I woke up thinking about last night’s mad dash to post a few October stills while October still had breath in its body. As if this blog was my very own Pinterest board to remember life with a few little links.
Then as one thought always leads to another, I began thinking about all those October moments — no less important — that passed without an attempt to preserve the moment. No written words. No images, published or otherwise, at least in my possession. Like,
- last Sunday’s final Moveable Feast for the year, a rare event where every family member sat in attendance,
- a cute almost 10 month-old Reese Caroline dressed up like a little lamb for her first Halloween, so unhappy in her costume you’d think she was being led to … (no I can’t say it…),
- the beauty coming forth in the east garden, once a forgotten side yard used to grow weeds and hold leftover stone,
- the nine Nellie Stevens hollies planted on Saturday — doesn’t this sound like it belongs as a stanza in the Twelve Days of Christmas?, and
- my new kitchen finally finished… except that I’ve decided to repaint it all again.
And the list lives on into infinity.
And then I look up to see the morning light casting this lovely November image on the wall — the very one that became header for this post. Perhaps, I think, it’s a gift for All Saint’s Day to remind me that what we see is not all that’s there?
I reach for my camera to capture it. To find, with no surprise whatsoever, that it wasn’t at all what I saw, it wasn’t at ALL what I experienced. Not by half. Because what I observed was so much better and richer than what I’m able to preserve.
I post a few words and images knowing, even as I write, it’s not necessarily the best of everyday life or even the best of me. But sometimes, yes sometimes — perhaps when the light is just right, and maybe’s it when I’m most aware of the play of the light and shadows, that a few words are born into the blog that mimic life in the moment enough to breathe shallowly upon the page.
A still image begins to sway and dance so that it’s a trick and treat to the eye. Mere slats from my window blinds cast shadows on the wall which mysteriously transform into a musical staff; the shadow of curled ironed work of the floor lamp looks like a treble clef; and something — I’m not sure what — maybe leaves on the tree outside my window? — begin to jump up and down the lines looking like musical notes dancing upon staff lines.
The shadow and light become a symphony like this.
And I think: Can life get better than this? If life is like THIS every moment of every day, then there’s no such thing as an everyday life — at least, as. everyday is commonly thought of — COMMON. PLAIN JANE. VANILLA. Dare I say….BORING?
And because of this mind set, and our own lack of attention — for surely I’m not alone in attention deficits — is it any wonder we can’t know the whole of our lives?
an everyday life 