. Someone to make you happy and mow the lawn for you."

"Yeah, Mike hires someone to mow the lawn," she laughed. "But I'm glad, too."

TP looked absolutely resplendent. I may have gone before her down the aisle, but on the way out, I stood a few paces behind.

Photo credits: Rentham Photography 

Renee, Bono, and you

So, Renee Zellweger got a new face. Megan Garber already wrote what I wanted to say and did it better. But you know whose face no one seems to be writing about with as much criticism and doubt? Bono. Bono who just told us about his face after 20 years. He copped on the Graham Norton Show to having glaucoma. He finally explained how the signature sunglasses he's been sporting to meet Congressmen in their offices and to woo fans onstage are actually his shields against irritating lights.

So Renee, whom most people would likely recognize on an awards show but might not immediately notice in an elevator, becomes a tabloid bat girl overnight. We can't stop looking and studying and doing a fair compare. The?

But Bono, whom most people would walk into an elevator and pass out from the star encounter, gets to throw shade for 20 years. When he finally feels ready to share, we say, Sure, dude. Glad you're getting the treatment you need. Then we go back to eating our Luna Bars and hearting all of Instagram with its filtered pics.

You might say, yeah, but Renee changed her face permanently. Bono just put on a pair of specs. It's not the same.

Or did she? Or did he?

Why don't we want to believe the stories people tell us about themselves? Why do we believe ourselves an authority on others' lives? Why is there only one acceptable narrative, until the better, truthier one emerges? What if Renee is just really taking better care of herself, getting more rest? Do I believe it? Why does it matter?

I asked my newsreporting students: [tweet bird="yes"]What is the question you get asked that immediately puts you into a box?[/tweet]

Women and men alike responded...

"You're so tall--why don't you play basketball?"

"You have a disability--will you be able to get a job?"

"You're from Nigeria--do you know my cousin from the Congo?"

"You moved here from New York--how has your adjustment been?"

It made me realize: Sometimes we don't like the answers we're given because we aren't asking the right questions, or we aren't waiting for the right time.

Or maybe--maybe the answer isn't ready yet. Maybe it's going to take another 20 years.