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Creativity.

The act of being creative, of fashioning something new, something wondrous, something uniquely different than anything anyone in the entire history of the human existence has ever done before. Whether that something be in the form of an innovative approach to everyday tasks, a beautiful work of art, generating an idea into a mechanism of words or fabric or materials or sound or some other combination of elements or even just a different way of looking at the world around us.

How many brand-new creations, innovations, discoveries or ideas have occurred over the human history of time? My brain is unable to compute the possibilities, to even contemplate what it would take to discern that. Where, how, would you even begin?

Suffice it to say, there probably isn’t too much that’s truly new anymore. It’s highly likely we humans have already tapped all there is to do, to know, to be within the realm of creativity. Or have we?

What else is there? What fantastic new breakthroughs in science or the arts or literature or music or images or architecture or film are lurking in the hearts and minds of the human experience, as of yet undiscovered? But hidden there – just THERE – all the same. Waiting for the spring load of release, that spark of ingenuity to make themselves known, either through systematic research or via an inadvertent occurrence that could not possibly be replicated no matter how hard one tried. Trip stones of discovery patiently awaiting their day in the sun.

The prospects for new advances and discoveries, beauty and fulfillment – it’s impossible to know what lies just beneath the surface of conscious reality – of any of us, really, not yet known but waiting, waiting…

This is one of the joys and lovely satisfactions of human achievement. Might that I one day be a contributing member of the creative class, however miniscule my contribution and even with only myself as an appreciative audience for what I myself might create. I only need then to trust my intuition – something I’ve started becoming more and more keen in taking note of – and to take a deep breath and commit myself to taking chances, throwing myself into my passions and maybe, just maybe, coming out on the other side with something sparkling, something new, something that wasn’t there before: creation. It most likely will appeal to no one but myself – as if that’s some small thing – but then again, it just might be SOMETHING.

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My camera of choice, the one I use most of the time, has been the Canon PowerShot SX50-HS. I’ve gotten some decent captures with it over the years and I have no complaints. Our very first camera, however, was a Canon EOS Digital Rebel 300D. We purchased it in 2004 and later supplemented our tool bag with a 70-300 telephoto lens. After an eight week night class, taught by an old school film photographer (somewhat ignorant – as were we! – of the new digital technology), we enjoyed playing with the new camera and our ‘hunting expeditions’, driving rural country roads, was a fun activity for the two of us to do together on lazy weekend afternoons.

It wasn’t long, however, before I switched gears and opted instead for something a little more user friendly (read: basic point and shoot) and purchased a smaller pocketsize camera. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I stepped it up a bit and got the PowerShot. Occasionally, my husband and I would play with the Rebel, experimenting with night photography and using it for family photos. After our trip to Colorado last fall where the only camera I packed was the PowerShot, we realized an SLR camera (with a larger display screen and easier to manipulate buttons for my sometimes very arthritic hands) would provide us with more of what we wanted so we purchased a Canon 70D and, just yesterday, we became the proud owners of our first piece of ‘good glass’: a Canon 17-55 f/2.8 lens.

My husband’s worst fears are now coming to fruition for no longer am I content to (just) use our original Rebel with the kit lens it came with or the telephoto. Now that I’ve got a bit of a taste for the Caddy, the old Ford just won’t quite do – especially with the new 2.8 lens. Bill’s strength is his patience for mastering the technical aspects of photography (I’m workin’ on it!) while mine is composition and a more creative eye. So I’ll relinquish the 70D (soon enough) so he can figure it all out and then show me how it works.

For now, however, here’s a (very small) sampling of some of the photos I shot today. Lots to learn so nothing too special here but I’m having fun with the effort!

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Last weekend I attended our 40 year high school class reunion, my first since the five year mark after graduating in 1975. That 1980 gathering left me cold and I vowed to never return. Too much pettiness, cliquishness, meanness and snark. At least, that’s how I experienced it and, wearily, I moved on, complacent with not ever looking back. If I’m honest, however, my own insecurities and dearth of Lessons Learned in Life most likely contributed to the dissatisfaction I felt then as well. I certainly wasn’t popular during junior high or high school. Nor was I ever considered ‘cute’ or ‘pretty’ or in any way attractive. While not a loner, I had few friends and wasn’t involved in many activities. Perhaps I secretly hoped that I would automagically morph into someone with social awareness, grace, style and savvy. It certainly didn’t turn out that way and off I slunk, my feelings hurt and proverbial tail coiled tightly between my legs.

Fast forward thirty-five years and I’m now more sure of myself. Plenty of mistakes and serious errors in judgment have accumulated since that first reunion but I’ve learned so much over time and have gained my own personal brand of self-confidence. I know what it feels like to be content with who I am – always an ongoing process, to be sure – but I no longer berate myself for the indiscretions of an ill-advised and awkward youth. Instead, I cherish and celebrate my strengths, my quirks, my sometimes maddening idiosyncrasies. I enjoy life, I try to be kind and I am, for the most part, a positive person. And while I didn’t necessarily glide into that red and white festooned gymnasium that hot July evening radiant with a new-found social awareness, grace, style and savvy – I did okay.

I was nervous and apprehensive the weeks and days prior, and the night before, I wished only for the next day to just be over and done with. For all my anxiety, for all the nervous energy spent agonizing over images of an invisible self walking in among my former classmates, only to be ignored and deemed bland and uninteresting, it was fine. Actually, it was more than fine. It was fun and I enjoyed myself more than I’d thought would be possible.

It was fun reconnecting and yet that isn’t quite the right word for it since reconnecting implies previous connections already made. With our shared history of the old elementary school building – sadly demolished some years ago to make way for a Hardee’s and senior housing – and memories of Fun with Dick and Jane and our second grade teacher, Mrs. Thorsheim and 7th grade Iowa scrapbooks and those insanely fun but potentially deadly Fertile playground ‘giants’ and our 1975 number one rating all season long only to lose the first game of the Iowa state boys basketball tournaments in March (a real heartbreaker), for all of that, yes we have much in common. But for the most part, we – our current selves, born of life’s burdens and victories, the blood, sweat and tears of what was yet to come for us and was not yet known – then – to any of the members of the Class of 1975 – we could not possibly have truly connected. And so, this gathering so many years later was instead a coming together, a renewal of acquaintances and in some cases, introductions of the very first kind, a forging of truly new relationships.

I didn’t leave the gym that night until after midnight, very much well past my bedtime. And once tucked into bed, I was too wired to sleep. My mind was churning out thoughts left and right, replaying conversations and smiling inwardly with fond recollection of all that had transpired that evening. Will I attend our 45 year reunion? Most likely, yes. But even if I choose not to or other events conflict in five year’s time, I’ll remain happy and cheered that I decided to finally, after thirty-five years, take my place among the others, those of us who are the Class of 1975.

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The work day done, I sat outside in the shade of the our covered entry, relaxed and unhurried, reading a new book on my Kindle and admiring the purple coneflowers that line the walkway to our front door. The sun was bright and shiny and a slight breeze ran through all things green and growing from my vantage point. Despite being early July, the air was crisp, like a beautiful fall afternoon, and the temperatures were mild. In short, it was a lovely day.

I’d just taken a break from my reading and felt a sudden calm, a sense of peace. No thoughts or mind-speak roiling through my brain, no nagging guilt over undone chores or anxious speculation of things yet to come. It felt nice. I smiled. Similar moments of unruffled idyll have caught me – pleasantly – unaware these last few weeks.

What is the opposite of omen? Is there such a thing? A harbinger of some sort for happiness? For whatever it is, I’m pondering the possibility of an unbidden premonition of a newfound attainment of peace of mind. An awareness of what is, what isn’t, what won’t or can’t be and what just might come my way. And finding myself at ease – for today! – reveling in this delightful sense of serenity.

May that it lasts and may that it be true.

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07/02/2015

Pulling back the curtains and stepping out into the light…

Here’s the first photo for my very own Project 365. My good friend Mara has inspired me with some of her wonderfully creative shots so I’ve decided to follow her lead and see where things take me!

There are several cherished mementos on display here in this photograph. Some make me smile while others make me giggle. A pink candle, a gift from my sister, provides a backdrop of color and serves as a makeshift bookend. A cleverly placed – and serendipitous! – 365 Ways to Kiss Your Love, a sweet little book that I received when Bill and I were engaged, is perfect for this, my initial Project 365 kickoff. Others include: words of wisdom in Life’s Little Instruction Book, all sorts of wonderful ideas in Susan Branch’s Christmas Joy, an admonition to Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There, the first three volumes of Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events and an interesting antique store find entitled Log of the Water Wagon Or the Cruise of the Good Ship Lithia, published in 1906. Those are the things that (mostly) make me smile. Look closely and you’ll see a goofy shot of my husband and me, dressed as pirates in one of those trendy, fun photo booths at my niece’s wedding two years ago.

And to tie it all together: a lovely angel, innocent and serene, her wings wide-spread with her head resting on her hand – and seemingly unimpressed with the whole lot of it.

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There is just something so beautiful, so luminous, so serene about light filtering through the shade of a woodland canopy. It’s both breathtaking and soothing, calm and exhilarating. It fills me with peace. It’s where I long to be.

What’s lost is nothing to what’s found,
and all the death that ever was,
set next to life,
would scarcely fill a cup. ~ Frederick Buechner

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While my heart stays true, more or less, my body will occasionally only feign loyalty. While I often curse rheumatoid arthritis, which I’ve known intimately now for more than fifteen years, for my morning-clumsy hands, slower movements, fatigue and declining strength, I am fully aware that it’s more than just an autoimmune disease wreaking havoc on my bod.

I’m getting older. I’m aging and no longer young. Things just don’t work like they used to. We girls used to make fun of Mom, with her aches and pains and cutting down on caffeine while hormones coursed through our teenage bodies and our skin glowed and we had slim, girlish figures (that we grumbled about then but would dearly love to have now). Oh, we had so much energy and enthusiasm, get up and GO! I understand it all now though. It’s here. It’s now. It’s – me. It’s where my own body is at these days.

And I guess that’s okay. Yeah, yeah – as the old joke goes – it’s better than the alternative. Besides, what can you do? Turning back the clock: NOT an option. We’re stuck. Time – and the elements – just keep rushing forward, unstoppable. Just as unrelenting wind and rain and hail and snow and the ever-glaring sun have continued their onslaught of this humble wooden structure, so too have the effects of life and her accompanying stresses, challenges, griefs and sorrows, exhilarating highs and debilitating lows, hardships and glories exerted their pressures, their effects upon us. But this structure, with its blistering paint, rusted hardware, warped siding and string-enhanced door latch, is still a thing of beauty. It continues to stand, weathering the elements, taking what’s given but still having purpose. Charm. Durability.

That is what I’ll be then. I can provide shelter, structure. I have use. I can provide comfort. I still have beauty. For I still AM. I continue to be. Until the tornado of life bears down on me, I’ll continue to stand. Even if I have my own blistering paint, warped siding and require my own enhancements – strings of a different sort, at times, to handle what comes my way.

Unlike this old shed, though, I’ve got heart. And passion. Drive and enthusiasm. Things I want to do yet, places I want to go. So while I may not have the energy or the endurance, the power or the agility that I may once have had, all systems are go. While the light is still green – and is sometimes yellow – I’ll continue on. I intend to make the best of it and enjoy each day. I’m still standing, weathering the elements of life. Yes. I’m still standing.