Merry Christmas with a Sad, but Beautiful Angel

Angel.jpg Howard sent me a link to a Time Magazine article about this photographer. His name is Alex Kirkbride, and he traveled to each state taking photographs underwater. He’s represented here.

This was taken at Sunset Lake, Linton, Indiana. From the Time Magazine article: “A mysterious stranger erected this statue at the bottom of the lake in 2001. Local lore has it that the angel channels the spirits of two children who drowned there in the 1920s.” It’s so beautiful.

I’m going out to Long Island in a couple of hours, to spend Christmas with my family. Should be nice except for the getting there and back on the Long Island Railroad part, which is always a little depressing. Speaking of depressing, and sad stories, when I was growing up my family belonged to a country club called the Huntington Crescent Club. That sounds more privileged than we were, although clearly we weren’t poor. The entry to the club was a long country road where the trees on either side were made to grow over the top of the road like a canopy. It was an enchanting effect, and I always loved driving into the club because it felt like we were entering a magical land.

For some reason it was decided to close off that entrance and create a new one off a side road off 25A. It’s been decades since then, and there are now buildings and development in front of that old, magical drive. It’s still there, but completely overgrown, and you have to concentrate to see the effect of that tree canopy, which has blended into the rest of the vegetation.

I bring it up because it represents my childhood to me, and whenever we drive by it I strain to see what’s left of it. It makes me sad, but I want to see. It brings back Halloweens, Christmases, parties at the club, walking to school, my mother when she was young, all of us when we were young, the stores of my childhood, the shopkeepers of my childhood, my grandparents, long dead. I try to remember that every day I am living a new memory that will be this bittersweet later, and above all remember to live, live, live, but still. It’s sad. Because I can’t help remembering that every day I have ever lived is gone.

Ha! Not so much with the merry. Sorry!

Stacy Horn

I've written six non-fiction books, the most recent is Damnation Island: Poor, Sick, Mad, and Criminal in 19th-Century New York.

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