Day 531: Long slow distance/Letter from home

Yesterday, while my son was at his keyboard lesson, I took a walk. The weather was overcast and threatening rain.

I meant to take my umbrella, but — these days — I often forget at least one little thing.

It didn’t matter. I had my iPhone and, therefore, my music with me.

Long Slow Distance, a tune I’ve loved for many decades, started playing.

I saw many things from different perspectives, as I walked away, got lost, and then made my way back to my son, in time.





As I re-approached the place where Aaron’s piano teacher lives and gives lessons, yesterday morning, the word “home” came into my mind.

Perhaps that was because Letter from Home — also beloved by me for many years — was playing.

That song speaks to me of loss. And love.

I miss my father, this Father’s Day.


Thanks to the Dixie Dregs, to Pat Metheny, to Anna Maria Jopek, to families everywhere, and to those who go long, slow distances — away from and toward home.  And thanks to you for your visit here, no matter where you are on your journey.


Categories: inspiration, Nostalgia, personal growth, photojournalism | Tags: , , , , , , , | 34 Comments

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34 thoughts on “Day 531: Long slow distance/Letter from home

  1. yeseventhistoowillpass

    You had a good dad!

  2. You certainly picked one well-manicured neighborhood to wander, slowly, while Aaron attended his piano lesson, Ann. If you truly lost your direction, somebody there would either comb your hair, or draw a little face on you. Interesting.

    Thank you for again sharing your photos of your dad, too. I appreciate the way you cherish that bond.

  3. Eleanor

    Ann, your long slow distance walk went through the neighborhood where I grew up and you even had a partial picture of one of my best friend’s house. Such an appropriate post for me today, a day to honor those Dads who are special in our lives, living and gone.

  4. Gene Phillips

    Your father’s sense of humor is what I remember most about him. The monitor in the bushes was great as was the treehouse that was not quite a treehouse.

  5. Everything looks so green and lush there Ann. I love the old black & whites. So sorry your dad is no longer with you. HUGS to you Ann.
    Diana xo

    • It is green and lush, Diana. I try to get out every day to savor these seasons, while they’re here. Thank you for your beautiful feelings.

  6. You certainly covered some distance during your son’s lesson. It’s beautifully green there.
    While today can be a time of sadness for loss if the wrong record plays, it can also be on for great memories with the right song. Find a special one to play to bring back those wonderful memories which you can share with your son.
    xxx Huge Hugs xxx

  7. Ajaytao2010

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  8. Great photos Ann. Your sense for the details are amazing 🙂

  9. Lovely photos, it looks like a really pretty, comforting area. Is it weird to call a place comforting? It just seemed appropriate. I love listening to music and just strolling… there is some sort of golden connection that can be made, where everything falls into place and works together perfectly.

    • Thanks for the lovely words, Aussa, and for the connection here. It is weird to say I find that comforting?

  10. You live is such a beautiful area…while it may be a little sad for you today, looking around what you have posted, such happiness should be overwhelming at where you are today. Wish you well.

  11. Thanks for taking us along on your walk. Nostalgic pics- loved the one where you, your mom and sis (I assume) are wearing identical tops. Your father lives on in your memories so, I would believe he is with you.

  12. Ada Lee

    Ann. What a touching and lovely tribute. Miss you!
    Love and memory always,
    Your pretty-much lifelong friend

  13. Your beautiful photos almost entice me to go outdoors and explore this thing you call nature. Almost. Missing my dad too; he’s been gone 40 years now and I still miss him.

  14. What nice greenery… Lovely city, Boston…

  15. I love going on walks with you. Summer has really blossomed in Boston, hasn’t it? And yet, it was still chilly when you got out of the hospital. Doesn’t seem that long ago. I’m learning seasons from you.

    I thought of you and your dad on Father’s Day. I was missing my dad, too. It’s clear from the photos that you posted that your father loved and adored you. I really like the way that those memories came at the end of your walk. I love how you are able to walk forward in time and backward in time simultaneously, capture it all in photos and share it with us, the unidirectional-time-travellers.

  16. Pingback: Day 553: Sail on Sailor | The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally

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