“Some people have a way with words….some people….not have way.”
~ Steve Martin
Introduction to Poetry
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Back in the days of high school and figuring out my destino, I had dreams of becoming a National Geographic Photographer. That, to me, seemed like the perfect job combined with the perfect lifestyle. Think about it, traveling all over the world, capturing incredible images, nothing predictable, always an adventure.
I was a dreamer.
Then one day my mom gave me a National Geographic article that delved into the life of their photographers. It was inspired by that movie “Bridges Over Madison County.” It showed that, though traveling the world was an adventure, as well as trying to get the perfect shot (duct taping themselves to poles to get that right shot), the photographers also lead lonely lives. Many of them were married and divorced many times over.
Obviously I needed to see the real picture, the one hidden behind the amazing shots spread across the glossy pages. Because I also wanted to be a mother. Perhaps a modern woman would tell me, oh sure, you could do both. You can have it all sister! Do it! To which I could only say, nah. So I reevaluated my dreams. And that’s ok.
But when I see pictures like this…
….I get a tug at the very back corner of my heart. This tug is small. Very slight. And it passes quickly. But just look at those shots! Amazing. And what did it take to get them. Seriously, I wonder.
In the mean time, I’m married someone from Madison County (there are even bridges there), I am not lonely nor do I duct taping myself to poles (not yet anyway), and I thoroughly enjoy the adventure of these, er, little tiny volcanoes….heh heh
If you follow my blog, (so, like, all three of you), you know that I wanted to make a Christmas card last year. I tried. I tried real hard. But alas, either you are thinking, “Hey La, where the heck was my Christmas card? I thought we were friends you big jerk!” or you realized that I did not, in fact, complete my goal. Which one was it, do you think?
I was going through the archives, looking for some new photos to freshen up my walls and I just had to giggle at how this was the ONLY picture that was close to looking good. They look cute, but don’t be deceived, it was a rough night.
But then we took some individual shots that, now that I see with fresh eyeballs, actually looked decent, lovely in fact.
I like the feel of this next image. Just try not to be distracted by the fact that Chunk #2 appears to have had a terrible accident regarding her hands.
Perhaps this year you will get a Christmas card. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.
Hmmm, it just occurred to me after I uploaded this picture, that it could be some sort of political statement, given the climate of things.
I was going through some files on el computador and there it was – a photographic reminder of a very humorous night.
Say hello to Mr. Jones (“put a wiggle in your stride”-Talking Heads).
Sí, hoy es lunes.
There are books in this world that are like a good old fashioned crush. You can’t wait to see them again at the end of the night. You think about them during meetings, phone calls, or whatever it is you have to be doing. Perhaps you even sneak the book in with you. When you do finally get to be together, time goes by way too fast and you mourn having to go to bed. Sometimes, you put off sleep for them. At particularly intense parts of your relationship, you may spend a whole day with them, not even getting out of your pajamas, setting out cold cereal for the kids, and letting the laundry pile sit, secretly hoping it will fold itself. Just five more minutes. Just one more chapter…
Well, then it’s over. And you ask, “What am I supposed to do now?”
You feel let down, perhaps even lost. You long for their company. You could start over, but it just wouldn’t be the same.
It’s time to move on.
I love a good book, but I hate when I love it so much that I feel a void when it’s over. Still, I’m glad we had our time together.
What’s on your love list today?