the scent of water

Sabbatical

Taking a little break for a couple of weeks, to get life sorted etc.  Nothing too ambitious, then.

Everybody loves pie.

And if they don't, they haven't tasted my pie.

God, protect your joyful ones.

 

I believe in life, and I believe in the joy of human existence, but these things cannot be experienced except as we also face the despair, also face the anxiety that every human being has to face if he lives with any creativity at all.  ~ Rollo May

I hate wires

 

I do. I hate wires. I hate them so much I sometimes dream of going technology free so that I won't have to look at them.  I put this rose on my kitchen bench beside the stereo in order to hide a few. Just a little.

I was reading The Science of Happiness and thinking about envy, and how easy it is to feel bad when you compare your life with someone else's, almost anyone else's, because they seem happier than we are, or at least have things a little bit easier, and it reminded me of my rose and my wires.  Because that's what we see, isn't it, when we look at other people?  Their roses.  But who knows how many tangled wires of disappointment and grief and fear and pain they're keeping out of view? Lots.  Always.

Not related, but I promised Amy I would mention it: we've re-launched equinox in a new format and you're most welcome to pop over and have a look.

I spent the whole night dreaming about taking photos.

And not with the two cameras I already own either.  They're good, but you know, they could do with some more lenses.  And then there's the whole world of vintage film, not to mention the fabulous lomography scene...

Obsessed, engrossed, preoccupied.  Haunted.

Bad hair day.

Some days it's easy to lose the faith, to get overwhelmed with the talent, skill, and success of people I admire, to feel like the frumpy chick on the edge of the group, my presence tolerated but never quite welcomed.  It's just a story I tell myself, I know.  But still.

Thank god for cake.

(Yep, I really am one of those people who take their cameras into cafes to photograph food.)

The Libby Sweater

So now that it's spring, we're living in a warmer climate, and she has no real need of it, I finally finished a sweater I have been knitting for Eilidh (pattern here). 

She grabbed it and put it on even before I had sewn in the ends.  Yay, she said, my first made-for-me thing.  (?!  Aside from all those other made-for-you things, possibly.)

(It's odd to me how much my kids love the stuff I make for them.  I don't ever remember feeling that way when I was their age.  I wanted shop bought, baby.)

Then she transformed into a robot and started shooting at me with her awesome high-powered gun hand. 

The translator is to help her speak to Earthlings.

The world just looks so much better through the lens of a camera.

It's probably a colossal waste of time, but if I spend my entire life searching for the perfect shot, whatever that may be, I won't be sad about it.

Ignorant but happy.

My new camera is freaking me out a bit.  By which I mean a lot.

 

Which hasn't stopped me taking photos of really important things like my stained, if impossibly cute, apron.

 

Unsuspecting offspring.

Ragged cardigans.

 

Another in a seemingly endless supply of half knitted beanies.

And levitating children. 

Etc.  Times hundreds.

I love yarn in the same kind of way that I love food.

 

Is that weird? They both just seem so eminently delicious.  Currently I'm having an affair with the Cascade 220 Heathers.  This is Irelande Heather.  Knitting with it took me on an imaginary journey though the rain-kissed landscapes of a country far, far away.

Handsome boy.  Like your hat.