The confluence of major life events has had my head spinning with a special kind of disorientation. It is hard to keep track of where I've been, where I'm going, and exactly where I am. Contemporary life does not allow us to feel the passing of loved ones, nor appreciate aging and illness. More likely, it merely forces us into task-based activity. Banks, lawyers, doctors, creditors, insurance agents, advisors, and accountants. Oh my. I dream about them and not in a good way. When someone dies, gets sick, or infirm, it activates an entire industry, like switching on an silent-and-ready, gigantic machine. Those of us left in mere mortal state navigate through the morass, unable to deal with the actuality of loss. There are too many forms to fill.
While sifting through old documents I stumbled across some old photos. People smiling on the beach. Tiny, they revealed their era in the bathing costumes of the day. My eyes now miserably inefficient for close-up work (too many press sheets and contact prints) I strained for a better look. Amidst the mountain of a life's mail were these minuscule reminders vacations and outings, smiles and salt air.
The photos waited silently in their envelope. Then, in a flash, the light of day found them. Decaying slower than we humans, they are the milestones of a journey, crumbling yet still there. As the mountain of mail got shredded, the photos remained on a table; survivors. ¯ The blur of a life is captured in these tiny gems. When a life is condensed into memories and photos it all seems so fleeting. A blink. So, in looking for a blog photo, I chose a scene in Parma, Italy where pedestrians rush by me. There we were, in one space at one time, yet there was nothing to grasp onto, just the golden light of cold winter day.