Category Archives: life through the lens

a sunny day

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Winter has a way of seeming to oversimplify things. Summer’s confusion of greens and roofs and earths is reduced to a few obvious ciphers – white and blue crisply dividing on sunny days, melting together into gray when the light retreats, leaving black trees to point their stark, accusing fingers heaven ward, waiting for an answer that will surely come. But things are not so simple, and not merely because there is life under the surface, burgeoning even as it seems to sleep. Undisguised by the distractions of leaves or the humming heat, sunlight makes the library’s awning glow like heaven, transmutes the red barked shrubs in the median into a ruby tangle which begs you to get out of the car and reach forward towards its center.  You know there is nothing here to be grasped or even remembered, yet something, something is revealing itself in the eloquence of light which pours out both cold and warm.

Let the Sequins Commence

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It happened this way.  An 80 pound yellow dog came to live with us, and once he had recovered from his depression (oh yes, they can so be depressed), his waggy tail, bony hard as a whip, signaled the end of Christmas trees decorated with ever-so charming, vintage glass ornaments.  As in all things Christmas, I was prepared with a plan B.  (Isn’t it nice that Yellow Dog was often known as Mr. B?  I love a pun.)

My dear sister had, a few years earlier, made an innocuous seeming request that I supply her with “a few of those beaded ornaments we used to have on the tree.  I think Mom might have made them?”  Oh Pammy, you are so very innocent.  A few.  Snort.

I found them, alright, in people’s driveways and basements, in bags at church sales, and received more than a few from indulgent friends who knew that no more expensive gift could, in my eyes, hold a candle to a quarter’s worth of styrofoam and sequins.  Having divied the booty up even steven, as twins are wont to do, I sent Pammy her pile and of course, kept right on accumulating floss covered orbs erupting with sequins and ribbons and beads like some sort of Christmas acne.  Immoderate in all things priced under $1 and Christmas related, my approach was as always, ‘the More, the Merrier.”

Until Yellow Dog joined our family, however, these bejooled and beribboned spheres had never seen the Twinkly Light of Christmas.  Craig wrinkled his nose in skeptical distaste at their crafty kitsch.  But, Bumper mattered more, so the Glass from the Past was passed over, in favor of what seemed, even to me, an unpromising substitute.  We hauled the boxes into the living room, and with only the lights of the Christmas tree, commenced to decorate.

Does it over state things to say a mesmerized silence descended?  That we were humbled?  For there, surrounded by pinpoints of light and depths of shadow, the sequins and beads transformed into shining jewels, and the flossy surface glowed like embers.  These church bazaar rejects had conjured an unexpected magic.  “They look beautiful,” Craig observed, and they truly did.

As it turned out, Bumper wasn’t the least bit interested in the tree.  Investigating it would have meant getting up from the couch, and What Was The Point in That?  Our glass ornaments were permanently retired that night, never to be hung again.  It was our most beautiful Christmas tree ever, restoring enchantment and surprise to a holiday that had, for me, grown threadbare and routine.  And it all happened because of you, Yellow Dog.  May your days forever be merry, and bright.

Universe, Calling….May I Help You?

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I have decided that, having not done so well planning my life, it’s time to let Synchronicity drive, even if it means seeming to be in agreement with Sting about something (visibly shudders with revulsion).  If you learn anything in a year where you lose two of the most important people you love, it is that you are not in charge anyway, so what the hell?  (I learned nothing this year to change my opinion of Sting.)

So, there I was, Monday morning, in my rocking chair at the cafe, pencilling away (we can’t call it writing) on the question of which of my imagined pathways to world domination to put on the back burner and which to bring to a furious boil.  My phone rings.  It is Deb, my number 1 muse.

“Deb,” I say, immediately preventing her from getting a word in edgewise, “thank you so much for commenting on the blog and liking my pictures.  It makes me feel so good!”

“Well,”  says Deb, “I just called to tell you MORE PICTURES on the blog.  I want more pictures.  More pictures.  You should get some beautiful things together today and take pictures of them.”

And so I did.  Cha-CHING.  (If you ever need to reach the Universe direct, just let me know.  I’ll give you Deb’s number.)

Thank Goodness

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Thank goodness I found this nest today.

Thank goodness my friend told me to turn my clock back tonight.  No, I really didn’t know.

Thank goodness there are 7 years of archived radio episodes of To the Best of Our Knowledge.

Thank goodness my hamburger came with a huge pile of the most delicious bacon I’ve ever eaten.

Thank goodness I bought my camera.

Thank goodness there’s good coffee, every morning, just a flight of stairs away.

Thank goodness I like eggs for dinner.

Thank goodness I am good at finding vintage fabric.

Thank goodness on this chilly night, everyone I love is cozy and warm.

Mysterious Toad Formations

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How did you find your way onto my second story porch, mysterious toad?  Were you uncomfortable, squished between the bottom of the plastic pot and the soil, or did you mean to hole up there?

I found you, impersonating a wet kleenex; I poked you, and unlike a wet kleenex, you recoiled.  Then you were still as a stone (or a wet kleenex), unblinking.  I suspected the worst, but thought it only fair to give you a chance, since it was me who destroyed your little house.  The pot went back over your home, this time bottom up, so that if you were just cold, you could escape when you recovered.

Today, you are gone!  Bye-bye, mysterious toad!

The Summer Wind

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Three weeks off.  It’s not as fun as it sounds.  Ok, for you, it might be.  But for me, it is like a flat tire: deflating, and something I don’t know how to fix.

Three weeks off isn’t a vacation.  The threat of possible work dangles overhead, a Sword of Fickle Employment ala Damacles.   In olden times (about 3 years ago), clients committed to their schedules 2 or 3 weeks in advance, at least.  Some projects were locked in more than a month out.  Now,  I feel lucky if I get a cancellation call as early as the Wednesday before; usually I hear on Friday.  Sure, I make some use of my time.  Good use?  That’s harder to do than it used to be.  Uncertainty seems to diffuse my ability to focus and concentrate.

In this interlude after my parent’s death, I have to trust that the time off has been beneficial for its own sake, fecund beyond any obvious accomplishments or productivity.  No important endeavors have moved forward.  Trolling for new clients, starting new projects, not even the memorial book I want to create from the pictures I took at Mom’s – remain stalled in the doldrums.

I did, however, sit down in front of a breezy window and take this picture.  I am really, really happy about it.

Greyhound Mind

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I probably don’t need the 2 shots of espresso I am currently sipping, but they were unavoidable.  Without some kind of distraction, my brain was about to explode.  Surely you can guess the problem?  Yes, of course, I am trying to teach myself brand new software.

Learning new software, for me, is a bumpy, painful do-it-yourself process.  Hunting through bottomless drop down menus, crammed with as many options as possible, I feel like screaming, “Just tell me what you want from me!”  Eventually, the need to get away grows so urgent, no reward or cookie can overcome it.  Nothing Is Worth This.  I Think I’ll Go Take a Nap.

In the eyes of animal trainers who modify behavior using the clicker method, this avoidance behavior is, paradoxically, a positive sign.   Clicker training substitutes a symbolic I O U for a food reward.  The click of a cricket toy nudges your animal in the direction you want him to go, promising food later.  The task can be as simple as a dog touching his nose to your hand, or as complex as a dolphin writing its name (I’m sure they can).  Silence means no reward.  Click means you are getting close.  Using all the powers of his brain in the hope, hope, hope that you have Something Good To Eat,  your dog will fumble in the dark to figure out what sets that clicker off, until he just can’t take it anymore.  The moment the dog walks away, the books tell you, you can be sure he is thinking.

Seeing this phenomenon in action, as Craig and I did when we rescued our first Greyhound, was unforgettable.  Quickly grasping the equation click =  food , Bumper moved on to an important dog skill, “Go to your mat and lie down.”  Lying down on a mat may not seem like a big deal to us, but if you don’t speak the language, it can be hard to decipher What The Hell Those Dogs Who Control the Food Want From Me.  Just as the books predicted, Bumper gave us about 10 minutes of clicking and concentration before wandering off, having reached his limit.  His bewilderment was palpable.

We stayed near the mat, leaving him to relax alone.  After a few minutes, his lanky figure reappeared in the living room.  With absolute confidence, he trotted directly to the mat and lay down.  Liver treats flowed, and many, many kisses.  I have come to think of this moment as Greyhound Mind.  He was so smart, Mr. B.  He knew how to give himself a time out, and let the little grey cells do their work.

We tried to make the effort worth his while, and our reward was abundantly clear – we had opened a dialogue with our wonderful friend.  Faced with a Super Foe like software, however, my reward seems mighty far away.  Considerably more encumbered by self critical thoughts than Bumper (the dog never blames himself when the cookies run out), my brain needs no less freedom to disengage from the Problem At Hand.  Just a thought… programmer degrees should be in the College of Animal Behavior Studies.  Because powerful though it may be, Adobe Lightroom still lacks a Preferences setting for treats and kisses.

Un-Nesting

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For the first time since moving into this apartment, sitting at my desk feels spacious and comfortable.  I have been deleting items from my internal hard drives, metaphorically speaking.  Emptying drawers, pulling out out cabinet guts.  All in all, facing the music.

So many things I thought I never could part with, or that I would re-sell, soon to be gobbled up by my favorite charity shops, then on to a New Home, where they can be someone else’s precious junk.  The impact of parting with so many previously precious objects echoes through my daily life in ways that are both subtle and deep.

Stripping my mothers apartment triggered what I am doing now.  It consumed me emotionally, but also creatively.  Required to perform a ritual for which I felt unqualified, I emptied her last dwelling with as much seriousness and humor as I could.  What I found at the end of that exercise was a kind of dead reckoning for what was important to me.  Before, I could not decide where to start or what to do.  I still don’t really know, in any conscious way.  But preparing my mother’s home for our new life together, after her death, where the only place she lives is with me, demanded an equal effort on my part.  I have had to clean up my act.

The way some women fold linens and sweep, manically driven to finish their nest before the baby comes, my subconscious is preparing me to go somewhere.  I don’t know where.  Nothing I have in this home is necessary there, except a few things which, pieced together, form a jigsaw puzzle picture of my heart.  I love it here, but loving where I’m headed comes first, and to get there, it is time to travel light.

my august goals

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i will get some mosquito bites.
i will create a new story for myself, for the days that lie ahead.
i will blog every day.
i will end the month with fewer things than i started it.
i will only watch one episode of highlander per night.
i will leave the bees on the milkweed alone.
i will bring my camera. my phone counts.