Off Script

May 16, 2012
rings

Almost 20 years in and it’s nothing like I planned. Worse, as convention goes, I’ve failed utterly and don’t think I’m kidding.

The couples cascading around us on their upward trajectories in ever-increasing marital perfection…or imploding under the weight of their own Becoming (read: sometimes the village is burned to save the town), aren’t helping. That is, to the extent that I’m forced to acknowledge they exist as constant reminders to the extent Cute Redhead and I don’t just break the mould, we blast it to fine dust.

She’s up as much as I’m down, and we pass one another as we trade those places more than we luxuriate in any same place at the same time. I’m tuned into the Very Now and she’s on a frequency the Voyager II abandoned somewhere past Neptune. What I think is hilarious tends to tender The Eyebrow. What she thinks is Just Right often lands in me as alien to put it mildly.

And yet.

We get each other. In ways only she and I get, we get each other. Be it base familiarity or intuitiveness, it’s our Us and it has expanded and spread to every corner of our years and worked its way through the whole of the dough.

And yet.

It’s not at all looking like what I’d have scripted.

I’d have been winning the lion’s share of the bread (I’m not) (I never have), and she’d be one of those wives who spend her days looking for opportunities to tell the world how amazing I am…like how I see so many ladies do all over Facbook, recruiting effusive exclamation points to drive the point home (she’s not) (she never has). It has been, therefore, tempting to mistake what I am tempted to classify as mistakes as big mistakes. And I almost did. That is, until I stepped out the front door listening to a new arrangement of an old song I hadn’t heard in years. And, in the space between our threshold and the front walk, there cascaded over me an understanding and a vantage point I’ve been luxuriating in for the past two days:  the gifts of What Really Matters come not because we do anything right. They come because we get precariously close to mistaking all our mistakes for the last word on the story of our lives so far, making them not boons but mercies.

I was this close to judging my life and deciding it lacking in enough to render a final word none too flattering.

But then the song cut into the sequestered jury inside my head where I was hanging in the balance arraigned for everything I’ve done wrong. And with a perspective I hadn’t allowed myself. Where what I’ve never done right is shown for what it really is…which is exactly what it needed to be.

Because it would have been cruel to consign her to her equal. It would have been a capsize to indict her to a man who did as she expected, or worse, what she thought she wanted.

Because what I needed was a fixed point of reference in my universe and what she’s been gifted with is ground falling out from under her feet and pushing her over the edge.

Because the last thing I am is predictable and the last thing she needs is something she can control.

Because the last thing she is is unpredictable and the last last thing I need is something I can’t depend on.

 

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It’s Going To Be Great

May 14, 2012
Pumpkins

I saw a neighbor do this a few years back and I thought it made brilliant sense. See those two little guys? Well, they’re not going to be little for long. Those are pumpkins. And they’re going to be great. Great pumpkins, Charlie Brown, and I ain’t lyin’. I’ve meant to try this forever and I finally made good on the idea: planted the suckers right by the front porch so that by the time Halloween rolls around, these dudes will be big enough to roll down the street juggernaut-style.

And you there! Get to work!


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Leaden

May 13, 2012
Leaves

I was picking up a kid at a soccer practice and making my way to the field when the sudden sunlight blinded me. What had been a darkening, leaden sky promising the storm suddenly surrendered the sunset. Right below the storm clouds and right before it fell behind the mountains, making the most out of a space of sky no larger than the thumb I held up to block it.

But that was all it needed to slip in and cast this ominous light.

Beautiful.

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Hell’s Kitchen

December 20, 2011
Text

Okay, today was not enjoyable. And by ‘it sucked’ I mean it was not enjoyable.

I had to see to a few meetings during which niceties and composures listed precariously close to capsizing until, capsizing, everything turned upside down. And by ‘it sucked’ I mean it was not enjoyable.

It’s times like this I drive home from the Big Bad World thanking God in heaven I have a warm, welcoming home to come home to. And it’s thoughts of gratitude just like that one that oft-times have me calling home to let them know I’m thinking of them and will be there shortly. I like to hear the chipper giggly laughter of kids in the background and the hum of a household fairly carbonated with life and drama three-kids strong. I like to be reminded that no matter how Not Nice the world is outside these walls, there is nothing so Not Nice that the love and acceptance I find when I cross my threshold can’t be dissolved in a big giant family hug.

And then I woke up.

From the nightmare of the day, that is. Which was quite the wakeup call, all things considered. And not a phone call. Not at first, anyway. It was a text exchange with Beta Male that went like this:

“When r u coming back?”

“45 minutes. Everything okay? My meeting is going longer than I expected.”

“Yeah we made some failure banana bread and it didn’t taste right, soooooo….yeah.”

Lord.

(calls home) “Hey kiddo.”

“Hey dad.”

“Everything okay?”

“Not with the banana bread. We undercooked it and then kept on cooking it.”

“Yeah I read that part. I’ll be home in a few minutes. I hope you cleaned the kitchen up though.”

“Don’t worry, we did. We cleaned it just like you left it.”

Which was such a happy thought that last few miles on the way to house with the yellow police tape surrounding it.

Because apparently “We cleaned it just like you left it” means I left it like a murder scene.

 

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Peregrinus

December 18, 2011
Kendall

I remember the day he and I met and the expression on his face. It’s the same expression I see more often than not and always looks like he’s got something off-the-beaten-path interesting to talk about, just the two of us, in some corner while others make superficial observations about everything else. And, trust me, he usually does. And we usually do. Talk alone in some corner, that is. And with complete disregard for other conversations.

He’s got a renaissance tack into life that has surrendered the number of times I can count on one hand when the words, “I don’t know” came out of his mouth. Which is not to say he’s a know-it-all. At all. Because he’s not. For as broad as his experiences are, for as voracious a reader he is, for as muti-talented a human he happens to be…he keeps a disproportionately vulnerable posture to the world around him. And in the best way. Meaning he seems to live in a state of perpetual discovery and openness to creation. Or evolution. Or design. Or writing. Or politically volatile topics. Or what men in their ignorance call magic. Or what he and I both bat back and both like cats playing with a mouse before getting bored (that’d be what the world deems ‘religious’)  — and one of the most conversational relationships with God I’ve ever known. In that regard, he reminds me of Edith Schaeffer, the wife of the late Francis Schaeffer. She could participate in a conversation with eighty people (I’ve seen it), without breaking stride once over the course of five hours (seen that too), meandering into, through, around, and over a vast array of seemingly unrelated thoughts and ideas—until it was just she and the last person talking long into the night (one of the best conversations I’ve ever had). And following Kendall’s range of topic is not unlike Edith’s. Which means you’re better off enjoying the scenery instead of trying to place your foot in exactly the same spot on the trail.

That’s just a little bit about Kendall Ruth. Here’s a little bit more:

1. I know you journal. A lot. If you turned one year back, would you say things have changed a little or a lot? One would only hope things changed. Damn the man who fears change. We are organic, so if we aren’t changing we are dead. Are there things that seem to rear their heads that I’d rather just lop off and be done with them? Of course. One of the bigger changes is how I perceive my past, my story. More than ever I am persistently pushed to look beyond regrets or shames, drop perceived failures by the way side, shift my position in the room to see the work of art from an angle that the Artist intended.

2. What is the one thing you cannot live without? Silence …and Coffee, but then that’s two things. Granted one helps the other happen.3. Music: live mediocre or recorded brilliant? A great live performance can’t be beat.I still remember the lighting, the sound, the sense of the sacred watching U2 on the Joshua Tree Tour or sitting front row at Midnight Oil or catching Dizzy Gillespie in a small jazz venue a year or two before he died. But mediocre live isn’t worth the time. Recorded Brilliance is a rarity…kind of like a great live performance. Daniel Lanois has the might be the best at producing recorded brilliance.

4. What’s the nicest thing anyone ever said about you? “You saved my life”

5. Now what’s the most inaccurate thing anyone ever said about you? ”You saved my life”

6. It is twenty years in the future. Supreme World Chancellor Newt Gingrich has banned the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. The one remaining volume is trapped in a burning building. You can either save it or rescue your fiancee trapped in an adjoining room. Which do you save? Don’t be silly. Sauron would never ban Tolkien, and what was Kit doing in a burning building in the first place, a building where they kept the only remaining copy of LOTR? She obviously was reading it so there would be no problem saving both.7. Are you the type of person who can travel a foreign country alone? I have. A few times. So yes.

8. How does God speak into you most often? Speak into, as opposed to “with” or simply “to”? Hmm…numerous different and creative ways – in a grove of Aspens with the wind blowing to clap their leaves like a thousand little hands; or like the other day standing before Clifford Still’s “PH 235″ painted at the end of World War II, seeing brilliant yellow tearing through the canvas of black tar and thick texture as if to speak of hope UNDER the darkness; in moments with my soon-to-be wife as she shares her joys, her sorrows; and most consistently in the silence of mornings over the past 28 or so years that I ‘ve been listening.

9. Ocean or mountains or desert? Mountains that roll into Oceans, with good surf. Oh wait that’s called New Zealand and my time there wasn’t long enough.

10. If you spent a few hours with any person in the world to give them advice (and they have to listen), who would it be and what would you tell them? It’d be my kid(s), if I get to have one or more. Advice? Regardless of everyone’s perceptions trust your gut/spirit and you will have a much more enjoyable, generative life than if you play it safe listening to your head all the time.  That said, start discovering early and regularly what is your gut/spirit and what is not. The stuff you didn’t have words for as a child yet you couldn’t help live out of? That’s closer to Reality than anything you will learn in school, read in a book, watch on a screen. People are not out to get you. Nobody is giving much time worrying about what you are doing with your life because they are just as self-centered as you are, but you won’t “get” this until you in the winter of your years. Abundance is the default of the Universe, not scarcity. Find out where the boundary lines are, because there is enormous freedom within them. And, yet, the boundary lines are much much further out than you or anybody else are comfortable with, so you have to get out of the sandbox and explore the Playground.

And finally, the only certifiable guaranteed certainty you have is that you will be dead someday…everything else is a possibility.

11. Describe your perfect day. I’ve had quite a few, so there is such a thing as more than one. Most involve some kind of adventure (many with a surfboard and an ocean), good drink, and maybe a cigar and a view.

12. Now describe the day you proposed to your fiancee. (that is if she survived the burning room thing). It was a Saturday in May. I called her dad in the morning to ask his blessing. I am not even sure he actually gave it as he was up in a tree with a chainsaw and he seemed more nervous than I was in asking. I intended to ask her the following day, but as time went on I decided to make a go of it that evening. Skipping ahead to the actual event, I said we should go for a walk as it was a perfect spring evening in Boulder. I had in mind to ask her on a playground – sensing that I’d prefer to have that metaphor as bases for our marriage. As we walked, I was leading towards a playground I had in mind – me jingling the ring in my pocket. I turned the corner to see a giant backhoe and piles of dirt where the playground used to be. It was a rather sad sight – jungle gyms turned over, swing sets on a slant. I was crushed. I kept trying to find another playground, but we eventually walked up a path that ended appropriately enough at an overlook with a bench called “Lovers Hill” – it looks out over the whole of Boulder Valley and up to the Flatirons. I hardly even recall what I said other than asking her to be my wife. Afterwards, we walked down the street each calling our parents, swinging by a friends so she could share the news. I was starving, so we walked to Pizzeria Locale and they know us well—it was like being with family as we celebrated over a glass of wine and some of their amazing pizza.

13. Time to plug yourself: tell us about your web site, your writing, that Inkling thing up north and anything else you’d like to. Give us some links, too. Go. Image + Word. I tend to regularly move between the written and the visual, one informing the other. It’s more a summary portfolio that came about when I did a showing here in Boulder, and FoxNews Business decided to broadcast for the day from the location. My photography became part of the scene setting for various interviews. For about seven years I have written blog called The Ink. It started as a practice in writing for an audience of whom I did not know and had no control over the outcomes, a getting out the door of sorts. Though, now I contribute regularly to The Curator many of the kinds of writing I once did on the blog.

“That Inkling thing up north” is The Kindlings.  I am not exactly sure how I stumbled into the Kindlings. What caught my attention is the conversation, without pretensions, that is happening about thought, the arts, faith, life, culture and more at an intelligent and generative level. From my own experience in relationships with these friends, who happen to be extraordinary artists & thinkers, (not to mention a good taste in drink) I am challenged to engage my own life and other’s with a wider scope. For instance, once while on the road with Nigel and Dick, they were asking me about the areas in which I create as an artist while inquiring about my background and what led me to where I am. I spoke of how only recently – the last 5 or so years – have I felt a compelling to live out of the artistic natures with which I was made; to accept that I am, and have always been, a Writer, a storyteller – thus the Photographer in me. That said, I have quite a few years under my belt of helping other’s start their businesses. This has given me a diverse background in the business arena. I have always wrestled with these two arenas, and had the sense that I was supposed to be in the artistic but keep finding myself in the business. I have seen this as a fault. As I shared this, it was clear they thought my sense of fault was absurd. It was pointed out that most artist don’t understand how to run a business and that many business-oriented people are lost when it comes to the artistic, the abstract and the need for these elements in a business realm. I was pushed to consider the unique space I occupy as I have experience in both realms and am able to move between them with a confident fluidity…if only I would give my self a chance. In short, these are professionals that raise the bar for me, inviting me to step up and out of small living on all fronts, and not just for my own benefit, but on a larger scale.

As for plugs, I am currently selling a bunch of 18×12 gallery quality prints over at my Etsy store, with $20 of every sell to going to either International Justice Mission or Blood:Water Mission. As much as it’s to help pay my bills, I am more excited to be able to help these organizations. Art by its nature is generous and generative. So I’d much rather sell a piece that also helps fight human trafficking, or HIV or provides something as simple as clean water than simply to make a buck or two.

14. e-reader or organic book? Defend your choice. So far organic is still my go-to. I am still adjusting to ipad reading, but there is a limited space that comes with a book. I make too many notes in the margins of my favorite books and though you have the option in a digital realm, it’s lacking tactile feedback. Plus, you can’t dog ear a screen. It’s a singular thing that requires full attention when it’s a physical book and I have enough shiny objects in life to….15. Anyone you’d like to hit? Anyone who takes themselves too seriously.

16. Your dog gets really sick. The vet says he needs an operation which will completely cure him but will cost $10,000. Gonna pay? What if it’s your cat? No pet is getting ten grand unless it’s a monkey that can write like Shakespeare.

17. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?  Wasn’t that how this all started? “And the Spirit moved across the waters…” I suspect most of us could say Life feels very much like this. I mean, what person has not thought their life is a mess – an act of insanity – only to discover with time that something creative beyond their own imagination was actually taking place?

18. Barry Manilow or pour hot tar in your ears? (had to ask) Tar, unless it’s Live Manilow and you are on your fifth ga..um, er..greyhound.

19. Here it comes: the super power question. And I’m taking Flying out of your choices. Everyone picks flying. Impress me. Something along the lines of Nightcralwer’s, without the blue skin and tattoos or tail. Teleportation with invisibility in the shadows could make for all kinds of fun. Plus, you’d save a fortune on air travel.

20. Last one: if Happiness was currency, what kind of work would make you rich? Far too many people of faith lack an honest, charitable engagement with ideas or faith that they don’t understand or agree with, with the Arts, with much of anything that might feel like a threat. This dumbfounds me. And there are plenty of intelligent people of no faith that carry the same threat posture, if not condescending pretension.

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O Christmas Tree, O Christm—dammit.

December 12, 2011
sigh

The season, the snow, the happiness filling every hoping heart; the quick dashes out into the festive shops to grab a few surprises and dart back home in time to—sonofabitch.

 

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God Loves Me And Wants Me To Be Happy

BookBook01

This might seem like a product endorsement but it’s not. And though the product in the photo up top is quite worth an endorsement, believe me, that’s not what I’m all amped up about.

So yesterday we decided to go to (brace yourselves) church. As a family. As in together. As in there was a time I wondered if ever doing that again was wise considering the time we went to Las Vegas. As a family. As in together. As in I’ve been half-expecting the next time we all walk into church at the same time will be the day “Family Bursts Into Flames” is tweeted all over Twitter.

And, more to the point, though I love the idea of church of a Sunday morning…the typical packaging? Not so much.

But somewhere in the recent months something stirred inside that found me (brace yourselves again) actually wanting to suffer through the act of getting the family up and moving and out the door and not killing each other and not fighting over who sits in the middle back seat this time and not regretting that there isn’t a cash bar at the church when families get there (go ahead and laugh…they’d make a fortune). All so we can then stand and sing songs we’re all acting like we love dearly when that is SO NOT TRUE.

Which I know is blasphemous to even suggest but I really don’t care. Most (not all, but most, sorry) songs sung on a Protestant Sunday have this one feature in them I’ve never been able to square with and can no longer keep inside. And it’s this: If it was a Tuesday afternoon and these songs came over the radio and they were the last songs on earth, we’d reach for the radio to turn it off so fast we’d careen into the guard rail and go flying over the edge of the interstate. Which would be better than suffering Lame Songs That Are Lame And Lamely Sung But We Can’t Ever Say That Because Someone Put A Fish On Them.

[end rant]

Except that the music was great. And done well. In fact, more than well. I’d actually have survived that drive down the interstate if it were Tuesday afternoon instead of Sunday morning.

And the teaching wasn’t just good. It was brilliant in so many facets…and so refreshing to hear my pastor (also a friend) speaking from his whole heart with his real voice…that I couldn’t resist emailing him right then and there to tell him so. Our pastor happens to be the very person who stirred in me a deep love (and very high expectation ever since) of rigorous excavation of Scripture. And he didn’t disappoint. So much so that I found myself (brace yourself again) picking up my little leather-bound Bible I had with me…so that…I could…

EMAIL HIM FROM THE PEW! HA!

Which would normally get me The Look from Cute Redhead. But I was willing to risk it because I was in that good a mood. So I risked it.

After the service Awesome Pastor Friend saw me and (I promise I’m not making this up) got down on his knees in authentic wonder that “Todd Clary should grace us all and darken the door of the sanctuary!”

“Har har, smart ass.” He laughed. So did I.

“You actually came?!”

“Ha ha yeah. Can you believe it?”

“No. You lost? And we’re you Tweeting during the service?”

“Ha! NO! Geez. But I did send you an email during it!”

“Oh. Well I wish someone would Tweet during the service.”

*blinks* ”Um. What?”

“Yeah…I really wish someone would. I wish someone would be doing the real social networking thing and putting the word out, commenting on the service and everything else. But I can’t find anyone to do it. I can’t find anyone who can actually pay attention and be on their phone at the same time.”

*blinks again*

[.•.*•Time Travel 1981 Flashback Sequence•*.•.]

Me: *draw draw draw

Teacher: “…and perhaps Mr. Clary would be so kind as to tell us what we just covered in chapter six. That is unless his very important drawing on the desk — again — has taken up too much of his precious time.”

Me: *perfect regurgitation of chapter six demonstrating Freak Brain’s Ability To Compartmentalize And Multi-task.

Teacher: *Owned. And not happy about it.

[.•.*•Return to 2011•*.•.]

“Let me get this straight: you want someone to actually be on their phone doing the whole social network twitter-facebook-viral thing.”

“Yes. But I can’t get anyone to do it.”

“Hold on one second. (to Cute Redhead) Honey, come here a second. Awesome Pastor Friend, would you say to her exactly what you just said to me?”

Which he does. Which was when heaven split the sky open so that angels and archangels and cherubim and seraphim and the Denver Broncos Quarterback could cascade one after another and, in front of God and everybody, announce to everyone from every roof top, world without end, that God loves me and wants me to be happy. Also that Steve Jobs is the Fourth Person of the Trinity (I made that up).

Now. A closer look at my very cool little leather-bound Bible. Ready?

Here we go:

Ha! It’s NOT a Bible SUCKAH. It just looks like one. Which comes in handy when you’re in church and realize you need to kick your Words With Friends opponent’s bony rear end to the curb (which I did because they are so cheating and I can tell and cheaters go straight to Hell and I would know BECAUSE-I’M-IN-CHURCH)…

…or swipe*click*swipe on over to Facebook Land and see who’s poking who…

…ooOOOOOORRRrrrr, swipe*click*swipe on over to the flock on Twitter and tweet-chirp-twit on the latest goings on…

…ooOOOOOORRRrrrr even check in on Luke chapter 1. Which, believe it or not, I was. Without missing a beat.

As in following along. As in at church. With my family. As in together.

Which may be the last time that ever happens again because I’ve been anointed and officially (self-)ordained as the Chosen High Priest of Social Networking Of The Most High. Amen.

[Updated: So help me, Todd, if I show up next Sunday and you all have blown my super-secret, James Bond, hush-hush NotReallyABible cover, we're going to have words. Or a fake Bible Study in the back pews which is actually going to be some sort of Angry Bird Tweeting Words With Friends-athon. And I will so kick your bony rear ends. In the meantime, pick up your BookBook here.]

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Demanding

December 11, 2011
Journal_GettingThere

This second publishing lap around the track has brought with it a few processes and Live And Learns, not least which is the ever-expanding world of print-on-demand publishing.

I sat with a printer I’ve known for ages, discussing a whole other project not at all involving the Waltzing In Perdition Chronicles. When I discovered his ability to work as closely with me as I prefer in publishing a book, I decided right then and there to migrate everything I’ve been working on elsewhere to working with him locally (great). Which means a hands-on and much more personal way of dealing with things (non-negotiable).

Which is ToddSpeak™ for I Will Have Total Control Or Kill You All Trying.

I’m very excited about the second book in the series because, with it, I’m able to start shaping a more visible (to me) path. A Beautiful Hell was really a book I never intended. That is, every story (save two) was written years prior with no plan whatsoever to one day be published. When it turned into a book, my biggest frustration was that I never wrote anything progressively or with any continuity in mind.

That bothered me then and bothers me still.

But with On Flying Blind I’ve been able to form a direction I intend to consummate in the third book. And that excites me almost as much as getting to work with a local printer.

Excuse me while I go chain myself to the keyboard and finish this sucker…

 

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Making Not Taking

December 10, 2011
BottomAfter

I’ve been asked to do this so many times and I’m finally (starting) to make good on all my Yeah I’ll Get To It I Promise. Except that I haven’t completely pulled back the curtain to show what it is I think everyone’s been asking for. That is, exactly how I’m creating certain photos. Which is because I never think about it.

That photo up top is, of course, the AfterWork. I took it on Thanksgiving day at the farm. You’re looking at what’s been called The Bottom for eons, and it’s a section of the land Cute Redhead and her family grew up playing in. We’ve quite continued weaving that fabric into the lives of the spawn and their cousins, and Thanksgiving day just isn’t Thanksgiving day without a walk to it.

A few words on how I photograph: first of all, every photo in this post was taken with the iPhone 4S. No flash (I never use the flash. ever.) (Ever.) I have a Canon Rebel XSi, which I consider a brilliant camera for certain work. But the ease and quick access of the iPhone, as well as the image editing apps I use mean that most of what catches my eye also catches me reaching for it…which is always in my pocket.

A few words on what I photograph and why: I have no idea what to tell you lol. Being asked to slow down and think out loud about what happens to capture my eye and interest to where I trip-wire into I Have To Photograph That is like stopping me on the dance floor to analyze how I’m dancing…which only makes me look at my feet. Which makes me mess up. Which is a pain and a bucket of cold water thrown over me. Which I also hate.

Nevertheless, it’s not like I don’t know how I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s just that when I do it, I’m honestly not thinking about how I’m doing. Just doing it. Just giving my soul over to what I have to capture, tilt, angle, stop and backup and checkout that shadow again…never questioning it. Ever. I mean ever. (Who does that??) I can’t even tell you why something captures my eye. Rather, I’m not going to waste time articulating every aspect of every moving part, inside and out, only to demonstrate that I could talk for a day about it and still fail to sum it up.

So it’s not taking a photo. It’s making a photo. And if I have to explain that, trust me…I can’t. And you wouldn’t understand anyway. And neither would I.

The light through the trees and the spreading shadow of the pine trees was nothing more than an obvious composition. *iPhone*point*shoot*done* Cute Redhead is used to me lagging behind, constantly stopping, long ago gave up her Hurry-upping, and left me to start messing with the image to force into the digital what I actually saw in my head when I took it. Which, come to think of it, is me using photography to sculpt, excavate, unearth, or prove in the final piece what I saw in my head.

Which is the real reality (prove that one, left-brainers! ha!)

I used several image editing apps but can’t tell you exactly which ones or in what order or in what combination of filters and effects. It never occurred to me to confine myself to one app or effect any more than I’d confine myself to what pen or paintbrush. So edit here, save the image, open another app, play around there, save it again, turn it upside down, get mad, open another, try this try that, get mad again, remember something about a weird red I remember in something else, love it, apply it, decide I hate it all over again, change my mind, burn that, contrast that corner, straighten it, turn it…and basically keep on Not Thinking until I see finally what I saw in the first place.

Which is the very top photo.

Here are a few other photos I took that day employing the same processes, right down to looking up and wondering where everyone went and how long I’d been standing there in full-on artistic Time Out Of Mind.

 

And one last Before-And-After I took just this morning when I decided I needed fresh-ground coffee. I slammed the door shut on the car and noticed how the frost looked like trees. I liked the blue I saw inside my head so, naturally, everything had to stop for a few minutes.

And, lastly, here is just one of the apps I use. I promise next time my mind trip-wires into Must.Capture.That, I’ll stop Not Thinking enough to note how I’m doing what I have No Idea How I’m Doing.

 

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