The Greek roots of the word photography translate as "writing with light." Welcome to my studio--a place to practice and illuminate good work using writing and photography.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
My list is complete and my path is clear. But the kitty wanders in to my 3rd floor office, demands to be scratched, and I obey, taking time to comb his orange and white fur soft. My list catches my eye, but just as it comes into focus sweaty sox from the pile in the hall call to me to be laundered. After starting the load and running a rag around the grimy machine opening and across the dusty top of the dryer I return to my waiting list. I ready myself to dig in to the first “A1” when the doorbell rings and I run down the stairs to find the neighbor who has locked herself out and needs me to help boost her into the open bathroom window. Which I do, but she insists on making me a cup of tea and we talk longer than I really want because by now I hear my list beckoning me home. When I enter the door and pass the kitchen I realize my stomach is growling and cannot wait another minute for food. It takes some time to thaw out the soup I remove from the freezer and place into the microwave, but no worries because the newspaper sitting on the counter has an intriguing front-page story about a shady character that’s turned up missing with too many suspects to narrow, and no evidence there’s been foul play. My reverie with the mystery is interrupted by my list insisting from the upstairs office. "Egad," I think, as I look at the clock on the stove, and pour the hot soup in a cup. I carry it back to my desk and my list only to remember the clean clothes need to be transferred to the dryer, which I do, but there are several pieces that must be hung and no hangers in sight. I head to the basement for the extra stash and find that kitty has thrown up on the stairs. So I get some paper towels and a warm rag and clean up his mess, forgetting my original mission. On my way back upstairs to my list I discover the wet pile of clothes and descend, again, into the dark basement this time where I stumble on the stack of boxes meant for recycling and I remember about tomorrow’s pick-up. So I forget the hangers, dismantle three large and two small well-glued and stapled boxes and take them out to the bin, and take the bin to the top of the street. Feeling accomplished I head back upstairs to begin on my list, but run into the wet clothes. I abandon further hanger search and settle for laying the clothes on a variety of towels draped on racks and surfaces, which I do carefully to avoid those creases caused by uneven drying. And then I return to my list, only to find a text message from my unemployed daughter which reminds me I haven’t yet checked craigslist to make my daily contribution to her job search. I score a couple of leads and send them off to her and figure while I’m there I might as well check the furniture ads for the hard-to-find cabinet for the bathroom. While I’m online, a couple of emails arrive in my inbox, and as it turns out, require immediate attention. So I read and answer each, one requiring an attachment of a document I haven’t seen for more than a year. So I perform a document search under a couple of headings and finally scare it out of the archive and send it off. As I turn back to my list at last I notice the clock and the late hour. I realize that if I don’t put on the rice to cook now, dinner will be very late. And then there’s all that chopping that must be done for the meal. So I put my list front and center on my desk and figure I’ll start first thing in the morning, when I’m fresh and focused.