I've been a neglectful blogger.
You know it and I know it. I've been posting here and there, sporadically, and letting the whole thing go to pot.
I can blame my transitioning life; the children; tiredness; exhaustion; the Obama administration; the oil spill; Kobe Bryant; or any of the other millions of scapegoats out there for my paucity of posts. But the truth is that I haven't really had that much to say.
Amazingly enough, it's one of those things where it's no one's fault.
I've been busy writing for a local blog called The Hill is Home, where I get to be amazed at the seething controversy that sub sandwiches and cupcakes can generate (who knew people felt SO STRONGLY about food?); and I've been taking tons and tons of pictures. If you're incredibly bored, you can look through my Flickr account and gaze upon my Project 365 set.
I honestly don't know how some of you other bloggers out there do it, with all of your millions of projects that you promote tirelessly. I have one and a half projects and I feel like I'm treading water here.
But I want to make a point of sharing with you more out there. And telling you about this picture, which is a picture I took because I wanted to see if I could duplicate a picture (this picture) on purpose. I felt when I took it, that it was perhaps a little too good– a little like beginner's luck, never to be done again.
It is a fine picture: I was afraid it was a fluke. I was afraid I was a fluke.
So I was heartened to see that I could duplicate it, in a way. That I could take some of the elements of surprise, but that I could also be deliberate. That I could plan something well, despite being the flying-by-the-seat of my pants person that I certainly am and certainly will not really ever shake off being.
And I think I almost love this picture more, because I remember the events that led up to it: standing with my fellow photography classmates, waiting for the train that took forever to come; the crazy girls dancing in the station, with that awkward combination of gangly teenaged playing and proto-grown woman affectation; the lighting of the brutalist beauty of the station, that looks futuristic and dated all at once.
For me, this picture is a small triumph: a recapturing of something I was afraid wasn't there in the first place.