none quite as true

There lives a photo in a corner of my life and heart —

A symbol of an important bond — and a tribute to its truth. 

The camera’s eye has captured us unaware.   Intently focused on something in the distance.  Heads at similar angles.  Faces wearing similar expressions.

Mine — as usual — is just slightly more intense. 

Not exactly the most attractive shot, you might say.  And I’m sure we’d both agree.

But nonetheless. 

I am taken with it.  And have been for 25 years. 

It brings me back to a time when my younger sister and I shared an apartment, friends and even work.  I was starting over and she was just getting started. 

Innocence is the one-word-caption I’d give it now.  Maybe not back then —

But today — there is none quite as true.

And I have to wonder — was that the essential quality that all those years ago drew me to pluck this photo from all the rest? 

Was innocence the embedded essence that motivated me to have two copies printed and framed as identical lasting tributes for both of us? 

And is this perhaps a clue about how relationships of consequence in our lives ultimately separate themselves from the pack? 

Not by relative attractiveness and value, but through sheer innocence?

From our posts behind the lens in life, it is natural — it seems — to work for a sea full of dazzling one-in-a-million shots that exclaim “oh how amazing” —

At the end of the shoot — however — there’s often only one that stands out as true —

True to itself —

And to our deepest sensibilities.

This is often not the shot others would choose — or we might set out to choose —

But there is no mistaking —

Truth in innocence.

too eager

I am obsessed. 

Crouched over my own two feet. 

Struggling and second guessing myself over a task a four-year-old could do.

Lacing up my running shoes.  Because —

They need to be perfect. 

What does this mean?  How can I know?

Everyone waiting —

On me. 

Ready to go?  I’m not. 

Feeling rushed.  Flushed.  Just one more time.  Maybe this is it.  Yeah, this is it.  Cool.

Ok.  There.

No —- no.

This way?  There. 

No.  Damn. 

“Wait?  Please.  Just a second —

“Ok.  I’ll catch up.  Where?  Where should I meet you?”

Oh my god — I am not ready. 

What was I thinking?  I can’t do this —

But I want to do this.  I said I would.  And they’re waiting. 

I don’t want to be —

Left behind. 

But I can’t. 

I can’t —

Get past this feeling that I should feel complete and utterly —

Ready.

Ready in some way that  — well — 

I’m not.  

Yet.

sing spring

Is there any greater demonstration in nature reminding us of the process of renewal than spring?  The movement of the earth and all its creatures literally engages every human sense as the old recedes, is washed away and the new bursts forth.  Listen —

Get up.  Get out.  Get on with it —

Get over it.  And into it.

Spring is here —

Or so I hear —

I hear the rushing of water from every direction. 

Whooshing for the nearest sewer grate.  

Bellowing wider and wider channels through the remaining patches of ice.  

Gurgling under the now transparent surface of the lake. 

Running hard —

And laughing harder.

I hear rustling, bustling —

And unbundling.

Splashing.  Chirping. 

Flitting.  Flirting.

Arms linking. 

Feet tapping. 

Hearts beating.

I hear.

Spring is here.

© Julie Stevens 2009

the next hello

“Six,” she says.  “That’s it.”

“Are you kidding me? 

“No,” I protest.  “Six almonds is all they say you can have?”

I think about how often I enjoy almonds, which is just about every night.  Start to think about how many —

No —

I won’t. 

Let the almonds be.  I’m doing just fine where they’re concerned —

And besides, I bargain with myself, I haven’t had so much as a leg off a Gummy Bear in seven months —

(Not that I’m keeping track.) 

And I can’t even remember the last time I had —

Oh, hell —

The point is, I guess I’ve been feeling a little — well —

Deprived.  

And maybe it’s just the way things are these days.   The economy and all. 

But then.

Maybe it’s just a friendly reminder.  A kind of note to self about taking care of self in changing times.

Because, yes, when it’s inevitable that things are changing — whether we want them to — or not —

There are endings. 

Things to cut back on or cut out. 

Things that may or may not be missed.

Things — or people — to kiss good-bye with tears in our eyes.

And in these cases, I think it might be best not to scrimp on the almonds —

While we wait patiently with hope in our hearts —

For the next hello.