tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78276782575187088322024-02-18T23:42:25.947-08:00Short Bursts of LightAn attempt to match photographs I've taken with random thoughts, published on an irregular basis (or perhaps it's vice versa).Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-22597075364780009652012-08-31T15:11:00.001-07:002012-08-31T23:49:01.355-07:00Soul on NiceI once asked my friends on Facebook what they found fascinating or exciting. None of them had a really intriguing answer; they offered tepid things like, "I like to pet my cat" or "I like to watch clouds" or "I like to watch TV in the evening." While those things are perhaps pleasant, I was floored to think that no one could think of anything more lively than that. These are activities that fall, in my humble opinion, into the dreaded category of "nice".<br />
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This is a word that can be used in a myriad of ways, such as an admiring "Niiiiice!" (often said about a new car or electric guitar), or a sarcastic "Oh, <i>nice</i>, Tracy!" There is nothing more devastating than working on something for an extended period of time only to be told, "That's, um, nice." While I see a place for "nice" in the universe, especially following a time of stress, I also see it as a giant manhole in life to avoid, where the very best to hope for is a nice day, a nice drive, a nice lunch, with nice people. You lose the ability to recognize the magical. You stop hoping for mind-bending, perception-altering, earth-shattering, and settle for...nice. Now, life, to be sure, is made up of many, many nice days with a much smaller number of life-changing ones. But to habitually settle for nice, as if it were the pinnacle of possible enjoyment, well, as Louis Jordan once sang,<br />
<br />
All the breath has leaked out of you<br />
If your friends gather round the bed<br />
And look at you and say "Mm mm, don't he look natural?"<br />
When that happens to you, daddy,<br />
Jack, you're dead.<br />
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Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-82787905081064722902012-01-25T21:27:00.000-08:002012-01-25T21:35:43.958-08:00Lost baggage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWQ2aYivJEGHSV_y2-onZon0H42hJwwcAHKh2AkKB5Jykh9grP8sZ9QgJ0N4p1e9aMw0ghX4YWJJL_FmHrZkz9ev5XJCt6Eg7pI7oYfDdueNiSHAHoVoHBK1ygQGK5ONao0eS3M4-Ioyy/s1600/Baggage+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWQ2aYivJEGHSV_y2-onZon0H42hJwwcAHKh2AkKB5Jykh9grP8sZ9QgJ0N4p1e9aMw0ghX4YWJJL_FmHrZkz9ev5XJCt6Eg7pI7oYfDdueNiSHAHoVoHBK1ygQGK5ONao0eS3M4-Ioyy/s320/Baggage+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It seems to me that the truest measure of forgiveness is not how we feel about the person we have forgiven but how we perceive and treat the next person. If we have let go of what happened, then we can relate to other people without emotional baggage. That seems to me to be a clearer indicator because the original relationship may be cluttered with all kinds of mixed feelings and history. It's easier to step back and assess the new relationship with a bit of detachment. Does all this energy really belong to this new situation?Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-19326536385811510262011-06-01T21:21:00.000-07:002011-06-01T21:22:52.356-07:00The Equilibrium Point<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day, I read a post saying that all things are junk, that everything is worthless. In the eternal sense, I agree with that; we really can’t take it with us. But while we’re still here on earth, I think this stance misses something important: gratitude. We can’t avoid having to own and use things, however few or simple. We are forced to deal in the physical realm, despite our being at our core spiritual beings. To despise physical things as meaningless puts us in conflict with reality and creates needless guilt. The first goals of minimalism, especially as it relates to the spiritual life, are gratitude and contentment. Yes, it’s also vital to keep from developing an unnatural clinging to things, or putting an undue value on them, but it is in these qualities of gratitude and contentment that the balance is found. This is real freedom.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-1508462620118622672011-01-26T13:59:00.000-08:002011-01-26T13:59:54.841-08:00"Even" Jesus was a minimalist<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> read recently in a <a href="http://www.minimalistadventures.com/2010/11/20/saturday-soapbox-fad-shut-up/" style="font-weight: bold;">minimalist blog</a> that “Hell, even Jesus liked the idea of voluntary simplicity.” I would ask you to consider two ideas; firstly, Jesus didn’t just like the idea, He lived it and taught it:<br />
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Jesus replied, "Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." (Matthew 8:20)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matthew 6:19-23) </span><br />
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Secondly, Scripture also says that He actually invented everything that stuff is made of:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. (John 1:1)</span><br />
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Does this really sound like someone who was borrowing an idea? Food for thought.</span>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-15928668829112120502011-01-18T17:14:00.000-08:002011-01-18T17:16:39.832-08:00The Remains of the Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3109/2479513934_5505bb7fa9_z.jpg?zz=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3109/2479513934_5505bb7fa9_z.jpg?zz=1" width="320" /></a></div><h1 class="photo-title insitu-trigger" id="title_div2479513934" property="dc:title" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 20px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3em; margin-bottom: 12px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 12px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">After I’ve given an afternoon tea and it’s all over and everyone’s gone home, there is a particularly sweet time in which my guests' presence is still felt in my house. I think back on the giggles and the confidences, the little moments of connection. I like to take time to sit and enjoy that feeling of satisfaction, like a warm summer evening fading into darkness. It’s a part of the event, much as the last note dying away into silence is part of the music.</span></h1>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-37342584316809215512011-01-02T19:30:00.000-08:002011-01-26T13:40:23.323-08:00100 or bust?<div class="MsoNormal">I’ve been following several minimalist blogs for some months now. It seems that arguments have arisen about the “100 Thing Challenge”. Some think this is obsessing over counting possessions, while others insist that it’s meaningless unless one actually maintains the goal of 100 things or less. I think that reducing belongings is an important starting point (whether it results in owning 100 things or not), but it’s ultimately only a tool to transform one’s thinking. At first, you will focus on sorting and deciding, but hopefully that process gets you thinking differently about having and buying stuff, which then frees your attention to focus not on things but on doing and being. This is why some minimalists say that the number is not really important. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have heard monks conducting services in which they periodically chant, “Let us be attentive.” This is an important spiritual concept, and it applies to minimalism as well: where is your attention and energy going? If a minimalist is agonizing over buying that 101<sup>st</sup> object, then his attention has now shifted back to things. If he doesn’t take up photography because it means owning a few more than 100 things, then minimalism has restricted him instead of freeing him up, and that’s missing the point.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As Bob Luman once sang, “Let’s think about living, let’s think about life”.</div>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-26067266343956998012010-10-11T11:18:00.000-07:002011-01-26T13:42:12.872-08:00One common mistake people make when moving<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaM-XIBgLV71E7DVXTMX7w-XdBZjagta7v7FNulFCXI0-NgPs_BWwYdd6-ulEiMYPi8FeQkzC4Qvo2VnDLtgGlZluNqZU7yhwWfl_Dpf1TSwOHHUe1d3BZnKBTviwoI6YeS0zndStI_EvD/s1600/Trash+(for+blog).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaM-XIBgLV71E7DVXTMX7w-XdBZjagta7v7FNulFCXI0-NgPs_BWwYdd6-ulEiMYPi8FeQkzC4Qvo2VnDLtgGlZluNqZU7yhwWfl_Dpf1TSwOHHUe1d3BZnKBTviwoI6YeS0zndStI_EvD/s320/Trash+(for+blog).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>What I’m about to say seems incredibly common-sense, but I have seen people make the same mistake time and again. The first day that you think you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">might</i> be moving, go into your bathroom and look at your shampoos/conditioners/body lotions, etc. Do you have multiple bottles going? Are there some you could finish off before you move? Then go into your kitchen and do the same thing. How many half-eaten boxes of cereal, pasta, etc do you have? Anywhere you have supplies, go look! I see people looking shell-shocked by it all, because their mindset is that since those rooms are packed last, they don’t need to be dealt with until the day before the move. By then, of course, it’s too late. They have to either throw out usable stuff or pack/move/unpack it. They also have to dispose of things at a time when the recycling bin and the garbage can are probably at capacity.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">So think about it early and save yourself time, effort and money!</div>Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-52889708328820147752010-07-05T22:01:00.000-07:002011-01-26T13:42:50.465-08:00The Golden Rule Restated<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiVbfVrN2mHmbxELj45VAUn-DH-k18VYll8TDMLn9O5kNTjEaodg9ntTFjdeORkuwQDY9gHPuJGhJE7mUeYDV-pZPtijfcCnm4Mm43Sbu99xLMpBPAcBX0ImiSh-9hn_onpkVQKnyWrWu/s1600/IMG_8095_1450+Oranges+and+grace,+resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiVbfVrN2mHmbxELj45VAUn-DH-k18VYll8TDMLn9O5kNTjEaodg9ntTFjdeORkuwQDY9gHPuJGhJE7mUeYDV-pZPtijfcCnm4Mm43Sbu99xLMpBPAcBX0ImiSh-9hn_onpkVQKnyWrWu/s320/IMG_8095_1450+Oranges+and+grace,+resized.jpg" /></a></div><br />
It seems to me that in dieting, as in every other area of life, it is essential to apply the doctrine of grace. God treats us with grace, and the Bible makes it clear that we are to extend grace to others. Why, then, should we not extend that to ourselves? Unless we are to speak kindly and forgivingly to ourselves when we eat something that isn’t edifying, our efforts at eating better will inevitably end in failure. After all, in this endeavor, we are dealing constantly with our inner child. It’s pointless for people to argue, “Don’t you <em>want</em> to be healthy?” That isn’t the issue; everyone wants to be treated well, even by their own inner parent. If the choice is between harsh criticism and fun, well, the inner child will make a quick decision! <br />
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It isn’t about being self-indulgent. Rather, it is a matter of saying, “All right, that wasn’t your finest hour, but let’s start now to do better. I know you can do this.” Anything else just leads to further rebellion.<br />
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I don’t think we can separate how we treat ourselves from how we treat other people. The harshest critics I know are unflinching in their disapproval of their own mistakes. I think they tell themselves that it’s all right to come down hard on other people if they also do it to themselves, but I think too that there’s a corollary of the Golden Rule that applies here: “Do unto yourself as you would have your neighbors do unto you.”Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-10553285833668793012010-04-12T18:46:00.000-07:002011-01-26T13:43:08.016-08:00All washed up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwRzVJcdM_SHxQffhMGKoPt3pogCoWWWsPMkuyiiRxvfml4OUGFrp03qoWcZztzi9mdSaCAxzJrz077vnG4lB7VkVGbWZnw_0RkV4s4uZBY0N-IFmu8IaWfgwP_oqmisgNEZFDYoMR6Pj/s1600/IMG_7194_1066+resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvwRzVJcdM_SHxQffhMGKoPt3pogCoWWWsPMkuyiiRxvfml4OUGFrp03qoWcZztzi9mdSaCAxzJrz077vnG4lB7VkVGbWZnw_0RkV4s4uZBY0N-IFmu8IaWfgwP_oqmisgNEZFDYoMR6Pj/s320/IMG_7194_1066+resized.jpg" width="320" wt="true" /></a></div>I imagine that every photographer regrets certain pictures left untaken. One of mine is my grandfather’s utility knife. It was incredibly thin and narrow and had an odd shape from having been sharpened countless times over several decades; it was thickest at the bottom and thinnest in the middle. It occurred to me, after I had finally thrown it away, that a shot of the knife would have been a snapshot of how my grandfather thought. You didn’t throw away a knife until the blade was truly <em>gone</em>.<br />
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I realized this morning how much of that ethic I have in me. The old Maytag washing machine, which was probably bought in 1968, had sprung a leak. For years now, I’ve put up with minor leaks and a tendency to stop during a cycle. But making an actual puddle was too much, and so I ordered a replacement. <br />
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It had lasted for over 40 years, and yet it felt somehow wasteful that I had not at least tried to fix it. After all, on its last day in service, it still finished the load. I wonder if the new one will give that much for that long. <br />
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This, I think, may be the crux of the matter. I have several old machines in my house, which I am replacing one by one. Somehow the passing of the old Maytag in particular represents a step from 1968, when a consumer could count on well-known brands, to an unknown future. I haven’t needed to buy a washing machine until now, and so I realize that what I thought I knew about brands comes from previous generations. I feel a bit adrift.<br />
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Meanwhile, my dryer, the mate to the old washer, continues to work without complaint. Like that hundred-and-something-year-old light bulb in Livermore, it’ll be interesting to see how long it lasts.Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-34507497429550860632010-03-18T21:53:00.000-07:002010-03-18T21:53:23.160-07:00Two degrees of separation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOg7lKTjTJwn3HBPdC4tUAk9i2jhztk7p2hRSN4zzfAzVzKHi9fA4CMSiiN9tudYUF5HqqwHVHy5pP2gYI0Kc-8tfJTVzq0vzUCo_scTzyz0CySVKfBtFwbrYzEXPg68essNmb3gz_OE8v/s1600-h/IMG_6886_896+Nancy+Williamson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOg7lKTjTJwn3HBPdC4tUAk9i2jhztk7p2hRSN4zzfAzVzKHi9fA4CMSiiN9tudYUF5HqqwHVHy5pP2gYI0Kc-8tfJTVzq0vzUCo_scTzyz0CySVKfBtFwbrYzEXPg68essNmb3gz_OE8v/s320/IMG_6886_896+Nancy+Williamson.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><br />
I’ve just read a book on the Donner Party, and that time seems so incredibly long ago, and so foreign. Yet I realized suddenly that I knew someone (my grandfather) who knew someone (his grandmother) who came out to California from Pennsylvania around that time, although she came by ship, not wagon train. Two leaps from me to pioneer times. <br />
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Recently I was looking for the grave of one of the Donner Party (Nancy Williamson, nee Graves) who is buried in Sebastopol. It turned out that I had a different sort of chain of connection. A friend of a friend was married to one of her family, and in finding his grave, I found hers. This is my photo of it. So long ago, so distant and foreign, and yet one of the unfortunate group lies buried two blocks from my house.<br />
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We have connections all around us to all sorts of things we don’t yet realize!Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-50099552679607439742009-09-24T23:20:00.000-07:002009-09-24T23:48:57.429-07:00Well, it was like that, but sort of not, but kind of<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2431/3952013855_03ab6b9f6a_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" iq="true" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2431/3952013855_03ab6b9f6a_o.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
</div>Have you ever been frustrated in trying to explain a complex concept to someone, where words fail because two or more seemingly contradictory things seem to be true at the same time? Or you just know something, but can’t quite put it across in English and are left using lame metaphors? I wonder if there’s a heavenly language that expresses those things in completely different terms from what we’re used to. Perhaps logic is not the highest order of thought, but the grasp of what looks like opposing thoughts. Linear thought says, “if a, then b, and if b, then c, and that proves d.” Complex thought holds seemingly contradictory ideas in tension. Maybe linear, logical thought is just the starter language for humans; perhaps there’s a heavenly language, our real native tongue, where the building block is complex ideas. What if we could speak in intuition? What if we could speak in paradoxes and understand each other without the stuttering and stammering? I think we all have moments where an idea makes perfect sense to us, but we feel isolated from others because we can’t reduce it to words.<br />
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Maybe we’re not meant to, ultimately. My more enlightened spiritual moments come in the form of tantalizing glimpses that I just can’t quite explain. The idea of faith, of feeling certain that the Bible is true and that God is there, trying to communicate with us, is frustrating to try to convey, and yet we’re convinced that we just know it’s right. So maybe when God explains things to us, He speaks in this other language, instead of explaining things in a way that fits our logical ways of thought, like a magician explaining a trick. It could be that in heaven we will be given brand new tools; instead of a giant book of answers that explains everything to our present human level of understanding, perhaps our understanding will be expanded to allow us to grasp paradoxes. I even wonder if that's what the unused 80% of our brains is for.Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7827678257518708832.post-6405190311165573572009-07-15T17:25:00.000-07:002011-01-26T13:44:50.685-08:00Human tea leaves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3337/3488137634_c4a1b65e51_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" iq="true" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3337/3488137634_c4a1b65e51_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I’ve been drinking tea for several years now, and have only recently come to appreciate the possibilities of green tea. Steeping can make or ruin it. In this process I see a parallel to the process of getting to know people. Unlike black tea, which is fairly forgiving, green tea needs a reduced temperature and steep time to coax out the best flavor, and the leaves should be allowed to unfurl. If you treat it like black tea, you may not get the most from it.<br />
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I wonder, do we always let people unfurl gently before us? Do we want to know what their best is, or do we sometimes demand that they be what we want them to be? I have been guilty many times of passing over people who aren’t instantly entertaining or knowledgeable on my favorite subjects, and sometimes I have found that they had much to offer that I hadn’t taken the time to discover. Perhaps this is behind the Asian way of doing business, to go through rituals of hospitality to find out who people are before finding out what they want.Tracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09867985215018353996noreply@blogger.com1