As illusive and fleeting as youth, summer days come rippling through our lives, but we panic. What to do with a sunny Saturday? That one long weekend in July? Quickly, family gatherings, backyard barbecues, tasks only completed in warm weather, and much more, fill our calendar. Can I request we all collectively push the pause button? Stop for a moment? Take a look at green? And blue? Listen to the cardinal’s song and walk along the water’s edge? Exhale America, here comes our Independence Day. A time to feel the freedom.
Tag Archives: Photography
Graduation, however
A few years ago I wrote about graduates. In the ensuing years I thought that was all I ever wanted to say about that topic, that edge of time, that walking off process, that bravery. Until now. Because as wonderful as the notion of moving on is, it is also terrifying. Often impossible. Sometimes only accomplished by crawling. And stopping. And being nudged until you crawl forward again. As we applaud those who boldly walk and do so with ease, there are many who can not. Theirs is a walk of anxiety and missteps. Of not showing up. Of hanging back. Of not joining in. Of fearing what lies ahead far more than driving on. Their achievements seem to pale in those celebratory moments. What of them? I wondered as I sat in the packed gymnasium filled with graduates and their families.
Runaway
After hearing about Trump’s latest fuck-up today I felt like running away. How can one stand for such ignorance? Such foolhardiness? Such lack of foresight? There are no sensible responses to these rhetorical questions, except to stay vigilant, and keep shouting them. #resist his #ignorance. My history with running away runs deep… and days like today don’t make it easy.
There was a stretch in my younger years when I actively ran away, like a few times a week, or maybe it was only once. Let’s face it, memory, at least mine, is porous and malleable. But for now, let’s say that running away was something I did with regularity. I’d pack a few items, like pj’s and my toothbrush, and walk around the block to our back-fence neighbor’s house. I have no idea why that household seemed like a respite, for they too had plenty of children scampering about with two parents faded in the background, but it was there I always went.
Nine Cent Girl 