left: dishes drying in the morning light // right: a los angeles hillside from the freeway

I’ve been flipping back through Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow, looking for some inspiration, maybe even answers, and finding damn good poetry instead:

By then I wasn’t just asking questions, I was being changed by them. I was being changed by my prayers, which dwindled down nearer and nearer to silence, which weren’t confrontations with God but with the difficulty–in my own mind, or in the human lot–of knowing what or how to pray. Lying awake at night, I would feel myself being changed–into what, I had no idea. It was worse than wondering if I had received the call. I wasn’t just a student or a going-to-be preacher anymore. I was a lost traveler wandering in the woods, needing to be on my way somewhere but not knowing where.

My dad’s been in town for work. It’s been great to spend time together, just the two of us. This weekend, we drove down to Huntington to the dog beach. My dad is my first family member to meet Camille and they’ve taken to each other quite well, considering all of her male-based fears. Maybe she can tell how much I love him.

Shannon invited me to sit in on her current SEEING workshop this morning. (It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a year since I was a SEEING student.) We were talking about fear and art today when someone said, “If something scares the hell out of you, run toward it. That’s where greatness is.”

It’s exactly what I’ve been needing to hear.

It’s been a week of good morning light, good conversations with my dad who’s in town for work, good times of writing and reflection and a week of possibly the best cups of coffee I’ve made in a while.

Also good this week:

-Marcos Rivas‘ work. Another photographer described Marcos’ work as “sensitive”, which is oddly accurate.
-Olivia Rae’s everyday musings. She’s got a beautiful eye and a beautiful life.
-Ben Williams, brilliant portrait photographer and soon to be cross-country cyclist.

Some days I wish I were living in a gutted old airstream trailer on the back of some friends’ property, off the grid and reading every poem Wendell’s ever written. Some days I wish I was living somewhere secluded, in the south, with lots of time to walk around and photograph things and raise chickens and make omelets with their eggs for breakfast. Some days I wish I lived by the ocean so I could be as close as possible to the place that makes me feel God is as close as possible. Some days I wish I were in the woods, with a camp stove and some playing cards, a scarf and some boots.

And some days, some days I’m happy to be right where I am, with the morning light streaming in through my bedroom windows and one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs on the record player.

Remember this day? It’s officially been one year with this girl. Her companionship has been more than I could have asked for. Before I got her, the rescue organization described her as “special needs”. By that they meant timid, scared and completely skeptical of people. No one’s completely sure what happened to her in her last home. But now, after one year, I couldn’t be more proud of her for the progress she’s made.

She’s lived in three different places in her year with me. She’s learned to adapt to and live with a lot of different housemates. She put up with some really busy weeks during my graduate program. And no matter how long I’ve been gone, fifteen minutes or 9 days, she’s always ecstatic when I come home.

About six months ago she stopped trying to run off when the opportunity presented itself. I’ve taken that to mean she quite likes me and would like to stay a while, which is good because the feeling’s mutual.

My new favorite place to get my groceries is the Armenian market one block down from my new house. It’s super cheap and kind of an adventure every time I go in–I’m not sure what everything is or if they will have what I’m looking for. This week they had a crazy good deal on chicken legs and thighs. So I bought a package and called my mom for a lesson on making truly southern fried chicken.

“Frying chicken is one of those things that takes a lot practice before you do it right” my mom said as I stood there worrying if my oil was too hot or not hot enough. But I had to do it right. I only had one piece of chicken. And you know what? It turned out perfectly. When it was all fried up, I turned on the fire, grabbed a glass of a really cheap red and ate that chicken until the bones were clean.

I’ve been thinking about the south a lot lately. Maybe it’s because I watched the Help recently or because a friend of mine stumbled upon my favorite tea at a shop in the small town in Tennessee where I went to college and sent me a picture of it. Or because I’ve been listening to Ray Lamontagne on vinyl a lot lately and he’s got that line about cutting a man down in a Tennessee town. Or because I said “Worst comes to worst…” yesterday and a friend told me I’ve never sounded more southern. Or maybe it’s because the new house has a screen door and every time it slams shut behind someone it makes me think of being a kid in Alabama. Whatever it is, there’s something about the south that’s got it on my mind. I guess every place you’ve lived is part of your story and part of loving your self is loving every part of your story. And the truth is, I do love the south.

I’ve been going through my iPhoto library, cleaning things out, making room. The library holds mostly iPhone pictures and pre-DSLR snapshots. In the process of going through them, I’ve stumbled upon some really terrible images, some really nostalgic images and then some, like the one above, that kind of make me breathless.

I took this in Santa Monica in early 2010, on my old iPhone (no filter), just after the sun went down. I don’t remember taking it. I love the way the horizon line blends with the colors and the hills fade softly into the ocean. And I love that the sand is completely black.

Sometimes great images are made by great cameras and purchased presets. Usually great images are made by great photographers. But sometimes, sometimes great images have nothing to do with the camera or the person behind it and are, instead, simply the result of the remarkable way the sun sinks behind the ocean.

–

Also beautiful? This post by Laura Dart about a recent Kinfolk gathering.

Among my favorite things (the ocean, campfires, front porches, riding a bicycle at night) are slow mornings. I don’t wake up easily so when I get a few hours to do the whole coffee, breakfast, reading, dog walk, shower, internet ritual I’m a really happy camper. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of slow mornings lately. I pour some coffee, tie my curtains back and just take it so freaking slow.

I bought these antlers from Jen Gotch at her awesome yard sale in December. I got them for my brother in law for Christmas but soon learned that it costs a whopping $150 to take antlers with you on an airplane. No way jose. So until I put them in the mail, they are just chillin in my bedroom, looking awesome, freaking Camille out. Merry Christmas, Timothy! It’s like your gift is being held hostage.

p.s. Speaking of awesome antlers, check out Steve Soria’s Santa Barbara Craftsman on Designsponge. It’s beautiful. And he’s a great story-teller too. And he’s a leather craftsman by trade. I think I have a crush on him.