I’m in Portland, Oregon for the Stafford Challenge Poetry Conference, and Glenda Funk and I have been out meeting people on the streets, taking notes of what to do while we are here.
Glenda, Ellie, Me
Taking Notes
Glenda and I went people-ing
on the streets of Portland
asking folks
What’s your favorite thing
to do here?
then smiled for quick snapshots
to remember these kind souls
Ellie likes parks ~ waterfalls and Pioneer Square
Josh likes fishing ~ salmon and rivers
Joe likes running and showed us to a garden
Cheriss likes staying home (she attracts dead ancestors)
Arthur yawns ~ he likes sleeping
Higinio likes remembering Venezuela and Miami
Librarian poet Leslie likes reading and eating Ethiopian food
Matt likes adventure ~ camping on Mt. Hood (he has a feral cat named Big O)
It’s America’s birthday year, and like thousands of families across the country during its Bicentennial, my family went to Washington, D.C. in July to visit our local congressman. At that time, we lived on St. Simons Island, Georgia. We loaded up our station wagon with two of our grandparents and went to visit Congressman Ronald Bryan “Bo” Ginn, our 1st Congressional District representative who served from 1973-1983, and who was instrumental in forming the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC) in Brunswick. He was a strong advocate for coastal Georgia, and it was an iconic year to take that trip to our nation’s capital.
There we were, in his office: my dad’s parents Georgia Lee and W.F. Haynes, Sr.; my dad, Felix Haynes (W.F. Haynes, Jr.); my brother Ken, me, Bo Ginn in the striped tie, and my mother, Miriam Haynes. My grandmother had her usual look of hidden amusement as if she’d witnessed something funny the rest of us hadn’t seen and holding her pocketbook like she always did, giving the impression she was always ready to get in the car and go back home. My grandfather was always smiling, too, probably believing that there was a lot to smile about in the world; he was 58 in this photo, and I turn 60 this month – – so perhaps the smile is rooted in the joy of being alive and kicking. Now Dad, I’m not sure why he picked that shirt; he was a Southern Baptist minister, but his collar makes him appear more Catholic, as if he’s about to lead a mass in a Congressional cathedral. My mother and Bo look like they know what’s going on and would be competent to handle any world news situation that might arise at any time. My brother and I, sharing the honors of sitting in the decision chair, look as if we’ve been jumping on the bed in the hotel room and had a few arm wrestling matches on the way to this moment in time; we were ten and five. In the days of film photography, this might have been the best the photographer could do. But I can see the same stance tendencies my grandmother had already forming in me, with those folded arms and gaze set to the left.
There is much to learn about taking photos from this trip, as I look back. Expressions and stance matter, and the photographer should feel free to make a few suggestions to help.
Washington, D.C. – July 1976
Even novice photographers (likely my grandfather, who I know was legally blind in one eye, but still….) can also take an extra moment to be sure things will turn out as intended. Take this photo below, for example. Maybe take a minute and make sure there are no thumbs or unwanted derrieres in the photo, for starters. Even though it’s clear the photographer was attempting to follow the famous rule of thirds in the photo, it might have been thoughtful to crop some of those steps. Likewise, it would have gone a long way to take a moment and yell at my brother. He was on the steps of the Nation’s Capital, for Lord’s sake, and I was the only one – a mere ten year old – trying to make him behave. And I hate mentioning this, but just asking me to put my hand down might have been a good idea that apparently went unsuggested. It brings to mind the sheer reality of how movies like National Lampoon’s Vacation and the things that make us look back and laugh are all sitting right there in all our own family photographs.
Here we are, my brother Ken and I, November 1972. He was turning 1, and I was helping him celebrate at the round oak kitchen table where we shared so many childhood memories. Ken was the non-morning kid who hid behind the cereal box, daring anyone to look at him in the mornings and promptly growling at those who stole a glance. He turned out just great – – I couldn’t ask for a better brother, and we are blessed to be close siblings in adulthood when so many brothers and sisters aren’t. Even though he was the proverbial Grinch of his morning domain as a child, today he is in the top two percent of the most loving and giving adults I know. Kind, smart, and cool under pressure – – a very level-headed person, especially compared to me – – not always kind, not nearly as smart, and certainly not cool under pressure. Level-headed is debatable.
We’ve spent the past year cleaning out our parents’ home of long-held treasures (and some we found in seven storage units that were picked up at estate sales along the way for a retirement plan antique store they never quite got off the ground once Mom got sick). Somehow, I was fortunate enough to end up with our childhood breakfast table, and while not every memory right now with Dad brings warmth because there is a certain amount of anger in all the grief, the table is the ONE piece of furniture I can look at and actually smile and remember nothing but the happy times, including the way my brother grumped to the table in his “footer things,” pajamas with feet, slumped his blanket up in the chair, climbed up and moved “his” cereal box into a shield position like a morning cheerfulness boundary between him and the morning people family he was born into. It was an unspoken rule in our home to look anywhere but in his direction, because he was vigilantly guarding the air space on his side of the table, like a soldier in a trench with a growl gun propped and loaded.
And I think of all the coffee and conversations, decisions, laughter and tears throughout the years.
Sometimes the picture speaks in ways we cannot. I’ve been sifting through tubs and tubs of family photos, digitizing them and organizing them in folders to share with family members who, like me, would rather have them on a flash drive than taking up prime real estate in photo albums in the back of the attic. In some cases, I’m sharing via Facebook Messenger if I find those taken with friends who would enjoy the throwback. On a random weekday morning last week, I sent this one to my childhood friend Nancy so we could both remember the years we created floral arrangements with the help of our mothers as we competed in the annual Garden Club’s Christmas Flower Shows.
My friend Nancy (right) and me at the annual Garden Club’s Christmas Flower Show, early 1970s
I wasn’t expecting this response, and it showed me how the power of the photograph can often reach back through the years and find the places that older generations can remember – – like trying to scratch an itch that you never quite can find, and then suddenly you find the sweet spot of relief. This is Nancy’s reply:
On Chick Fil A Dogs-in-the-Drive-Thru night, we loaded up Boo Radley and Ollie and took them to get a free bandana, while supplies lasted. And supplies lasted long enough for us to get there between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. to snag two.
Boo Radley
Ollie
Well-behaved, loving Schnoodle
Behaviorally challenged Schnoodle with T-Rex tendencies
Instructions for Dogs-In-The-Drive-Thru Night
ask dogs if they “wanna go” and when
they act a fool and can’t contain themselves
put them in the car to go adventuring
be sure to put the windows down for Ollie
so he doesn’t get car sick
let them ride with ears flapping all the way
to Chick Fil A and assure the worker taking the order
that Boo is in fact an aberrant out-of-control schnoodle
and not a small T-Rex left over from the Jurassic era
then order chicken nuggets to share with the heathens for dinner
pull up and get the free bandanas that have now
managed to cost you your entire peaceful evening
along with any sanity you had before embarking on
the “adventure” for the “free” bandana along with half
your nuggets and fries then roll up the windows
and go home, muttering over and over again
we’re never doing this again……
but smile that you got the pictures of the one time
Rev. Dr. Wilson Felix Haynes, Jr., with five of his great grandchildren, grandson and granddaughter in law, and me 2024
It’s been a year. Dad died on Friday the 13th of June, 2025 in the wee hours of the morning, after succumbing to complications from pulmonary fibrosis aggravated by both colon and prostate cancers. He was an avid reader and antiquarian book collector. He never met anything he didn’t want to collect, but he couldn’t live without books. My brother Ken and I hope heaven has a big library since he couldn’t take any of them with him. Dad’s brother Greg, also a collector but who has more of a book salesman approach to managing the accumulation, is helping sell the books and getting them to “all the right targets,” as Dad so famously desired. A book in the right hands is indeed able to change the world.
Dad’s dog, Kona, brought the most comfort in his final years
Heavenly Tanka
today marks one year
that we haven’t had you here
(are there books up there??)
more important: are there dogs?
most important: Mom is there…..
My brother Ken “explains” to Dad’s beloved dog Kona that she was not purposely abandoned; we needed her to see what happened. Dad chose a family from their daily dog park romps to adopt her.
It’s kind of a rite of passage, that childhood pilgrimage to Orlando, Florida to see the castle and the mouse. Somewhere between 1974 when my parents took my brother and me and the late 1990s when I took my own children, the place got crowded – really, too crowded to enjoy. But there is this unspoken rule about taking the kids to Disney World, and so we packed them up and took them, checked the box and came home. The best memories from the 1970s trip were the A-Frame cabins we stayed in, Wilderness style, with one other family. The best memories from the 1990s trip were the night swims in the Wilderness Lodge pool. The memory of the mouse with my own children? Vague, except for the long line to get a picture.
Disney Downer Haiku
Okay, I confess:
Yeah, I’m a Disney downer.
Me?? Resounding meh.
Dad holding Ken, and me in Mickey Shirt, plus our friends, 1974
Mallory, Ansley, and Marshall with the mouse- 1997
Common Threads 