and perfect light

2007 is on the horizon.
may it bring you clear skies, and placid seas, and serenity.
*
happy new year!

let it rain

"after rain comes rained. look in the dictionary."
- loesje (dutch fictional "philosopher", b.1983)

i confess: i cross my fingers for inclement weather as new year's eve creeps closer.
cacophany is not my cup of tea.

roses are reddish

my lovely daughter, in an impulsive attempt to help me over one of the halfway hurdles, promised: if i made it through my planned month of thirty-one postings, she would update her own website every single day in january.
*
bless her.
it will be better than a daily bunch of blossoms, a whole month long.

the book and the cover

he tossed his moth-eaten black cloak, and then himself, onto the seat across the aisle
from me, adjusted his enormous earphones, and turned up the heavy-metal-volume as high as it could go.
i sighed audibly - someone else's bass is my bane - and, gathering up my things, i
headed for the coupé door.
"ma'am?" he ventured. "may i ask why you're leaving?"
"you may", i answered, less curtly than i intended, partly bacause he had used the
polite form of "you". "it's sunday morning. i'd like a little quiet."
"then why didn't you just ask me to turn it down?" he asked.
i explained, wearily, that requests of that nature generally elicit aggressive responses, which are no fun on a sunday morning, either.
"oh!" he cried. "but i'm not an aggressive person at ALL!"
i sat back down.
he lowered the volume.
a few awkward minutes passed.
"i actually ha-have quite eclectic tastes in music", he volunteered.
a few more minutes passed.
"so do i." i smiled.
by the time the conductors came controlling tickets, he had relocated to my side of the carriage, and was confiding his talents, his passions, and his plans for the day, and he stammered enthusiastically, to everyone within earshot, "oh, we are ha-having such an enthra-thralling conversation!"
they laughed, and so did i, but sheepishly:
i had jumped to conclusions, and allowed first impressions to mislead me.
i should have known better.
tsk.

and joy is their reward

"friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity."
- kahlil gibran (lebanese-born philosophical essayist, novelist and poet, 1883-1931)

i gambled on the gift; it was small, and sentimental, and very personal.
it pleased.
oh, yes:
giving is much better than receiving.

a tisket, a tasket

my futile forage through the attic in search of errant christmas crackers uncovered
this: a photograph taken in 1974, at upper canada village, during an outing with my college photography class. it was shot with my first camera, a praktica LTL, and, although i probably cajoled a course-mate into developing the negatives (self-
confidence was not my strong point; the mere thought of doing something wrong and ruining my pictures terrified me), i remember printing it all-by-myself.
i might compose - or crop - it slightly differently these days, but contrast like this still fills me with delight, and makes me wish i could remember which film i used.

with a star on top

may your christmas - or whatever you celebrate - be bright!

running the lights

believe it or not, it was august when i took this photograph: a sidestreet surprise on a sultry summer day. my bare arms - for i am very vaguely visible - betray the season.
i remember thinking, then, of christmas, and how far away it seemed.
and now it's here.
almost!

the prize of the upward call

and lo, behold: december has skimmed by, swiftly, smoothly; a new year is just
beyond the rise.
it was, perhaps, a silly, spur-of-the-moment little resolution - this posting daily - but it has done me good; and here i am in the home stretch, with a festive finish in sight.
it should be an easy glide from here.

wondrous familiar

"let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."
- marcel proust (french novelist and author, 1871-1922)

those mornings - every morning - we stood companionably in the chairless kitchen, sipping makeshift lattes and waiting for the toast to brown; we watched the man-next-door tend his greens beyond the steamy window; we decided where - more or less - to go, which cameras to take there, and which film to feed them with.
those mornings - every morning - we crossed our fingers for sun, checked the door three times, and smiled wryly at how everyday routine - transformed by simple friendship - becomes a dearly cherished ritual.