Ruminator

  I have a simple question for you. Was I lost? Let me attempt to illustrate what took place. This happened early Friday morning, January 26, 2024. I arrived at O’Bannon Woods State Park and pulled into the park office parking lot. The week had begun with melting snow, followed by multiple days of mild to heavy rain. This morning as I was driving to the park, there was mist on my windshield. I had a quick question for my Property Manager friend Stanley. I walked to the door of the office, and Stanley was leaving the building. He asked how I was, and I did the same, knowing the last time we spoke was the Friday before he was sick. He was better but seemed to be headed somewhere, so I asked my question. There were two places I wanted to go this morning, and I asked which would be less muddy. Stanley explained the pros and cons of each location, and I headed to the Chimney Shelter within Harrison Crawford State Forest. Before departing, Stanley said, “ It is uphill to get to the she

  Friday morning. I sit here and stare out the window. Overnight we got around 2 inches of snow. I have already been outside attempting to clear the back deck, sidewalk, and part of the driveway. The blowing snow has undone most of my hard work. A warm pumpkin spice chai tea warms my insides and fills my nose with a fresh aroma of one of my favorite fragrances. The stream rises from my “ The Mountains Are Calling and I Must Go ” mug while I stare out at a group of crows feeding off the peanuts and birdseed. I laid out for them this morning. The wind whips around, carrying a swirling chorus of snow that dances and twirls in the frigid air. Each snowflake, a tiny minor masterpiece, lands softly on the ground. The world in front of me blurs into a swirling white vortex, and muffling sounds of hushed serenity. Here, in the heart of a winter storm, I find not just warmth and shelter, but an unexpected solace. There’s a strange beauty in the chaos outside, a raw power in the way the wo

  As I struggle with the constant battle with the demons inside my head. I am always looking and questioning my existence. My parents pressured me to be something I wasn’t called to be, societal pressures tried to mold me into something I’m not, and even the pressure to think, feel, believe, and act in a certain way influenced who I have become. “ Finding yourself is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. Finding yourself is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you .” by Emily McDowell. This year I will turn 56 years old. I am 10 years from retirement, and by society’s standards, I am a responsible and successful adult. However, I still often feel lost

  Today’s post is about my favorite shot in March 2023. A few more shots to choose from, but I selected one winner. The rusty orange rim of the backboard hangs askew, held hostage by a single, fraying net warped by years of Indiana summers. This old backboard stood like a sentinel in the shadow of a common field. Yet, despite its obvious weathering, the goal held a certain dignity. The background field witnessed generations of dreams taking flight, with the sound of basketballs soaring against the endless blue sky, the smack of leather, the thud of sneakers, the joyous shouts of children playing. Also, the groans of defeat as many shots were missed. It was a silent monument to countless afternoons spent chasing that elusive swish, a testament to the enduring spirit of this small-town. This photograph was one I saw while driving home from a fun day with my friend Amanda as I shot her grandmother’s dilapidated house. As you can see in the link below, there were many photographs

  These past few weeks I have been in a funk. Pressures from work, lack of hiking or walking, and high levels of stress have pushed my anxiety above reason. A recent visit to see Dr. Erin, she stated, “ I could see on your face that something is wrong .” After speaking to her about my biggest stress, work, and the compounding lack of time to hike or walk, she gave me homework. First, I must get out and “ take care of myself ”. Part of this involves listening to music, which I have also not done much lately. Saturday while Marcie and Kraven took a nap, I dove into a recent find called Stick Figure. Like Prince, their music really speaks to me. However, their music is not like Prince’s, the message and music of Stick Figure speaks to me. A few songs in and my anxiety is lower and stress level has dropped. Hailing from Southern California, Stick Figure has carved a unique niche in the American reggae landscape. Founded in 2006 by multi-instrumentalist Scott Woodruff, the band initia

  Continuing with my favorites of 2023. This month I look at February. I somehow only took 6 shots, so the sample size is small, but the choice is still difficult. Two of the six photographs were in black and white, and the others were in color. I took these photographs at O’Bannon Woods State Park on Saturday, February 4 th , 2023. The photo above was the one I chose for my favorite of the month. So why do I like this over the others? It simply made me feel the comfort I had in my mind of this place. I didn’t enter physically, but only in my mind. The image evokes a sense of tranquility and wonder, capturing the beauty of a sun-drenched forest clearing. The blue sky and golden grass provide a sense of warmth and openness, while the dark woods and dappled sunlight add a touch of intrigue. This morning the February wind bit like an icicle, whispering secrets through frosted pine branches. The sun shines through a blue sky, streaking with chemtrails left by recently passing airplanes.

  We all have that dusty attic in our minds, where echoes of forgotten and moments of fleeting images gather. But for some of us, like me, that attic door swings open uninvited. Flooding my present with unwanted guests: flashbacks. These unwanted visitors aren’t here for tea and biscuits. Nor simply to say hello and wish me good will. They are here to replay scenes I desperately want to erase. ‘ I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember ’ is a statement that carries the weight of unspoken stories. A statement for me that shares stories of trauma, loss, fear, and pain disguised as fleeting sensations. Those vivid emotions and intrusive thoughts that flow uncontrollably into my brain. Often like a raging river, but other times like a dripping faucet. It can be the sudden smell of rain triggering a childhood storm, a car backfiring, echoing a violent argument or harsh criticism from a parent, or a familiar song transporting you back to a moment of heartbreak. Liv

As promised, I am starting my favorites of 2023. This month is January, and I had 162 photos to choose from. As I suspected, this one would be tough for me to do. Not only this month but the future months and posts I will be doing. Below is a link to all the pictures I took in January 2023. Here are the questions I ask of you as the reader once you review the picture I chose above and when you review the other 161 photographs I took that month. Here are the questions I would like answered. First, what are your opinions on the photograph I chose? Which one would you have chosen for the month and why? Finally, does my favorite rank high based on the entirety of my months’ work? Why or why not? In January, I took a ride with my friend Amanda to visit her area of town. I also went to visit her grandmother’s house, that was slowly falling apart. I also had multiple hikes. Each place I went, I had my camera and tried my best to document what I saw. Some good, some bad and most average.