Category Archives: daydreamer

It’s been a while …

since my last blog post. 

Since last time, satan has reared his ugly head and life has given me a bonified black eye, busted lip, bruised rib, and all around beating.

My mom, who I depend on way more than a nearly 50-year old (ok, 47 in two weeks, but still) woman should, has been ill.

In the hospital, taken by an ambulance, ill.

My dad, who leans heavily on my mom, has been beside himself.

My dearest friend has been given (by mere mortals) six months to live.

It has been a trying month.

First off, my mom is home, well and feeling quite herself. 

My dad, an Air Force Veteran (whom we should all be applauding today for his service to the USAF) is better because my mom is feeling better.

It brings a surprising revelation to light.

While this would distress and hurt me beyond comprehension, I have this hope they would die, in their sleep, at the same time.

As awful as this may sound to some, I’d rather mourn them both at the same time than try to handle one without the other.

I can’t frankly speak for my sister, but wonder if she wouldn’t agree.

If that isn’t possible, I hope my dad, my hero and advocate goes first, because I cannot fathom him without my mom.

Mom would miss dad terribly, but she’s strong, and would survive.

Maybe I’m more crazy than I imagined, but I can handle Mom’s tears more easily than Dad’s.

I honestly don’t know how I would deal with him if he had to live without her.

As for my dearest friend, who is battling cancer, I advised her, as I do everyone, to live every day as if it’s the very last one.

Nobody, but nobody has the promise to live further than the moment they are in.

I know where I’m going when I’m gone from this world, so dying doesn’t scare me.

Living, however, without the people who love and understand me, gives me pause.

If that sounds selfish, it’s because it is. 

I thought I’d grow old and watch, with my husband I dearly loved, grandchildren playing in the yard.

Then, I came home one day, and out of the clear, blue sky, found him as dead as Moses.

No warning. No goodbye.  Just gone.

There’s no promise of life, to any of us, past the single moment we find ourselves living in.

If one doesn’t intend to live life as it happens, they forfeit their right to complain when it’s over, or nearly over.

You can quote me on that.

Right now, in this moment, is all I am certain of.

It is all any of us can be certain of.

This moment.

This breath.

This heartbeat.

Each day, if it doesn’t mean something, is wasted.

I say this to family, friends, former friends that I miss with an intensity that embarassess me, and though I can’t think of any specifically, my enemies.

I don’t think I have any absolute enemies.  If I do, they’ve been mighty quiet about it, and I forgive them anyway, knocking out the one leg they, were they real, had to stand on.

That’s good, though, in my way of thinking.  Who, when they have life to contend with, need enemies to muddy up the mess further.

And yet, as I often do, digress.

Now is the only thing that matters.

Grab on or be left behind.

Those are, in actuality, the only two choices.

As Shakespeare said (though he may have meant it differently as words in his day were perplexing, they pretty much say the same thing). To be or not to be … that is the question.

I choose to be, even when it hurts, is painful, annoying, hurtful, betraying or joyous.

I choose to give it everything I have, be whatever I can be and love, even those who don’t love me, unconditionally. 

Be it joyous, angry, confused, happy, sad, contemplative or any number of emotionally relevant states, with bright lights, awesome auroras, sleepless nights and flying debris; I’m there, every day, all the way.

I know who I am and if I die before morning, I know where I’ll find myself.

I love you all, even when you’re unloveable, just as you do me.

We, though we are all in the image of God, are, intrinsically human.

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My beloved …

much missed and cherished convertible is back.

She still makes noises and currently has no back seats, but she’s running.

I have missed my little car.

I mistreated her by making her pretend she was a Jeep, but she took it.

I will mistreat her again to get to the places I need to go and she, as she always has, will understand.

She knows me, my dreams and aspirations.

She understands my yearning to see and photograph.

I’m very happy to have her back and hope she knows how much I’ve missed her.

She’s mine; she was always meant to be mine.

I won’t trade her when I am finally able fulfill my lifelong dream and get a Jeep.

No, she’s safe here. She will always have a place in my heart (and in my driveway).

I’m pretty sure she knows that.

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She took me to my falls many, many times.

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She took me to the high places at Clingman’s Dome in the Smoky Mountains, where snow fell heavily in October.

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She took me, in the pouring rain, to Hungry Mother Park in Marion, VA

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She took me up and down Big Moccasin every day, stopping often so I could photograph my favorite trees.

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She took me, more than once, to the Outer Banks of NC.

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OBX again …

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and again.

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She took my girls with me many times …

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      many times.

Yes, I’m very happy to have her back.

Very happy, indeed.

Desertion …

works in several directions.

It is easy to say poor, poor, pitiful me.

Wasn’t that a song?  I think it was.

Warren Devon sang it.  I think Terri Clark tried to sing it, but seriously?

Seriously?

It’s just as easy to say I am supremely blessed.

It’s, I suppose, a fine line.

That line between self-indulgent sorrowfulness and outright blessings.

I’ve never been any good at drawing lines.

I’ve lost good friends because drawing lines …

was a handicap.

Good friends.

Lost.

For good. For all times.

Because my line-drawing skills sucked like a wet-vac.

Those people, people I cared for very much, are no longer in my life because I didn’t conform to what they were looking for.

I wasn’t looking for anything other than friendship.

But, I think I had a vibe of some kind.

A sucker vibe.

I think of myself as strong and sufficient, but deep inside, I need approval; acceptance.

The people who pretended to know and understand me never understood that.

I find it plausible that others they prey on will find themselves in the same inexplicable, confusing place that I am in.

They ask for things, favors, jollies, but are Predators.

They have no real interest beyond their own control.

Yes. I know these people and am sorry for every thought they consumed.

I still think of them, more often than I want and wish they would leave my mind.

I wish to never think of them again, but strong personalities, people who use others for their own embodiment will always be out there.

Those of us who seek and thrive on acceptance will always be vulnerable to the likes of the JW’s
and DH’s in our lives.

Strength of character, knowledge of false friends and pure, unadulterated mistrust will sustain us.

Sad, but true.

Trust no-one.

That lesson I’ve learned.

It sucks to know you can’t trust the people you trusted.

While this is true for me, it isn’t such for everyone.

Follow your instincts.

Question your friends.

Trust few and investigate them thoroughly (hurting them be damned).

Trust your instincts.  It’s rare that they will let you down, but sometimes it happens.

Little else matters.

But do not be deceived … people you ‘”trust” will use you.

If you believe nothing else, believe that.

Trust no-one.

This I learned the hard way and still, nearly every night, cry myself to sleep.

As my late husband would have said, be ashamed.

That’s all I have to say to J and D.

Be ashamed.

You know who you are.

It horrifies me that I cry for you.

Damn you both.

My nieces …

are remarkable.

Each of them brings me unspeakable joy.

Sophie, the oldest, was my first. I watched her being born and captured the first photograph of her.

She became, that photograph did, anyway, a greeting card.

http://www.greetingcarduniverse.com/holiday-cards/nurses-day-cards/general-nurses-day/nurses-day-obstetrics-new-baby-exam-150758?aid=133039

Gracie, known to me as Gracie-Bell, was second. I didn’t witness her birth as she decided to create all kinds of drama.

She, like her older sister, is a drama queen.

Gracie has Down’s Syndrome but lives life as though it will end tomorrow. She’s a character and, as you may have imagined, a greeting card as well.

http://www.greetingcarduniverse.com/holiday-cards/nurses-day-cards/general-nurses-day/happy-nurses-day-child-dancing-803906?aid=133039

Life happens as it happens and as it does, I capture it.

It’s what I do.

My daughter, for instance, was a music education major.  She’s chosen a different path, yet still found herself on a greeting card.

http://www.greetingcarduniverse.com/miss-you-cards/general-miss-you/girl-with-trumpet-music-135567?aid=133039

My dad, an inspiration to me though we often butted heads, is my mentor. Guess what?  Yep, a greeting card.

http://www.greetingcarduniverse.com/dad-father-birthday-cards/general/happy-birthday-dad-farmer-246883?aid=133039

Life happens.

In that life is magnificence.

Live.

Love.

Embrace.

Enjoy.

Time passes, life goes on, memories fade.

Enjoy each moment for there will come a time when nothing, except memories, remain.

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Family. Friends. Creation. Life.

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Nothing matters more.

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Light, to me …

is much more than simply the absence of darkness.

I watch it.

I chase it.

I adore it.

The golden hour, and there are two, are my favorite times to be alive.

I didn’t take courses in photography, though I wanted to.

I learned through trial and error.

Light is unforgiving.

If I miss the perfect moment, it doesn’t offer a do-over.

It is Edwardian in its boundaries and doesn’t allow room for foolishness.

I love that about it.

It is constantly changing.

Sometimes, it is indescribable and others completely intolerable.

It gives what it gives; therefore putting the burden of catching it on my shoulders.

It keeps me centered.

It makes me yearn for something that, to a layman, is intangible.

As a photographer, however, I understand the language of the light and revel in it.

It is what fuels me, sustains me, makes me who I aspire to be.

I work as a nurse so I can be a photographer.

It is all I ever wanted to be and the light, inexplicably, seems to understand that.

I’m a child of the Creator and He has given me an eye for His magnificence.

I am, beyond description, blessed.

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Light, in every season, in several circumstances and with unimaginable awe makes me fall, literally, to my knees in thanksgiving.

I adore and will, as long as I have breath in my body, seek the light.

It is HIS gift to me and I praise HIM, through photography, for it.

Amen.

Over the weekend …

I had a total bipolar meltdown on my dad.

He was, at first, completely blindsided, and then perplexed.

I usually meltdown on my mom, who knows to just let it ride until the event is over.

But she wasn’t there and I was melting down in real time.

I think it was good for him, my Dad, that is, to see me as I have a propensity to be.

Totally crazy, on the edge of straight-jacket territory.

A mess.

I try to shield him from this side of me, because, well, at the risk of starting a riot, he is my dad and is, with abject certainty, a man.

Men rarely understand the astounding psyche of women.

Don’t roll your eyes and pretend to be insulted.

We know that maneuver.

Add bipolar to the mix and a total discombobulation takes over.

I love my Dad.

He is my, second only to Jesus and third to John Robert (who is dead, by the way), my hero.

A man who’s integrity I would bet my last dime on.

But he isn’t my mom.

He wants desperately to pat me on the head and tell me all is ok.

All is not okay.

I’M HAVING A MELTDOWN, WHERE IS MY MOTHER?

In my own defense, I didn’t say that.

I wanted to, but felt the ramifications would skew the effort to find out WHERE THE HELL my mom was.

So I cried, sobbed, made little sense while blindly clinging to my Dad.

I seriously doubt he will
ever be quite the same.

It’s a bit, I suppose, like trying raw oysters.

It sounds gross, but the rewards … well, they, by spades, outweigh the risks.

I hope, some day, to eat raw oysters with my dad.

A small, and yet ambiguous dream.

He hugged me while I was sobbing incoherently and told me he loved me, no matter what.

Major points for that.

Major.

Points.

Major.

Robert Frost …

has always been, since the very first time I read his work, my favorite poet.

He writes of nature and God and love and beauty in a way that I can relate to through photography of the creation he wrote of.

I especially like “Good-bye and Keep Cold” as I do love my mountain orchard …  feel free to visit this post regarding just that – https://ginamintonkearns.com/2014/02/05/my-orchard-awaits/ .

And “Stopping by the Woods”, well really.

When my daughter was young, I did not spank her or put her in time-out.

Instead, when she had committed an infraction, she wrote.

Robert Frost’s works.

At the time, it ticked her off to have to write this poet’s verse, but, because she hated to write anything, it had the desired effect in making her work harder in school in order to avoid writing; which she hated worse than any kind of poison.

She now attends college at UVa Wise and is majoring in music.

She wants to be a band director and I couldn’t possibly be more proud of her.

At this year’s commencement excercise, a reference to Robert Frost was made. Not only did she recognize it, but relayed it to her friends.

It was, whether it was meant to be or not, a proud moment for me.

There will be many things she will forget as she forges her path in life, but Robert Frost will not be one of them.

She is my crowning achievement, and I am astutely proud of her.

I have, along the way, lost many wonderful, intriguing friends because I was too much, too crazy, too something and they couldn’t handle it.

I certainly don’t hold it against them because sometimes “my crazy” befuddles me and I wish I could “unfriend” or “unfollow” myself.

I have a greater hope for my girl and pray the “crazy gene” has passed her over.

My brain is a mystery to me and it is too much to ask anyone, even the diligent, mystery solving, “I can figure it out because I’m brilliant that way” type to fathom.

Jesus knows it, sees it as it is, and loves me despite it.

Or mayhaps, because of it.

As I said, I’m good either way.

That, for me, is enough.

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