A Moment To Myself (2010)
The breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind. ― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Of all the creatures attracted to sunlight, none seem to enjoy it quite as much as do cats. We have three of the critters that Kat has rescued and all three know exactly where the sunlight is going to hit in each room at any given moment of the day. They have their preferences, of course. Our bedroom gets more light than anywhere else and each one has a favorite spot staked out. They will be underfoot all morning until the sun is up, at which point they disappear to their appointed places in the sunlight and there they happily nap until mid-afternoon when the light begins to fade. Rather makes one jealous of being a cat, doesn’t it?
Cats aren’t the only creatures who enjoy sunlight, though. This summer has been an unusual one in that the persistent rain has kept skies more grey than usual; there hasn’t been as much sunlight to go around and I ‘m pretty sure that has affected people’s attitudes. Folks in Northern states, especially, endure the harsh winters with the full expectation that spring will come along and bring a sufficient amount of sunlight to compensate for all those cold, dreary days of November through February. When that doesn’t happen we feel cheated. Sure, one can always lie in a tanning bed in hopes of coaxing the melatonin to the surface of your skin, but that’s really no replacement for being in the actual sunlight.
We enjoy those warm days of standing or sitting in the sun for they are all too fleeting. As I forced my body out from under the covers this morning, I felt an ominous nip in the air. The morning’s temperature is below 60° for the first time since May and looking across the forecast for the next week, that trend only seems to move lower down the thermometer. Autumn is most surely on its way and it won’t be long before sunlight alone won’t be enough to keep us warm and comfortable. We’ll be looking for sweaters and coats and hoodies and blankets that won’t hardly leave our bodies for the next six to eight months.[/one_half]
[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Nothing feels much better than lying naked in the sunlight. Even with autumn rapidly approaching, we can follow the habit of the cats in finding those places inside where sunlight regularly appears and make our winter homes there; those precious rays of sunlight warming as they pass through the glass. There’s a scientific explanation for why sunlight feels warmer after passing through glass, but we’re not nearly as interested in that as we are with how we feel sitting or lying in the sunlight. Of course, if you have windows with tempered or tinted glass, then you’re just screwed.
One of the things I like about today’s picture is the precise lines the sunlight creates across her body. The borders of the window are clearly evident, to the point that it almost seems as though the sunlight is drawing a line between her breasts. The narrow patch of sunlight creates a strong visual contrast that our minds automatically translate as warmth even when the picture is captured in black and white. We feel the increased temperature of the sunlight, and the coolness of the shadows as they deepen. Lying in the sunlight like this, naked, comfortable, alone, is one of the rare joys that life does not often accommodate. These moments can hold great meaning, or provide much-needed respite from otherwise ugly days.
Oh, if we could only be more like cats and spend our days curled up in the sunlight, naked, on the bed. I’m sure we would all be much more pleasant creatures if basking in the sunlight were a regular part of our day. Sure, there’s the whole thing about being responsible and productive members of society; I suppose we need to attend to those matters as well. Still, when we see that splash of open sunlight, just sitting there in the middle of the floor, for just a moment, wouldn’t it be nice to be a cat?[/one_half_last]
Dust On The Trail
Dust On The Trail. Model: Lisa Petrini
A photographer is like a cod, which produces a million eggs in order that one may reach maturity. ― George Bernard Shaw
[one_half padding=”4px 10px 0 4px”]Death can be a difficult issue to discuss with children, especially when it comes to family members. One moment, you think they have a grasp of it, then later, seemingly out of the blue, the topic comes up again with new questions that need to be answered. With a five- and a six-year-old around the house, the subject comes up surprisingly often, sometimes in ways we weren’t expecting. Trying to figure out how best to respond to those questions and situations is a mixture of wiping tears and trying to not laugh at the wrong time.
We were driving past a mortuary and its large cemetery one afternoon when Baby Girl pipes up and informs us that this was where her pre-K teacher, Miss ‘Nay, works. When questioned as to why her teacher would work at a cemetery, the little darling responded without hesitation, “That’s where she puts the people she doesn’t like.”
Miss “Nay was horrified to hear of the exchange. She’s a jolly, pleasant woman who does a great job with children, but might be a bit superstitious. “I can’t stand dead people,” she told us. “I don’t even go to funerals.”
More frequently, and certainly with less humor, it is Little Man who raises the subject, frequently in tears over the loss of his great-grandmother a couple of years ago. Trying to explain to him that people don’t live forever and that his great-grandmother had lived a long life does little to appease him. She’s not here now, and that’s what counts. At other times, though, he can look out across a cemetery and explain that once one has expired that, rather than becoming dust, our bodies become tree seeds that grow new forests. While perhaps missing a biological step or four, that perspective of a renewable life is certainly less traumatic and easier to discuss.[/one_half]
[one_half_last padding=”4px 4px 0 10px”]Growing up in rural Oklahoma, and especially the son of a minister, death was such a normal part of life for us that we were almost callous about it. After all, we played and ran in large fields where it wasn’t unusual to come across whole sun-bleached skeletons of cows. The general opinion of ranchers at the time was to only remove a cow carcass if it was diseased and posed a health risk to the herd. Coming across skulls in the dust just wasn’t that uncommon.
Western philosophies have evolved over the past couple of generations where we no longer see death’s natural role in the life cycle. Instead, we see that passing from life to dust as the ultimate unfairness, the unjust removal of someone important to our lives. We expect explanations where there are none to be had and look to blame people who are not genuinely at fault. In matters of violence that should never have happened, our sense of outrage stems from our own sense of privilege that the deceased should never have been taken from us; a warped sense that it is we, more than the dead person, who have been short-changed.
Today is the thirteenth anniversary of my mother’s sudden and very unexpected death, a mere six months and four days after my father’s passing. I was living in Atlanta and one of the challenging decisions we had to make was whether the boys should go to their Mema’s funeral. To do so would mean them missing the first two days of school, but to not take them would deny them the emotional closure we thought they might need. We left the decision up to them. They opted to not go. As one of them put it, “We’ve been to enough funerals this year.”
Life is a wonderful thing, but sooner or later we all become dust on the trail. Love now. Live now. Find peace. Embrace the full cycle of life, even when it seems unfair.[/one_half_last]
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