Twelve Long Years

Twelve Long Years

twelveI wrote my first blog post 12 years ago. It’s here, somewhere, but like everything else from that time in my life, it’s not worth reading. I was a 32-year-old father of two kids with ambition and dreams and no idea what to write about. The last part is still true, but I’m 12 years older, I have one less kid, and my dreams they are a dyin’, one by one.  I wouldn’t say I wasted the last one and a quarter decades. I’ve progressed along the regular, normal path for a man of my socio-economic status. I’ve successfully wrangled a kid into college, thereby achieving at least half of my parenting goals. And I’ve outlived my father by eight years and counting. I say all those things somewhat in jest, but in my heart I’m pretty glad to still be alive, and I’m extremely proud of my kiddo, and the things that she has done and will do.

I say all of this to preface my semi-annual (or perhaps bi-annual) resolution to think about starting to consider maybe trying to write semi-frequently again. For those of you following along in your hymnals, you know that I recently “blogged” about my family’s trip to Hawaii. I slipped back into a comfortable place while describing our adventures, and when the last post (still not published) was written, I felt a tinge of remorse.  I wanted to keep going. Part of that, I’m sure, stems directly from wanting to live indefinitely a life that was worth writing about. In my normal, everyday life, I don’t get much opportunity to ride horses or visit waterfalls or photograph beaches.

Still, perhaps there are things that I can pull from my every day that might seem interesting. I recently visited a blog about hot chocolate. That sounds, on the surface, like a topic that would quickly play out. But the author weaves interesting bits of her life into the posts, and somehow talking about hot chocolate becomes enlightening, inspiring, and occasionally just a little too relevant to my own thoughts and fears.

So, having been inspired in such a manner, I began to evaluate my situation. I do travel quite a bit. Not to Hawaii, necessarily – more often to places like Boise and Albuquerque – but I believe now that it is not so much the subject of the writing, but the writing itself, that is the important thing.  I also garden once in a while. Sometimes I sing karaoke. All these things are in my brain, and need to be out in the world.

What I’m trying to say, finally, is welcome to the new, improved, Write Jay Write of 2016 and beyond. WJW 3.5, if you will.  I will be responsible for holding my own feet to the fire, but you’re welcome to prod me along if you feel I’m slacking.  As with previous pronouncements, this post in no way indicates that I’ll write anything any time soon. This is simply a good reset point, so that I have something to which I can refer when, in another 12 years, I sit down to write a similar post.

Thanks, as always, for sticking with me all this time.

Jay

Bald Baby Head – Denver Color Run

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.

Continue reading “Bald Baby Head – Denver Color Run”

Port Angeles

Port Angeles by Jay Groce
Port Angeles, a photo by Jay Groce on Flickr.

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.
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Forest Floor

Forest Floor by Jay Groce
Forest Floor, a photo by Jay Groce on Flickr.

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 “Forest Floor”

All alone when being alone is all that I need

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 “All alone when being alone is all that I need”

School Picture

Emmy

 

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 “School Picture”