20milesfromnowhere's Blog

Feeling Dark

I’ve been feeling dark lately. Not feeling dark as in brooding or a malicious mood but feeling as in a sensation, an occurrence or inquisitive touch. I’ve come to appreciate the darkness. I’ve learned to embrace the absence of light as an opportunity to experience being without seeing.

The light has so many fans. Songs and poems abound to admire its virtues. Painters and photographers trade on every aspect of its nature. Capturing it, manipulating or directing it, they harness and use its power in creating art. But included with the all the wonders of light is the mandate that one must perceive it at its direction. While light is used for all the wonderful properties it holds, and the colors it releases, it can also be blinding, its brightness obscuring its true source. It can be forced into the eye to the point of torture. While the light can sustain life, the inability to escape the glare from time to time can render a life burnt and sterile.

Sometimes I prefer the dark or the darkness. Much maligned for its lack of brilliance or its ability to hide the demons, I think the darkness has so much to offer if one can apprehend it. What can not be seen can be imagined and therein lies the glory of the darkness. It is a medium for internal reflection for it casts not its own shape. It has no margins so it can hold whatever you put in it. You can make of it what you will. It is a blank canvas, available for your inclinations. The darkness causes feeling. When you walk into a dark evening you are forced to neglect your eye and embrace your other senses. Every texture under foot must be considered, every sound is amplified as you struggle to perceive its meaning and its source. Even the slightest change in temperature becomes stark and obtrusive.

I like to experience the darkness. It brings me closer to who I am to be without an image to carry around. When there is no reflection in the mirror, it holds no power over you nor can it cast a representation towards you. Being freed from that yoke, one can indulge in the reflection of the soul, the heart, the true self. We all look good in the dark.

The Middle Child

Like so many others across our country and the world. I was more than a little interested in the Olympics that ended on Sunday. Although a proud American, there was a little piece of me that was rooting for the Canadians to do well. I like Canada and Canadians. They are a proud bunch and an agreeable people by nature. I look at Canadians as friends, allies and brothers. The US has no better friend in the world than the Canadians.

As I thought about Canada, it occured to me that Canada is like a sister to the US. With that in mind, I could not help but to consider the relationship of the nations of North America and how they are similar to those of a family of siblings.

First Americans, the first born with all the attributes of the eldest, type A personality, overachiever and trend setter. A little aggressive, we were the first out of the nest and see our selves not only as the protector of the younger but also as the trail blazers who are determined to out perform the parents.

Then you have Canada. The typical middle child, they are the peace maker, the negotiator, the calm voice and comely personality. She avoids trouble but will stand with the family when trouble arises and is a true ally in turbulent times. You know you can count on her

Mexico, the baby of the family. The youngest that just can not seem to get herself together and again and again, finds herself in need of being bailed out. Constantly unable or unwilling to stand on her own and consistently requiring attention. Typical of this kid, she moves into our home becaue she has no food in her fridge but insist on waving her flag while lounging in our living room. A great place to party, but you would not want to send grandma to live with her.

Ok, before everyone out there starts hammering me with threatening comments,  I will admit to being the baby in my family, and while the above is certainly an exaggeration, there is a morsel or two of truth in it. 

The real subject here is the Canadians, those loveable Canadians. God bless the Canadians. While I was cheering and cursing and pulling for an American win in the great hockey game yesterday,  I must admit that there was a sense of righteousness in having those Canadians win that game. As a good older sibling, I could not begrudge my sister in a win she wanted so much, and worked so hard for and that was so important to her. You go girl. We love you Canada, you done good!

The Whole Chicken

“Dad! Dad hurry! He ate it, he ate the whole chicken! That cat ate the whole chicken!”  

This was the chorus I heard coming from the kitchen.  I turned the corner to see the children, quite animated and fidgeting about, pointing at the floor and totally astonished.  Their eyes fixed on our old Tom cat.

Often on Sunday evenings, my darling wife will bake a chicken or make a roast for us to have for the next day’s dinner or to make sandwiches through the week. This particular Monday evening, I had pulled a beautifully baked chicken out of the fridge, carved off several slices and made a very nice meal.  Afterwards, the kids wanted to go outside to play a bit and before joining them I removed the chicken from the foil lined pan used to cook it and placed the remainder into a more suitable container for refrigerating the leftovers. 

 As I removed the bird, a portion of the skin stuck to the foil leaving a vague outline where it had been. The kids had watched me prepare the meal and when they left the room, the chicken was still in the pan.  When they returned, there was the old cat, licking at the pan and looking back at them like, well, like the cat that ate the canary. Instead of a canary however, this cat (it appeared to them) had eaten a whole oven stuffer!

 I looked at the kids, still wide eyed and just waiting for me to go after the rascal. Then I looked at that “stupid cat”, (A pet name I have for him for various reasons) Sitting there, quite fat and happy, licking his paws and staring back at me with a gaze that cats employ from time to time to say, “yeah, I did it and I am proud of it!” I could not help but fall into a fit of laughter. I chuckled until I almost cried, and every time I tried talk, I would look back at the scene and become overwhelmed with the silliness of it all.

Finally I regained my composure, I asked the kids if they were sure this was true? They were quite convinced about what they thought they saw . I could tell they were more than a little perplexed (and maybe a bit perturbed) that I found this so funny.  It was not until I had pointed out that the chicken weighed about 5 pounds and the cat only about 8 pounds and that there was no way that cat could have eaten the whole chicken at one sitting did they start to back off.

We went on to discuss what that cat might have looked like had he consumed 5 pounds of chicken to illustrate the point a bit further. But you know, although they shook their heads in agreement after this discussion, I don’t think that they were completely convinced until I opened the fridge and showed them the stored chicken. 

This little story is one of our family’s favorites because it was so incredibly funny at the time.  It is one of my own personal favorites because it illustrates how easy it is to see what we want to see, or to draw a conclusion without actually thinking things through. Regardless of the absurdity of a seven pound cat downing a five pound chicken in one sitting, those kids believed it, and let that belief built on itself until they were unable to look at the situation logically.  I guess you could say they “swallowed the whole chicken”! 

Ok, on second thought, maybe having one presume that he ate the whole chicken is not so unreasonable after all.

Pictures

Life is a picture. Whether a photo, or a painting, a sketch or a collage, each is a product of its own unique constitution and circumstance. While we generally have an idea of where it comes from, rarely can we fathom where it will come to.  As with the picture, the manufacture is often as interesting as the image and when viewed in the context of its narration, takes on more depth and meaning.

Some are composed, painfully set with the utmost care to insure the proper aperture and focal length or carefully laid on the canvas in layers of shades that have limited appeal on their own but together bring life where there was none. Others are the result of a feeling, or happenstance, the luck of the draw or a moment of opportunity.  Some of the most interesting are the result of mistakes, or at least what were thought to be mistakes at the time or the results of a frustration that, cast in anger, somehow births a calming panorama. 

Each has its own life to live and is endowed with character and intricacies that belong to it alone. Each is subjected to interpretation, often judged by those that do not understand it, as less than beautiful.  Or it might be gauged against another, which unjustly disappoints the observer and the subject alike as neither can live to or in the others standard.

Each has its layers, its colors or lack there of. The harder lines of its structure and shadows that bring it depth often mask the feelings and emotions that are the true geneses of its form.    

The picture must be seen in its own light. It must live in its own light. It can not take the place of another. It can not be cast out of its element for the sake of the eclectic and it should not be detained for the sake of conformity. It must be set in a place that accepts it, even if that placement brings discomfort to its fellows. There is a light somewhere that is suited to it and when that light is found, the true depths of its beauty can emerge.

 Each must find the proper frame. A picture can be beautiful but if a proper frame can not be found, it can never be complete.  Attaining the proper frame can be frustrating. Often we must try several before we find the one. Sometimes we hold it in our hands as we cast our eyes abroad. We shop the boutiques when what we need is in an old trunk in our attic. One can have and reject it, only to come back later with a clear eye that finally sees the connection. It may require a quest that we feel is beyond us, not realizing that the metal must endure the flame before it can be forged to form. Regardless, it must be found. When it is found, we must be able to see it and be willing to clinch it and to allow it to digest us. When it is right, we will know. And when we know, we can embrace it and see the picture for all that it is. Its glory and beauty can then be properly appreciated and we can be pleased with what has been created. Once we find that pleasure we can rest, and accept the adulation that our picture deserves.

Find your frame. Unfurl your beautiful picture and set it in its proper light. Then display it to the world. They will love it.

Apology Accepted,

I’ve been apologizing a lot lately, or at least feeling the need to do so.

To my siblings, mom and dad, old girl friends, etc… As I’ve grown older, I often find regret in things from my past. Not too long ago, I decided that I should attempt to make a mends by offering apologies to certain people when possible. The funny thing is, it didn’t work out as I had planned.  I did find some of those people and did my best to set things right but:

The targets of my apologies seem to have a hard time accepting my apologies. Not that they still harbor hard feelings or care to hold a grudge. Actually they seem to not quite know where I am coming from with these acts of contrition. They seem to not know or remember what I was apologizing for. As you might imagine it made me rethink.

One of them who I had, quite frankly, obsessed about looked back at me after a few seconds and said, “Well, I was not such a great person back then either.” Now, that would have been all good and fine except, this girl was and still is a wonderful person. She had never been anything but good to me. Better than I had ever deserved, as I recall. She gave herself to me. She loved me with all her heart and I, being the cad I was, had broken it. 

So along with knowing that I had done some bad things in the past, now I was learning that evidently I was even bad at apologizing. Damn! I must be doing it wrong.

I resolved to think this thing through and come up with a plan of action. This time I would apply myself and do it properly.

I thought I‘d make a list. Think back and document all I had done. I recalled many things that I had come to regret. Things I did, things I did not do. People I failed to appreciate properly at the time and so on. I thought back to lapses in judgment and deficits in character I had shown.  Regrets. So many regrets I listed until I had worked my self into a state of total self loathing and lament. I became depressed and sullen and wallowed in it for quite a while.  After several days of this, I decided that maybe I should just relax for a while and quiet my mind.

This quiet time did prove to be a good thing and I finally had a rational thought. Maybe I should develop a parallel list of all the wrongs I had suffered at the hands of others to establish an anchor. So I sat down to make it out and, well, I thought and thought and you know, I could not think of anything to put on that list.

Oh there were a few instances that, I am sure at the time seemed to be most egregious and demeaning but as I looked at them through the prism of time most were more amusing than hurtful. None that had any bearing on my life today. The majority were the result of ignorance or neglect rather than malice or intention and then, just as that little revelation was settling- it dropped on me like a rock!  I was doing it again.

I had been so self absorbed all this time that even my discomfort over regrettable actions in the past towards others had become more about me than them.

I realize that instead of hating me all these years for my transgressions that, if they remembered what I had done, they probably laughed if they had ever thought of it at all!

Now I understand. If I am to ever get beyond these things, I do have to make an apology – to myself and then get over it, understand that what was my past is just that. My past, not my future.
I’m ok.
Apology accepted!