after fourteen years {8/14/14}
Kelley Clink
How we fall asleep, sometimes.
Today's prompt: Hands
(extra) soft animal
damn those puritans {8/13/14}
Kelley Clink
Though today's prompt is Guilty Pleasure, today's guest prompter, Hannah Marcotti, says "I don't do guilt. Or at least that is my mantra. So many things that I first pull into my pleasure window are filled with guilt and old stories. The moment guilt creeps in I repeat slowly and with a coy smile, 'I don't do guilt.'"
I love that. When I first saw the prompt for the day I got a little defensive. As someone with a severely restricted diet, who doesn't smoke, drink, or do (recreational) drugs, as someone whose health demands that I get at least a moderate amount of exercise regularly, why the hell should I feel guilty about the short list of things I can indulge in? Of course I still do, a little. But for today I'm going to let go of the guilt and give you a list of my pleasures:
--online shopping
--reading mystery/detective novels
--cable television
--fresh cut flowers
--air conditioning
--nail polish
--Italian ice
--fireplaces
--absurdly long showers
--hammocks
--and last, but not least, shooting instant film. Why would I feel guilty about that, you ask? Because it's expensive, and I'm not very good at it.
another picture of my feet?? I must be running out of ideas. I will try to make this the last one, I promise.
purple {8/12/14}
Kelley Clink
Today's prompt is On the Table, but since the photo I posted yesterday was a table shot, I figured I'd go rogue today.
language of the gods {8/11/14}
Kelley Clink
I used to love poetry.
When I was a teenager, I reveled in it. Devoured it. I never thought too much about what I was reading, didn't care what a poem was "about"--I just let the words wash over me to see how they made me feel. The best ones touched something beyond language. They made me expansive on the inside, made me small and infinite at the same time. An experience I understand now as a brushing up against the divine.
Two college degrees in literature pretty much ruined that.
For years after school I hated poetry. It had become something I needed to explicate, a mystery I was supposed to solve with clues I didn't have.
What had once made me feel wide open and human now made me feel like an idiot.
It's only been over the past couple of years that I've started to recover. Thanks to authors like Anne Lamott and Susannah Conway, I've discovered Rumi and Mary Oliver. I've realized that I'm a grown-ass woman, and I can read poetry any damn way I want to. I can skip the poems that don't make sense, that don't speak to me. I can love the poems I love without putting them under a microscope.
Sometimes being an adult is really fun.
Anyway, today's prompt was Handwriting, and our fearless leader suggested we write out a quote and photograph it. I knew exactly what I wanted to write--it's from a poem by Mary Oliver that I've been meaning to share here for a while.
I'm including the full poem below. The lines I wrote in my notebook are bolded, in case anyone has trouble deciphering my handwriting.
"Messenger" by Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird--
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
la boisson {8/10/14}
Kelley Clink
Today's prompt: Drink. Inspiration credit goes to the hubs for noticing the gorgeous green of these bottles against the green of the grocery store ceiling. One of the many benefits of being tall.
that's my bag, baby {8/9/14}
Kelley Clink
This week's prompt is In My Bag. The idea is to unpack your purse/laptop case/briefcase/whatever on a flat surface and lay out the contents. Added bonus: it forces you to clean out two pounds worth of receipts and used tissues.
From the left, clockwise:
-a light cardigan. Always.
-my business cards. Not that I ever give them to anyone.
-four kinds of lip balm??
-two pens: one black ink, one blue
-a travel size notebook in case inspiration (or a grocery list) strikes
-what my husband calls my "old lady" wallet
-my actual bag (by Mosey)
-sunglasses. Scratched, because I never put them in that pouch
-my "old lady" pill case
-an Olloclip
-funky glasses case, minus glasses
-a pendant made from my dog's ashes, because I feel better when she is with me
-two fertility totems
-headphones
-a book. Always. Right now it is The Opposite of Loneliness. And damn y'all, it's good.
*not pictured: the aforementioned two pounds of receipts and used tissues, 8 barrettes, 3 bobby pins, 2 headbands, 3 sets of keys, and my phone.
selfie {8/8/14}
Kelley Clink
Barefoot and pregnant. And I'll never get tired of saying it.
today is…{8/7/14}
Kelley Clink
cleaning up dog vomit before 7am
Buddhism for breakfast
public trans
cafe tables, alley-side
that random aloe plant while walking home
reflection {8/6/14}
Kelley Clink
City scene on a dirty window:
increase {8/5/14}
Kelley Clink
When I saw that today's prompt was Three, the photo I wanted to take instantly popped into my mind. It was followed by this thought: You can't do that. That's what normal pregnant people do.
This may sound strange, but even at seven months pregnant I still feel infertile. And from what I've heard from others, I will for a long time. That pain, that longing, that fear, that jealousy and resentment--I think (I hope) it will fade into a memory someday. But right now it is lodged in my body as deeply as my son is. A live thing that kicks, twists, and punches right alongside him.
And yet there is still so much room for joy. I've denied it because I am afraid I don't deserve it. I'm afraid that if I embrace it, it will disappear. Life is so damn fragile. It's uncertain, unstable, ever-shifting. You can lose everything in a single second. And when I think about it like that, it seems silly not to celebrate the moment.
He didn't come as quickly as I wanted him to. He sure as hell didn't come as easily. But he is coming. He is almost here.