Below this photo Katherine writes, "Summertime, you're mine"

WHEN I FOUND KATHERINE SQUIER’S photostream on flickr (thanks to boooooom! who featured her work on their homepage), I spent hours clicking through the nine or so pages of eerily beautiful photos. And even when I was too sleepy to prop myself up in front of my computer, I felt so reluctant to leave her world and go to sleep.

"3 am, late night out."

Her photos, which range from portraits of friends to grainy shots of unmade beds and rooms empty save shafts of sparkling sunlight, resound with intimacy.

Of her work Katherine says, “Women are one of my greatest inspirations in photography, and in life.  Despite the certain delicacy of the female sex, the resiliency and strength they display through life’s hardships is awe-inspiring.”

Certainly that duality permeates her photos. While viewing her work I was struck with the solitude–a near loneliness that was captured within these moments of suspension, particularly among her female subjects. Yet, there is an element of coming-of-age within her narrative that touches on playfulness.

Katherine with her twin sister, Jill.

When I asked Katherine to complete the sentence “You know you’re a sister when…” She replied, “You know you’re a sister when you can find relief and understanding in [your sister's] company.”

Katherine (who has a twin sister) weaves this story of sisterhood well into her images with flawless talent. Bravo.

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visit Katherine’s blog here.

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LAST WEEK I INVITED MY DEAR brother over for dinner so that we could cook and then eat vegetable fritters together. They happen to be one of our favorite foods that we grew up eating (which I previously mentioned in contrast to the kinds of things my mother grew up eating, namely tripe) and I thought it would a nice way to take some sweet brother-sister bonding photos for the blog to post alongside a recipe. But, apparently I thought “nice” way too soon.

Without making T sound like a madman chauvinist or me sound like a person with a severe anger-management problem, I will simply state that things did not go as planned. No sooner had the first balls of batter been plopped in the sizzling oil than a brutal argument broke out. Doors were slammed; words were thrown.

So when you wonder why the fritter photo series is not complete, just know that I slammed down the spatula and said “you make the fucking fritters!” before any had been finished.

I guess this post is far more authentic than the one I had originally in mind (we actually don’t ever cook together—T just likes to show up at our house when food is being served). But I’m providing the recipe anyway; perhaps you’ll have better luck with it than we did. And if you do, please let us know.

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Salem Family Veggie Fritters
For about 20 fritters you will need:

about 3 cups steamed broccoli (about 1 large bunch) chopped finely or mashed
2 cups cooked rice (or substitute another grain)
½ cup of chopped fresh parsley
1 medium-size onion
2 minced cloves of garlic (optional, my mother hates garlic)
salt and pepper to taste
a dash of soy sauce
2 large eggs
several handfuls of cornmeal
about ¼ cup olive oil

In a cast-iron skillet heat about a ¼-inch coating of olive oil on medium. In a large wooden bowl mix together the chopped broccoli, rice, onion, garlic and parsley. Add salt and pepper to taste. Make a small “nest” or indentation in the center of the batter for the eggs. Beat the mixture with a fork, starting in the center with the eggs and gradually incorporating the rest of the batter.

Coat hands with cornmeal, keeping some extra cornmeal handy in a smaller, separate bowl. Using your hands, scoop out balls of batter (smaller portions will cook faster) and drop them into the hot pan. Use a spatula to flatten the balls into “patties” in the pan. Cook on both sides for about 4 minutes, flipping the patties when crispy and brown. As the fritters come out of the pan, let them cool in a bowl lined with a paper towel. Serve warm or cold.

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I RECENTLY CAME ACROSS a slideshow on youtube of artist Grete Stern’s work in photomontage depictions of women’s dreams, and I was quite moved.

Originally from Germany, Stern fled to Argentina in 1935. Twelve years later, she found herself working for an Argentinian magazine called El psicoanálisis le ayudara (Psychoanalysis will help you). The magazine focused on analyzing contributed dreams of female readers, and Grete began to illustrate these dreams in photomontages under the direction of the magazine’s editor, Gino Germani. The images, which are strangely relatable, planted a seed in my head regarding the question of our dreams (and our subconscious all together) and our innate connections to each other as women and human beings, stirred (and sometimes tortured) by our consciousness. Here are some of my favorite images from Grete’s series of over 150 photomontages:

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See the slideshow of her work on youtube here.

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I RECENTLY WROTE a post about siblings who match (you can catch up on it here), inspired by the mysterious photos of sisters Noreene and Maurine that thousands of people pored over on our homepage. Writing about that topic was too much fun to let go, so I’m featuring some of my favorite “We Match” photos in a slide show below. Some are of people I know, and some are of compelling strangers from Flickr.

This, of course, is just the beginning. Send your “We Match” photos (just in time for Easter!) to claimingsisterhood [at] gmail [dot] com.

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Thank you to all the Flickr users who provided the photos:

•    ‘Nieces and Aunt’ from spygrandson
•    ‘Christmas Jammies” from Erin Claassen Photography
•    ‘1947 Swimsuits’ from mcbriartyt
•    ‘Mary Janes’ is from CarlaCarlaCarlaCarla
•    ‘Mom and Daughter’ is from Delta Niner (aka Paul McRae)
•    ‘First Communion’ from  Missis Jones (she’s Barbara)
•    ‘3 Sisters’ from Darshy (her blog, here)
•    ‘Watermelons’ from Leedav
•    ‘Vintage Postcard’ from chicks57
(And there’s lots more in a “We Match” Flickr group)

Becky (who provided the ‘Miss America’ and ‘Ghost Town’ photos) runs a delightful blog about sisters and knitting called ‘Needles of Iron,’ TSP’s Marion has written about her before on the site.

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H ERE ARE SOME tidbits about my experiences with the sisters called nuns:
1.  I used to want to be one.

2.  My mother wouldn’t let me and T watch Sister Act for so long because there is a gun in it. So I had to listen to all my elementary-school friends talk about it for like four years before I watched it. When I finally saw it, I was in awe of Whoopi.

3.  I also thought that an all-girls Catholic school run by nuns was the epitome of cool, especially after seeing The Trouble with Angels (deemed more P-G than Sister Act).

4. Nuns always remind me of Owen Meany (from John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany), who called them “penguins” and threw rocks at their statue of Mary Magdalene.

5. I once sat next to two nuns on an eight-hour train ride from Montelimar, France, to Barcelona. One of them gave me a mint.

In any case, a sisterhood of nuns fascinates me, especially in the habit. So I’ve gathered some of my favorite nun photos below for your viewing pleasure. Are there nuns that you’re particularly fond of? Please do share…

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•    “Aunt Rose’s AC Invacar” from Lawrence Peregrine-Trousers.
•    “Sisters at Home” and “Group Photo” are from Redbricktudor.
•    The image of two nuns bike riding is courtesy of Yanda.
•    “Smoking Nun” from  Mark Berry (he’s here, as well)
•    “Kolkata” from Boris Earth
•    “Scout Truck” from Wisconsin Historical Society
•    Baseball photos are from The Minnesota Historical Society (via Hunter on Flickr)

Thanks to all!

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T, Slickster, Miso Baby, Flava Flave, and T-Money are just a few names he goes by.

I COME FROM A FAMILY that obsessively makes up nicknames. I haven’t seen too much evidence of this tendency in my extended family, but my immediate family is certainly covering all the bases. Perhaps because I am an Anastasia forever called “Anna,” I’m especially fascinated by the intimacy that comes with calling someone by a hand-made name. At this point in my life, even “Anna” seems rather formal to me, since it’s dissolved away to “Ann” for my brother, and to “Annie” for my parents. My dad almost exclusively refers to me as “Punks” these days (a reduction from the original “Pumpkin” that sounded like “Punkin” when he’d say it). And my mother has called me “Miss Twitch” (don’t ask) for as long as I can remember. As for my brother, I have always referred to him as “T,” probably because my tiny mouth couldn’t pronounce “Teva” during the time when we were getting to know each other. Variations came about later–things like “T-Bone” and “T-T.” He’s known by many names to many people:

He’s “Slick” or “Slickster” to our dad.

“Miso Baby” to our mom, or just “My Boy.”

We all call him “King Ruckamuck” from time to time.

“Flava Teva” became “Flava T” among his high school friends, but sometimes it’s just “Flava Flave.”

Other friends call him “T Money,” which later became “T Money Flex A Lot” (that’s also what he likes to use when referring to himself in the third person).

At work he’s always “Teva”–its uniqueness helps him stand out among a sea of other employees.  But while we were growing up his given name was more of a hassle. There were beauty-pageant applications addressed to him in the mail, quizzical looks when he introduced himself, and constant misspellings on the high school sports page of the local paper. These days, he’s really coming into his own and embracing his, “You know, it’s like the sandal, only pronounced ‘TAY-VAH’” bit. Of course to me he’ll always be T.

What kinds of nicknames bounce around in your family? And not just things like “fart-face” and “knuckle-head” (although we have our fair share of those, too). What do you call your siblings that no one else does? Or your sister-friends? I’d love to know…

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Owen the hippo and Mzee the tortoise, sunbathing together.

T HE ORIGINS OF MY passion for inter-species friendships started with my dear friend Kate, who, several years ago, cut out a magazine clipping of the photo to the left and affixed it to our shared-apartment wall. The hippo’s name is Owen; he survived the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami only to find that his family went missing. He was taken to an animal sanctuary at the tender age of 4 months, where he befriended a 130-year-old tortoise named Mzee. They have been inseparable ever since. All accounts reported that such a diverse animal family was never heard of. Oh, but I beg to differ.

This week, Paige shared a video that originally aired on CBS about a dog and an elephant (named Bella and Tarra, respectively) who are some serious sisters despite their difference in stature and physical strength. The two animals are inseparable. There is even a scene in the video where Bella lies on her back and lets Tarra put her enormous hoof (about the size of Bella’s whole body) on her little paw! And just yesterday I heard about some abandoned tiger cubs who have become quite close to a chimpanzee at an animal sanctuary in South Carolina. Inter-species friendships seem to be sprouting up in animal sanctuaries all over the world, with endless photos of unlikely animal pairs gazing into one another’s eyes like they’ve always been meant to be together.

These kinds of stories seem to have a waterworks effect on people. (When I told my mother that I wanted to show her a photo of a chimp bottle-feeding a white tiger cub she burst into tears.) And even Dooce confessed that she shed some tears over the Bella and Tarra story in a blog post a few weeks ago. So clearly, I am not alone in this fascination.

Me and Kate, my sister-by-choice, getting ready for our graduation into the wild.

But perhaps I am so compelled by these stories because sisterless as I am, I’m always searching for someone to fill the empty seat beside me that I have hoped and wished would be for a sister (T is not to be forgotten, he’s in the seat on the other side). The results of this sister-search are muddled, but what I do know is that I’ve found more than one sister-by-choice during my lifetime.

And while I have never found a sister in a different species of animal, these sisters-by-choice are so often quite different from me. I’m thinking in particular of the same friend who introduced me to Owen and Mzee’s friendship, Kate. And when I see an elephant putting a hoof on the paw of a tiny dog, I cannot help but be reminded of how when I give Kate a hug, she disappears into my frame (which happens to be twice the size of hers). We could probably reenact the Tarra/Bella scene with ease, seeing as my size-10.5 clopper would probably look like an elephant hoof on top of her wee size-5 foot.

We found one another at college—a location that has more in common with an animal sanctuary than you might think. And our interests are as different as I would imagine a baby hippo and ancient tortoise’s are (common ground includes: sunbathing, chasing each other, and foraging for food). But somehow, we’ve clicked and now I can’t possibly imagine having a life without her.

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