Six more favorite images and a heartfelt summary of 2013

This choosing thing is hard because, most of the time, when I look at any one of my pictures I posted, I fall in love with it all over again. Yes, I love almost all my photos I keep and post. I do. Whether they are well received or not, I love almost all of them. That is why, to paraphrase Imogen Cunningham's famous photography quote, my favorite picture is the one I will take tomorrow. That said, I would gladly put almost anyone of my pictures on my walls. Yes, I know, sounds conceited, but I think I am a pretty good photographer. At least, tonight I think I am.

Maybe. No, yes. I am.

Kinda. No. Oy.
Si.

So,
(getting off this hamster wheel)
for many reasons, I love this photograph, reblogged by Lensblr.

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My first post

Saturday, 03-02-13, I woke up different.

I felt serenely awake. I opened my eyes a few minutes before the alarm went off, my preferred way of waking up since it is a gradual surfacing from, well, sleep. No, no artsy passages, metaphors to describe it. Not yet, anyway. I love to write, because as Stephen King said in his stellar love letter to his craft, On Writing, it is all about the words. I love the words, language, how they are crucial to weaving a good story. One of my professors at SFSU, Luiz Barbosa, once explained that all forms of communication, even scientific formulas, are stories. I never forgot, often repeating his words to my own students who were trying to improve their writing.

I went through my prayer ritual. I greeted the day, saying a heart felt “Thank you.” Three times. Hey, it is my ritual, makes sense to me, so. Then came my Padre Nuestro, Ave Maria, and Maryanne Williamson’s “Our Deepest Fear.” I then meditated. I usually sit at the foot of the bed, both feet flat on the floor, my hands resting on my laps, palms up, my thumbs and pointing fingers enclosed, a circle. I set my smartphone’s timer for 10 to 20 minutes, never the same time. I try not to see how long I choose. What did we do before smartphones? I went inside myself, then inside ourselves. Felt the commonality, our greater presence. Then, ever so lightly but progressively louder, with two lesser known actresses singing in the background, Cary Grant brought me back: “Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.” It is one of his many great lines from the darkly funny, classic screwball comedy Arsenic and Old Lace. I have several quotes from this and other films, coincidentally quite a few by Cary Grant, in my phone as ringtones/notifications, switching them up every so often.

On to my next ritual, I went through my Tumblr feed and Facebook, my therapy. Sometimes it takes me up to 30 minutes, but I do not care. Took my time. I get such a rush seeing what others are up to. Sharing thoughts and jokes and art and life. Life. To thrive, I learned a while ago and keep relearning, I need to keep reaching out to others, to connect. I need others’ thoughts and jokes and art and life.

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