inorganic matter…

When my friend Jon and I couldn’t figure out what to do with our 8ish-year-old selves, we often walked around town and picked up trash. Right now, I sometimes don’t exactly know what to do with myself (you know, given the state of the world and all). So here I am, a 53-year-old woman, once again, walking around town picking up trash.

You know what’s pretty cool about this? I’ve discovered I have a superpower. I can spot inorganic matter like nobody’s business.

INORGANIC: not arising from natural growth (Merriam Webster)

Sometimes inorganic matter is very obvious…

Other times it’s barely detectable…

As I walked along the beach, I thought about the concept of organic and inorganic as they relate to our feelings. Organic emotions are what we know on some deep, cellular level. Inorganic emotions are planted by others and adopted as our own over time.

LOVE is organic, we’re born with it.

HATE is taught and learned, very inorganic.

Twenty-four-hours of news television, radio, and social media are inorganic. Talking heads paid to tell us who to fear, what to buy, and who or what we are supposed to hate is far from organic. All of those media platforms make a lot of money off of our thoughts and clicks.

This dangerously inorganic system was designed to make us fearful, divided, anxious, angry, and uncertain. Sadly, it’s working like a charm.

Searching for personal understanding is challenging (and exhausting)—especially during an election year with a world-wide pandemic causing health, economic. educational, and employment chaos.

Q. With so much uncertainty in the world, how can we keep inorganic matter from clouding our inner knowing?

A. Notice. Practice. Repeat.

This was one of the oddest group of items I’ve happened upon so far—an attachment for a vacuum cleaner, a s’more stick still in plastic, orange netting. and an ant covered coconut chunk. I could easily concoct a narrative about why these items fit together. I didn’t bother though.

I left a chunk of the coconut, I thought some kid on the beach would get a kick out of seeing the ants chomping away. Organic, yet out of context…worthy of some good ole’ fashioned pondering.

our unique hearts…

“Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.”

—William Shakespeare

some days require a micro view…

micro: very small

view: extent or range of vision

macro:  intended for use with relatively large quantities or on a large scale

A constant macro view can be exhausting—wasting our time and talents. Most days require us to narrow our focus, take a micro view, and determine where & how we can make the most difference to the people and circumstances we face in our lives.

Notice a difference in your perspective?

Source: Merriam Webster

feeling nostalgic as the tide shifts…

As my girls head back to their second year of college, the memories of my family’s past summers are making me exceptionally nostalgic this year. Last week I walked Cape Cod’s, Town Neck Beach in Sandwich before heading north to Vermont.

So much flooded back to me…oh, the remarkable nostalgia of middle age.

While admiring the rocks, I got an idea for a photo series and a way I could honor this time of transition.

My memories feel both permanent and somewhat elusive, they can come and go as the tide shifts…just like these rocks do every six hours.

New England Patriot’s recently retired tight end, Rob Gronkowski once remarked, “I just like the beaches in summer, man.”

I wholeheartedly agree, Gronk.

after the storm…

Last night we had a wild storm—tornado warnings, wind, heaving rain, lightning and thunder. I’ve always loved storms. After it passed, the neighborhood was eerily quiet. My daughter, Willa and I stayed up until things settled down.

I get up really early, always have. I don’t like to get up in the 4s…however, anything after 5:00 works for me. I fed our cat, Karen, headed out to get a coffee at Dunkin’ & listen to my book, City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert—sooooo good, and survey the storm damage. We only had leaves covering our deck and a few small branches here and there, nothing major to report.

I ended up at the bottom of the hill at Town Neck Beach. I was the only one in the parking lot at 5:25am…rare actually. Another car pulled up, a man got out and walked onto the beach in the rain. There was just something about him that I found quite intriquing. He didn’t seem sad, but clearly he was in a thoughtful mood. A fisherman wondering about his day perhaps? A visitor seeing his long-planned day at the beach with his young kids thwarted? Or perhaps just a guy on his way to work who likes storms as much as I do.

He took pictures of the stone sculpture that somehow survived the storm. I can’t imagine that someone built it in the dark between 11pm and 5am. It’s design is structurally mighty impressive. Damn.

I waited for him to get into his car, then I got out to get a shot of the sculpture as well. Walking the beach I found myself looking out at the exact spot a friend’s ashes were scattered a few years ago in one of the most sorrowful and stunning moments I’ve ever witnessed in my 52.8 years.

The beach reflected the generous spirit and remarkably unique inner wildness of her this morning. I know she would’ve loved the images in this post and be grateful that I didn’t mention her by name. That was simply not her style.

early morning on town neck beach

fog & fishing in Town Neck

This morning I couldn’t sleep, it was foggy.  I’ve always loved fog.  I grabbed my camera, a few bills for coffee and slipped out quietly so Jeff could sleep a little longer.  It was a little after five.  After taking a few shots in my yard, I was bored.  I drove to the beach and ran into a friend walking to work.  I watched as he vanished into the fog.

 

Then I drove to the canal to take pictures of the guys fishing.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I witnessed some lovely fishermen camaraderie.  I got quite an education too.  I tried to not be in the way.  I think I might’ve been a couple of times. But, they were gentlemen and didn’t mention it to me.  Mark, Norman and Nick seemed like pretty good guys.

 

This fish really didn’t want to give up the fight.  He was in too rough of shape to be thrown back.  I think I saw the last breathe of this 38″ (37.5″ to be exact) striper.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

R.I.P. big guy

Mark (tan shirt) offered his fish to Norman and his son, Nick.  Norman soon had a fish on his line and his son helped him pull it up.  It was all a thrill and the fog added some drama to the whole scene…oh, how I love fog.

 

Later Norman caught another one and released it because it was in good shape.  They were going home with two good sized fish (one caught and one gifted already).  I appreciated seeing the care taken to get the hook out as cleanly as possible.  Norman threw it back into the Cape Cod Canal to live another day.

Swim on little fella, there’s mackerel to dine on.

 

Mark, Norman and Nick were good guys.  I bought them coffee to thank them for letting me take photos…it seemed like the least I could do.  Mark and I take our coffee the same, “black with cream”.  I found this funny…black with cream.  I’ll never order it any other way again.

By getting out of my comfort zone, I was given access to a world I had little knowledge of. 

I usually sit on my porch in the morning or walk the same loop. 

This morning the siren song of fog lured me to explore and I was handsomely rewarded. 

 

Thanks fellas for one of my favorite mornings in Town Neck.

summertime fun.

blue barque beach asssociation chilmark marthas vineyard lillibridge

girls and dog lillibridge

lucy on beach lillibridge walking off the beach lillibridge

jim cooking on town neck beach lillibridge

roasting marshmellos lillibridge

These are a few of my photos from over the weekend.  I haven’t been creating things and it makes me really kooky when I don’t.  I mucked around with my images to fuel my creativity. It helped a lot. I hope you enjoy them.

They were shot on:

Martha’s Vineyard while staying at a friend’s house—Blue Barque (Thanks Jen & Dan).

Town Neck in Sandwich, Massachusetts where (Thanks Jim & Iris) cooked over a beach fire last night.  Oh, the joys of summertime. Thanks for the memories, folks. My heart is full.