On taking a hard look around

and a soft break for the soul

A beautiful photo essay has stopped me this morning, made me draw in a deep breath of awe and appreciation. But I also can’t deny that this weird sunken spot in the middle of our struggling lawn has stopped me as well.

“This is the photo that I have in my camera for this week. What do you think I should write about?” I say to my spouse Janyce who is standing beside me in the bedroom handing me a cup of coffee. She got out of bed before me this morning and left me to consult her Saturday morning list in the kitchen alone. I was listening to Meghna Chakrabarti’s radio show On Point at 6:00 am, eager to hear what the lineup of scientists had to say about the variants of the virus that are all over the news lately.

She peered around the laptop screen to look at my photo.

“I think you should write about how the cracked, dry, untended spiritual side of ourselves has been left by the wayside,” she said. This was an uncharacteristic response from my sunny Janyce, who I’m used to hearing whistle in the kitchen in the wee hours of a weekend morning after her workout while grinding beans for coffee or whipping up a smoothie for herself in the Vitamix blender.

“Sorry. It’s just everything,” she says.

Yesterday we had an argument about a sweet potato.

“Damnit Kris, you didn’t put a piece of foil in the oven to catch the drippings!” she said.

“We need to finally use the self cleaning oven already. Maybe now we will!” I yelled back from my spot on the couch.

We’re getting a little crispy around the edges lately. I see it in my colleagues at work, I see it in Janyce. We’re all weary. On the one hand, we’re excited and hopeful for the future, and the very next minute we’re feeling hesitant and defeated.

My friend Roger sent me a beautiful photo essay from the New York Times the other day. A lone figure on a bike is riding through a seaside town in England, where the B.1.1.7 variant of the virus is prevalent. The cyclist is alone because they are experiencing lockdown there still, and he had only one option for his creative wanderlust— to stay home and to look more closely at his immediate surroundings. He said, “But a year of exploring St. Leonards and its surrounds, camera in hand, chasing the light, has changed all that. It’s brought home the truth that you don’t need to board a plane and jet off to the far side of the world to experience a sense of travel or the romance of difference. It lies waiting on your doorstep — if you look.”

That makes sense to me. A beautiful photo essay has stopped me this morning, made me draw in a deep breath of awe and appreciation. But I also can’t deny that this weird sunken spot in the middle of our struggling lawn has stopped me as well. This is what I snapped a photo of this week. Not the beautiful light on the beach in Chatham when we went for a walk during the day, or my lilac bushes at home that are budding and straining their long branches up and out toward the sun like the arms of babies wanting to be held up to see the view.

I think I’m feeling a little bit of “but then again” whiplash right now. I’m about to get my second shot of the vaccine! But then again, several states in the US are inundated with the B.11 7 virus, including Massachusetts. We can see our family soon! But then again, we’ll still need to keep our distance. We’re just about to put the finishing touches on our cottage remodel and can’t wait to have people we know use it! But then again, it’s priced for the insanely hot summer rental market this year on the Cape and none of our friends and family can even touch it till the fall.

“What is our plan for today?” I say to Janyce, who has dumped a pile of laundry at the end of the bed and now stands folding socks with her mouth held in a tight straight line.

“Beach walk?” she says.

“I think we have to do better than that,” I say. “Maybe we drop all the boxes off at the house but leave them there till tomorrow? Maybe we drive to Wellfleet? Audobon?”

“That seems like a good start” she says.

“I feel as though I’ve been places, seen things, traveled in the grand old sense of the word. And, ever the travel photographer, I bring back pictures of where I’ve been.” — Roff Smith

“And I need to start taking some better pictures.” I say.