hello summer

happy solstice.
the beginning of summer.
playallday time of year.
swim. homemade popsicles. sleep late.
and maybe some multiplication drills thrown in for good measure.

bring it.

write, she said

the first day of november: #nablopomo .
andrea's post reminded me that it is that time of year
to challenge the writer within and publish a post every day.
every single day for the 11th month of the year.
30 days of words.
here.

this is just what i need.

a kick in the rear.

i have been spinning my wheels lately,

trying to fill my heart again.

something to grasp onto.

need to find my "f#$k yeah!"

so yeah...

i'll do it.

join me?

i'll be here.
and for #naphopomo i will be over here.

truth

this morning was awful.
defiance from the moment he opened his eyes.
and then, as i signed him in (late) for school,
he runs back down the hallways towards me
and throws his arms around me,
kisses my cheek, and tells me to have a good day.

i am in trouble when he is a teenager.

unlikely places

and above all, watch with
glittering eyes the whole
world around you because the
greatest secrets are always
hidden in the most unlikely
places. those who don’t
believe in magic will never
find it.
 -Roald Dahl

numbered

this summer has been epic.
the days of lazy mornings,
cousins visiting,
days at the beach,
guilt-free ice cream eating,
river-rafting,
skateboarding all afternoon...
they are numbered.

summer daze

in the spirit of the dog days of summer,
i've started over.
the photos that didn't get posted 
will just have to understand.
i am continuing with purpose.
*strapping camera onto body*

http://katmcculloughphoto.blogspot.com

how summer rolls

summer is about saying yes 
when friends invite you to grab midday nosh 
and ride around the harbor. 

back home

reflecting on the funeral and loss of a sweet friend, i took a drive down
port tobacco road to chapel point.
i parked as close as i could get to this house and waded through the grass
and the "no trespassing" gate.
in high school, we used to have band practice on this porch.
i have fond memories of long conversations while stripping tobacco in the
barn out back in the winter, and coming in for mrs. goldsmith's home-cooked meals
around the big round table in the kitchen.
it felt good to come here after reconnecting with high school friends today.
it felt good to be back in charles county, on country roads, winding past farm fields,
leading down to the river.
time moves quickly.
it changes everything.
it's not new to me...but today reminded me that we only have a short time to rock this life.

so get to it.

i want to be seven, too.

mama, do you want to play bear-ninja-cowboy?
it's just like rock-paper-scissors...

flying

i stop half a block down the street from the school.
i've agreed to let the chop walk up to the corner and
cross with the crossing guard, mr. christopher, all by himself.
i move to hug him after his backpack is on and his mandolin case is secure.

mama...
he whispers, looking around.
people are looking...

this kid.
this amazing boy.

i am so proud and heartbroken at the same time.

seven

this boy,
at the beginning of each day,
puts both hands on my face and
kisses my cheek.
"good morning," he whispers.
wrapping his arms around my neck,
he hugs me hard.

this boy.
full of intensity
and loudness.
he feels deeply and thoughtfully,
his heart swells with and is sometimes crushed,
wanting to be understood and heard
in a world of big people and knowledge.

he loves
his mama and papa,
his family,
his dog,
his legos and stuffies.

he is a rockstar.
an artist.
the world's best snuggler.
and egg cracker.

sweet boy, i don't know how i ever came to deserve you.
you have saved me from giving up on this crazy world
and have filled my heart like i never though possible.

proud? that doesn't even begin to cover it.

happy birthday, sweet baby chop.
you are going to rock seven. i have no doubt.

goodbye kiss

mama, i want to put my oscar hat on so i'll have braids, too.

that's sweet, baby. that will make a good picture.

i love you, mama.

and i love you.

*pause.*

you know, it's ok if you don't want to kiss me goodbye
when i take you to school.
i know it's because you don't want the older kids to think
you're a baby.

that's not true.

*picking him up to stage the shot.*

ok. it is true. 

*click*



"and in the end,
we were all just humans...
drunk on the idea that love,
only love,
could heal our brokenness."
-f. scott fitzgerald

keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

sea legs

my legs were shaking as i stood up in the dinghy.
i put my clunky boot on the metal support bar of the wind vane,
grasped the rail tightly, and
pulled myself up and over
the rigging and down into the cockpit.

i carefully climbed up and walked along the side toward the bow,
holding onto nothing.

i still have my sea legs.

i secured my footing and balanced on the deck.
lifting my gaze, i was taken by
the reflection of the shoreline.
i smiled and felt the cold, damp air on my face.
the stillness of the night and the
dark, arms of the trees illustrated the
ache i have felt in my heart as of late.
the glass-like water  moved with nereid,
allowing her to slightly rock in the water.
movement: not good for taking photos in the dark.
i lifted my camera, took a deep breath
and held it in.

*click*

it wasn't what i expected.
it isn't  the capture i had intended.
i think it is even better.

the end of a year.
the beginning of another.
this night, this cove. the gentle rocking of the boat.
this deep friendship that picks up where we always leave off.
all fueling my heart's meditation to be open to the surprises
and challenges that await.

christmas eve

the most magical day of december: christmas eve.
you can feel it in the air;
feel it in your energy;
in your heart.

it's not about the presents.
it's about people.
it's about the love.
near and far.

merry christmas.

preparation

the moon

oh gosh…you gorgeous moon that tugs at our heart and logic.
it was nice to see you as i walked along the brick streets and waterfront of
fell's point on this almost-solstice eve.
you sweet, swoony moon that holds promises and dreams.

ale and conversation at the wharf rat in fell's point.

the dog

having a furry being in the house forces one to get out.
look around.
breathe.
and maybe even find a reason to be in awe of colors
and textures
and lines.
and perhaps find some love left by a stranger
for another stranger
like you.

where there is love

presents from santa are wrapped and hidden well.
tamales, bourbon, and snuggly puppy make me warm
while hoots and hellmouth do their thing through my speakers.

goodness.
wrap it around you.
breathe it in.
wear it in a parade down your street
while singing at the top of your lungs.
your breath, hot and smoky in the cold christmas air.

evah flesruoy a yrrem elttil samtsirhc

the last two days have been so stellar.
i have nothing to say and everything to say.
so if you want to hear about it, call me.
or not.
just roll around in these images and then go.
go find some magic in your incredible day.
or night.

peace out.
(until tomorrow).