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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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Sadly, my posting of old photos may be coming to a point where it is less frequent. I’m running out of old photos to post, particularly those that aren’t nude portraits in some way. Which is nothing else seem really old hat to me but maybe that’s just because I’m not 22 and full of hormones anymore. I need to take more photos so I have more things to post and talk about.

I’m also noticing the community on Tumblr seems to be teens half my age. Maybe I’m just an old fart who doesn’t know how to use Tumblr? I’ve got absolutely nothing against teens. On the teen aspect, I wonder sometimes if my ranting is relevant, or even responsible.

When we’re teens we’re going through so much. So many emotions, hormones, new situations, pressures. I can see where some of what I post becomes attractive or relatable if not just something to feel emotions to. But for most teens, these things will pass. It will change and it will get better. So I worry I’m not helping. I’ll get into that more near the end.

It leads me to these photos today. These photos were taken years ago on the Bonneville Salt Flats. I’m sure there’s a place on the flats with an actual parking lot and visitor center but that’s now how we did it. This was probably the second time shooting this model. I’ll have to tell the story of the first another time. She was a little younger than I was grew up traditionally LDS but she herself wasn’t particularly religious or conservative. She actually seemed to like the idea of tattoos, alternative music, just being yourself even if she personally didn’t have tattoos. She was a HUGE lover of animals. Would end up one day a hedgehog breeder I think.

On this particular day she took her dog with her and together in her old BMW she picked me up and we went down the highway. The highway at the flats is basically a straight line and no one is driving the speed limit. Lots of people whizzing by at 100+ miles per hour. Being the flats, there’s also a huge amount of wind. We drive for what must have been an hour and talked, always looking at her gas gauge as that limited what we could do. I remember at one point some of the rubber holding on the windshield of that old BMW caught the wind and just flung off the car. Made me think of being in a rocket ship and having a panel fly off.

When we finally decided to take photos we just pulled over and walked out to the flats. It was vast, flat, and windy.

To me, these are lonely photos. And I post them today because of it. The girl in the photos was someone I had several deep conversations with. And in many ways I think had I allowed myself to feel joy, I could have been friends with. It may be arrogant to think so, but maybe even something more. She was someone who saw my flaws and kept trying to tell me that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. And at some point in life because I couldn’t let myself have friends, let alone find love, and kept trying to tell myself I couldn’t form relationships with models or it was creepy… at some point I’d end up locking her out of my life. Suddenly, dramatically, and quietly.

This last month has been one hell of a roller coaster ride emotionally. There have been developments that happened with my old friend. The kinds of things where you don’t necessarily go looking and somehow it just pops up. The kinds of things where suddenly a lot of things just sort of happen. Where other things just don’t happen. It’s been a month of spiraling out on anxiety and walking around like Jack Skellington going, “What does it mean? What does it mean?”. A month of trying to distract myself, feel emotionally distant, make mistakes, learn something about myself, respond to all the stress and anxiety differently. A month of things not being as bad as I thought and things not going as horribly as I thought. And on the rare occasion getting to pull out my telescope to see how my old friend is on their boat and just feel, happy or complete again for a minute. It’s been a long and strange month.

Part of that month includes several people telling me something that I’m sure I’ve been told before by someone, but for some reason resonates now. It’s the notion that really nothing that’s happened is bad, or wrong. It doesn’t mean I’m a monster, that I’m a fuck up, or that my old friend even hates me. They probably just, don’t think of me because life has moved on for them. More to the point I’ve been told several times this month that the issue, not problem but issue, in my life is pain. Particularly that I keep punishing myself. And doing so to such an impossible and undeserving standard. As if all the punishment somehow makes everything that happened and all the time lost okay. As if should I ever not punish, then none of it would matter anymore. That if I just punish myself hard enough or long enough, that maybe life will go back to the way it was which it never will, but also shouldn’t necessarily and that’s okay. That punishment and pain have become an identity, and I’ve not allowed myself to know anything else.

It makes me think of these photos. Because there’s been so many wonderful people along the way the last 16 years that I’ve locked out and pushed out. People I felt I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, associate with beyond a very strict point. I’ve missed out on so much. I’m at a point in my life where I don’t want to miss out on those things anymore. And I don’t want to live in punishment and pain. The time lost, is lost. But I still have the rest of my life. That perhaps there is something to be said for time served and enough is enough.

In some capacity, even if it’s just chatting online on occasion, I’d like to move on with my old friend. Like I’ve said before, I’ve always had this weird feeling my path eventually leads me back to them. And without the worry of school, social groups, parents, the impending doom of “get life right or live in a van down by the river” now, they and I have our whole lives to get to know each other. And be who we need to be to each other.

But even if it is just conversations online on occasion, which is progress I’m hoping comes from this month, or even if it’s nothing at all. I really want to enjoy life again with someone. I want someone to not lock out anymore.

And I think that’s the lesson. “let it go” doesn’t mean forget about it, or it doesn’t matter. It means that at some point the only person punishing you, judging you, hurting you… is you. And the only way it’ll ever get better is if you forgive yourself and allow yourself to be happy again. Something some of the events of this month, be they good or bad, has shown me. It’s okay. SWAT isn’t about to bust down my door. It’s okay to feel something.

Came across a podcast episode today that talked a little about this idea of Idiot compassion vs Wise compassion. It’s an interesting concept. One of those things that when you stop to think about it feels like you’ve always known about but just never really had defined before. That “duh” moment for me I guess.

For most of us, the compassion we’ll see most often is going to be Idiot compassion. We’ll even be the dealers of it from time to time. We’ll see it mostly from our friends and our family when we’re not feeling our best.

In Idiot compassion it’s when someone gives compassion for their own benefit. Because it makes them feel better. Because they personally don’t want to see this person suffering, or because if the suffering heed their advice they somehow gain. Such is of our friend stops being mopey we can finally go to the movies. It’s when they just want to make someone feel better, and so they don’t necessarily tell the suffering the truth.

When we see someone we care about in a problem and we feel compelled to say something it is probably idiot compassion. Something done that probably isn’t going to really help the other person anyways. It is probably something nice for the sake of being nice. And it risks being something that may actually hurt or further the situation the suffering are in. This kind of compassion typically doesn’t take into context, see, or even care about the whole situation from an objective view.

Your friends and family will likely give idiot compassion. As Lori Gottlieb says you may hear statements for example about a breakup similar to “He’s a jerk”, “you dodged a bullet”, “all men suck”, “never talk to an ex”. These people will commonly tell you things like you should date or sleep around to get over someone, that you just need to get over it, that’s it’s all in your head, that you should break up with someone because you had a fight, that you should marry this person because they are “perfect” or “perfect for you”. Such statements don’t really help you over time. They may feel good in the moment, but you may end up ultimately feeling unfulfilled about your “perfect” decisions, or stressed out anxious that you’re not doing as well as they said you should be or would be, or worst of all just back where you started.

Wise compassion on the other hand might look at that same break up differently. In Lori’s case she talk about how the source of her struggle wasn’t ultimately that this guy was a jerk and her heart was broken. It was about how she thought she had her life planned out. She was getting married, doing all the right things, had a career, everything was planned out. She did everything right. And then all of a sudden, the plan wasn’t there anymore. There was no backup plan, she didn’t do anything wrong necessarily, and she was alone. The floor fell from underneath her.

As such wise compassion first had to dive into why she was truly struggling in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t the right guy for her. Sure. At the same time, maybe the problem is she was doing everything for the wrong reasons? Maybe she wasn’t really getting the fulfillment she truly needed? Maybe she was surrounding herself with the wrong people, like “yes men”. Maybe she was depending too much on others, on ideals, on this plan, then really being honest with herself on her needs? You can have your dream job, be successful, and still not find it fulfilling if you’re not being honest with yourself.

Wise compassion by far is harder to find, but oh so much more valuable. We often feel and maybe are ill-equipped to dispense it. It may not necessarily flatter us or the person being given to. But it’s the truth given in a compassionate way.

In Wise compassion, the compassion we give is more skillful and meaningful. Its intent is not to say something for the sake of something, or to simply end someone’s suffering so we don’t have to watch it. The intent is to help bring release from suffering so they honestly feel better. In this compassion it may be necessary to shine a mirror upon the sufferer to show them something they may not want to see or otherwise didn’t see before.

It is an interesting thought experiment to me because I’ve been thinking about a similar thing for a while not. There’s a lot of nice people in this world. And there’s a time and a place for that. There’s nothing wrong with nice people. But people who simply nice people, aren’t always meaningful people. They aren’t always honest people. Just because someone is nice, doesn’t mean you’re going to be the best of friends that they really care about you, that you should sleep with them, date them, or marry them. It doesn’t mean you should be investing your time, energy, life, heart and soul into them.

They aren’t bad people, they’re just nice people. And there’s a lot of nice people who will likely be nice for a while. But ultimately, aren’t you kind of people.

“~Write your soul down word for word. See who’s your friend. And who is kind.~ Matchbox Twenty - You Won’t be mine”

In my life I’ve met a lot of nice people. And someone of them I’ve tried to hold onto longer than I should have, some I’ve lost myself in just to have someone who was nice around. There’s some who I pursued relationships with that ultimately didn’t work out because, they were just nice.Or because I didn’t truly allow myself to take the risk of actually feeling happy and connection again.

There have been very few people in life who I’ve found had wise compassion. People who were truly honest, in a compassionate way. Who spoke my language, who I cared about.

Like so many of these posts, it makes me think of my old friend. In part, because it always seemed like they could always find nice people. There was always an unlimited supply of nice people to surround them. To get lost in. How can you deny the voice of the crowd? They can’t all be wrong right? And it’s so much nicer over there what they have to say. But the voices of yes men and nice people, of Idiot compassion, isn’t always helpful. It isn’t necessarily fulfilling in the long run.

I’ve been known to give people Idiot compassion like everyone else. But when it came to my old friend, I always tried to be honest. Even if it wasn’t fun to say, even if it wasn’t at my favor. I love their art. But no, I don’t love every piece. No, it’s not okay right now. Its okay it’s not okay right now. It’ll be okay someday. I love some of the things they do, and yes sometimes the problems we had were my fault. I own that. I’ve always felt like it was far more important to tell them the truth than to say something sweet just to be sweet.

From my end, I’ve met a lot of nice people. I’ve had a lot of Idiot compassion happen to me. People who feel like emotional tourist. It’s part of why I feel for women. It’s so easy to have tourist show up because someone is feeling lonely, or horny, and the when the feeling passes in the morning or years down the road the tourist is gone only to be replaced by another. In my life I’ve had a lot of cliché’ platitudes lobbed at me. But I’ve had very few people be they stranger, tourist passing through, friends, family, or medical people, who were truly dispensers of Wise compassion. And there’s been so many times when I’ve needed it.

I think that’s part of the reason why I respect and admire my old friend so much. They were probably the last person who I had that dispensed Wise compassion to me. And they were possible the only person I ever felt truly honored to try and reciprocate. I suppose in the end, after all this time I just hope beyond hope that I get that opportunity again someday.

While I’m not really big into the holistic or the metaphysical, I do want to be a romantic and optimistic. There’s a thing called manifesting where you work towards your goals yes. You don’t lose focus and you don’t give up. But you try to stay positive, have happy thoughts, think about what you want and just hold on to that thought. I’m not really sure how much I buy into all of it. But I’ve got time. So I’ve been trying to manifest a conversation via happy thoughts and thinking about that conversation happening someday. Who knows, maybe it’ll all pay off sometime.

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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When I can, I prefer to shoot and post film shots. And I prefer 120 film over others. Being an older millennial, I grew up on film. I was taught on film. DSLR’s didn’t really become an affordable option until the year I graduated college. I still have the digital camera I bought my freshmen or sophomore year of college and it still has the photos on it of a girlfriend long gone by now.

So to me, film feels like home. I love the artsy feel of it. I love not having to do too much work in post though I admit my post editing skills are weak and could use improvement. I love that feel of the crank and the ratcheting sounds. Not knowing what you’re going to get and having to wait for it. I love the process of loading and unload, feeling like you have to make every shot count. And no matter how much you try, I love that sort of perfectly imperfectness of it. I don’t want perfection. Art isn’t always there to be pretty. Art is meant to make you feel something or think something. Film does that. Just like some people do.

In these shots you’ll see an alley that I just happened to like the steam from, a play of depth of field in some sidewalk grates, some street art I found in a completely different town and state from all the other photos, a car accident make shift memorial near my house, the view of one of the only overpasses in this town, a method of travel all too common in this state, the other great race they have here, beautiful signs of life that I found outside a junk yard, and a forgotten toy soldier who was left behind.

#120 #120film #mediumformat #bronica #film #film photography #photography #analog #Saltlakecity #anchorage

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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These are a set of digital shots of a raven out at Point Woronzof. It was raining as you can see. The poor guy was not only wet, but I’m pretty sure he was somehow injured. It allowed me to get close enough to snap these shots.

Ravens are a really interesting bird. Bigger than crows and with a slightly different tail shape they are members of the same family along with local magpies. However, Ravens tend to be more solitary than crows. There’s local indigenous lore about a raven being a trickster and stealing the sun. Actual raven have several calls and will even use their bill as a way of making sound. Remember the coconuts in Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail? They basically do the same thing but with their bills. Ravens are smart and can open bottles, sometimes do things just for fun, and have even been known to bury things they find and come back to them later so as to avoid competition.

This particular guy just sort of struck me because he was cold, alone, and in the rain. I sort of know how they feels all too well. So I took some quick snaps and left him be. Sadly I had nothing to give him.

#anchorage #alaska #907 #raven #animal #bird #photography

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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This is kind of a moody post. So if you’re not into long winded, incoherent rants about nothing just enjoy the photos and move on. No one’s blaming you.

There’s an episode of the TV show Firefly that I think about from time to time. The shows been off the air forever so if for some reason you hate spoilers, this is the only warning I feel socially required to give you.

The show’s premise is a group of sort of rag tag people on a ship out in space. It’s a lot like space cowboys. There’s an old military guy and his former underling acting as the ship captain/owner and 1st officer. The 1st officer’s spouse/pilot, a mechanic, a doctor who’s hiding from the law along with his sister, a hired gun, a preacher, and a professional companion. They take whatever jobs they can moving cargo or passengers to try and make a living. Doesn’t matter if the job is legal or not, so long as it’s not out right morally disgusting. Like they won’t steal medical supplies from those that need it.

Specifically there’s an episode I think about a lot called Out Of Gas. It is kind of a slow episode but it is also a very heavy episode. In the episode the ship runs into a major malfunction early in the airing. The engine is down. Without the engine they are dead in the water. More importantly without the engine they are out of air. There’s two shuttles attached to the ship, but they themselves have limited range, capacity, and air.

Even if the shuttles could support absolutely everyone they have another very big problem. The ship is their livelihood. Being out in the middle of nowhere means there’s not exactly a lot of reputable people or even law enforcement around. Assuming, anyone comes at all. Should someone find the ship, they’re far more likely to see it as an opportunity for themselves to survive and just scrap it. If someone’s on board, they may be willing to injure, kidnap, or kill that person so they can scrap whatever of value is left on the ship.

So they’re boned. They can’t stay as they’re basically in a stationary coffin. They can’t all go, or there’s good chance there’s nothing to come back to. It’s with that the captain decides he’s going to stay behind. Despite being a little bit of an asshole, he means well. And he does have a moral code. He doesn’t hurt the innocent and he feels responsible to keep his crew alive. When tough decisions need to be made, like taking on risk or making sacrifices, he feels it’s his place. By sending the others off in the shuttles he saves them and gives them the best possible chance to find something better. By staying behind he’s giving his ship the best possible chance that someone will come by and actually help him.

Before everyone leaves he asks the pilot to deploy a communications beacon. There’s just a depth to this action. Space by definition is vast and empty. It’s similar to being on a ship in the middle of the Pacific and throwing a beacon overboard. There’s a very, very slim chance anyone is ever going to hear your beacon. Or if they do that they’ll hear it in time. If someone does hear it, there’s no guarantee that this person will be helpful, or even not malicious.

What that beacon is, is hope. It’s not super high tech, it’s not particularly wonderful. It’s just a small repeating signal. A shot in the dark that maybe, maybe the right person will hear it. Maybe you’ll get lucky enough that at your lowest and most vulnerable point the right person will save the day. But the odds of that happening are so overwhelmingly against you. So in almost desperation you deploy it. The last shred of hope slowly beeping in the dark. “beep……………beep………………beep………….beep……” because what else are you going to do?

I think about that beacon a lot. That against all odds shot in the dark at the hope of being heard by the right person. I talk a lot about my old friend. I always talk positively about them. And I mean every word of it. They have had the biggest effect on my life. And I’m amazingly fortunate that it was a positive one. Despite all the things that have happened in my life, particularly self-inflicted, for better or worse, they are the greatest and most positive effect.

And despite all logic, I do feel connected to them. Whenever I get to see a photo of them it really does just sort of make me feel complete, or normal. Which I usually don’t day to day. And yes sometimes it makes me feel happy too like their art usually does. Knowing they are okay, and safe, and happy even around people I’ve never met brings me a kind of comfort. There have been at least 3 different times I’ve suddenly gotten anxious for no reason and out of the blue started thinking of them only to find out later during that time frame something had happened to them. Like a breakup, or a car flat. I’ve had countless dreams about them, and the worst are the ones that are all too real. So real it takes a moment to figure out it was just a dream and didn’t happen. And they are someone who frankly makes me incredibly nervous, anxious, even scared. Something that when we talked would go away the moment they said hi to me and I knew it was all okay. But since we don’t talk anymore, I just sit there and spin.

I think about the Firefly episode because that beacon. I feel like so much of my life has been spent waiting for someone. Someone who for all I know may never come. Someone who I don’t know if it would be worse if they hate me, or if they’ve just forgotten I even exist. If they honestly don’t care about me anymore. I don’t even hit the radar. The last time I talked to them they said while I wasn’t the only thing bad to ever happen to them, I was by far the worst. And I by far had the largest effect on them. That statement, particularly from them, radiates with me daily. Almost 20 years daily. That they can’t remember why we talked or see what the point in talking to me was.

I think about the beacon because so much of what I do I feel like is just a beacon, that slow beeping in the dark, hoping beyond all hope that they hear it. And that if they did, they’ve be kind. I know the odds are overwhelmingly against me. But I have to put out the beacon. I have to have something that says, “I’m still here” floating out in the vast abyss and darkness. I have to hold on. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been waiting for so long.

It’s made even harder when I know how to contact them. But I feel like I’m not allowed to. Nothing physically stops me. But I’ve always felt like part of that whole need to wait feeling, was that this all wouldn’t be over until they were ready for it to be over. I couldn’t force the issue. They had to make contact with me first. So I’m just sitting here, putting out beacons into the void. Hoping they’ll hear one of them and make the move I don’t think I’m allowed to break. And complete a cycle that started 20 years ago with a “hello”.

In the episode, the beacon does eventually get heard by someone. That someone is a group of people looking to scrap out the ship and seeing someone is on board, isn’t too particular about killing the captain to do it. With a bullet hole in his side the captain manages to convince his would be killers to vacate the ship AND leave him the part he needs to repair the engine. He’s now alone, not a mechanic, bleeding out, in massive amounts of pain, and running out of air. But if he can endure it, just fucking endure it, repair that engine and call back the shuttles then maybe everyone including himself has a chance. Even if he ends up dying at least when everyone else came back, they’d all have a chance.

I feel like that sometimes. Like I’m alone, and I have to just fucking endure it. If I can just endure it long enough, my friend will be happy. Even if I run out of time at least my friend will be happy. They’ll be safe, and healthy, and hopefully happy. But I’m really hoping that if I endure all of this long enough it’ll be okay. My friend will come back for me. I’ve seen them defend and come back for so many other people. I just know they have to come back for me. Tell me it’s alright now. Tell me to stop being so hard on myself. Ask me how my day is. Let me ask them how their day is. I just have to hold on a little longer…

The captain spends the episode from here on out flash backing to how he got the ship. Why it’s so important to him he’s willing to risk everything for it. And sure enough by the end of the episode he ends up fixing that engine, restoring the air, and calling back the shuttles just in time to pass out. By TV magic the shuttles make it back in time to save him before he completely bleeds out and dies. It’s a happy ending. But for the entire length of the episode it was really about hope, against all odds. And the length one man will go through for a fighting chance.

I think about this episode from time to time.

If you’ve read this far you’re probably wondering about the photos I’m posting. The out of focus shot is a digital portrait I did back in Salt Lake City. The fact it’s a woman in a tank top out of focus is really what spun me out on all of this. The fact it’s intimate, but she’s out of focus, out of reach, is what got me moody and thinking. The lavender was something I found at Pike’s Place market in Seattle. My old friend liked Lavender and I still use lavender scented soaps and air fresheners because of it. The digital shots of the woman with the blue coffee cup go back to a reoccurring theme with me and the idea of comfort. Knowing someone so well you don’t have to wear fancy lingerie or be all dressed to the 9’s. As well as perfectly imperfect. The girl in pink is a set of digital shots taken in my house. A fine example of how I won’t allow myself to have friends, and at this point don’t know how to have friends anymore. The girl in the bear was back in Salt Lake City. The graffiti was something on the back of a building we happened to wonder by. And the last shot is from way back in college. A fellow photo student who was probably the age I am now, and was the wife of a Michigan State Trooper.

#portrait #photography #moody #ranting #idontknowwhatimdoing #pleasetalktome #itsbeen20years #defeated #firefly

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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So I want to do more with long exposures and ND filters. Particularly on water because the water is always moving it ends up creating this sort of image blur similar to fog where the water is. But to do this you’re talking really long exposures. Each time you add an ND filter you’re cutting the light, and adding a stop in time to your exposure. Cutting the light also allows you play with other aperture settings.

I’m not sure how it’ll work out on a moving/floating dock but one of these weekends I want to end up back in Seward and maybe Whittier for some long exposures. I’ve been waiting all winter so that we get more sunlight and so that it’s both warmer and trees have life again. Unfortunately Covid hit this year and I’m really not sure what anything looks like anymore. While both destinations can be done in a day, I think Seward is better as a weekend trip. And I’m not sure how many hotels and tourist places are open. Plus at one point I think I heard Seward was turning people away who didn’t live in town.

These shots aren’t long exposures like I wanted. But there are test shots from the last time I was in Seward giving me the idea. I like the mechanical quality of the camera work with the idea as well as the surreal spooky images created with long exposures. I also like the idea of moving away from portraits. Portraits by definition require other people. Other people while fun to talk to, are incredibly unreliable. And I’ve sat alone in a room waiting on someone who’s never going to come and wondering what I did wrong too many times. The idea of being able to put on my headphones and just, exist, without depending on anyone else is really appealing.

If I can’t get any long exposures in Seward I’ll have to try someplace in town. Like Lake Hood or maybe dad can get me on base to shoot around back there. I could also try the Knik river. It’ll be interesting to see what I come up with.

#seward #alaska #film #120 #120film #photography

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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If you remember from back in my first post, way back when I used to enjoy writing. I don’t know if I was any good at it, but I enjoyed it. It was a way to pass the time and live in some other world for a bit. Sometimes it was a way to process thoughts and feelings. When I met my old friend and we first started connecting at the beginning, it was one of the things we bonded over. They began to draw things from the things I wrote, all of which I still have and treasure. The two of us would begin talking about stories we made up together. I miss having that connection with someone and haven’t found it since.

Sadly by the time we parted ways, I had lost myself. And writing was one of the things I stopped doing. There have been times in my life when I’ve wondered “who am I”. And there have been times when I’ve wondered if I was ever fortunate enough to reconnect with my old friend again, what would we talk about? Would I remember who I am? Would I have anything to offer?

As I’ve gotten older and found more of myself I’ve begun writing again. Particularly at work when we’ve got longer periods of slow and not much to do. So I’ve been writing lately about a guy who lives out in the middle of nowhere using his camera to make money. On his property is a moose by the name of Clarence.

I apologize in advance that nothing you read is going to be coherent or run in a time line. You’re going to read “woke up that morning” a lot. They aren’t one single story. Just parts of a story that I wrote while at work, and then some other day part of some other story using the same characters. It’s a start anyways. And I promise more photos are coming. Enjoy.

Story 1 7:30 am. What an exhausting time of day. But it’s worth handling because it’s also one of the few times of day that you associate with waffles. And anytime it is waffle time is a good time indeed. Even though there’s no one around for miles I still sleep with the shades down to block out the sun. You’d think it was well into mid-day by the blaring spot light outside but really the chickadees are just starting their games. It is Alaska after all and the sun has been out now for hours. I make my way downstairs towards the breakfast nook. Really just a small 5 piece dining set next to a window in the corner. It magically transforms to my dining room in the evenings as well. All the while half asleep and still thinking lustful thoughts of that mistress called my pillow who held me so tight all through the night. My morning trek away from her motivated by a primal desire. “….coffee…”. “…waffles….”. It doesn’t escape me for a moment how awesome it would be if somehow there was a clever combination of the two. But I resign to pin that thought until later when waffle fueled heads could prevail. I turn on the coffee pot and the waffle maker debating for moment if I should give them names or if that’s too much of a relationship to form with a $20 coffee pot. What if it fails and I have to replace it? Will any Mr. Coffee be like Kristen? And do the things she does for me? Or will it be some cheap knock off? Something young and complicated that doesn’t have the curves, the experience, or the understanding of how my mind works. I grab my coffee and my waffles and sit down at the nook finally able to glance out into the day and enjoy this warm moment of existence. Outside munching away on something was Clarence. All 1,000 lbs., 7 feet of him standing in my yard as if he were posing for a picture. I swear you give a guy an apple one time and suddenly your new best friend is a moose. I opened the window a bit and called out to him, “Morning Clarence”. He just turned his head a little and kept on munching. I’m sure he’d been up longer than I had but clearly he was still a little out of it too. That or I just wasn’t that interesting yet. After breakfast though I grabbed another cup of coffee and made my way out to the deck. It was right about then I became pretty interesting and he made himself a little more friendly walking up to the deck and giving me a good look over. I knew what he wanted and I was happy to oblige him. I rolled him an old apple I grabbed on my way out. “Well morning Clarence. Anything new today?” He just munched away. “Going to take another dip in the lake this morning?” I don’t know why I asked as I knew the answer. Every morning he’d take a dip in the lake and make his way over to a shallow side to munch on the grasses that grew there. He just got in the habit of checking with me first for his sweet tooth addiction. It was strange really. To see something that large just go into the water like it was nothing. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was practicing for the local swim team. Somehow I didn’t think they make swim caps in his size though. Seems like the antlers would get in the way. Sure enough though after he had taken his time to get every last enjoyable moment out of that apple he meandered his way over to the lake and just walked in. 9am, right on time Clarence. This meant I had about 15 minutes to get back in the house and dressed or my other little friend Harold would start throwing a fit and tapping at the back door. Harold was a duck with an attitude.

Story 2 Got up this morning and drove the old ford into town. Despite her age she isn’t a bad little truck. Sure she’s loud and has a tendency to kick like a mule every once in a while. Has a tendency to eat like one too. Put any other gas in her from any other station than Al’s down on Mile marker 246 and she’ll cause one hell of a fuss. Still, if you get her a little time, attention and love, let her warm up a little, she’s probably the most dependable soul on my property. Doesn’t ask for too much, simple, still keeps it together no matter how rough things get. You can’t ask for much more than that. Had to go into town this morning because we were running low on supplies. I needed some groceries, some bolts and parts, and Clarence needed some more apples. Every now and then I think about throwing him a curve ball and giving him something new like a pear. Just to spice things up a bit. But I’m sure if I did he’d just look at me for a long minute with that “what in the world……yeah alright, this one time” stare. If he was anything it was a creature of habit. Harold came with me and sat in the passenger seat only making fuss whenever the truck unexpectedly kicked. I had started to let him in the truck when I left for town because he’s too stubborn to accept “no” and I worried about his safety. As soon as I would start the truck he’d hear it and fly into the bed or if he had a good shot and an open window right into the cab. This being Alaska a trip into town was going to be a day venture driving several hours there and several back. It was probably best he stay in the cab anyways I suppose. What if I ran over a bump too hard and he got knocked out of the bed of the truck? I sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for that. And by the time I noticed we’d be far apart. Besides, when I got into town he stayed out of trouble. Just sits there watching people go by. If any of them get a little too close for comfort he makes a noise. The way I figure it he’s the best security system I can buy for just a few grains of corn. I arrived in town somewhere just north of 10. The diner was open and serving morning coffee and the general store was open. The two main places I needed to be. Being this early in the morning the diner was first. The need for coffee was strong and the diner was the best place to pick up local news. Sure I could have grabbed a paper but if you want to know what’s really going on, the diner is where you need to be. “Morning Jen”, I told the waitress “can I get coffee with cream?” “Sure thing” she said as she proceeded to get my coffee. “Heard anything new?” I asked. “Nah, nothing much. The Army Corps office across the street isn’t open yet. They’ve got some new commander and he’s a little less friendly with the public. He’s not married either. Makes ya’ wonder what went wrong, man his age not married.” She retorted. “You don’t say” I replied rather inquisitively “I’ll have to check that out”. I didn’t care much about his marital status but the news of a new commander was of interest. I’ve been selling my photographs and surveys to them for years and this change could prove interesting. “Thanks for the coffee Jen. Stay beautiful.” I said as I got up to leave after drinking my coffee, placing a few bucks on the counter for the coffee and her time. The thought of a new commander rolled through my head a while. I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Over at the general store Dave was busy stocking cans on a shelf. He was the kind of guy that really enjoyed “fixing” things and putting them back into order. The kind of person that loves to organize, label, and keep books of spreadsheets on things. Everything had a home and a system and he spent a lot of energy keeping everything balanced and where it needed to be. He worked at the general store along with his daughter Martha who was at the moment suspiciously nowhere to be found. As Dave got up from his cans and walked behind the checkout counter he asked me, “What’ll it be?” “Oh, much of the same. I need a box of 2 inch 10 penny nails, some more mix for making waffles, a carton of eggs if you’ve got them, some milk, another big tin of coffee, a box of regular pencils, and another bundle of old apples if you’ve got them. For Clarence” I replied to his inquiry. “You know, you’re the only one who wants these old apples. I can’t believe you pay for them either. Just trash” he said with bewildered look as he started to gather up items. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure Dave. It’s not much to you or I but to Clarence this is gold” I assured him. I stood there for a moment as he gathered cans and boxes putting them into a bag, just looking out the window at the Amy Corps headquarters. Finally I asked him, “What do you know about the new Commander over there at HQ?” “For such a small town there’s been surprisingly little chatter to be honest” he said. “Lately not many people come in and out of there unless they have a uniform. And they don’t seem to talk much about him other than that he’s from out east. Which isn’t saying much because everyone here is from out east. Some more than others. Though I will say the guys that have come in here have been buying a lot of nonperishable items like can goods. So maybe they are gearing up for another project or something” he added. It caught me a little weird that no one seemed to know anything. No talk yet of what projects were going on, where he was from, why he was here, what he was like, or even a name. Sooner or later I was going to have to check in. Get a feel for things myself. It was right about then as Dave was beginning to ring up my bill when Martha burst in from the back office, doing her damnedest to keep control of this loud rumbling box. “Look Papa!” the child exclaimed to his horror. Apparently sometime recently “Mr. Bojangles” the family cat, had kittens. This was by far the last thing Dave wanted. More mess, more noise, more chaos, more reason for Martha to not help with the store. “Martha! Don’t bring those dirty little things in here. They are vermin. And don’t get too attached to them neither. I don’t need any pests around my store chasing away customers.” Dave barked at her while trying to still seem calm and professional. The enthusiasm had fallen out of her voice when she asked, “well what do I do now?” Dave smiled at me for a moment politely before turning to her and sternly retorting, “Just take them back to the office. I’ll deal with them after work. I have to cross the old north bridge anyways.” I knew what he meant. Last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. Still, I couldn’t just stand here and let innocence be thrown off a bridge. The words came out like sludge, “how much?” “What?” Dave asked me a little surprised. “For a kitten. How much?” I was more assertive that time and the words flowed a little easier. “I’ll give you a dollar for one. Whichever one seems to be the most hassle.” Martha quickly reached in the box and pulled out a little gray kitten who was been busy bouncing and tackling everyone else in the box. “And I’ll take out a 3 line ad in the Denali Daily.” Dave a little shocked seemed pleasantly surprised by my sudden sales. At least the part about the ad in the local newsletter, the Denali Daily. “Wonderful! What would you like the ad to say?” Dave inquired while finishing ringing up my bill. I just looked down at my money as I handed it over, a little sadden to see it go and said softly, “Free to good home. Kittens. See Martha.” The joy on Dave’s face lessened a bit, but he took my money anyways. The whole ride home Harold didn’t know what to make of this tiny, noisy, anxious thing crawling about the floor boards of the truck. Anytime it got a little too close to the seat he’d have to readjust himself. I’m pretty confident once Harold realized the kitten wasn’t going to eat him or otherwise hurt him he calmed down a bit. Never took his eye off it but definitely wasn’t worth making a big fuss over. “Don’t worry Harold” I assured him. “Having a lady around the place will be a good change. Maybe we’ll have to start picking up after ourselves a little better.” Harold seemed unimpressed though I’ll admit ducks can sometimes be hard to read. On the long drive home I had decided to name the kitten Rebecca, after someone I used to know. A life lesson as to why sometimes compassion, patience, and a little faith in people can go a long way. Why some things just can’t, or shouldn’t, be caged. And how any cage whether you like it or not will both keep something in and something out at the same time. Worst part is I had to make that mistake a few times before I even caught on it was a mistake. I had to make that mistake a few times more to figure out how not to. It also didn’t escape me none how cats can sometimes be a bit of a smart ass. So it seemed suiting. And yes, before I got in the truck back in town I looked to make sure we avoid the “Mr. Bojangles” naming accident. So the name was appropriate. Pulled up to my long drive way late in the evening. About half way down the old dirt driveway stood Clarence casually chewing away at something. It was unusual to see him so far from the main house and not at the lake. If he was just doing his daily business he’d be busy munching on a tree, resting under a shady tree, taking a swim, or if he was truly bored wandering the woods on the other side of the house. To be in the drive way, something caught his attention. My mind quickly raced to thoughts of wolves and bears. To hunters in the area, or thieves. To whatever damage may have been done to the property while I was away. Finally, to concerns that an old photograph I keep upstairs was still safe. As I rolled up the drive way slowly I reached under my seat and felt around for my gun. I didn’t like guns, and I wasn’t really good with one. But this was Alaska. And no matter how big you think you are, there’s always something bigger than you. Especially trouble. As I pulled up to the house however I was pleasantly surprised to see an Army vehicle parked out front. Whatever they were here for, it wasn’t going to be dangerous so the gun made its way back home. The brakes squeaked as I rolled to a stop and put the truck in park. As I got out I waited half a second for Harold to jump out after me. He waddled off towards the lake for the evening talking to himself the whole time. After Harold was gone I rolled the window down an inch for air and quickly shut the door. Rebecca didn’t need to be outside just yet. Two men in uniform sat in chairs I had left on my deck. They sat forward in their chairs ready to get up at any moment, holding on their hats in their hands. They both had a symbol of a castle on their uniforms which wasn’t uncommon in this part of the country. The older of the two gentlemen had two solid silver bars on his shirt showing a Captain’s rank. Looking right at him I asked about his business. “Commander. What brings you this way?” He stood up from his chair and walked to the end the porch. “I’m here to introduce myself. And to talk to you a little about your camera.” He said. His voice carried a certain weight and confidence to it. Clearly someone who was familiar to being in charge and not to being told no. “Well you should have told me you were coming. I could have saved you a trip. I was just in town today and I could have met you there.” I’m always cautious with new people, but I spoke friendly enough. As I approached him I held out my hand and he said “Daniels. Captain Daniels” and shook it. “Well you might as well as come inside. No sense in staying out here and feeding the mosquitoes.” I said as I entered the house. The two gentlemen happily followed.

Story 3

People like to personify fear as being this big nasty snarling creature that comes up from behind like a lurch in an alley and consumes you. Some sort of proverbial boogyman that since the days of cavemen has been our biggest rival and predator. But anything that primal, that basic an entity into the lives of living creatures is going to be so much more sophisticated in its simplicity and cunning.

After all, you evolved the ability to have fear because fear can keep you alive. Fear tells you when to run, when to fight, when to avoid, and when to hide. Fear is the thing we invoke and tempt when we do things purely for the rush like skydiving or driving fast.

No fear is not some snarling monster. Fear is that the attractive person from across the room whom with a glance and a slight raise of their brow you instantly know is trouble. Yet you stay. Maybe because you arrogantly think you’ll be different from everyone else, you’ll be able to control it. Maybe because your mother didn’t really ever teach you how to prepare for this moment.

But with their careful and confident walk over to you they have your attention and you can’t look away. They immediately come up close and invade your personal space, putting on hand on your waist and sliding it up your back between your shoulders. An action that makes it hard to get away. As they slide their hand up your back, to your shoulders, by your neck, they move their hand to your chest as if by magic without you noticing. Sliding their hand down your shirt to change your breathing, touching your skin and slowly applying more and more pressure they pull it back out. At their closest point they whisper in your ear, “run”. And as much as you may want to, you can’t. If they were to whisper anything else you’d do it without question, as if you weren’t yourself anymore. Your heart races as you stay stuck between excitement, anxiety, confusion, and empty thoughts. A victim to the spider’s web. That is fear.

I awoke that morning much like any other. Far too early to the persistent nudging and purring of my live in roommate. No matter how many times I tried to gently push the snooze button on my fuzzy alarm I was still met with an eager, “yeow”. Like so many mornings before this was clearly a battle I was not meant to win. I dragged myself out of bed, and went into the kitchen where I lit the old stove and put some coffee on to drip. All the while my little friend ran figure eights in my legs. “yeowl!” she proclaimed as apparently I was not moving fast enough. “Yes Rebecca I know” I tried to assure her to no avail. Quickly I reached in the cupboard and put some cat food in a bowl. No sooner as I placed it on the flood was someone eating like a good little piglet.

Outside the sun had already risen. There was a cool in the air as the new day’s sun had not warmed it yet. This left a slight mist or fog out in the field. And there at the top of the hill nibbling on the one apple tree was Clarence. If I ever needed to I swear I could tell time by the current location of that boy as he moved like clockwork. He stopped for just a moment to look at me as if to say hello or good morning and then went back about his day. I tried bringing him a banana I bought once from town but he didn’t seem to care for it. Apparently the boy just doesn’t like bananas. But in his defense there’s not really a conceivable reason why a wild moose in the middle of Alaska would ever come across a banana before.

Clarence had been on the property since long before I bought it several years ago. In ancient days someone might have had a peacock, a donkey, or a llama on their property as an early warning system of something bad. I had Clarence without even asking, and the best part was depending on what the trouble was he’d even defend. Standing near 7 or 8 feet tall at the shoulder and not even considering the antlers he had Clarence was a force to be reckoned with. I still remember the day I bought the property I asked about him to the previous owner. His advice to me was “you just leave him be and he’ll leave you be”. Seemed simple enough but rather folksy. Then that night came when a bear looking for food came a little too close to the house and was trying to figure out how doorknobs work a little too well for my comfort, if it hadn’t been for Clarence chasing him off things could have gotten ugly fast.

So yeah he stood up there in the morning dew munching away at the apple tree. As far as I was concerned that was his apple tree. No matter how many time he or the previous winters killed it I’ll always make sure there’s another one for him.

Other than my usual wakeup call the morning was relatively uneventful. Rebecca immediately disappeared to find herself some trouble or chase the morning sunspot as soon as she got what she wanted. Clarence made his way from the apple tree at the hill to the birches on the far side of the field. As the day progressed he’d eventually wander down my long gravel road to the lake for a swim before coming back in the cool of the evening. This left me ample opportunity to finish my coffee and get dressed before loading up the old truck with some camera gear and heading into town to look for work. Something to keep me busy.

The Army Corps of Engineers had made their way to this part of Alaska within the last few years to complete several projects and surveys. Things like bridges, roads, runways, that sort of thing. Part of their projects were more community based such as the bridge they built over the river past the valley. Others projects like most of these surveys, seemed to be more military oriented. Not sure really what they were looking for but they kept it close to the vest like military people do. I’d made a habit of driving into town and checking in on things. Sometimes the Captain had a survey job where he needed some photographs taken, other times the local print shop and newspaper would need images of an event in the area. Either way you got to talking to people and that always lead to learning something you hadn’t known before.

I arrived into town still early and stopped like I usually do at the only thing open, Donna’s Diner. It just also happened to be the hub and heartbeat for everything going on in a 5 mile radius of town and Moose Lake. As soon as I walked in Donna poured me a cup of coffee, said hello, and told me to stay out of trouble. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but the smirk on her face suggested with a grain of salt. I sat at my usual stool and ordered a bagel with cheese.

As we got past the usual pleasantries and daily routines I had gotten a chance to ask Donna if she’d heard anything interesting lately from people passing on through. “As a matter of fact” she said, “I did have a strange group of young men come through recently. Privates from the base who seemed a little rattled by something. Kept mentioning D.C. for some reason. I walked by them three times before any of them noticed I was there and ordered something.” It could have been nothing but it was worth looking into.

After breakfast I made my way down the street on foot the Amy office to await the arrival Captain Wheeler shortly after they opened to the public for the day. The Captain always struck me as a reserved but open minded and clear headed guy. He wasn’t always quick to act and he could be persuaded, assuming you had a logical argument and enough hard evidence to support it. Being a soldier he also knew that sometimes you have to just do what you’re told and put your own views and feelings aside. And that sometimes meant once you make a commitment, you keep it.

His lieutenant on the other hand was a young man who came across and loathing this assignment. I always got the impression he was looking to be a hero somewhere face in the dirt of some god awful forgotten piece of earth. Off bravely fighting and defending against fascists, or communists, or anarchists, or some other form of “ists”. Instead he was here surrounded by civilians whom he saw as the worst kinds of “ists”; pacifists.

What he was, was a young man who didn’t know how well he had gotten it. It’s easy to mentally glorify war in the imagination, it’s another to endure it. Death much like birth isn’t pretty, and about 80% of it comes with an unexpected shit.

The Army office opened without much ceremonial hub-to-do. As I heard the door unlock like it does this time every morning I reached for the handle of the big wooden door. Before I could grab it the door immediately swung open and I had stumbled backwards as to not be in the way and bump into the person making their departure. “Yes Captain. Understood. Until then.” They said in a soft voice looking back. It was Elizabeth, a local chemist in the area. As soon as she looked forward and I saw her face it all hit me. Just as it always does. Memories of days spent talking and laughing at Donna’s Diner. Social get togethers where out of the middle of nowhere she’d do something odd like lick the side of my face just to watch me squirm. Moon lit nights of passion and sex which were less about sex and more about just being as close to each other as physically possible. And new dawn mornings of her standing in the door way looking at the field wearing nothing but her underwear bottoms and my dirty button up shirt she had picked up off the floor. .

The kind of comfort where underwear stops matching and becomes cotton whatevers, people don’t shave every day, you keep a few things over at their place, and your first and last thought is of them. Just assuming they’ll be there. Like a fool. As well as memories of her scream the night the car hit that ditch on the old road, or fights about nothing because neither of us really wanted to say what we thought.

My gaze caught hers for only a minute before she hastily looked away. “Hi” she said with speed and at an almost inaudible volume. “Hi” I said, but the words were slow to arrive in my mouth and by the time I spoke she was already gone. We both knew inside, there would be a reckoning between us someday. Neither of us wanted to address it as we were both afraid of what it might do. To each other and to ourselves. So we just avoided each other as best we could for now, and hoped it never needed to happen.

Despite my startling arrival I made my way inside the Army office where the Captain was already busy working at his desk. I didn’t inquire about Elizabeth’s business there though I wanted to. Instead I chose to ask if he had heard anything about D.C. lately which raised a brow. “Not that I know of” he replied. I knew he was hiding something but that was also part of his job. I told him the story I had heard about some personnel who arrived to the diner who seemed spooked. That I didn’t know if I should be here today as a photographer for him or for the paper down the street. And if there was anything he could clear up for me. He glanced briefly at a letter on his desk. I knew it was trouble. But he quickly kept up with his story that nothing was up or should be concerning. Instead he chose to change the subject and asked me to photograph a ravine in the area and to do so with haste as they needed to do some civil engineering models soon. With reluctance I took the job and made my way out of town. It’s where I’d end up spending my day.

I arrived home late evening to find Clarence by the house laying underneath a tree I usually park my truck under. I honked once at him to make sure he knew I was there but he just looked at me for a moment before looking away and flicking one ear. Clearly the honk was being taken under advisement and was simply deemed not interested. So I pulled off to the side and walked the rest of the way. He was still wet from coming out of the lake and not far off. I could still hear ducks arguing over their giant intruder. All the while I couldn’t help but think about the morning and my interaction with the Captain. 9 times out of 10 if it feels like someone is trying to get rid of you or keep you busy, they are. Something didn’t smell right.

The next morning I awoke to much my same routine. When I got to the kitchen however something just felt, wrong. The world seemed fine but it was off just a little bit. Looking around for some clue or note I found myself gazing out the window when it hit me. Clarence wasn’t at his tree. Clarence is never late. I began to panic just a little bit.

There was a commotion near the front of the house. To my discovery it was Clarence. He was upset as his little tail moved and he looked on guard. His fur glistened sun for a moment before suddenly I knew with a sinking feeling. He was injured. Before I could make it to the door wolves come out from the tree line to stage what I could only assume was another attack.

Everything just sort of happened in automatic mode from that moment.

I went back into the kitchen and scooped up Rebecca mid chomp into some food. I carried her into my bedroom and shut her in my closet. Quickly I ran back into the living room still dressed for sleep and grabbed the truck keys. Slowly I made my way outside and to the truck. My hands shook and under my breath I repeated the words, “this is stupid, this is stupid”. My friend was in danger though and I had to act. As soon as the key was in the ignition and the engine turned I slammed the truck into reverse without looking and floored it. There was a loud “ka-chunk” and the truck shook. In front of me lay an injured wolf who quickly got up and made a break for the tree line. I looked at my mirrors frantically.

Clarence was okay and making his way down the road. I knew he needed help still. Throwing the truck in drive and spinning out the back end swung around and I raced down the road past Clarence. If he got back into the tree line he was dead. Something just made me feel like he couldn’t leave.

Near the end of the roadway I slammed the emergency break swinging the back end around to a 90 degrees and perpendicular to the road. Clarence was in no mood. At full speed he proceeded to ram the truck and crush my door. Glass exploded into cab and the wheels on that side lifted off the ground for a moment. Clarence shook his head for a moment and snorted what I could only assume was, “get out of my way old man”. In a frantic I began looking around the cab for anything that might send him another direction. With a wild turn of the dial the radio came on at full volume and started him back towards the house. He’d make his way up the hill to hide out by the apple tree.

Upon arriving back at the house a scared and startled Rebecca who’s stomach didn’t appreciate the sudden grab had puked all over my shoes in the closet. One more thing I’d have to get fixed. I wanted to make a special stop in town today for some gauze, medical tape, and to see if the local vet had any tranquilizers for livestock. My hope was maybe I could slip something in an apple and while he slept, clean and bandage Clarence’s wound a bit. He’d look pretty dopey standing on that hill with a white square on his shoulder, but at least he’d be at the hill.

Story 4

He stopped chewing his meal for a moment and looked up. His expression was one of alert inquiry. There was a faint smell of something burning slowly drifting in from the distance. Not a bird could be heard. Deep within him he knew, something was not right here. As he looked out ahead into the horizon he thought to himself, “war is coming” with the knowledge soon enough it would come for him. These moments would be the calm before storm for soon he would do battle.

At least, that’s what I assume was the scenario that played out in Clarence’s head as he munched on pumpkins. In actuality his thoughts were probably more along the lines of, “mmm, yes, this is SO good”. Pumpkins are something that don’t grow naturally here and are only brought up from below for Halloween and maybe Thanksgiving. When the holiday is over it’s just a free buffet of goodness for the likes of a moose. Still it was amusing to me to think of him preparing for some mighty arctic war. Galloping bravely into battle with his coat of dwarven armor. Fear not creatures of this land for the might of the deer family has arrived. It was a lot nicer a thought than the realization I was going to have to clean up that pumpkin carcass when he was done with it. Or the nuggets he left me in the middle of the drive.

#ranting #rambling #fiction #writing #boredatwork

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

Photo

Here’s a film and a digital shot of the same fire station in Seattle. I don’t even know if it’s currently a working fire station or not. I took it though because my grandfather was an Ann Arbor firefighter. He died a while ago and despite being named after the man I didn’t really know him that well. In some ways from what I know of the man he was sort of a hard man. Stuck on prejudices and older sense of what “manly” meant. Not in a romantic way at all. It meant sometimes he was an asshole when he really didn’t need to be. He didn’t really believe in things like hobbies, or art, or culture. Sometimes things happened that frankly shouldn’t.

But people are complicated. True they are a sum of their parts, but those parts often have multiple sides to them. He was someone who worked his entire life. Married when he felt like it was the responsible thing to do, never left his spouse, took care of his kids, ensured his grandkids went to college.

In some ways I think about him and the sum of those parts. Like how he chose a life of firefighting. Being that guy who runs in when everyone else is running out. Sometimes making hard decisions because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one. It is fascinating to me because his older brother was a Michigan State Trooper. And there’s other examples of people in the blood line with some sort of service.

As a younger man with no spouse or children of my own it does make my wonder and reflect upon my own life. The mistakes that I’ve made. People lost along the way. Makes me wonder about my story. Will I end up being more than the sum of my parts? Will the sum of my parts be the part of me that shines brightest? My lineage has never been the overly charismatic, attractive, or even popular line. But there seems to be a thread of service. An inherent trait to run in when everyone else is running out. People who made hard choices, hunkered down when others found it hard, and where loyal to a fault. I look at those red doors and wonder, what will people see of me? The mistakes on my surface? Or the sum of my parts?

#120 #120film #bronica #sqai #seattle #firefighter #photography

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cpeacephoto · 5 years ago

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Mental Health Break

So in this post, I wanted to take a break from photography and blogging thoughts and stories to talk about something as food for thought.

I’m not saying I do or do not have any mental health issues. That’s not the point. The point is that mental health, emotional health, are really just something else to balance out and maintain like your physical health may be. Or perhaps your financial health or your relationship health.

I like this topic because as I get older there’s things that come to mind such as:

· Having some level of mental illness does not mean you’re not “normal”. It’s not something to see as a stigma, it is not a punishment, it doesn’t mean you’re broken or “crazy”. If you were diabetic you’d have a hard time with sugar, and you’d have to manage that. Some through diet and exercise, and some need medications. But it doesn’t mean they are bad. It’s the same thing. Everyone deal with it differently, and it’s just something to manage.

· There’s nothing to “fix” or cure. It’s personal health maintenance. Like having that glucose meter. Everyone has different needs in how they do the maintenance. Some people will have times when they need to ask for help from someone be they a friend, loved on, or doctor. Some will need ongoing care, some will need medications. Some won’t. Just because y our level of maintenance doesn’t match someone else’s doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. Try not to listen to the crowd. Not everyone needs a shrink, or drugs. Some do. Be honest with yourself.

· Mental illness does not define you. You don’t have to be the depressed guy or the manic girl. If you are, you see yourself that way. Not necessarily others. If for no other reason than others may not know what’s going on, or know how to process what’s going on. Again, if you were diabetic, you shouldn’t be written off as being the diabetic person. If you were an engineer then being defined by your ability to process sugar alone would put your talents pretty short. You have more to offer.

· You don’t have to be a tortured artist. Just because you don’t always make art, don’t always like what you create, don’t always sell art, don’t make a living on art, or don’t always have an art show or commissions, doesn’t mean you’re not an artist. Nor does your art always have to be a reflection of any mental illness you have. Even depressed people can get a joke and genuinely laugh from time to time. Art is about expression. If it makes you happy, then why you made it and what happens afterwards is fine.

· Mental illness doesn’t have to mean certain people are bad for you. Mental illness is personal health maintenance. How you drive and how well designed the car is, depends on how often you change the brake pads. Knowing yourself and doing the maintenance is what matters. If you’re doing your maintenance honestly, and those around you are doing theirs honestly, there’s no reason you can’t talk or hang out. People are flawed, and it’s honestly okay.

· It’s about honesty. Being honest with your doctors, your family, your friends, and most of all yourself. Having some patience, humility, and forgiveness particularly for yourself helps a lot too. When you’re honest with yourself as to what’s wrong, what you need, or just when you need to tap out and get a little extra help you can manage things better. College can be a stressful time. So can marriage, divorce, having kids, new living situations, moving, losing a job, and so on. So being honest with yourself matters.

Just a few things that have popped in my head from time to time. It’s really not a bad thing. People do things under stress. It happens. Doesn’t make them wrong for us, or bad, or evil. It doesn’t mean they are dangerous or don’t care or anything else. We don’t have to punish ourselves for how we think and feel. That’s not an adventure and it’s not a goal. It’s just, life. And that’s okay.

One of the things I’ve been listening to a lot is podcasts. And in relation to this topic specifically The Hilarious World of Depression podcast. https://www.hilariousworld.org/ if you’ve never seen it. It’s not going to solve your problems and it’s not really people crying about theirs. A lot of the podcast is a guy interviewing celebrities about their adventures through mental illness. It’s fascinating because it really humanizes these people. And there’s a lot of common themes into the mistakes people made, how they grew up, what worked, what didn’t, how they feel about their condition.

The podcast does a couple of other things I like as well. Such as earlier on they do a live show and in the live show they do a sequence where they read one star reviews of famous places. Like the guy who shows up in Paris only to find all the signs in French… one star. It’s cheeky humor. I like how they do a lot with singer Aimee Mann who has a whole album dedicated to mental illness. And I like how they do episodes where they ask the general public to call in and tell them a movie or a song that gets their mental illness right and explain why. Those episodes are neat because they expose you to the thinking of other people all around the world. One of the things I used to like about my old friend was being exposed to their way of thinking. And it exposes you to all kinds of new music or movies to watch. Maybe to consume with a different lens in mind.

I also stumbled across this YouTube video the other day. https://youtu.be/rQg_PjwfP6g I like the video because like the podcast, one of the things it talks about is over thinking. Spiraling out on thoughts. It also touches base if briefly on how frustrating depression can be. Not sad, but frustrating. Last I think it makes a good point that people with depression are a lot more resilient than you may think. They are far more empathetic and forgiving than you may think. And they may love something as simple as you just talking to them far more than you think. They tend to over punish themselves and they tend to distance themselves from people in an attempt to save you from them. Which is why taking the initiative to say hello to them may be far more rewarding to them than you may ever know. Because they tend to be their own worst enemies they tend to be people who really do want to just shower those they care about with love. It makes them really feel better if they feel like they are caring for someone else.

They tend to be people who are bluntly honest. Which means they may not always be flattering, but they don’t like lying to you. And they tend to be fiercely loyal. Part of that kind of loyalty means being someone who can see past your faults, forgive your mistakes, and still really just want to be around you. Maybe not even doing anything or saying anything but just happy to be around you. And part of that kind of loyalty is knowing the value of truly genuine kindness. Having someone you care about just say hi, is worth all the loyalty in the world to them. They know a life without it.

It’s a well done and well animated podcast. And it’s from a channel that seems to have a lot of well-done videos.

#depression #thwod #mentalhealth #itsgoingtobeokay #anxiety

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