It appears that I’m posting about once a month, at best. I’m not writing much either. I could come up with numerous excuses. I know that subconsciously I sometimes avoid writing because it captures something. That something is captured is significant. It marks a moment or a series of moments or a serial of some form. That implies to me then that it should be something worthy of capture. I often consider that I have nothing new to say. What I experience everyday is something that someone else has experienced or something that someone else has written about. Certainly these moments have been written about, because so many times I read a book or an article and find myself struck by the resonance I feel when reading it.
But I know that it’s not that there is nothing to be said. There is. So much. The momentous and perpetual experiences of mother, wife, university systems analyst, a sometimes blogger, a biker, a runner, a person who hates to cook, and a person who loves her pets and plants, a person who gets lost in her thoughts, a person who wrestles with a manageable but undiagnosed illness. But it all seems so trivial. It’s an everyday life. These are things that each of us experience and have experienced for centuries.
Isn’t it ironic that I’ll take pictures of these same trivial moments. I don’t hesitate to capture a unique fence as I’m walking by, or a set of brothers on a Halloween candy high and matching blue tongues, or a sleeping child who stays in motion even as he lies still, or a pair of hounds who frustrate me with their never-ending whines and whoops until they droop into a pile of ears, adoration, submission and excess skin.
These moments fill my days and so very often leave me speechless and without words.