Unexpected Gift

Her husband gave her an unexpected gift this morning, and he didn't even know it. She was dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, grocery list tucked into her purse, ready to head out the door. She grabbed her camera as a last minute thought. Maybe she would have time to stop at the beach after groceries, maybe the thick fog that hung in the air would still be there. Her husband noting her camera bag, asked his usual question, "Where are you going?" She said she might stop at the state park after groceries, hoping that the fog would still be there. He knows she loves fog. Then he gave her the gift, "Why don't you stop at the beach first, and then get groceries?"

The thought had occurred to her, but she really likes to get to the grocery store early, before the crowds. Although, how much of a crowd there would be on a Tuesday morning is questionable. With a "love you", she walked out the door and got into her car. Backing out of the driveway, she thought maybe she would just drive to the beach and see what the fog was like there.

Five minutes later, she parks her car in the parking lot and sees the heavy layer of fog that blankets everything. Fog has a way of making the ordinary look extraordinary.  She still questions the light, but she does have her tripod in the back of the car, that should provide the stability she might need for low light. She gets out, gathers her gear and sets off.

Walking across the wooden boardwalk, she hears a mourning dove calling in the trees above her and then the echo of another from across the channel. The sound amplified in the moisture laden air.

As she walks along, she thinks about what she is reading in her new book of ideas. What story does she want to capture today with her camera? If she had a long lens with her, and she could see the mourning dove, that would be her story.

She keeps walking. The big red lighthouse comes into view, she stops to set up her tripod and take a few shots. That can always be her story if she doesn't find anything else. Although she feels she has told that story a lot lately, still it's a good backup plan.

She reaches the leading lines of the blue pier, she loves the blue in the mist. She feels the story pulling her down the walkway. As she glances into the water to the right of the pier, she sees something eerie floating below the water, at first she thinks it is a fish. Carp are not desired catches for the fishermen on the pier, even though they catch plenty of them. Then she sees the pointed bill and the black webbed feet. Sadness envelops her. She hurries on.

She needs something to erase the image of the black webbed feet pointed skyward. She is at the end of the blue now, before her are rocks and open water, she needs to find a happy story. She turns slightly and sees the spider web stretched between the blue rails, sprinkled with raindrops. There is a breeze lifting and releasing the web, but she sets up her tripod anyway. With any luck she still may catch a good enough photo for the day.

She hears footsteps behind her. A man with fishing gear. He stops beside her, and looks at the screen of her camera. "Oh, nice spider web," he says. They strike up a conversation. He knows a thing or two about photography, but from the film days. He has never quite caught the knack for digital. He asks about the lens she is using. She tries to explain an unconventional lens to him. She thinks he understands. He stays while she takes a few more photographs, watches the screen as the images appear. He shifts his pole and bucket to his other hand and prepares to depart. They wish each other good luck and a good day. She watches him leave. She has found her story.

Book of Ideas

Monday morning. Thunder rattles the windows, and streaks of lightening spread across the sky. She has decided to skip her usual Monday morning chore of getting groceries. Choosing instead to stay in and write. She loves morning thunderstorms, they smother the light that always draws her outside like a siren's call. Instead she can stay in, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket and drink a cup of warm cinnamon tea.

It's a new week, and she has returned to this space. Over the weekend she realized how much she missed this place. It allows her freedom to explore who she is, who she wants to be. Writing has always been the path to discovery for her. On her other blog, where she is her confident photographer self, people expect just that - pretty pictures with a brief story. They are not tolerant readers, they don't want her to wander self-discovery for too long, maybe because it will touch too close to something in their own lives.

She needs a space where she can explore ideas, keeping those that ring true and discarding the rest. She does that to some degree in her daily Morning Pages, written as soon as she gets up. But the photographer in her also needs a visual piece that embodies the story. This place allows her to have intimacy, freedom, discovery, and visual delight. It also provides accountability, she has let a few people into this secret world. She works best if she has a purpose, even if the purpose is self-serving.

Ideas either come like a meadow full of wildflowers or they wither and dry up completely. She wishes they were more like a monthly seed club. Then she get some growing before the next batch arrived. A new idea catalog came in the the mailbox this weekend. She started reading it yesterday, she is pretty sure it is going to bring a meadow of abundant color.

Quality over Quantity

She should have learned by now, not to make declarations of grand plans, and over-zealous projects, that she will never be able to complete.

She has failed at almost every aspect of her #50til50 project. She has not taken a self-portrait every day. She has not tried on her new jeans every day. She has not written a journal entry every day. The only two aspects that cling on for life yet are: eating healthy, avoiding most of her pitfall foods, and she is still getting at least 15,000 steps per day on her Apple Watch.

As she reflects on these failures, and few small triumphs, she knows she should stop making declarations.  Yet she keeps on, because the light at the end of the tunnel is this; she always learns things, important things from starting these plans and projects.

Sometimes her ideas are too grand. She doesn't have the right props, she doesn't have enough time, or she doesn't know the right place. When this happens, she loses all desire and her ideas go out the window.

Maybe her 50's will the decade when she learns to slow down, treasure quality or quantity, give herself permission to start projects and not finish them, growing from each lesson she learns from them, completing the ones that matter most.

Culture

She grew up a child of parents who were always scraping by. One year, her mom had to cash in the savings bonds that her grandpa had given her every birthday, just so she would have some new school clothes that fall. There was never extra money for things like art lessons, trips to the museum, or to go see the newest Disney movie. The only thing her mom did seem to find money for was organ lessons. She hated the organ.

Maybe if she had had the opportunity to explore some of the interests she actually had, she would have figured out she loved photography much earlier than her late 30's. She might have even have gone to college for it, instead of getting married at eighteen. How different her life might have been if her parents had only invested in it a little.

Now a woman of means, she invests in herself. Photography classes, a yearly membership to the botanic and sculpture garden, and her newest acquisition a yearly membership to the art museum. She can't change her past but she can change her future.

Weekends

Weekends are the bane of her existence. She loves her family, but they make too much noise for her voice to be heard.

Weekends are filled with shopping, laughter, lunches, faith, and some times fancy parties. These things usually bring more joy to others than they do to her. She would rather curl up on the couch with a good book, or be out strolling with her camera.

She must learn to balance 'creative time' with social time, even if it kills her.

Trees

She stands on the edge of the ravine of this new park she chose to discover today, watching the trees.

She wasn't sure she wanted to venture on new trails, not when the old familiar is so comforting. But the park turned out to be better than she ever could have expected, she's glad she took the risk. Marshy woodlands flooded with spring wildflowers. Marsh marigolds alongside the gentle flowing creek, looking like hundreds of bright yellow bridesmaid bouquets stuck into the earth, waiting for the bridesmaids and the wedding to begin.

Now she stands on the platform looking at the deep ravine, listening to the storm force winds blow in the canopy of leafless trees overhead. She is amazed at the resilience of the trees, how they bend and sway, limbs clunking and cracking. It would be so easy, so understandable to just topple over in these strong winds and be done with it, no more storms to withstand. But no that is not the life they chose, they chose to stand strong, be flexible. The winds will end, and the sunshine will return.

Everyday

Everyday, until she turns 50, she is going to try these jeans on and photograph herself. By the time she has actually reached the day, it will be too damn hot to wear them anyway, but it is about the hurdles and the journey, not necessarily the gold medal at the end.  Right now they are slightly snug, particularly in the thighs. She isn't sure that will get better, as she reintroduced herself to the weights at the gym today, working especially hard to rebuild strength in her legs.

Still, everyday she will stand in front of this mirror, hoping the piano bench she is standing on holds up for the whole fifty days, and take a photograph of herself in these jeans. She is a visual person, so the camera as the tool for transformation suits her well. She also always needs a project, angles and light to figure out, everyday a chance to get it just a little bit better.