I’ve been collecting some random pictures recently that I was hoping to spin into full-fledged blog entries. But the pictures seem to be piling up and the posts don’t seem to be happening. So I decided to let the pictures (pretty much) speak for themselves.
At the dog park, Tiger’s favorite activity is to hang out in the baby pool and attempt to drown a tennis ball. Be like the tennis ball, no matter how frequently life pushes you down, refuse to stay under for long.
I look at this picture sometimes as a reminder that slow and steady can still get the job done.
I had these sweatpants for 16 years. I finally trashed them and replaced them (for a whole $5). How often do we hold onto things long past their usefulness?
I’m officially an Atlantan now that I’ve made it to the Margaret Mitchell house. I learned that the manuscript for Gone With the Wind was on unnumbered pages stuffed into separate envelopes that had to be edited and sorted. I need to shut up about being overwhelmed.
When we have assumptions, we don’t allow things to unfold in their own way and time. Stand back and be surprised.
I started treating myself to blooming bulbs next to my computer during the month of February. It’s a beautiful reminder that spring follows every winter.
We arrived home last night this morning just after midnight after a weeklong Alaskan cruise and a Seattle stay over. We had been gone so long, the cat hid under the couch until she decided/remembered that we are effective feeding and cuddling organisms. Today is a day of tackling the emails and work tasks that lack of connectivity forced us to ignore as well as chipping away at the seemingly ever-expanding load of laundry piled high on the dining room floor (dressing in layers translates to LOTS of laundry loads!). Our jet lagged bodies seem to keep finding the bed for impromptu naps, Tiger often joining in, exhausted from playing with his buddies at the vet. Our muddled brains struggle to form coherent thoughts as our circadian rhythms straddle both coasts.
It feels great to be home. To be reunited with our animals and our routines.
Already, the sights and smells of Alaska feel like a dream. Too big to be real.
But it is. And those are memories that we will carry. Images that can be triggered by words or pictures, but never truly captured – the jade green of the water darkening into endless chasms, the soaring heights of the jagged cliffs, clouds dancing across their fronts like some teasing burlesque dance and the power of nature in its rawest forms.
I have yet to transfer the pictures from the camera or from my husband’s iPhone, but here are a few from my phone:
So much of Alaska reminded me of a Bob Ross painting. Look at all the happy trees!This was from a hike around the Mendenhall Glacier outside Juneau and there’s a story to tell about that day!The temperature seemed to always be 59 degrees. But that could mean shorts or winter coat!We drove a small Zodiac boat in Ketchikan. A bald eagle snatched a fish out of the water just feet in front of us!One of the coolest moments of my life – Tracy Arm Fjord and glacier from the hot tub!We were extremely lucky and never had rain, although it was almost always cloudy.It’s pretty amazing how close these ships can get to the water’s edge!I REALLY wanted to see moose in Haines. This was the closest I got!We tried to see a sunset every night to no avail (I think it’s a myth that the sun sets in Alaska in summer). We finally succeeded near Victoria BC! Cool detail – that’s the moon just above and to the left of the sun:)
I want to extend a thank you to all my guest posters and readers for taking care of the place while I was gone. I’ll try to catch up on comments and messages in the next couple days. After a nap.
It looked like nothing special really. A plain brown 13″ x 9″ envelope. It sat tucked in a file drawer for two years, its brown frame slightly larger than the file folder which contained it. Over time, the edges grew a little worn, but the clasp stayed sealed tight. I didn’t think of it often, but when I would open the drawer, it sat there taunting me. Haunting me.
It looked like nothing special really. But it was. That plain envelope contained a few sample images of my former life, pictures and memories I had not faced in years. I had imbued the images within with power, talismans of a former life. I didn’t know what the consequences would be for breaking that seal. I feared the pictures would act like horcruxes, their sum total assembling into some great evil.
Last year, I was finally ready to find out what would happen when I broke the seal.
I made the preparations. Secluded outdoor table at a coffee shop? Check. Dark sunglasses to hide the tears? Check. Journal and pen ready? Check. Bravery? Check, I guess. I began to pull the pictures and letters out one at a time, recording my memories and reactions.
My ex’s first car was a ’56 Chevy. It was a noble, yet fickle beast. He had to carry entire flats of oil in the trunk so that he could top it off every 100 miles or so. In this picture, we were redoing the upholstery while parked in my mom’s driveway. The older man next door always came out when the Chevy was in the driveway and he would share memories of his 20s, when he owned the same car.
This picture was the only one that actually brought tears to my eyes. This was Max, our Wonderpug. We got her shortly after we moved in together and she quickly became an integral part of our family. She was so full of spunk and spirit. We would take her camping, hiking, and swimming, earning her the title, “All Terrain Pug.”
When I found myself suddenly alone and adrift, I was completely unable to care for any my dogs physically, emotionally, or financially. Friends and family helped to find homes for all three of them. Giving them away was the most painful part of the entire divorce, but I had to do what was best for them. Max was the hardest to place, as she was elderly and in failing health. One of the amazing volunteers at Southeast Pug Rescue personally took her in and gave her a wonderful home in which to spend her remaining years. Here come the tears again…
A family portrait with an adult Max.
We had an unorthodox wedding. We were married on the beach in Vero Beach, FL. The only attendees were the minister (a gay Methodist minister who looked like David Lee Roth and threatened to marry us while wearing a speedo) and the photographer, who actually worked for the newspaper. We both cried when reciting our vows, trembling with emotion. As soon as the ceremony was over, we removed our shoes and walked along the beach for miles.
We honeymooned on a Windjammer cruise. Apparently I though short-alls were the height of Caribbean fashion.
It was strange seeing him in these photos. His face no longer seemed familiar to me. What stood out was one picture where you could see a mole on his neck. That image, not his face, brought memories rushing back: the feel of his hands, the texture of his chin, the smell of his hair. I examined all his images, looking for emotion. Looking to see if his love was real. Comparing the pictures of him then to his more recent mugshot. It’s not the same man.
Strangely, the wedding pictures did not bring sadness. Just a disconnected sort of reminiscence.
Not long after we were married, we bought our house. This began 10 years of remodeling projects as we worked to make it our own. We always worked so well together.
This was the last picture I pulled from the envelope: my cat looking out my old dining room window at the activity in the garden. That cat is all that I still have with me from all these pictures.
The past only has power if we allow it to. By keeping those pictures hidden for so long, I built them up in my mind and made them into more than they really are. Now they they have been released from the envelope, I find that they have also been released from my thoughts.
I only have a few pictures with me. Most of them, along with other memories, are in a sealed box in my mother’s attic across the country. I’m no longer afraid to open this Pandora’s box; I know I can handle what comes out of it.
My friend Sarah and her daughter, Kayla, came over for a visit the other day. Kayla was no damsel in distress on this day; she was happy and giggly and eager to get to know Tiger. They played ball on the stairs tirelessly for over an hour, dog and child finding joy in the simple act of fetch and retrieve. Kayla never questioned the goal of the activity, nor complained as the tennis ball grew ever wetter with slobber. She simply delighted in the moment. It was adorable to watch this slight three-year-old learn to command the ninety-five pound pit bull as she ordered him “down” before she would release the ball, letting it tumble down the stairs. When her mom announced that it was time to go, Kayla initially protested, begging to stay and play with Tiger a bit longer. Soon, however, she brightened, and asked, “Is it time for another adventure?” Sarah responded to her daughter in the affirmative and then turned to me and said, “Actually, we’re going to the grocery store, but for her that is an adventure.”
I can’t claim that I am able to view a trip to Publix as an adventure, but I love the message from little Kayla – approach every experience with curiosity and allow for excitement even in the mundane.
Tiger after his “adventures” with Kayla.
My own adventure came a few days later, when my boyfriend and I went to visit a friend in St. Marys, a small town tucked in the southeastern corner of Georgia. It was a short trip – an entire summer in one long weekend sandwiched between writing a book (which will be released soon!!!) and my return to school. Like Kayla, my boyfriend and I found joy in the smallest details of each day. My friend, whom we stayed with, had the brilliant idea of installing an outdoor shower in an enclosed and decked-in area of his backyard. We must have showered three times a day, enjoying the spray of the water against sweaty skin and delighting in the fresh air and sounds of the birds.
Ready for adventure.
We ventured into Florida for our first beach day, enjoying the sun, sand, and surf which eludes us in our usual land-locked lives. After returning to St. Marys that afternoon (and taking another shower, of course!), we made our way into “downtown” on the city’s premier transportation method: a golf cart. It was a lovely change of pace from Atlanta’s usual gridlock. Somehow, you can’t feel road rage-ish on a golf cart. It’s scientifically impossible.
We made our way to an outdoor patio where Three-Fingered Nick (our “blues” name for him) was playing a couple sets with a few other musicians. Nick is so unbelievably inspiring. He was a well-known and extremely talented guitarist. After losing a finger and part of his thumb, he stayed away from playing for a time, but with the encouragement of his wife, eventually returned to the guitar. He sounds amazing. Not just amazing for a man with three fingers, but just plain amazing. I love meeting people who have persevered through difficulty. They show the true beauty of the human spirit.
The next day, my friend took us to Cumberland Island on his boat. We wove through miles of pristine marshland, the only boat on the water. My friend, a naturalist and passionate protector of the St. Marys river, answered our questions and pointed out wildlife and habitat features. It was stunning.
Cumberland Island – Be thankful that humidity and mosquitoes have not yet learned to travel via the internet.
He dropped us off on the island. As I had done the official tour last year, I took on the role of tour guide for my boyfriend. Cumberland Island is a beautiful blend of history and nature, with a generous smattering of mosquitoes. We walked for mile or so through the dark and atmospheric woods formed by the low, twisting branches of the live oaks, their limbs decorated with the lacy veils of Spanish moss. The air was heavy with humidity that seemed to even dull the sounds of the cicadas that surrounded us. We were alone on the paths, making it easy to imagine being on those roads a hundred years prior. Before air conditioned. Shudder.
Our first destination was the ruins of the Carnegie mansion at Dungeness Point. Since I am much more educated about the sciences than Georgia history, I’m afraid I didn’t do this part of the tour justice.
We then walked along a boardwalk to make our way to the beach (all we could think about at this point was sinking into the cold waves). We spotted an alligator off the side of the path. Luckily, my boyfriend did not have to prove to the gator that he’s a black belt:)
The surf felt as amazing as expected. Cumberland is a different coastal experience. A special place. No more than 300 people are allowed on the island at a time, so the sands are relatively bare. There are no shops, no bars. In fact, you must carry in and remove anything you want with you. It’s backpacking on the beach. It was hot, sandy, and humid. But it was perfect.
Just hanging out enjoying the sea breeze
The beach is home to a large herd of wild horses. There were several enjoying the beach along with us. This particular stallion stood facing the ocean for hours, seemingly enjoying the feel of the wind on his face. Or maybe he was debating about trying to swim across the Atlantic? Or, waiting for a message in a bottle from his long-lost mare ? Who knows? I just know I felt as peaceful as he looked.
Luckily not our boat
Most of us do not get to have experiences like these frequently. However, as Kayla showed me, we don’t have to wait until we have the time or money (or the friend who bought a house at the beach!) to have an adventure. We can find thrills in every day. Even at the grocery store.
At the dog park, Tiger’s favorite activity is to hang out in the baby pool and attempt to drown a tennis ball. Be like the tennis ball, no matter how frequently life pushes you down, refuse to stay under for long.
I look at this picture sometimes as a reminder that slow and steady can still get the job done.
I had these sweatpants for 16 years. I finally trashed them and replaced them (for a whole $5). How often do we hold onto things long past their usefulness?
I’m officially an Atlantan now that I’ve made it to the Margaret Mitchell house. I learned that the manuscript for Gone With the Wind was on unnumbered pages stuffed into separate envelopes that had to be edited and sorted. I need to shut up about being overwhelmed.
When we have assumptions, we don’t allow things to unfold in their own way and time. Stand back and be surprised.
I started treating myself to blooming bulbs next to my computer during the month of February. It’s a beautiful reminder that spring follows every winter.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 