What I love most about this photo is that the truck is wet with rain. I suppose if you’re going to visit Forks, it should be raining.
One of the reason’s I’m not a world-famous writer is that people suck. If the rest of the world saw in my writing what I see, then there would be absolutely no question about my status among the semi-elite. But, sadly, I must forever be satisfied with sulking just below the lowest one percent of influential writers. This is why I gave up writing and took up photography.
Two of my wife’s cousins were flower girls at our wedding. That was so long ago that they’ve now graduated college, gotten jobs, and this summer one of them got married. Aside from making me feel very old, the wedding allowed me to travel to Canada, and as I’ve not gone many places since I took up photography, I was beside myself with excitement thinking about the pictures I would bring home. I saw most of the trip through my camera’s viewfinder, and captured some great moments at the wedding and around town before and after. As we made our way back into the US and toward the Seattle airport, we stopped in Port Angeles for the night. We drove out to Forks, which I’ll save for another post, and the next morning I got up early to take a few pictures of the port before we headed for Bainbridge Island to see some friends.
I have lived all my life in the comfort and paved-over sterility of the city. For the day-to-day, I like people, and I like convenience, two things the city provides in over-abundance. But, there has never been a time when the forest, or the woods, did not beckon me to its edges and, once ensnared, pull me however deep it needed me to go that day. In each place I have lived there exists a wood that my mind’s eye recalls vividly, often and fondly. Continue reading
Things begin. Things end. I suppose that is the nature of things, and I suppose I knew that all along. For the last three years I have worked from home. Tomorrow that ends rather abruptly, and I have only tonight to reflect on what it might mean. Tomorrow the shit gets real – commuting and paid parking, scheduled lunches and cubicles. In honesty, I am afraid of all of that, and in my head I think that my fear stems partly from the loss of control. I can’t sit in the dark anymore, because I don’t control the lighting. I might be able to listen to music with headphones, but I doubt I’ll be able to blast a song when it seems appropriate, and I’m certain no one will agree that there are times when I absolutely must pick up the guitar and play along. I will not stay up past midnight and get up at 9:00 am. I will not work all day in my pajamas. I’ll have to wear shoes. I will not shower at 2:30 pm so that I can watch Ellen when my daughter comes home at 3:00. I’ll have to eat when I am told, go to meetings, work on group projects, and all of the things that I dreaded back before I found the freedom of solo flight. Continue reading
I suppose it’s natural to assume that your children will grow up to reflect you as a parent. I don’t think the reverse is true. I don’t think kids grow up believing that everything they will be or become is determined by their parents. Once we flip that switch from being kids to being people, it’s not uncommon for us to blame our parents for all of our negative traits and pat ourselves on the back for overcoming bad parenting to become good people — unless, of course, we are not good people. Continue reading
The last six months of my life was a series of starts and stops and blank pages and new ideas that that never made it past the guards with big hats of my brain. The beginning, I thought, was the hardest part. I know now that the beginning is only so difficult because there is never any middle, or any end. When you have nowhere to go, it is stupid to get in your car and pull out of the driveway. Immediately the decision to turn right or left is meaningless and confusing. If I had a destination, the decision of where to start might not be so hard. Continue reading
I don’t want to be dead. Not today, tomorrow, or at any time in the near to distant future. But death does not negotiate, as a rule, and will come when it comes. Perhaps the time and place where death will come to me is known somewhere in the universe, but since it cannot be known to me, the information is of little value. It will come when it comes. Continue reading
(The following was originally posted July 20, 2010, while in St. John.)
I am sitting at JJ’s Texas Coast Café – on the island of St John in the US Virgin Islands. I am tucked in a corner of the bar just inside the garage-door sized opening. From here I can see the Ferry dock and St John Island Spice. If I lean forward and squint through the boats and taxis I can almost see the sea, but knowing that it is there is enough for me. Though I am inside, I am wet. Not soaking wet – but I do keep having to wipe my hands on my shorts to keep the moisture off the MacBook – a gift to my daughter last summer which came in quite handy this morning when I decided to find a spot to sit and write that might have internet, and a dry seat. Continue reading