Category: life

Necessary distractions

sumacandmilkweedLeave a comment

I don’t want to say anything today for fear of the sadness.

Can I just live in a world where I think people want to live just like me, seeing only the good and the beauty around them, loving others for their differences or at the very least assuming a “live and let live” attitude?

I can’t wrap my brain around the events in Florida last night–I don’t want to spend a moment trying to understand that kind of hate. I hope, in not giving any more of a voice to it in this post, that I will read this later and wonder what I was writing about, if only for a moment. I am neither trying to make light nor be too heavy, I’m just too sensitive sometimes for this world. And so the proverbial blanket goes over my head for protection.

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And then I drive or walk or ride my bike in search of things to shoot. Actually, I don’t think that’s a word I even want to use anymore. Capture? Or does that sound equally jarring? How about just photograph? That’s a mouthful sometimes, though. I’ll work on a better word choice, I guess. Anyway I often find myself on this particular road because of this tree. Er, former tree. I think it was struck by lightning some years ago. It sits at the edge of what last year was a corn field, and there are often crows, wrens, other birds hanging around it, maybe nesting in it. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to this tree, but I am, and I probably have hundreds of photos of it from all seasons but the deepest winter. The sky behind it today made it even more compelling.

Across the road from the tree is a grain field. I’m seeing more grains planted around here in the last several years, and some fields that used to be fruit trees or corn are converting to grain. I’m not sure if this is wheat or rye or some other grain, but I liked how it’s still young and thin–you can still see the grooves in the earth through the stalks.

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I’ll admit I photograph many of the same things over and over, and I don’t even mind that because they never look the same depending on the season, the sky, the clouds–but I’m always looking for something different, something I haven’t seen before, something I might have missed.

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Like a former school, now used for storage, and its forgotten basketball courts. I have a soft spot for the abandoned and unloved. Probably all part of that whole sensitivity thing.

Tomorrow morning I’ll send several rolls of film out for developing. For someone who isn’t great at waiting, I’ve probably made a lousy choice in this burgeoning interest in film photography. It’s all about waiting and the element of surprise, neither of which I’m particularly good at. (I say I like surprise, but that’s just me convincing myself mostly.) Or maybe it means learning how to develop my own film is in my future? Oof. Another thing.

 

Quiet reflection

sumacandmilkweedLeave a comment

When I get too busy, I lay low, kind of disappear, shut down a bit, buckle down, get the thing done that I need to get done. I’m a yes-girl. I never want to let anyone down, so I say yes too often. I’m not trying to complain about this–it’s my nature and I’m okay with it. But sometimes I need to realize my limits, say no once in a while, and focus on my self, my needs, my stuff.

I had to slow down a bit this past week when my dog, who turns 11 this month, spent the day at the vet getting a major tune up. She was put under and her teeth were cleaned, with eight removed (she has plenty left). She also had three masses removed. I didn’t have these masses sent to the lab for many reasons, one being the extra cost and another being that I won’t put her through treatment if they are cancer.

I got her home late that night and, although they explained how she would behave coming out of the anesthesia (the vets and everyone at the clinic were wonderful), I wasn’t emotionally prepared for it. I spent a rough night on the couch as close as I could get to her, with her vocalizing and seeming completely out of it, and me constantly worried and checking that she was breathing every moment she was quiet. By early morning, though, it was apparent that she was going to be just fine.

Of course I have spoiled her all week and I am ever so grateful that I work from home and could keep a close eye on her. Each day has been better than the one before it. Today she played, and maybe even ran around too much for someone with stitches in three places, one of these being the thin skin of her belly. I’ve opened cans of the most foul-smelling things, fed her freeze-dried raw meats and organs and bone meal (and I’m a vegetarian). Love doesn’t even come close to what I feel for this being, and my gratefulness for her well-being feels a bit overwhelming.

In the relative quiet of this still-busy week, though, I feel a little bit of a reconnection with myself, with what’s important, with where I’m going. Maybe a little more no. Maybe a little more time with my dog and the people that are important to me, a little less time behind my computer. I’ll try, anyway.

MooniePie
lounging, day before surgery

Home is where the lake is

sumacandmilkweed2 Comments

When I was younger, I thought that by the time I arrived at the age I am now I would have it all figured out. I’d know exactly who I was. I wouldn’t stand in the toothpaste aisle and wonder what the hell toothpaste to buy. I’d not look in the mirror or at my body and question what time has taken from (or added to) me. I’d know what to eat, not fuss about where to go, what to do–I’d make decisions easily, in other words.

But it’s not like that. I still get completely stymied by the simplest things, I still don’t know exactly who I am. But mostly I have a better idea. And the surprise is that it’s kind of freeing to accept that, yeah, even at this age, I’m still developing. I’m glad I’m not fully formed–it means I still have things to discover and learn and try.

One thing I do know with all my heart and soul and very fiber of my being is that I need to be near Lake Michigan. Growing up with my summers there embedded that lake into my makeup, the sand into my skin, the dunes and grasses and colors and wind into my essence. I’m sure I’d survive if I left it, but I don’t want to. I want to get old on Lake Michigan’s shoreline. I want to die with sand in my hair and between my toes.

St. Joe beach
sculpture on the beach
from the top of the pier next to the lighthouse pier
from the top of the pier, lighthouse pier to the north (still under construction)

I was in St. Joseph for just a night and day this weekend and at least got to stick my hands into Lake Michigan’s water. I considered taking my shoes off and walking in, but opted for easy and dove both hands in, dragged my fingers through the sand and tried not to let my camera bag or my coat get wet. It was sunny and beautiful and windy and plenty of people were out on the beach and the pier.

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November–barefoot and hooping on a really warm day

I was barefoot on the shores not long ago, in both October and November, a lucky warm fall.

But it always feels like a homecoming, feeling that water–no matter the temperature or unseasonable time of year. It’ll hold me until the spring when I can walk the beach at the cottage further north of St. Joseph.