Do you know Vivian Maier? She’s quite possibly the most significant American street photographer of the 20th century, documenting early Americana with a modern eye. Her photos are nothing short of remarkable.
She was a nanny in the 1950s and lived alone in her older age. She kept to herself, never showing her photographs to anyone and leaving 100,000 negatives in her apartment when she died. In 2007, a man purchased a box of never-seen, never-developed film negatives of an unknown ‘amateur’ photographer for $380 at his local auction house. And, Vivian Maier became a legend.
Not too long ago, I received a brown envelope in the mail addressed to me in swirly ink. There was a note attached written on snowman paper despite the warm temperatures from Aunt Verne, my grandmother’s sister, my mother’s aunt, a 93-year-old woman who defined glamour in the 1950s and still carries that today.
I was reviewing some of my material from long ago. Two years of expository writing and two years of the survey of English literature at the Johns Hopkins University. I enjoyed those years and I’m sorry I did not continue my attempt at writing. I’m sending you a copy of the poetry I wrote for the English lit course and would appreciate your critique.
I held in my hands a collection of handwritten and typed poetry and prose. There are remnants of correction tape leftover from when Aunt Thelma made a mistake typing for her sister or when Aunt Verne felt inspired to change a word here or there. And, I started to read.
There I was holding my very own Vivian-like treasure but in the form of words from my own great aunt. I didn’t stop reading until every word was complete, giving me a bit of a photograph of Baltimore in the early 1970s and of my aunt’s heart. I called her right away and asked her for more, asked her why she didn’t keep writing, and asked her to start again. She laughed and recalled details about her professor and the evening classes she took as if she was a school girl telling me about last semester. She promised she’d try to write again. And, I promised I’d read every word.
With her express permission, I’m sharing one of my favorites here so that she doesn’t have to wait any longer to be “published.”
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Vacation Dilemma
I
My spouse and I sat down one day
to discuss some pertinent facts.
While ideally happy we both agreed
there’s something this union lacks.
Twenty-five years have past so fast;
we hardly knew they were going.
We both look great in all this time,
our age is scarcely showing.
We’ve done all the things psychiatrists say
all married people should do.
Both have shown love and kindness alike;
both have been tried and true.
II
Let’s take a new look at togetherness.
Let’s take a different view.
What has pleased me may not in the end
have been very pleasing to you.
The summer approached. We both made our plans
to go our separate way.
I chose New York—the opera and art.
He had some golf to play.
Reservations were made. Tickets were bought.
I couldn’t wait to get started.
His bags were packed. His buddies were called.
Now, it was time that we parted.
III
It’s true that the opera and museums of art
were a fantastic and breathtaking sight,
But, there was no one for me to tell all this to
when I returned to my room late at night.
While golfing was great, the greens slick and fast,
the food was just marvelous too,
There were only the guys who had been there all day.
As a partner, they just would not do.
So, the telephone and mail played a big part
in keeping us constantly in touch.
We agreed we had lots to relate to each other.
Was it really and truly that much?
IV
After weeks of this nonsense of separate vacations,
at last, we returned to our home.
Pretending we both had a fabulous time
by spending these two weeks alone.
Vacations are greater when they’re spent together.
We’re through with these different ways.
Call us “middle America”—that’s not so bad.
Who cares how the Jet-Set plays?
You learn a few lessons throughout your short life,
though you suffer the ache and the pain.
We’ve made a great choice—reservations for two;
we’re spending the next month in Spain.
Too sweet! What a special treasure.