Perspective

Kill Shot

My hands are sweating. I don’t know if it’s because of the 45 Magnum in my hand or the pressure of his hand at the dip of my low back. I turn to look at my ‘date’ and instantly get reprimanded to look at the target. I refocus, check that I’m avoiding ‘limp wrist,’ slow my breathing and squeeze the trigger. I jump despite bracing for the gunfire and the hot shell casing flashing out. He informs me I hit in the black. A kill shot.

He’s happy. I’m terrified.

I think of how little pressure it took to send a bullet blazing at my paper target and immense relief that somehow the bullet didn’t richochet to kill someone in the room, particularly my date. Good men are hard to find at this age.

Thoughts begin to fire in rapid assault. I’m divorced and attempting to date in my 40s as a mother with three kids and a responsible job. What am I doing at an indoor shooting range pretending I have time to date? What am I thinking?  
I refocus, slow my breathing and squeeze the trigger.  
      I’m thinking it feels good to have sweaty palms.

DB

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     It was a moment of disorientation.   Last week, out on my usual running route, i decided to mix it up and run the route backwards.  Not backwards as in turning myself around so that I could see where I had been, (I am truly not that graceful - even though a running coach once had me doing that for a few paces because it uses different muscles) but backwards, as in the opposite direction.  Instead of turning right at the stop sign, I turned left and started running at what was usually the end. 

    Lost in my running reverie and mulling over all my little troubles, I came to myself and realized that I had no idea where I was.  In the middle of a route I had run hundreds of times, I was completely disoriented - all because I was running in a different direction. The houses and streets looked different from this side and I wasn’t sure where to turn.  I quickly re-oriented myself, but I was struck by how much difference a simple reversal of the view made.  It was a completely different perspective.

     Perhaps, we just need to turn around and walk the other way for a few minutes. Mix things up. It may be all we need for a fresh perspective.

AF

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What a wonder to find

Etched in the sand

The same geography that lies

Just beneath my skin.

Veins and capillaries,

Open like a science book illustration,

Carrying liquid life

To and from the source.

But scattered about,

Obstructing, interrupting the flow,

A few shell corpses

Will not be ignored.

Nothing for me to do

But take notice, and remember

That in such juxtapositions

May be the signature of the Creator.

SS

 

     Although it is usually just said as an expression of boredom, lately I have literally been watching the grass grow. I decided that this spring, my first with my very own yard, I would find out how exactly one takes care of grass. Up until recently the extent of my knowledge was that you mow it when it gets too high. But now, I am doing my research, finding out about fertilizers and pre-emergent treatments, pest control and overwatering. 

      I attended a lawn care seminar at a local garden center last Saturday, and they told me that once my grass greens up, I should bring in a sample of it so they can tell me what kind it is and what I need to do to keep it looking its best. The weeds that are overrunning the grass right now, I was told to leave alone. They are winter weeds and will die soon anyway. By next year, with regular applications of pre-emergents, hopefully they won't be so out of control. 

     I'm thankful for the wisdom of experts, for their recommendation of caution and patience. Without it, I may have just hosed down the whole place with Roundup and started from scratch. This way takes more time and effort, but I can just imagine how satisfying it will be to look at my healthy lawn and remember how far we have come.

SS

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     It’s church yard sale weekend.  Providence is participating in the Red Balloon Yard sale on Daniel Island and so I’ve been weeding out clutter to donate.  An old foot massager.  Several remote control cars.  An alarm clock that still works but isn’t needed. Books. Old vases. A CD player.  An ancient Nintendo gameboy.  More books and bric-a-brac.  Unused photo albums. Where did all this stuff come from? My daughter, Savannah, who is home for spring break, goes through her closet and donates a half-dozen posters, a baby doll, several beanie babies, giant pink monster slippers, and some random trinkets. But it’s the bears that stop me.

       In Alison’s closet, I find the bears she loved as a toddler, with the uninspired names of Pink Bear and Bear Bear.  At two and a half, for reasons known only to her, Alison pronounced Bear Bear with an affected Scarlett O’Hara accent -  “Bay-uh, bay-uh.”  Even though Alison has now married and moved to St. Louis, leaving Bear Bear behind without a thought, I haven’t been able to muster up the grit to send the bears along to a new owner.  It’s time I decide - but first, I take a picture.  

     It’s my new de-cluttering strategy.  If I’m feeling too sentimental to get rid of something - even if that something has been stored in a box in a closet for ten years - I simply take a picture of it.  The memory can remain with the picture, taking up a lot less real estate than a box full of stuffed animals in a closet.  I’m feeling brave, so I photograph Big Bear (a five foot tall bear who has lived in Alison’s room for years) and sent him off to the yard sale as well. Those bears will find new children to love them and their digital image will remain to trigger memories and inspire blog posts.  The pictures of the bears are now safely stored in a file on my computer named “Favorite Old Things.”  

      Letting go of what we love is never easy... but it does free up closet space.

AF

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FOCAL POINT

The key to success is to focus our conscious mind on things we desire 

not things we fear.                                             ~Brian Tracy

I took a walk with a photographer friend of mine who took this shot.

It's amazing what a long lens and shallow depth of field can do. Likewise in life we can change focus and reframe events.

It is said we are the stories we tell ourselves.  Can it really be that simple?

For a March day, it was.

Hello, spring.

DB