Goals

I've been busy.

Busy finding my feet. Busy learning. Busy practicing. Busy implementing. Busy making mistakes. Busy correcting mistakes. Busy learning some more. Busy getting inspired. Busy hitting my head against a brick wall. Busy giving up. Busy picking up the pieces. Busy second-guessing myself. Busy knowing that this is 'It". Busy thinking I'm mad. Busy chastising myself, because I'm not mad. Busy looking for opportunities. Busy losing opportunities. Busy studying. Busy growing.

Busy. Busy. Busy.

And the crux of all this 'busy-ness'? Well it's this, really. It's me realising that I have the potential to do something great that makes me happy, that fulfills me, that is meaningful to others. And as I've travelled this road, camera in hand, learning as I go, I've realised more and more that this is something I WANT to do. I want to make photographs. I want to create beautiful memories.

Here's the history:

When I left high school, finances were extremely tight. I had toyed with the idea of studying photography, but whenever the topic came up in conversation, the extreme costs involved in photographic equipment and film processing brought those conversations to a rapid close. The option was not even up for discussion. Just like the option of studying art at school, or doing pottery as an extra-mural were not feasible options for a family living on a very tight budget. Nope. I had to do something that I could pave my own way in. And nursing turned out to be it. Studying nursing in South Africa meant that from day one, I, a student nurse, was an employee of the state, and as such received a salary for services rendered. Nursing turned out to be the option that allowed me to get a degree and not have a student loan to pay off at the end of the day. (I had been fiercely warned about the evils of a student loan, or any loan in fact, as part of my Defences against the Evil world of Insolvency education).

I ended up specialising as a midwife, and I ran a well baby clinic for several years. And while I loved the moms and the babies, and while I practised safe and scientific nursing, I wasn't really happy. Not really. I remember working in the labour ward of a women and children's hospital in Pretoria, and how every day as I drove to work, I would cry. I was in tears about what the day would hold for me. The fear of losing a patient loomed over me like a dark black cloud. And then I'd get to work and deliver babies and it was AMAZING. Driving home I'd be on a super high, singing, bopping, busting moves to the radio. The following morning would see me, a hysterical driver heading off to work again. And the day would end in me high-fiving myself all the way home. And so it would go. What a completely hectic emotional rollercoaster!!

12 years later, far from my antenatal classes and breastfeeding consultancy, with a pretty decent camera in hand, I have been able to reawaken that small voice that whispered to me in high school. The one that was silenced because , well, this is the real world and we don't always get what we want, and "dreams coming true" is a wishy washy Disney slogan. Maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of luck, and just the right amount of passion, a dream can become a reality.

And I think it's pretty clear how lucky I am ;-) .

So, I have been busy. Busy learning. A LOT! About my camera. About light. About people. About colour. About air and what it holds. About sparkles. About reflections. About shadows. About darkness. About focus. About blur. About memories and what they really mean to people. The more I've learnt, the more I want to learn. And the more I feed this passion, the more I want to tie it to the other areas of my life that I have loved. The preggy mommies. The precious babies. I want to create something meaningful, incorporating the things that I love.

So this is where I am. Or, maybe I should say, this is who I am. And those of you who know me well, know that this has been a long time coming. But I'm ready to say, "Yip. I'm gonna do this thing!"

So hold on to your knickers, people. I'm shooting for goal! (excuse the pun!)

To tell the tooth...

Alright. Confession time. Before I begin, may I just say that as a child I developed a deep infatuation for the resident tooth mouse. I wrote him letters with each tooth I lost. I read his replies over and over again. With every displaced incisor, my excitement was more for the news I would receive from my little mousey friend than for the few cents he would reimbursed me with. Naturally, having daughters of my own, and fond memories of that entrepreneurial little rodent, it seemed only fair to replay the fantasy for their sakes. When the first tooth came out, my children's friendship with Taffy began. Letters between my girls and the mouse travelled back and forth, always accompanied by whoops of laughter as they read about Taffy's adventures and the plans he had for their teeth. But I digress. I said it was confession time, and confession time it is. Let me rewind to the evening that my eldest daughter lost her first tiny little tooth. A bitter sweet moment it was. A step away from innocence. A simple progression towards independence. Tales of the tooth mouse were related as the precious little pearl was ceremoniously placed at the foot of her bed, an offering to a furry stranger. A slice of cheese was left for the midnight collector, just in case. That night the tooth was collected, replaced by a shiny coin. And the first mousey epistle was left, offering much thanks for the cuspid. But that little tooth... That tiny, sparkling, perfect little tooth! What was really to become of it? Taffy had mentioned that it was perfectly suited to a pathway he was constructing in his garden. But as I held it in the palm of my hand, I was faced with a mild dilemma. Call me sentimental, but for the life of me, I just couldn't bring myself to drop that little dentyne nugget into the trash can. So i kept it. And i kept the one that came after that as well. One day, i thought, when the proverbial cat was out of the bag, I would show my offspring their collection of precious dental memories, and they would be ennthralled by the magic of it all. There have been (unfortunate) instances when my darling husband has had the honor of assisting Taffy's financial reimbursement, and those little teeth have not found their way into my safe-keeping, but have ended up in a local landfill- much to my horror, of course. Look, don't judge me, ok? I know of mothers who have kept their children's shriveled umbilical cord stumps! Judge them, because THAT'S weird. But teeth, not so much! It's unlikely that teeth will attract the same predatory attention as a bit of dried bloody tendon. No cat will be scratching at my bedside table looking to snack on a tooth, right? Have you found yourself unable to discard some precious momento of your baby's childhood?

Flavourless

A funny thing is happening to me. And not funny in the haha-I-put-my-knickers-on-inside-out kind of way. More like funny in the have-you-ever-noticed-that-the-lining-in-your-knickers- always-opens-to-the-front kind of way.

Everything is losing its flavour. The edible and the non- edible.

Salty is not salty enough. Sweet is blah. Spicy is off-putting. I eat because there is food available (for which I am truly grateful). But the mojo, the chutzpah, the yum avoids me. I don't feel like eating. I get hungry, but my hunger is not satisfied with any culinary delicacy.

And the things I do seem bland and tasteless. Repetitive, uninspired, boring. My desire to eat and to do is diminished. I am floating in a grey, muted haze, like a moth entranced by a flame. Inside me a voice is screaming silently, trying to wake me up. And I know it will pull me back onto the path. I want to get back on the path. I just cant seem to will myself away from the haze. I need a bolt of energy to my chest (and a kick in the pants, I know). Something to shake the dust off.

I have plans and wishes and dreams I want to fulfill, but it seems the spirit is willing and the flesh is weak. Invisible restraints hold me down. I am tired of them. I want to be free of them, but I just don't have the bold insistence to break the chains. It's all a matter of self-will, I see that. I must will myself away from the bland wasteland. And wanting to be free and energized and driven, I find myself sedated and unenthused and thinking that perhaps I'm not willing the change with enough determination.

Dr Suess, may he rest in peace with the least of a crease in a fleece from his niece, defined my trappings. He called it "the waiting place".

The good doctor assures me that the waiting place is only temporary. That a time comes when you get up and get going because today is your day, you're off to great places, you're off and away!

But not yet.