“Get out!” I yelled at 7:13 AM; finger pointing to the furthest point away from the room.
The eldest was crying because the middle son taunted he took his diamond from his Minecraft shaft; an online game. They were not even playing. A fist fight was about to ensue in our home office as I attempted to download documents from email. Not quite the way I had hoped to start the day. Though I awaken at 5:23 AM each morning, by 7:00 AM I am running behind. Where are your lunch bags? Why do I need to send more money to school? Who took my phone off the charger?! The folded laundry sits atop the dryer; the laundry fairy has not made rounds yet. Sons dig through the stacks, toppling piles searching for shirts, shorts and socks. I grind my teeth in frustration as I see clothes strewn across the floor as we exit into our garage. When is summer vacation?
The fifteen minute drive to work is the only time I am guaranteed my own space. I can blare my stereo and my mind checks out. When I yelled at the hubby to leave the bedroom, last evening, so I could finish reading, The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult I realized I had not had a single second this past weekend to decompress. I need my personal space; quiet time. If I do not get this; I am not a happy camper.
Pictures are my means of storytelling. I am visual but it’s not always the snapshot that I envision. I really am capturing the minutes before and after, that converge on this one moment, to remind me of what I am feeling; thinking. I suspect I have an emotional photographic memory. The picture may not be in focus and most people would not be able to discern what is important. But I, for one reason or another, initiated the motor response to lift the camera/phone and snapped the shot. It has meaning for me; it is part of my history. It’s not always the dates, places and events that mark our lives; but the journey we embark on to get there. That’s what I try to remember…the journey.
Amongst my very busy end of week festivities I found I actually missed not doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, tidying house. This is my way to organize my thoughts; by physically organizing my existence. I am not OCD; nor particularly clean. But in the moving and cataloging of my personal effects I am contemplating the things within my week; my microcosm. Funnily enough when I am cleaning and feel stuck at home I really am putting my thoughts in order; just as when I blog, so that I can process and make sense of them. When my house is clean for an infinitesimal half hour I have a sense of accomplishment. I needed my boring weekend!
I often wonder, if asked to tell the story of my life, what parts will I remember? It isn’t necessarily interesting or exciting but I don’t think the big events will be the ones I would take to the grave. Possibly a few milestones; births, deaths, marriage. But when I am placed into that casket; the one legacy I would like to leave behind for my family and friends are the pictures that made my life; both the joys and sorrows. I don’t need to leave my imprint on this Earth with physical evidence like an heirloom, a plaque or an empire. I only want my kids and hubs to say that their mom/wife lived her life, every day, with intention. Some days more forceful than others…
I walk my path, albeit rocky or smooth, each and every day. I never know which way it will turn but I continue to tread. I used to think that one day I’d know I am living a wonderful life. But as the seconds and minutes turn into months and years I’ve discovered there is always something elusive tugging for more. It is the more that makes me ponder. Is it hope? Why do we continue to seek? What is it that we are seeking? Enlightenment and knowledge? God? Heaven? Sometimes I think it’s the mystery and beauty of why we exist that keeps us evolving. If the day comes where I think I know everything, it will be the day I draw my last breath. And then I will be home; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The montage of photos flash before my monitor; some clear, some blurry. What were you thinking when you took that shot? I think of the people on: Instagram, Twitter, Flickr, YouTube and Facebook who constantly give updates, hash tags and channels. It is important to journal the minutiae and share the story. We are deluged by mass media; trained to always be entertained and be a bit ADD. If an image lingers a bit too long we are conditioned to look for something new. Rare that we sit and look at the composition of the photo or appreciate the artistic intent of the shadows, the light. Currently I happen to be on my Ansel Adams kick since I am in camping and hiking mode. But, really, sometimes all the technology and newsfeeds get overwhelming with no real depth. I don’t want my life to be like that; instant impressions with no meaning.
As my week continues its downward slide I am capturing the memories I want to remember. The ones that make me wistful for: a pool, a child that, unwittingly continues to grow taller. For downtime to unplug, to enjoy milestones (births and deaths), natural landscapes and friends far and near. This is my life to tread and sometimes the story doesn’t need to be told. Sometimes, it only needs to be journalled, embraced and appreciated. Deep cleansing breath.