My life in a nutshell. The clock has been in the McInnis clan for generations; I am of that history. In front of it is a book that I wrote several years ago, Discovering Mississippi, Discovering Myself. Mississippi is where McInnis roots were planted two centuries ago. On the left, is me. Hard to believe that today’s balding, gray-haired guy started that way, but we all did. I was born at an early age and so were you. The image on the right is the last image that I have of my dad. My first-born and I were spending time with him, before he went into the hospital for bypass surgery. He never left the hospital. He was 69.

Photography has been part of my life since Santa Claus brought a Kodak Fiesta camera to me in 1962. Going through a stash of old negatives the other day, I found these of images taken 12 years and three days after that fortuitous gift. I was intrigued by the top image in the left glassine: dramatically lit tree branches. That subject appears many times in negatives, slides and digital images over the years. It is oddly comforting that things that inspired me more than five decades ago still inspire me to create images. Photography will forever be part of how I see and respond to life and all that is around me.

As of this day, I figure that I have lived through about 25,400 sunrises and sunsets, but I have not seen, truly seen, enough of them. In a recent photography group discussion, I shared that what is important is not what you see but how you see it. Sunrises, sunsets, starry nights, flowers, rain, lightning, faces of loved ones, faces of strangers, colors, tones, movement and moments…and how we see things is determined by our experiences. Life gives us perspective and perspective influences how we see. That applies to more than photography and to life itself. And so it is that I see this sunset and the path leading to it to be metaphorical (hey, my photography website is not PoetVision.com for nothing!) of this stage in life. And it is beautiful. My first photography book is The Seeing, Not the Taking: A Guide to Seeing for Photographers, but the themes apply to life, too, and I have delivered presentations as such. I have been blessed with a great life and I look forward to many more years, God willing. Whatever comes, how I look at the changes will affect how I see them. I intend to keep moving down the path with all senses open.

For the past 32 years, I have worked on the concept of a book that shares stories of my growing-up years. I lived in the same house until I married at the age of almost 23 and the stories take me to that point. I’ve been blessed with great memories of a wonderful life. My spreadsheet has about 750 memories listed and the sticky notes add at least another 50. My pencil stays ever-ready near the pad so I can add to the list. This year would a great one to get the structure clear in my head so I can finally tackle the book to completion, unlike the previous multiple starts. There is so much I want to share…but where does one start when life is so beautifully abundant?

The ice storm that wasn’t, at least where I was. Meteorologists had warned of horrific conditions and for many locations, they were right. For here, not so much. Conditions were definitely cold, but the predicted ice and freezing rain was not to be. I’ve learned that life is that way. Many of the storms we expect, worry about and fret over never appear. But being prepared is a good thing because the unexpected storms are then easier to cope with. Faith, optimism, hope, resilience and a dash of practical realism go a long way in being able to respond to the storms of life, whether predicted or surprises. I have been through storms and I know many more are coming, possibly of different types, like health issues, loss of people close to me and others of the type that come with age. There is no use trying to constantly forecast the future and it is folly to believe life will ever be completely trouble free.

The other day, I wrote a post about my love of albums…LPs, that is. Thinking that through gave me much to consider and the role of music throughout the years. A friend of mine read the post and commented that record albums are time capsules. Indeed they are, and they hold some of the most memorable moments and phases of life. It is more than the music. Being able to hold the album, clean its surface, view the art and liner photographs…the tangible nature that doesn’t exist with the streaming music of today. I admit that sometimes I will hold an album to look at it, reminisce and let the memories flow over and through me. It never makes it to the turntable. I remember the first album my mom bought for me (Christmas songs), the first that I bought (Abbey Road), the first non-kid album that I was given (from my sister in-law for Christmas: CCR Cosmos Factory and EL&P Pictures at an Exhibition). In those records are experiences, friendships, love stories, teen angst and all the other components of growing up. Now, as I grow old, they are ever-ready friends. We’ve gone through a lot, these records and I, and we will be together until I am gone.

I am a sentimental old fool. Truth be told, I was sentimental long before “old” ever appeared on my life’s radar screen. That characteristic influences a lot of my decisions, including purchases. The cigars in this photo are reasonably priced and that helped me choose them for my occasional opportunities to light one up. I first selected this brand because…well, they’re Prize Fighters. My dad was a professional boxer in Texas when it first became legal in 1932. He was the tenth person to have a license. He was good, too, having defeated a Golden Gloves champion. When I saw this brand, I had to try them out. And I like them. It was the brand, not any reviews, that made them my go-to cigar. The camera that I created the image with is Sony brand. That, too, owes its roots to sentimentality. When I first got into digital photography in 2002, I purchased a Konica because I started my life as a freelance photographer in 1975 using a Konica T-3 camera. After I purchased the digital camera, Konica was purchased by Minolta, so my next digital camera was a Minolta. That brand then was purchased by Sony, so my next three digital cameras, including the one I gave myself for Christmas this year, have been Sony brand. A lot of decisions that I’ve made over the decades were heavily influenced by sentiment…and I know the pattern will hold for years to come.

I was about 19 when I was trying decide where I wanted to be in my working life: behind a camera’s viewfinder or under the hood of a vehicle. These old, basic, bare-bones tools (tach/dwell meter and timing light) were enough to let me spend wonderful times with my Ghia and Subaru GL, and then other vehicles as I got older. I think that I made the right choice in choosing photography over mechanical work, but it was good to enjoy such things so much as to consider spending a life doing them. What was true at 19 is true at this age — I continue to do things that I love to do, and explore new ones. While technology has changed vehicles and cameras, I can still utilize the latter but the former has left me behind. No more shade tree mechanic time for me. The closest to shade trees that I get now are vegetable plants in my garden and the forest on my little slice of heaven, my place away from places. Things change in life, but pursuing the things you love and exploring new ones should be a constant, no matter what decade you’re in.

Fishing has been part of my life since before I was born. I feel sure that Mom and Dad fished together while I was in the womb. The reels in the foreground represent decades of fishing, including some of my reels and one of dad’s. Outside the view of the image are more reels, the oldest of which is likely at least 90 years old. Some of my best times growing up were when fishing with Dad. I loved fishing with my three sons, too, and everyone who knew me was aware of that fact. When I left a university in 1997, one of my team members, Robbie, gave me this figurine as a going away present. She and her husband had bought it for her dad after they learned their new baby was going to be a grandson that he could take fishing like he had taken Robbie when she was a kid. The piece was to be a gift for the soon-to-be granddad to celebrate good times to be had in the future, granddad and grandson fishing together. Robbie’s father died before the grandson was old enough to go fishing with him. She felt that I could best live out the legacy that she and her husband had in mind. I think she would feel good that I did my best. One of the chapters in my book, Daddin‘: The Verb of Being a Dad, is titled Fishin’. My boys have a special gift planned for my 70th…an offshore fishing trip.

Weeks and, hopefully, months from now, these seedlings will provide me with tomatoes and cucumbers. They will be joined in the garden by potatoes, onions and more. I’ve had a garden of some sort for most of my adult life. My preference is for vegetables, the logic being that for all the work that is involved, I want something good to eat in return. One of my recent posts reveals the new exception to that rule. My first gardening experience was when I was about 9 and the zinnia seeds I planted on the side of the house took off. I have never had zinnias grow that big ever since. I even tried selling seeds door-to-door as a kid and that is when I discovered that I was no salesman. I remember dad — of farmer stock himself — tending compost piles in our backyard, but I don’t recall him with gardens, per se. As much as I have romantic notions of tending an acre or more, the reality is that I have about 75 square feet dedicated to my version of farming. Two of my sons keep gardens, too, so the McInnis roots continue to follow their farming legacy in some ways, and I’m proud of that.

I recently went through several boxes in the attic, looking for books that my middle son had when he was young and that his kids may be interested in reading, particularly his daughter who loves to read. Among those that were on his shelf when he moved in with me after high school (more than 20 years ago) was this book that had been mine. I also found a book about the seashore that my niece gave to my sister in 1961, and she gave it to me, and I gave to my oldest son who then passed it to his younger brother. It took awhile for me to get the hang of reading when I was a kid. I always liked the pictures, though. This book about microscopes reminds me that I have always been intrigued by science, but never to the extent to study it deeply. Of the hundreds of books on my shelves and in storage, few are fiction; of my writing that has been published, only one piece was fiction. I recall a conversation with a colleague at a university about 25 years ago. Among my books on my office shelf was my high school physics book. He said that I might have been the only non-engineer in the engineering college who had a physics book on the shelf. You can tell a lot by a person by looking on their bookshelves, or in their attics. I like what I have (re)found.

I glanced at the writing table that my son and his wife gave me years ago, noting the cameras and the book I wrote 16 years ago and thought, “Well, that pretty much covers my life.” And so it does. A photographer since six, a writer since 12 and, as the book details, the son of a father and father to three sons. The book pays tribute to my mother, too, so there it is…my life in an image. Of course, I said that about the first image in this series, too.

I have always enjoyed being outdoors, whether fishing, exploring, hiking or working (laboring, to be more accurate). I first started looking for property of my own shortly after I graduated from high school while I was working at Handy Andy grocery store. I wanted a place where I could fish for bass like my dad and I did; I wanted space where I could roam around like I did with my friends along Buffalo Bayou and Rummel Creek in Houston when I was a kid; I wanted to listen to sounds and pick up scents like I imagined Thoreau did at Walden. About 40 years after I first looked at land, I purchased what I call my “Walden, my place away from places.” I had entertained having a cabin and maybe living “off the grid,” similar to the conditions of my forebears in Mississippi and San Antonio. To say that I was naive would be gross understatement so early plans have changed. I have a place and a pond, and a lot of labor put into it, every moment of which I have enjoyed. The other day, my middle son took his two kids and dog to Walden. His daughter named the pond “Puppy Lake” because their dog could not stay out of the water. That dog has passed away, but their new dog loved the water the same. Fortunately, game cameras captured a few moments that two generations of McInnises and their dog enjoyed the outdoors. They explored, fished and ran around, feeding an innate love being outdoors, enjoying nature. The tradition continues.

My wife was gone for eight days, paying a visit with her kids and grandkids in Ohio. Awaiting her at home was a vase of a dozen roses on the kitchen island. She beamed, not because it was a surprise, but because of the consistency. Whenever she is gone for a few days, a dozen roses will welcome her home. She never tires of receiving them and I never tire of having the roses as the “Welcome Home” committee. What does that have to do with turning 70? As a kid, I saw thoughtfullness in many ways, on “special” days and regular days, from my mom and my dad. Every Valentine’s Day that I can remember as a child, dad came home from work with heart-shaped boxes of candy for mom, my sister and me. There is a family story of him coming home with a child’s rocking chair for my other sister who was dying from leukemia more than a decade before I was born. The story is more complicated than that, and it only reveals how thoughtfullness rises above other personal battles. My mom showed kindness and acted thoughtfully in ways large and small. I watch my sons and how they interact with their friends and loved ones, and I see thoughtful acts and kind words. Not all the time, but often. And I see their kids doing the same. I feel good about that.

I have many fond memories related to rain and a recent storm rekindled them. I watched the bands of rain sweep across the street and it took me back to running in the rain as a kid and as a parent to kids. Memories of racing bikes through puddles on the street by the curb in the zone we called “gutters” brought light to my mind’s directory of names: Mark, Jeb, David, Chip, Brian and others. We would pedal hard and fast, getting ourselves and anyone nearby soaked. With long-standing puddles, the concrete would get slippery and locking up coaster brakes would make for exciting stunts. As I got older, walks in the rain served to refresh or cleanse away melancholy. I’ve written many a poem to the sound of rain outside my window. Any time I watch the rain, view lightning or listen to thunder, I am reminded of many great times throughout my life where rain played an important part.

A bit of early morning light gets caught in the corner and it catches my eye. I think that a lot can be learned by viewing the things that people create. I’m a simple guy with simple wants. “Low maintenance” is how I describe myself. In my writings of all types and my photography, I am drawn to simple compositions that lack flourish. Thoreau famously said, “Simplify, simplify, simplify…” and I think that pertains to how we see the world and not just how we behave in it…for me it works. I can work with complexities, but it is not my favored space. Ever since my youth, I have preferred the less complicated in activities, work, friendships…life. Even my early photographic work, which began when I was 6, was drawn to simple compositions. Similarly, in my writiings of various types and poetry. My Daddin‘ book was almost 100,000 words. While the length was way out of my comfort zone, the topic suits me comfortably. Maybe I should write a song and title it “Simple Man.” Do you think it would catch on? 🙂

This past week included what would have been my dad’s 113th birthday. He was barely 69 when he died. His tombstone reads “He has left us a most noble pattern.” So true; not perfect, but noble and a pattern that I have tried to follow in many ways. Next to him is my sister’s grave; she died when she was five, from leukemia, several years before I was born. Next to her is mom, “A tender mother and a faithful friend.”

This photo was not taken this past week, as per the process of this project. It was created in early 2004. I spent time with mom and dad in a difficult time in life.

As I sat on the ground with them, I recalled a poem that I wrote for them in 1974. The opening stanza reads, “There are two stones / Simple rocks of granite / Who have held me up / And kept me at it.” To this day, I count on them and their love.

During this visit, I wrote in my journal this poem: To mom and dad / Here buried / With the daughter in between / I love you both / And miss you / And need you as you see.

I’m doing well / With my calling / Life is a little bit confusing / I will persevere / And love, as well / Your words I wouldn’t be refusing.

I lean against / Your tombstones now / Staying close like we once were / Waves of tears / Flood my vision / As I write to you undisturbed.

My life is hard / Loves were more so / Thank you for your gifts and love / I’ll make it strong and proud / Keep watching me from above.

Happy birthday, dad. I love you.

I always thought that I would be writer and photographer as vocation and avocation. Then life happened and I got a job that paid well enough to dig out of a hole I made and enabled me to take care of my growing family. I joined the University of Houston Cullen College of Engineering as a publications coordinator. My boss, the dean, the late Dr. Roger Eichhorn, loved to tell people that he gave me my first real job. Within less than a year, we created the Office of Engineering External Relations which took me off my plan of staying in the job for three years so that I could return to being a writer/photographer. I ended up in higher ed for 27 years, serving at four universities. The salad days of my university years were definitely the seven working for Roger. During that time, I had the privilege of being the staff liaison to alumni who wanted to start a crawfish boil to benefit the college. It was originally held the Sunday before the massive Offshore Technology Conference. Long story, but I attended the 35th edition of that event this past Sunday. I can never get those years back, but the memories serve me well, even though one of alumni originals reminded me that I had mis-remembered some of the facts. Alas. This container with the remains of consumed mud bugs brings a smile to my face, and belly. The event has changed a lot since the “old days,” but haven’t we all. I will always love and appreciate Roger and the many alumni with whom I had the pleasure of working with to create this event, a golf tournament, an engineering network of alumni and much more. As the song goes, Thanks for the Memories.

The Winston Churchill quote cited on the whiteboard of the fire station classroom hit close to home: “What a travesty if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which would be their finest hour.” The classroom was the location for TEXSAR’s Wilderness Search and Rescue class. It is a requirement for every volunteer before they are able to deploy and for every staff member, I being the latter. I am even more impressed by the qualifications and skills that these professionally trained volunteers bring to their service to others. I am blessed to still have the health and conditioning to go through the training, but perhaps the greatest lesson — one which is never too late to learn — is that we never know at what moment in life we will be called upon for some action, judgement, response that requires us to be prepared. Maybe it is an emergency, maybe not. In all of life, we should grow in skills, knowledge and wisdom, all of which may be needed without warning for the good of ourselves, loved ones or total strangers.

Weighing in at a pound and one-half, we have in this corner…. I imagine this little eight-week old pup will be the mistress of the house within a day or two. I’ve seen oldsters with little dogs and always wondered about that, and now my wife and I are of that crowd. Looking forward, this little lightweight will provide great company in a small package that will be important as we go through inevitable changes. As pup becomes more capable, we will becoming less so; as she gains strength, we will be losing ours. Though we are headed in different directions, the three of us will be good company for each other in good times and in bad. Here’s to many years of loving companionship.

My mom and dad received this card 70 years ago because I arrived. My 70th birthday was this past week. I made it this far and am looking forward to the future with the hope, optimism and natural trepidation like mom and dad felt when I showed up on scene. I was premature and mom had to feed me with an eye dropper. Less than ten years before my birth, they lost their 5-year old daughter to leukemia. Life was scary and uncertain then, and remains so now and forever for everyone. This card reminds me of how important joy and hope are as key elements of life and living. I hope to maintain the spirit of this card in the years or decades that remain, celebrating moments, both subtle and sublime; maintaining enthusiasm; and congratulating others for their important moments. I am sure that my parents’ friends recognized their hopes and fears when this little guy was born. I hope to be as good of a friend to others in their challenging times as my parents’ friends were to them. Each morning, I hope to think, “Congratulations on this day’s arrival!”