I tried an experiment last year, to take a photo a day for 365 days. I was pretty sure it would fizzle out part way through, like so many of my experiments/escapades/wild ideas tend to, and would end with me uttering the phrase that usually accompanies these moments: It seemed like a good idea at the time.
But here we are at the end of the year and I find that I have uploaded 351 photos to the photo blog. Yes, it’s a few short of a full year, but it works out that I missed only 4%, an acceptable failure rate IMHO. I absolutely enjoyed the project, and will be continuing it here. There was a bit of filler (read: crap), so I’m not sure if it’s going to be daily or not.
One side effect of the year in pictures is that I have a visual key to my year. I’ve spent a good portion of New Year’s Day going through the blog to pick the one I liked best from each month and while not every photo is great (really, few of them are), all are a reminder of what I was doing/thinking/feeling on that day. As my memory is becoming as reliable as a circa 1995 floppy disk, having a trigger to remind me of events is…umm…helpful. The pictures are also acting as reminders of bigger themes that I would do well not to forget.
I returned the cello and bought a guitar. It’s never too late to learn something new or check something off that’s been hanging around on Life’s to-do list for far too long.
I’m not sure which was crazier, volunteering to chaperone 16-year-old girls at an eco-adventure lodge in Algonquin Park in the middle of winter or volunteering to jump in the lake through a hole chopped in the ice. This picture serves to remind me to take advantage of opportunities that are offered to me, even if it’s a daft one. The chance may never arise again, and even if it ends badly it will eventually be a good story.
I borrowed my brother’s car and took a day to drive through the mountains through Banff National Park and took myself out to tea at the Chateau Lake Louise, because some experiences are just for me, and some adventures are best taken solo.
I slipped while walking on a hill and ended up in the emergency department in Boone, North Carolina. Shit happens when I least expect it. And injuries take way longer to heal than they did when I was younger.
I’ve learned that 90% of people are genuinely kind and will give up their seat for those with crutches or canes. However, taking the streetcar in the first place, while in a full leg brace and crutches, showed a certain lack of forethought.
At the writing retreat I found that inspiration happens at the oddest times. This is where my novel really started.
Keith arranged for few day trips to his friend’s family cottage. Everyone has a place that recharges their soul; northern Ontario is mine. It was unasked for, unexpected and I remain grateful beyond words to Keith and Ollie who gave me what I needed before I knew I needed it.
This is the first ride post-injury. I was only able to get as far as the grocery store 2 miles away and it took me longer to get the gear on and off than the ride did, but it was wonderful.
I sat in Chicago’s rush hour traffic for an hour on a Friday of a long weekend, after driving for about 7.5 hours. And I would absolutely do it again; it’s a small price to pay to spend time with some amazing women.
A solo Thanksgiving weekend was spent road tripping in the sunshine. Awesome.
We walked around the neighbourhood where we’ve lived for over a decade, and discovered beauty in the most unexpected places.
The Headstones return. I drank. I danced. I sang. I lusted over Hugh Dillon. It was like 1990 all over again. It was fabulous!