Bumping up against it

It was two weeks ago today that, buoyed by a sense of new mission, I went off to the Hood Canal for a weekend to see if I could figure out where this strong sense of calling was going to take me.

This shot was taken as I was attempting to photograph some buffleheads (black and white ducks) who were frolicking in the water just off the deck of the cottage where I stayed that weekend, and as I looked through my images this morning to figure out what to post this one waved its hand in the air and shouted "Me, me, take me!"

One of the things I've been learning as I process the revelations of that weekend is that this blog is really about what these photos that seem to leap into my camera have to teach me. Writing is my way of framing and interpreting the divine presence as it appears through the photos, just as the experience and liturgy and drama and music of church are a way of interpreting the divine presence as it is expressed in Communion.

So what am I learning as I look at this photo? I love the balance of it. I love the counterpoint between the straight lines of the fence and the curve of the chair, and the way they come together in the curved edge of the table and the almost straight edge of the waves: it makes me think a bit of my straight hair and my husband's kinky curly hair as they reflect together in the loose curls of our younger daughter and the smooth waves of our older daughter.

But I think the part that intrigues me most is the way the fence has begun to bend where the chair touches it, shifting its own stiff regularity to accommodate the curve of the chair. So if I go with that parallel -- that the fence is me and the chair is my husband, then I have perhaps begun to be more flexible in those parts of my life where he bumps up against me the most? Maybe the fact that I LIKE that little ripple in the fence is a sign that this sense of irritation I've been feeling since he's been working at home more, this edgy resentment of the interruption in my routine, is actually a good thing; that even though it's uncomfortable, it's an important part of the picture, and actually makes it more interesting.

Or maybe this is a chicken and egg problem: Because his increased presence is causing some ripples, I recognize them in the picture and want to think they will add to life rather than detract from it? I suspect the order, chicken or egg, doesn't matter so much. The important thing is to realize that it's all okay, all part of the picture: my rigidity, his curves, the bumps where they meet and abrade -- it's all good. In the immortal words of Julian of Norwich,

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

I have a feeling there is a lot more to be learned here, but I have to run: I am taking my daughter on a pilgrimage to Forks today. So amusing, to be hunting vampires on Friday the 13th! Will I get bitten by this bug? Stay tuned...