Guilty pleasures

Now that our daughter's boyfriend has a job in Seattle, we're driving him to the ferry dock every morning --and working on finding an alternative solution acceptable to us all, as the morning trip provides a certain amount of disruption in our days.

Yesterday as we were driving in there was a fabulous sunrise, but by the time we reached the ferry dock the clouds had overtaken the sun and it had returned to being a typical gray northwest day.  But on the off chance that there might be something worth shooting, I headed down to Waterfront Park to see if there were any good boats there.

As it happens, there were only two -- both of them beautiful -- which meant there was a perfect opportunity to get an uncluttered photo like this one.  And I have to say: moments like this -- seeing them, shooting them, opening them up on my computer later, and sharing them with you -- the whole experience really feeds my soul.  It's like a drink for thirsty eyes.

So this morning, when I woke and noticed a fog rolling in, I tiptoed out of the bedroom and determined not to wake my husband and make him do the ferry drive, but rather to do the drive myself and spend the rest of the morning shooting.  And oh, my: what a pleasure that was, to prowl around this beautiful island and its spectacular waterfront vistas with my trusty little camera.  We had a blast together, my camera and I: it was like we were out on a date, rejoicing together at everything; giddy with love and gratitude for such a spectacular morning -- I even felt a little guilty when I finally returned home around noon with a full memory card and an exhausted battery.  (Oh, the symbolism!)

And why should that be?  Why would we humans associate pleasure -- even a pleasure whose ultimate goal is the sharing of visions -- with guilt?  It seems to me that if I'm doing what I love, and I love what I'm doing, and the end result is designated in advance as a gift ... what more could anyone want?

Not much, I'm thinkin'...