I think we all struggle with figuring out where to live. This struggle occupies most of our waking hours. It consumes so much of our energy.
We are either in the past or the future.
My struggle is figuring out how to live for right now, now is gone in a flash.
Enjoying the ride through town.
Enjoying a meal and a conversation.
Enjoying how the wind smelled with a tiny hint of earth and water.
Today I am pulled into the past as my son asked a ton of questions as we drove around.
I am equally pulled into the Monday after spring break.
I am pulled into the past now. Like most phones, my Pixel creates a sound map. I can scroll back to a recent trip I took and all the songs are there. It is like a snapshot of the past musically laid out.
What is funny is somedays the past memories are all good. Most of the bad just fades.
I never sit on any seat in any classroom without first checking it, there are always odd liquids in every building. Sometimes it is just spilled water, other times it is better to be left at a mystery.
There is a mystery liquid that has fascinated me for a long time.
A few year back central office was moved into a new building built on what was a grocery store that was built on sinkholes, allegedly.
I am sure some of this is due to hydrostatic pressure but there is always liquid oozing out of the ground year round. I am tempted to get it tested to see what is contained within it. If you look closely you can see it is different colors, almost reminds me of what you might see deep in a cave.
You can see the horizontal lines and the run off.
A little closer, this one looks a little sandy. Some of them are kinda whiteish.
A wee bit closer, you can see the layers of whatever is bubbling out.
It is like a slow dripping faucet, so slow that you really can’t see it but overtime you can tell something is up.
I came from a very frustrating meeting, I was not in a good place. I was rushing to get to an after school group that I am helping out with and I was a tad exhausted. Zipped through Starbucks to grab a coffee only to spill 1/3 of it before I got a chance to take a sip.
This tiny spill was my ceiling, I was instantly at my end.
Someone walking by might think this was the floor, not a big deal. Spilled coffee? Who cares!?
Someone recently told me school is like death by 1,000 paper cuts and this coffee issue made me think of that. What we see is no big deal, it is a HUGE deal to others. We don’t see all that is happening behind them, we just see what is right in our face.
We have three HUGE changes coming to elementary staff starting in April. I need to remember this coffee. I don’t know what I will do different yet.
I spent many summers with my grandparent’s in Athens, Georgia. I loved traveling by myself on an airplane across the country and other times they would drive all the way to pick me up and then back to their place. Spending nearly four days driving across the country was somewhat magical.
One of my grandpa’s things was taking pictures, not just a few but hundreds each time he pulled it out of the bag. While that might be a slight exaggeration, he really took a lot. I remember this one time my grandparents had just returned from another trip to Europe and Gramps had a ton of pictures converted into slides.
With a ton of slides came the slide show. They invited the neighbors over and we spent a chunk of time one night reliving the trip. The pictures waffled between our Irish family and flowers. I assumed the neighbors were bored out of their minds but maybe that is why there was an open bar. What stands out to me is how much he loved those pictures. I could see it in his eyes that he was reliving those memories and seeing his brothers and sisters again as we flipped though each image.
One other picture memory stands out about Georgia. The times we drove from St. Paul to Athens we stopped at a few outlet malls on the way down. These were not like they are today, these stores were more like lunch tables set up in the back of some factory. My grandmother would buy me a everything from underwear to shoes to Sunday clothes. New outfits meant many pictures.
My kids have occasionally asked me what my dream house would be, my dream house would be living in that small house in Athens. I always felt safe and comfortable there. I miss it.
This second mashup memory was about a class we took just before taking a cruise around the world. We sat on the floor as the lecture droned about some of the communities we were set to visit. One cultural norm was no photographing any person, they believed each picture would remove a little piece of their soul.
These two ideas came together while looking at a picture the other day. I thought of my grandfather, looking at this picture I was reliving a perfect day. It was like a tiny piece of my soul was left in that picture. Those people were almost right, a good photo is really like taking a tiny part of the takers soul and embedding into that fraction of time.
As I looked at this image I remember some advice I have given to my kids. If you can escape this world with just one friend, one friend who know all your best times and the very worst, you will leave richer than you can imagine.
There is a little piece of my soul in this perfect picture.