This time last year, I was buzzing about the tri-state area like maniac in search of the perfect place to snap a picture, on a mission to get to any and all classes on time, and trying to find just the right parking place among a crowded field shared by those who loved what I did for so long on weekends. I stopped looking at the clock and only looked at the calendar. I didn't have time to acknowledge minutes and hours. I barely had time to complete the days. My mania came from my own design. There is no one to blame, yet I don't deserve any credit. Until this past New Year's, I couldn't decide if I was running to or from. Now, I know. Now, I know it's time to slow down.
I was so "busy" (doesn't that word make me sound important) last spring that I couldn't take time to photograph the simple white dogwoods shown in the photo above. The blooms have been my friends for almost two decades. I've glowed in pride before their pristine white colors while a happy couple, or two, or more, smiled for my camera. The pictures were first born from film and later the digital age allowed me to capture and process these dogwoods in a much more timely manner. I felt as though they deserved a prompt reply after they presented me with such a simple reason to smile. I like being outside among these dogwoods when pretty dresses flaunt and priss before them. I can't believe I didn't have time to photograph these simple blooms last April. The fault is all mine. The time was there; I just didn't prioritize it. I shall not make that mistake again.
Cameras have been my constant companion, sibling if you will, since I was old enough to use a shutter finger. My papaw kept one handy on the screened in back porch and posed everyone in the junction on his back steps,. which were laden with marbles to spell out initials of his daughters. I'm very fortunate because most of my life was captured on film because someone made me a priority just long enough to snap a picture. In the blink of an eye...literally...I was stopped and made timeless. My papaw retired from two professions and made pictures of his dogs, his cousins, and flipped over trains, yet I couldn't find the time to photograph dogwoods last April.
Shame on me.
At this time of year when everything seems to speed up, I've decided I must slow down. I must take photos of dogwoods. I must stop on the way to my mom's house and photograph the children and grandchildren of people who watched me grow up. I must not celebrate a lively friend's life at his funeral; I must acknowledge it with more than a "LIKE" on Facebook while I watch his lightning fast little boy dash up a gridiron with no fear of being touched before he is in the zone. I've got to remember that the people who worked with me, for me, and loved me are the ones who pushed me through that tunnel to make something of myself with the people who work with me, for me and love me on the other side. I've got to stop saying, "I wish it were under better circumstances," when I see my childhood friends. I want to see them under the best circumstances.
Doing so means I must come out of my cave. It means this big ol' bear has to stop hibernating. It means I am willing to acknowledge we are all more alike than we are different if you'll meet me half way.
Hellofuzzy can't be a place to only acknowledge grief, sadness, or loss. I can't come here and write what I'm too afraid to say. I can't hide behind this keyboard in my floral mu-mu (don't judge) while I eat bon bons and peck out words to tell "you" how much I care and always have. I used to write, yes, actually write, book after book of journals. I realized they were all full of gloom and doom, so I burned them one day in Mom's back yard. I destroyed an amazing Saturday Night Fever garbage can, but I got rid of all that hurt. For some reason, about twenty years later, I got a hankering to put the same kind of hurt here. This ain't the place for that. I've got to rise. I've got to make you smile. I've got to give you some reason to be glad you took the time to read this madness because we sure don't need more reason to cry than we've had since baseballs started being knocked out of Heaven last week.
So, I'll leave you with this thought about what's happening in my life right now. It is not literary. It is not gracious. There is nothing about it right, but I have to just put pride to the side and do the right thing. I live at this house with four critters. There are two on the outside and two on the inside. The outside two are beautiful beasts of no burden. One of the two inside is domestic. The other is the child of satan. I live with two felines: Harpo and Alley. Alley was here first. She's a typical domestic short haired punk who wakes every morning to do me harm. I brought Harpo home to combat Alley's evil ways. Harpo is a lovely long haired feline. The article in the paper claimed she was Persian. I'm not so sure about that. A friend of mine says she's a natural blonde because it says so on her birth certificate. Well, my birth certificate says I weigh six pounds. Harpo's birth certificate says she's a Persian. You dig? Thought so.
Well, Harpo is a mess. She is knotted up and looks like some poor old English sheep dog left to fend for herself in a beauty shop full of poodles. Harpo needs some professional help. Now, in order to make that happen...think about the phone call I'd have to make. "Hello, my name is Danna Smith, and I'd like to make an appointment to get....um.....my......HARPO groomed.
Yes. That's it. Groomed. NOT shaved. Groomed. (Please let this person know what a Harpo is.) "
I practiced saying "Harpo" instead of that "c" word ten times before I made the call.
I couldn't say "feline" on the phone. I can write it, but feline isn't a word that should ever really be said out loud. It doesn't even feel good when you say it.
Finally, today I got up the nerve to make the time to make the appointment.
I called and managed to make my request without laughing like a 12 year old. When the conversation with the vet tech was over, I was so relieved. Thank goodness she didn't ask if I wanted my Harpo bedazzled, which I hear is quite the craze these days.
So, in a few days, I'll be taking my feline to get her shaved. It is long overdue.
....hellofuzzy....
