My mom died.
I needed to step away from everything after my mom’s death. I don’t have to explain that to any of you who have lost your parents at any age. All the times I pleaded with them to “just leave me alone.” Now they have.
I needed to step away from the blog and writing and try to find a voice in images.
So, I did. Or I tried.
And I picked up my camera, went to the Wyoming Badlands for a bit this summer and photographed cowboys and horses (and cowgirls).
Wyoming. The ranch life, the Badlands, the landlocked cocoon of the wide open, windy spaces took me outside of my life. I felt invigorated and refreshed. I got up before dawn to shoot sunrises on an incredibly different landscape and stayed up to learn how to photograph star trails.
This Is What I Did Last Summer Report (the short version).
And dozens more. I had a great time and met some fine people. I didn’t want to come home.
I didn’t want to come home because I knew I have to face the fact that home isn’t home any longer. That it never really has been. That I have a lot of to-the-bone truths to work out, including the fact that no matter where I go next, I will be taking myself with me. How dreadful.
Wouldn’t it just be brilliant if Dr. Frankenstein (that’s Franken-STEEN) had perfected his art, and you could have elective surgery to replace your funky brain that misfires with a better one that was more optimistic and talented, less turbulent and prone to bad thoughts? And, if it’s not asking too much, maybe a little off around the middle-age waistline and a boob lift?
That would be work in which the good Doc could take pride. I wonder if that might be covered under my ObamaRama Plan?