Back from the Living

For the Archives is not dead. I’ve just been living.

For those following the postings here (though many may have moved along to blogs that have actually provided fresh content in the last month), the Archives has been my place to chronicle life’s everyday moments. But recently, due to a variety of circumstances, I found myself living more than chronicling. Experiencing, not recording.

And this summer was full of Life. The Bohemian, Jeb, and I, explored new terrain with a family adventure that took us on planes, trains, automobiles, ferries, buses, metros, and a vintage VW van. We tested the Bohemian’s US permanent residency card at the Canadian border (it worked, round trip!).

The day before our travels, my laptop’s hard drive crashed, leaving me with virtually no link to the internet. I took it as a sign, left the computer at the shop, and departed with a camera, composition book and a pen. For the next 19 days, I did not miss cyberspace.

Instead, I slowed down to an island-time pace even more quiet than the one in which I usually dwell. It was ten days on a Canadian gulf island, 1200 inhabitants, two small village markets, plenty of forest, no bank.

Upon returning, we learned that two hurricanes were heading toward our own island chain. Suddenly, I was thrust into disaster preparation mode, shopping at a big box store with a multitude of nervous patrons vying for 20 pound bags of rice. Ready for anything, with boards on our windows, we were grateful when the first hurricane only brought our island some wind and rain. Even more relieved, when the second hurricane decided to turn north and avoid us altogether.

With the threat of weather behind us, it was on to our family’s first foray into AYSO soccer. Somewhere between Jeb’s practice, cleat shopping and shin guards, his school supply list, and starting fifth grade, I’d retrieved my repaired computer and managed a successful transfer of data to my new hard drive. It was downright disturbing to realize how much of my world depended on that little black, back-up box.

And maybe that’s why I enjoyed being away from the digital realm for a while. Why I’ve been a bit reluctant to return. For that time away, I held a different currency. Virtually nothing was virtual. Nearly everything was tangible.

The only mailboxes I saw were metal and aging. The only maps I used were the ones I could unfold in my hands. The communications I had were face-to-face, infused with sound waves and intonations.

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And there was freedom, too, as I floated in vacation-land, where nothing was expected of me and everything was new. I free-fell into that untethered place so deeply, I even forgot the user password for this blog. Locked out, I was released.

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But I’m back. Attempting to strike the balance of living and Archiving. Seeking solace in the moments and inspiration in the sharing. Still following the Thread. Tracing new routes on the map.

All About Timing

It’s all about timing.

The Bohemian’s a man of few words, but this is one of the truisms known to pass from his lips. And true enough, it is.

Case in point, last night, when I guess things could have gone a multitude of ways, all depending on the timing of seconds.

It was just the Bohemian and I, driving back from a birthday dinner. A friend had gifted us a little one-on-one time by taking Jeb for the evening. Our stomachs were pleasantly filled (yes, I got the green tea ice cream cake), and the Bohemian was driving us through the dark, along our winding, country road.

I was playing DJ. Skipping around from song to song on the iTouch. Aretha Franklin, Susan Tedeschi, English Beat, and Bonnie Riatt. The Bohemian didn’t seem to mind that I was singing along to all the words (even mumbling through the ones I didn’t know). He just drove along, bobbing his head, snapping his fingers on occasion, and smiling.

We were almost home. The crescendo horn solo of “I Confess” was sounding through the speakers. My eyes were looking down, scrolling for the next song option. Then suddenly, the Bohemian completely stops the car, “Whoa!”

I look up through the windshield to see nothing but a massive cloud of brown dust surrounding our vehicle. Instantly I realized that we were stopped at the section of curved road that hugs the mountain. Though the hillside is covered in trees and bush, its sheer face is often the first spot to landslide in a storm.

So there we were. My passenger side, feeling ever-so-vulnerable, as it was closest to the hill. The Bohemian, unable to see through the dust and uncertain as to what was in front of us, was hesitant to accelerate the car forward. A bolder could be crashing down on us at any moment, or we could run right into the one that was hiding in the dust on the road.

I’ll admit, my fear took over, and I pleaded, “go, go…”

Cautiously, the Bohemian moved through the shimmering cloud, illumined by our headlights. We felt nothing beneath our tires as we rolled forward, and slowly the dust dissipated as we passed into the clear air of the dark night, no rocks or debris in the road ahead.

“Wow.”

I don’t know who was talking. Maybe both of us. My body was buzzing. We were less than half a mile from home.

It appears to have been a random, summertime landslide coming off that dusty hill. It seems we arrived at the scene merely seconds after the fall.

If we hadn’t paused at the hostess’s table to grab a toothpick, or if the Bohemian hadn’t slowed a few paces to let that Ford Fiesta pull out in front of us, might we have happened upon those rolling rocks a few seconds sooner? Been beneath the crumble?

We’ll never know. But what a punctuation to a 41st birthday. One leaving me with gratitude to be alive.

Time may really be just an illusion, but it’s what we’ve got to work with here in the third dimension. And if we’re playing this earthly game, well then, yes.

Perhaps it truly is all about timing.

 

photo courtesy of Victor
photo courtesy of Victor

Weekly Photo Challenge: Work of Art

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While the Bohemian and I worked into the night, handcrafting our wedding invitations, we were visited by this fairy-like creature in green.

It hopped all about our little art project of love. As we watched in wonder, we couldn’t help but notice the similarities of wing and ribbon. A reminder that all of this creation within which we live, is one flourishing demonstration of art enlivened. Each moment offering glimpses into monumental works.