the circle game


It’s been a wild ride into autumn, life in a constant state of flux-y turmoil sprinkled with the odd joyful moment. The photo above illustrates finding one of those odd joyful moments in a sweet golden hour of the last week of summer, reminding ourselves that we live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Do you remember the 52 Project? It fell off the face of my blog, but not because I’m a slacker. It’s just that this happened, a while back:


…and The Boy said he didn’t want me to post so many portraits of him in this space anymore.

So, I stopped.

These days, I ask his permission before I publish any posts with his image. He is old enough now to require that consideration and I do my best to respect it. Well, except for right at this moment while he’s in bed, but if he wants me to remove his gleeful splashing face in the morning, I will do so without hesitation. I have a feeling, though, that he’ll really get a kick out of it.

And, remember the One Shot Project? I didn’t discontinue that on account of being a slacker, either. My lens experienced a sudden recovery from its mysterious illness and stopped crapping out after only one shot. Simple as that. I suppose I could have continued with the project, anyway, but it seemed a little…I don’t know…contrived, I guess.

All that said, the only reason I haven’t shared my now-well-tested and ridiculously delicious recipe for fermented cocoa granola is because I’m a slacker. Stay tuned.


Nine and Ten: 52



the 52 project.
Portraits of my main squeeze(s) every week.

My working life is a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle of teeny gigs that nearly almost make a supplemental income when I get a few of them snapped together. I have little desire for more screen time at the end of a day that largely revolves around hours of it. Even so, I’m not too far behind on a personal project, and that is something. Actually, I’m lying about that. I fished the psycho picture off my phone from a weekend hike and the knitting pic is for this week’s post on the Sparkle Stories blog (I’m there every Thursday). Chronologically, they’re spot-on, but they weren’t intended for the 52 project. I suppose that doesn’t make much of a difference to anyone else.

*Oh, and I feel like I should mention the fact that my son doesn’t run around threatening people with knives. This was a ham-up for the camera. He was chipping ice on the brook with it, which is a totally inappropriate use for, say, his good carving knife, but not for the chintzy 99-cent hardware store almost-not-even-a-knife that he was carrying at the time. I greatly enjoy the contrasting moods of the two images.

O, this week you…

…acquired two new friends for the fish tank, which had been empty for months after a stretch of Aquatic Pet Disappointment (APD). Cheeky and Other Fish enjoy staring out from the same corner all day long, but otherwise are quite lovely and entertaining and, so far, alive.

…allowed me to teach you how to arm knit while I simultaneously taught myself, and we couldn’t stop laughing. Thanks for always being patient and willing to subject yourself to numerous photographs and “Hey, could you do that again?” for my Craft Correspondent job.

…have been ridiculously high energy crazy whoa every night and so I’m contemplating black curtains to simulate 5pm darkness until next fall.

…asked me to go out for a hike with you, when it’s almost always the other way around. It would have been so fantastic if I wasn’t sick with a head cold, but I went anyway so as not to discourage you from asking again.

Four: 52




the 52 project.
Portraits of my main squeeze(s) every week.

Suddenly, you are aware of making an impression. Perhaps, it is because you understand that I don’t just keep images for you and for myself. I share them. Or, I could be reading too much into it, and you are simply maturing more quickly than I can keep up. You would rather share your truth than a silly tongue-out face to cover it up. It’s hard to get a candid shot of you, anymore. I have hardly any time to line up my trigger finger, and you will turn, beaming in my direction.

How you’ve put up with me this week (and last), I do not know. I did everything I could to fend it off this year, but the winter melancholy was overpowering. Your smile and your laughter have gone a long way to prevent me from going completely under.

It’s almost embarrassing to be so predictable. Mid-to-late January gets me every year. It tells me I’m aiming to jump too high, that I’m investing too many of my hopes and dreams into a shiny new year, and that I’m just setting myself up for a crushing disappointment. I don’t know why I fall for it. I don’t have to listen.

Tomorrow, though,…tomorrow January’s voice will stop. The gentle encouragement of February will release me. We’ll really plan the garden, the sap will start to flow, the days will continue to grow longer, and I will still have my hopes and dreams. I may forget them when I feel smothered under January’s dark cloak, but I’ll still be clutching the whole lot of them when I come around and find myself in the light.

Today, on repeat: It’s okay. It’s all okay.