Okay, Once A Week

painting by Todd Horton

I just thought I'd look, when Todd said "You know, there's a pretty cute house for sale just down the road." I just wondered about it. Then I started using possessives, and taking steps, and after the offer was made, and accepted, people asked me where this came from. "Was it a dream of yours?" they said. 

At first, I didn't know what to say to that. I knew they meant, Did you plan this? How did we not know? Where was this, when we saw you in the city? When you wore those shoes, and were never in the kitchen, or at home? Where were we, when this happened in you? 

It's true to say that it was a dream. Not like a goal, though, not an ambition. Really, a dream, something hazy and half-held, the way after a dream, you have the sense of who was in the dream with you, what the place felt like, even if you don't know the names. You know it as a good dream, one you want again, somewhere to linger, or a bad one, something to wake up from. You don't need to know the names. They are self-evident, in dreams. It's only when you wake up that you want to know.

I used the possessive for the mini-farm, but that wasn't adequate, really, saying, my greenhouse, my mini-barn, my bedrooms. There should be a term for mutual possession, for the things you hold, and that hold you in return, for the way we might belong together, the farmhouse owning me as much as I own it. I will be in debt for it, indebted to it. Beholden. The way we are in love.

I Don't Know What It Is Today

James

When I woke up, I had a migraine again. What happens on those mornings feels like a routine, but more from the grinding quality of it all than from any actual repetition. Get up, out of bed, take something, drink a full glass of water. There's a decision making process about what to take. How much time do you have? How bad is it? Over the counter for days when you have time to make buttered toast, when eating it doesn't sound too bad, when you've got time to get back in bed and wait. This morning was leave by 8:30 or else, so it was Rx right away, then back in bed but for twenty minutes only. Forget the shower, can't be helped. 

Even so, in bed, I sent text messages to Susan in Hawaii about my bad dream, and she wrote back, "Still, just a dream." That helped. Then the mini-farm came to me, and I thought of everything that might be there, hammocks and tea lights and extra shawls and a big basket of hand knit socks and maybe for once in my life I could keep a houseplant alive. At work, I was invited to lunch and later a lot of people I like will sing to me, no instruments, just voice. I'm hoping for perfect imperfection. I'm hoping. I'm hopeful.  

Too Early To Tell

I love this photo of James. You can't tell at this size, but the focus is sort-of lovely, nice and crisp on James, blurry elsewhere. The kind of depth of field I like. We took it this weekend, when Jess and James and I spent an afternoon poking around the little acre that the mini-farm sits on. We couldn't get into the 1928 farmhouse, but when mom gets back this weekend, we will. From the outside, the house looked a little sad. A few remnants of the former owners, including a fantastic wallhanging sculpture thing, slightly abstract plant-like shapes, in a copper color? Plus a paint job in the kitchen that featured sunflowers and sky blue, so happy it looked like it was overcompensating for something. 

I realized I was a goner when it started to remind me of Pam's ranch, how elated I am for the last  thirty minutes of the drive up to the place, the feeling I get of wanting long days of wandering around the yard photographing every little nook and cranny. There was a little dead sparrow in the hay in one dark stable, a greenhouse filled with luminescent weeds, a wall of photogenic garden tools, and lichen on the fence rails, just waiting for me to load a roll of color film. I didn't take those photos just yet though, instead, the ones I took that day were of Jessica, and James, and Todd, who saw my car parked in the drive and pulled up in his VW van, grinning at the sight of me, Jess and James in the yard of the house he told me about just the weekend before. Who knows what will happen, but as I took those photos, I thought about how much I might one day like looking at them, that first day at the mini-farm with some of my dearest friends, back when we were young, and foolish in the happiest ways possible, and had no idea all the things that would follow. 

Just Realized

I have to come back here.

Haven't Been Here For a While.

This was the first photo I scanned from photo class. Tom likes it, which is nice for me. "This man likes hot chocolate" is what he wrote next to it, when he made it his profile photo on Facebook. The scanner makes it look a little weird here, purpley or something, and Jahnavi says I still need to do some burning on the left side of it, bring in more tone on his left hand, in the sky. "Paper white isn't that attractive," she says. She also says "You're working some things out," and she's right about that, even the print above is  still a lot better than the first prints I made. I'm learning. 

The other photos I scanned are also of people, of course. One underexposed shot from when the battery was dead in my camera, Jessica up in Edison in front of the gorgeous raindrops she filled the shop window with. That was such a good day we had, driving around in her little truck, eating the best eggs benedict in the world at Tweets, and I got the very last chocolate chip ice cream cone.

I've taken photos of Jason before, but never like this one. I think he looks so dear here, all rough and vulnerable, curls and beard and sweet clear eyes. It's enough to make a girl want to throw together a blog post. It has always been the photos that made the posts easy, lured me into the writing. It's the words that are the hard part. I have to work hard to forgive myself the awkwardness, just be okay with typing, telling you a couple things, saving other things for later. I remind myself that faith exists, and just like that, it finds me.