Sorrowing, sighing

One of the advantages of making photographs over a long period of time and the discipline of maintaining a simple catalog is having -- and being able to find -- images to draw on to illustrate stories, concepts, thoughts.  This one, a bas-relief in old Montreal commemorating the first school in that city, isn't perfect for today, but nothing could be.

Likewise, one of the advantages of remembering phrases of songs and bits of poetry is that one doesn't have to come up with original words to express the inexpressable.  So, I offer two words put together by John Henry Hopkins (1820-1891) which he likely drew from biblical the prophet Isaiah or Jeremiah.  They appear together in the Christmas carol, "We Three Kings," in the fourth stanza about myrrh's significance in the Jesus story.   

Sorrowing and sighing is about all we can do in the face of this morning's events at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown CT.  The fabric of life has been torn top-to-bottom with "beautiful little kids" and adults who loved and nurtured them dead, and we know not why.  Sorrow and sigh we must.

Happiness: a definition

After yesterday this single sentence was a welcome find this morning, both provocative and sweetly settling.

Happiness is not a station you arrive at, but a manner of travelling.

-- Margaret Lee Runbeck

 



 

I know nothing about Ms Runbeck aside from her being a US author born in Des Moines, whose life span was 1905-1956.  But, I like the quote.  It's enough for now.



A new view

This image doesn't have anything to do with today being overcast or our region's longing for rain.  It is grey outside and precipitation would be welcome.  There's no need to illustrate or to elaborate on that.

The reason I'm showing off these dark clouds is that they're descriptive of how I am feeling.  I know ... yikes for poor Tal.  Realizing I was somewhat less than cheery, I did manage not to act out.  Fortunately.  And, I was able to ascertain the reason for my interior storminess.  Turns out my normal Sunday evening list-making for the coming week, rather than helping me feel organized and ready, sent me into a state. 

I know I've written about it before, the dotting of "i's" and the crossing of "t's."  I neither have to defend that tendency nor to be dismissive of it.  Attention to detail is a good thing.  But, maybe not always. 

From my years of list-making I know I don't sort very well and have a way of giving pretty equal weight to every task on the list.  And, I seem to put everything on the list that I might ever want to do no matter how long-term, along with the everyday things that keep our household running.  Prioritizing?  I know what it means, but I'm not good at its practice. 

Beyond those bad habits, however, there's another problem, a much more critical one, I think.  I really like getting things done.  Yes.  But, the truth is I dot "i's" and cross "t's" mostly out of fear.  I am afraid that if I don't take care of all the details someone somewhere's going to say something to me about it.  Or, worse yet, they'll say something to someone else about it.  So, I work myself into a dither.  Talk about ludicrous and a waste of precious time. 

How different it would be to act out of love.  There's a commercial being run this season that has charmed me.  I can tell it's a good one because I don't remember what its an ad for ...  The main character seems to be obsessing over everything from how far the coffee table is from the most comfortable chair to the height of the flowers for the center of the dinner table.  She's a bright whirling bundle of activity.

The twist comes when her event gets started.  Come to find out she's not running scared or sorry she's having people in.  An elderly man sits down in that comfortable chair and wearily lifts his feet to the coffee table that's just in the right place.  At dinner time our hostess looks across the table and receives a beatific smile from a tiny little lady who can actually see over the flower arrangement.

Yes, the main character wanted everything to be just right.  But, she wasn't put out or scared or inconvenienced.  Every task in advance of that event was an act of love.

Maybe I need to rethink my list.  While some of the tasks can go and never be missed, most of them can probably stay right there.  What really needs some serious "surgerizing," though, is my outlook, my attitude. 

Why do I do what I do?  Because I have to?  Because I'm afraid of what someone else is going to think or say?  Or, can I make what I do  -- even the most mundane task on the list -- an expression of love? 

If I dare say yes to that impossible question, I'm going to have to be intentional about changing my ways.  Not an easy prospect by any stretch. 

When a lesson is presented

Those who know me and my husband are aware that sports has become part of my life over the past 22 years.  For someone raised pretty much to denigrate all sports -- neither participating nor observing, I am surprised and sometimes even delighted at my interest.

Take this weekend, for example.  We watched the Army/Navy game yesterday afternoon.  It was an engagement of epic proportions.  This was a game unlike any other, largely because of the two teams playing.  One of the announcers made the distinction clear when he observed that for the men on both teams playing football was the easiest thing any of them did.  They were not essentially hired to play ball the way is seems some college players are; they are, in fact, students first -- good students, students who happen to play football. 

I didn't want either team to lose.  But, I rooted for Navy since a former parishioner is a student at Annapolis.  It was a heart-breaker for Army.  At the end, despite the dejection on one side of the field and the jubilation on the other, all the players stayed on the field for both schools' alma maters.  The Navy coach sought out the Army quarterback.  Opposing players spoke to each other.  There was dignity both in winning and in losing.

Although Tal doesn't follow professional football with the same energy he does at the collegiate level, we did watch the New Orleans Saints go up against the New York Giants this afternoon.  In the fourth quarter with the game out of reach Saints #8, Drew Brees, was sacked -- make that flattened -- by Giants #72, Osi Umeyiora.  I think it was the only sack Brees took, but that's not what made me take note.  No, it was #72 stopping and helping #8 up.  No posturing.  No gloating.  No celebration.  Two men on the field of play.

I know not all games go the way of these two and I know collegiate and professional athletes can be crude, vindictive and childish.  What I witnessed during these two games gave me a vision of how people can be with each other. 

I am left wondering why it is nowadays that seems required an opponent be an enemy, to be belittled and disparaged.  Why is it we seem to have to cast as evil people with whom we do not agree, people we simply dislike, people we don't understand?  Is is possible to disagree, not to like, not to understand and still to stay in relationship?

While our government and our churches say an emphatic "no" to that question, football this weekend has hinted at a quiet but hopeful "yes."

At the end of the day, I am grateful for this quiet lesson.

One block at a time

I'm making slow progress.  The second unit from the New York Institute of Photography (NYIP) arrived yesterday.  This afternoon I pressed on with Lesson Five, bent over the lesson book with the CD playing in the background.

It so happens I am familiar with much of what has been presented in the first four lessons, but I appreciate the methodical and disciplined curriculum thus far.  My hope is that I will be forced, not only into learning new things, but into seeing in new ways and into trying new types of photography that don't come as naturally -- as the closeup of lichen or the veins of a leaf.

Building blocks.  The review will be over shortly.  Reinforcing the foundation's just what I need. 

In the shadow

Isn't this a dramatic image?  To me it looks like a planet and the shadow it might cast into outer space.  Actually, it's an early-morning photograph of a drawer knob in my mother's kitchen.  Mom and I walked in at just the right moment to catch the sun at just the right angle and the camera was within reach.

I had to go looking for it after a conversation I had this week.  While we talked I searched for a word in the back of my mind, one to encapsulate the gist of it all.  "Attachment" didn't come to me for several days.  When it did, however, attachment ushered me past itself almost immediately.  Ha!  I didn't have time to become attached to the idea of attachment, at least this time around.

What was beyond attachment?  Where did I go?  I think I went straight to wondering about what was in the shadow, to whatever dwells in that dim darkness beyond the concept.  It was then I had to find this photograph.

What's in my own shadow?  In some ways it seems to me that our attachments keep us from taking a peek into the dark.  We're afraid of what's out there.  So, we hang on to what we know.
. 
I suppose if we found out, if we ventured into the murk, we would discover new things.  Maybe.  New things about the world, about ourselves.  It would change us.  And, we all know, if we change one thing, that one thing is connected to absolutely everything else.  Oh my, how messy that sounds ... 

It's easier not to look, I realize.  But, it is terribly hard to live scared.

What's out there? In that cone-shaped space?  In the dark?

Christmas on the Ridge

Calhoun Street in Johnston SC decorated for Christmas

Welcome to Johnston SC, the peach capital of the world.  Impressive, huh?  The peach capital part and this seasonal section of US23 that goes right through the center of town. 

When I made this photograph, we were returning home from a Christmas gathering in Columbia.  It was approaching 9:30. There was a light mist on the windshield.  Tal pulled to the curb in front of the Lutheran Church.  I opened the car door, stood up and took a couple shots, not even having presence of mind to ask Tal to turn off the headlights. 

Johnston isn't alone in its holiday charm.  Edgefield and Ridge Spring are also illuminated.  Our weather early next week is supposed to be warm.  Maybe I'll take advantage of that and visit all three with the camera and tripod after dark.