It's eleven and I think normal people go to sleep at this time but I find myself thinking. My husband is carrying my pillow to bed because I worked/slept/rested in the living room all day with some sort of virus. He keeps peeking his head in my office, where I am sitting, and without saying a word, I can tell that he is just checking to make sure I am okay. He went to El Rodeo and ordered a chicken enchilada for me made me drink water. I think normal people probably drink soup or something when they are sick, but I eat mexican food. I'm in my office because I want to write. I feel inspired to write, yet I don't know which words to use. I guess I am sitting here enjoying the mess on my desk. And for those who know me best, they know that is a big deal. Because it's hard for me to allow my mind the chance for peace when the space outside my mind seems so cluttered. Two rolls of film sit to the right of my laptop, personal rolls ready to be shipped. A drawing from my littlest sister lays to the left on top of "The Secret Garden Calendar" that will hang on my wall one day. Somewhere to the left sits a bag of lavender and a bag of english tea from Mama Jeans. A 35mm and a medium format are blocked from the lid of my laptop and a beige box made from the bark of a tree in Siberia sits at the right corner.
I would normally consider the space a mess, but after thinking about each thing that shares the space with my laptop, I find myself relaxed. This "mess" is full of heartfelt gifts, pretty sketches and tools to document life. This space is not a mess.
And I am remembering that sometimes life seems like a mess. It feels unorganized. But each piece is so valuable and I wouldn't trade the trials in life for anything. Maybe it is possible that we should consider these trials to be pure joy (James 1).
*Photo of our front porch during October: Contax 645, Fuji 400*