For your consideration: 2013's opening salvo.
Without any pretense to profundity, I'm reasonably certain that this shall be a year of many shifts and changes, many welcome, some not; some imposed and others chosen. Let the fun begin!
After spending a delightful New Year's eve with many assorted friends at Casa Gonzales, my wife and I came home the following evening to the disconcerting discovery that my car had been stolen. After 2012 I felt the bar was set pretty low for the prospects of 2013 being an improvement . . . I'm hoping this latest opportunity for growth is simply residual flotsam.
I find it hard to imagine that little CR-V was an obvious mark — what, with its various dents and considerable scrapes on three of the possible four sides, an attractive beauty it was not. Add to that the perhaps creepy presence of a decapitated wig head and another mask staring perpetually, blankly from the back cargo area (atop a mishmash of blankets, cardboard boxes and orts of various pedigrees) this humble vehicle doesn't scream "cool ride!" Maybe that in itself was the magnet, who knows?
Regardless, it is/was a great deal of fun to drive, a rare five-speed with the best visibility of any car I've ever piloted. (This latter point is increasingly important as the inevitable, inexorable slow decline in my reflexes takes hold.) Even at 192,000 miles it remains fuel-efficient . . . or at least relatively so. Ah, loss . . .
Of course it helps to keep a bit of perspective: it's only a car. Being afflicted with ALS, MS or paralysis trump this quite temporary inconvenience, certainly. There's no comparison.
Besides, my very own brother Eric and his wife Sharon suffered a worse assault over the Christmas weekend: whilst blissfully vacationing at our family home in the serene rural countryside, burglars broke into their Bay Area home, removing materiel and allowing my sibling's indoors-only cat to escape. Such an intrusion into one's personal, interior space is far more upsetting and frightening than having something stolen from the street. It will likely be awhile before my brother and sister-in-law feel totally at ease again in their own living quarters.
I am deeply grateful that nobody was hurt (and, the last I heard, kitty is back home, safely behind walls).
All of this has given me pause to consider the flip-side of thievery: the relentless pressure of wanting to escape, the urge to flee when times become too difficult, particularly when subjected to prolonged duress. It is fascinating how varied the human spirit is in this regard: some fold under the slightest conflict, while others endure unimaginable suffering for long periods beyond comprehension. There exists no clearly defined predictor of which I know of who possesses a given degree of determination when facing acute tribulations.
Much to my surprise — and comfort, oddly — I find that I am able to navigate considerable passages of challenging, often daunting times. Certainly not easily, nor particularly gracefully. Even so, deep within I harbor a fundamental reservoir of optimism, a belief that if one simply persists long enough, with the application of tolerance, love, compassion and hope, things will heal and turn out well.
Ergo, no matter what 2013's remaining 361 days hold, I shall trudge on.
This submission is a scene suggesting a kinetic burst of unknown material no longer willing to be restrained; the difference between forcibly taken
versus forcible egress.
A final note to followers of these entries: for this year I ardently invite you to leave comments on these offerings, of your emotional response to the visual (or written) subject matter, and especially your speculations of the true nature of the images.
Paroxysm, #0807-7D
© 2012 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(click image for larger version)
Details: November 15, 2012; Canon 7D; f/8 @ 1/2500 sec; —1/3 EV; ISO 800;
Canon EF 100mm f/2.8 Macro USM
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