Growing Versions

In the summer I am barraged by images, that if it were any other time, I would be lunging for my camera. Sparkling water...abandoned houses...candid shots of my kids playing, picnic food...and on and on. But somehow I hold back.  These moments are precious, these times are not to be interrupted. Kids will protest, the wind will shift. Now it is fall, I am camera less at the moment. Again, the itch is there, the flicker, the inkling that something will be a good photograph. The shaft of light falling on yellowing leaves, the stack of cardboard boxes sitting next to farm produce. But for now, these images are going to have to come and go. I let their rich possibility steep for a moment and then walk away. I try to focus on this time as an incubation period. (One of the last photos with my now defunct camera phone. I had to try three times because it kept losing power...)

I am not good at details.  I like them to take care of themselves. And sometimes they do.  Details, when we have a chance to look, get bigger with examination.  Flaws become information. Overlooked details morph into mistakes.  Some details get bigger and make other details smaller. The liner notes can be lyrics. That's the thing about details.

Decisions don't just make themselves. Sometimes they take a long time to make, others are made in a snap. Sometimes they are made for us, others, hopefully more often than not, they get made by us. Informed decisions, uninformed decisions. Reckless, calculated. No matter. They do not make themselves. They are made.

I have often come to new understandings of parenting during my down time. It is understandable that at times when I am at rest, I have a little time to put things in perspective.  The beach and ocean are special places of reflection for me. The kids and I love the water. Getting them out of the ocean after an afternoon of swimming is always difficult, mostly because I hate getting out too. A few times last week, when the hurricane warmed waters allowed, we started a new habit of swimming at night. The first night, it was pitch black. Foggy and dark, there was no moon to illuminate things.  We jumped in and were delighted to discover plankton can be seen when it is that dark, we emerged from the water, with neon dots all over us, the fairy lights spread out from our ripples.  But the waves were dark and unpredictable. Out of nowhere a big wave would suddenly loom in the darkness.  At first this was thrilling, but one by one, it spooked each of us until we eve...