on the internet

The first words of hers I read are among her last—the blog post she’d written for her family to publish after she died. In her farewell post she writes:

…the small stuff is very small and not worth your time and attention. Gossip and resentments, worrying about things that never happen, fearing the unknown. Let it go my lovelies, breathe and just be good to each other. I realized not long after my diagnosis that life is too short to spend it hurting people and holding onto the anger we have for those around us.

It’s not the first time I wish that such fine clarity didn’t come at such a cost.

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Then I read this and it knocks my bloated, plain, aging self off the couch I spend too much time on, and I wonder why California has to be so damned Pacific and why the Alantics have to be so damned… Atlantic, and I wish the land in between would go POUF so that Elaine and I could, you know, get a little drunk together. Tonight.

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In this place the water rushes in a steady current, clean and fresh. The underside of the creek bridge brushes against my back as I crouch.

This is not a photo of a boy in a tunnel. It is of the black in there, the tar-black. And the light. And of how either the darkness or the lightness wraps around you depending on where you choose to stand.

What’s on your mind? Show us with your camera.

passing the time

Nine days ago, I was on a plane reading A New Earth. The author talks about the illusions of the past and future, and about how happiness is always found in the moment. At one point, he used a quotation from the Bible, “This too, shall pass.” I’d always heard that scripture in reference to painful events…when people lost a loved one, or went through difficulties. He introduced it as a way of perceiving everything. When a baby is born, when you’re laughing with friends around dinner...this too shall pass. All of a sudden, that temporary space in time, takes on more importance.

Three days ago, I was on vacation looking out of this window, surrounded by my family who rarely gets to be together. When the anticipated days finally come, I feel like everything should be monumental. Then I get up to the actual moment and realize my expectations were my imagination (again). And that what’s real is even better (again). And even the grandest of events, are just made up of lots of Sweet Ordinary. A trip to the grocery store together, a good movie, a laugh and a story here and there. What’s grand, is what’s ordinary. And that’s why it’s easy to overlook.

Today I sit here a little melancholy and homesick for my family. Distance between people that love each other, always feels like a waste. It’s like having a million dollars, but not being able to access it. Or maybe it feels  worse. But even in the sadness, I feel a certain contentment because I know I was paying attention while the time was passing. And that's all anyone can ever really do, anyway.

How are you passing the time these days? 

Picture and words by Maile.

Looking Back

It’s that time of year again. If you read my last post, you know where I’m at; bobbing up and down in the tide of melancholy. It doesn’t take much these days to get me teary. Even a simple request to reminisce on family time at the sea shore got my sentimental wheels turning. When I noticed that the prompt was inspired by diapers, the motivation began to dwindle because my kids are out of the diaper phase. Uh oh. Here comes the rush swelling emotions. My children are long out of diapers. Dang it! Here I go again. My babies are growing up. I’m telling you, I’m hopeless.

When it comes to looking back on my life, the beach is the consistent strand that connects all the things I want to remember; family, fun, laughter, relaxation, nature, simplicity, peace, perspective, clarity. Our days (and evenings) spent at the beach are some of my fondest memories. I guess it would make sense logistically speaking as we live only a mile or two from the So Cal coast but even still, we are die hard beach people. Summer, winter, vacations, you name it, we head to the ocean—to dig in the sand, splash in the sea, snack on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walk on the beach, discover treasures, and rediscover each other. And I always bring the camera.

What about you? Where are your most sacred memories found? Is there a place you visit and revisit where you find your soul at its most content? Is it a multitude of memories that make it special or one single instance when it was as if the planets aligned just for you? Where ever or whatever it may be, I’ll bet there’s a photo that helps encapsulate it, isn’t there?

Focus

Throughout the day, we move up and down along our journey. Passing from light to dark and back to light again. Sometimes when the planets align, when the sun is nearing its descent, I'm given a gift called 'time of day'. I sit half in and half out of the kitchen door. My bare feet on the back step while my son plays in the dirt with his trucks. He lays there all Zen like, lost in his own world while I sit with camera in hand as dinner simmers on the stove. The late afternoon sunlight streams in, and I can't help to think that life couldn't get much better than this. The closeness we have while in a different headspace from each other is most magical. I learn of him, of all his details while behind my camera. Of course some days, my camera is used as a shield or filter for true-life realities not so sunny. But on an afternoon like this, my camera is the magnifying glass. And the beauty I find is that he is willing to let our worlds gently mingle. We brush up against each other at this time of day. When I am mother/photographer/dinner burner/chore slacker/multi-tasker. And he is the barefoot boy child zooming trucks over clumps of dirt.

As he grows into himself, I find myself a mere observer. Not completely understanding the language or the rules of his boy planet. Sometimes I inch up close to him with my camera to capture this life of his that is only his. This breath as it slips and slides and grows before my very eyes. Wanting to remember it all overwhelms me. And so I focus. I have come to learn by taking photos throughout my days and weeks that what I'm trying to preserve is my perception of how life is. What I want to preserve is the way the moment finds my heart. While looking through my photo archives, I discover that i mainly focus on sunlight: how it feels splashing down across his shoulders, how it appears to me on afternoons like this. Today I focus on the leaf he discovers and offers up to me on a rock pedestal, "Keep it safe for me, Momma." This is his gift to me, and it's more precious than I ever knew. He gives me this time, this memory, and this space to document it as I see it.

There's something magical viewing life through someone else's camera lens. Most often it's a stranger... a person who captures something so universal, that you instantly feel as if you know them. There's kinship in the subject of the photo, the angle, the color, or the focus that speaks directly to you. This sense of familiarity is what keeps me coming back for more. I find myself at the doorstep of Shutter Sisters every morning with my cup of chai. I'm so grateful for this space to share my own today. So, share with me a bit of yourself, will you? What is your focus? The motion, the solitude. the calm, the chaos? Leave some links and share your focus, so we may learn a bit about yourself as well.

Photo and post courtesy of today's Honorary Sister/Guest Blogger Meredith Winn (aka camera shy momma).

barometer rising

Every time I leave the house I give the glass a tap-tap-tap, watch the needle twitch and tell fortunes with as much magic as a ouija board at a seventh grade sleepover party.

The old barometer tells me what weather’s brewing in the atmosphere of this craggy, rocky seashore in a way that’s tactile, romantic—at least compared to the goofy banter and shit-eating grins of the local news.

Often I’ve wondered what it would be like to have a barometer of life. Some leatherbound, vintage typeface and needle that would forecast episodes of catastrophe (premature babies imminent) or achievement (clear skies following credit line payoff) or vice (periods of rum at times heavy, visibility near zero).

The last one’s a joke. I haven’t taken to bottle. Yet.

With a barometer of life I’d at least know when to batten down the hatches, when to hoist up the spinnaker to fly on light and friendly winds.

But knowing all defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? Because the whole point of living is trial by fire, to gain heart-bursting perspective through the lens of hindsight—not foresight.