I Was Here; and Gone

We understand mortality when we understand that there are books we should read- but won't.

North Garden, VA; Ann Arbor, MI.

I Was Here

NYC puking all over everything (not pictured); Ann Arbor, MI; Greater Detroit, MI and assorted airports; Raleigh, NC; Bloomington, IN, my heart.

I Am Here

Wallingford, CT.  The usual stuff: trying to keep tomorrow from burying today. Atlanta already slipped past me.  And January, all those unmarked days.

I Was Here

The whole-body enthusiasm of a baby, as if every cell were thrilled to its core. 

File under: Insufficient warning.

Meanwhile: Charlottesville, VA; Staunton, VA; Amherst, VA; North Garden; VA.

I Was Here

Chicago, IL.  Oops

I was here

Denver, CO; North Garden, VA

I Was Here; In Praise of Reading

Woodberry Forest, VA; Blowing Rock, NC.

And a terrible documentarian!

I try.

This blog.  And the half-filled, black-bound blank books in which I scribbled out my eighteen-year-old heart.  And the word document -poorly formatted, unaccountably titled- in which I tried to impress the first miserable, blistering weeks of motherhood.   And the scrawled, broken bits of sentences I use to grasp at for my son's first year as it howls past-

-I try.

And, over and over again, I lose my camera.   I have no smartphone.  I forget to write and forget to write and forget to write; or, worse, I shy away from it, edging past the white of the page like a nervous horse.

So why this circling back? Why do I keep worrying at it like a bruise, picking at it like a scab, trying to call up blood -though appalled when, at last, it appears? Why this futile, fruitless thing?

Because futile, yes.  But fruitless- no.  Something is borne, even if it's windfall, pointless, rot.

And because sometimes when I read, I read something so vivid, so piercingly correct, I know it's not just necessary but sufficient.  That it's the whole point: those words, that way, right now. 

And the only thing I can think might be worth anything is to stumble along beside those words, panting, yelping like a dog-

but at least my throat is open.

I Was Here With No Camera

Guilty.

Asheville, NC; Cullowhee, NC; Charlotte, NC; Oakland, CA; Menlo Park, CA.

Mostly work; a smattering of play; plus five and a half hours laid over at DFW.  Got home at 3:30 AM.  Missed the kid.

I Am Here

Harrisonburg, VA

I Was Here

Staunton, VA.  Yes, that is Jesus.  Apparently he only appears to the clean.

I Was Here

Austin, TX; Dallas, TX; I am a terrible blogger.

I Am Here

Bloomington, IN.  My heart; my heart.

I Am Here

Greater Charlottesville, VA.  Missing my kid.

I Was Here

Indian Rocks Beach, FL.  Also not taking pictures.  Possibly because I was there for all of SIXTEEN HOURS.  Taking a very, very short trip is like being abruptly parboiled: In you go, and then out again, pale and damp and mildly transformed.

I Was Here

Raleigh, NC.  Not taking pictures.  Because I am terrible at taking pictures!  A lack-of-predilection about which I periodically have existential crises.  Is my failure to snap the world a failure to acknowledge my presence in it?

I Am Here

Some shockingly cold version of Atlanta, GA.  In a basement.

I Am Here

Chicago, IL

I Was Here

Phoenix, AZ.  Taking a really bad shot of a cactus.

I Am Here

North Garden, VA.  Last overnight away from home for the YEAR.  It's like slamming up against a door after running and running.

I Am Here

Boscawen, NH.  Also knocked up.