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And one of her Dobermans, and now I see the shadow of the head of the photographer, who is probably my dad. Old old photo – WWII era, probably. Faded to a tobacco color, scanned and lightened and desaturated. The dark edges were hidden behind a mat, in a frame that also had an old old photo of a man – I think my grandfather. At some point I want to color it. Also, my mother had red curly hair, and great clothes.

I found this in a box of books out in the garage. I have no idea how it got there or why. Augh! my mother, and our relationship, and how she never knew how much I admired her, even if I wasn’t the daughter she wanted. So beautiful, so brilliant, so shouldn’t have been a stay-at-home mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive.

I also now know that I have to go through all those boxes that have been sitting there since I moved here in 2009 (Cool; less than a decade!). I also found a newspaper from 1942, and a couple of Readers’ Digests from 1937 and 38. And kids’ books. I know what to do with those. Yay for co-workers with babies!

Every time I open this blog up and see “Dotted Yellow Line” I remember how awful those years were, when I started it. Stalked by a brain-damaged alcoholic former fiancé (totalled my car, turned my life into a country-western song) (sounds worse than it was, maybe. Maybe not), Daughter at college and sliding into an abyss with no way to tell me how bad it was (she’s just coming out of that depression now – lots of bullying), working as a janitor to be closer to said Daughter, and driving an hour one way to work, ex-husband telling people (in a small town, pretty much everybody he came in contact with) that Daughter has Asperger’s because I am a lithium addict (??? Yeah, no. Lithium is a salt. You can’t get addicted to salt.), and that I let above-mentioned boyfriend have sex with Daughter. Oh, yeah, and he (ex) killed my dog. It all feels like the sound of those scenes in The Shining that were recorded in a walk-in freezer – my bones hurt and I was all alone.

Man. Hard times. But now I have that photo of clouds over the Lake up by Cornucopia, and I can learn a new association, change that feeling to new road trips and better times.

“I can walk with my feet and hear with my ears.” Is that what River Tam said?I’m better now, actually good, and the sun is shining. So fuck it, and let’s dance.

 

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I’ve been driving up to Cornucopia, to hang out at the beach for sanity purposes. That dark line is open water. The week before, open water started at that farthest ridge, which was loose chunks of ice rising and falling with the waves. I stand in the wind and imagine that all the terror and fear and anger is being blown out of me and dispersed. It works.

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A sleeping horse.

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There were the customary gulls. This white feather against the russet sand exposed by wind blowing away the white snow, which could be a haiku, if I worked on it.

Maybe I’ll go up there again tomorrow.

In other news, all that stuff last time about iterations? I was doing something and not paying attention and turned on the burner under that cutting board. All I got to say is, thank goodness for smoke detectors.

I think my entire life has been one huge karma lesson about letting go. Or maybe everybody’s life is, and I’m just thinking I’m special. I should let go of that.

And also in letting go; we did passport applications. Word to the wise; don’t let that self-important weirdo from the post office take your photo. If I don’t get arrested and deported on the basis of that image, I will be stunned. (We’re not planning on going anywhere, but I have been told several times that it’s a good idea in this particular age of the world.)

how to write haiku

pieces of place and season

you stop to observe

Maybe I should use it for something.

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Scenes from Chequamegon Bay, Friday afternoon.

Dumb weather. I am a little frustrated with this spring. Also cloudy skies. But the fire danger has dropped from Don’t Breathe! to very low. I’ve been janitoring at work a lot, because the printer I need to work from is down, and it’s starting to annoy me – except for some dumb reason I am proud of how good the classroom looks. I am doomed to scrub forever. (I even pulled the fridges and swept and mopped behind them. Gads.)

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These are a lovely shell pink IRL, but warm-light CFLs will have their way with things.

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I was on the phone. I took a chance. And then I opened Gimp. Opened it like a pro, if I do say so myself.

I was at the happy job today, washing the front windows. A woman walked by, our eyes met, we smiled. Because we live in paradise, and we know it.

Many dragons were slain. Some remain. But in the meantime:

Food, glorious food. Easy-peasey. I apparently forgot how much I love to cook. I was nearly singing while I made this. Same thing happened when I made zucchini bread last week. Weird that I forgot, and weird that I get so happy. Weird.

I went out and took pictures on Sunday. I will restrain myself. You only get a few. (Go full screen; they make more – or less – sense that way.)

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Saving summer.

So I’ll put things here.

A neighbor, who had both wild and domestic grapes growing on an arbor, died two years ago. Last year, I noticed a wild grape growing in the area allowed to run amok, and let it stay, as a memorial of sorts. It has grown up my window. I like it.

Shadows in the morning.

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A different morning, with wind.

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Our Katniss likes to go out in the garage and pretend she is a wild creature. And also poop. (dear whomever, even my cat has issues. I don’t know how I can bear it.) So we humor her, and let her out into the garage. This morning I saw this.

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Red.

cat in a window“No good deed goes unpunished?” One of those.

Katniss has been acting moody and depressed lately, now that she doesn’t want to go outside for long periods of time. So, like a fool, I’ve been showering her with extra attention.

Now, everything that is mine is where she must be. Including my chair and my computer.

I got up this morning to my laptop and the table runner that it sits on half-way off the table, and a goodly pile of detritus on the floor.

It’s too bad that she’s so pretty and smart and fun and interesting and lurves us so much. We’re stuck with her.

“When you pry her out of my cold, dead hands.” That’s the one.

Probably won’t be every day. Why? Because I say so.

Also, I might be getting a job at which I cannot swear. WTF was I thinking?

Also. Discussion on Facebook on photography and asking “how does that make you feel?” which if you put it that way is not a question that needs to be answered. (And yes, I might be spending too much time in my head again.) The thing that should be discussed is meaning. What is the meaning of it? Is there meaning? Apparently, photography is philosophy. Actually, photography is light and air and space, ephemerals, not like picking up a hand-thrown coffee cup and saying yes, this fits in my hand and I will like holding, warming my hands. But I guess that is a discussion of the line between artisan and artist. And if we’re doing ephemeral, then we might as well do feelings.

I’ve been off my diet and everything hurts. And we still have a bag of candy to get through. Thank goodness I threw myself on the last of the bacon; however, there is still a goodly chunk of Swiss cheese, and smallish hunks of other cheeses. I could be in a pickle.

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I haven’t been out shooting for a while, so you have to deal with a used photo. Meaning? You get to pick. Maybe we should talk about aesthetic principles, too.