Fleur Sauvage: Photo365 Winter Spring 2016 / My Eyes Have Died

Friday, April 29, 2016

Photo365 Winter Spring 2016 / My Eyes Have Died

My phone died in February. It took with it a great many photos that helped me remember how I appreciated each day.

There were photos of my month-long master bedroom & bathroom project. I took my boring 90s bedroom that did not reflect me in the slightest and transformed into what Larry says, "looks like an artist lives here." Gone are the light mint green walls and honey oak furniture and flow-blocking arrangement. It's a brand new bedroom, and all it took was two cans of paint, one can of Rustoleum, a few items bought on clearance with a gift card from Pier 1 from 2007, and some rearranging of items I already had, which under the new configuration and design came together as if they were purchased just for that. The whole project cost less than $70. I simply painted my ugly 1993 furniture, and now it looks antique French country. I moved my bed into the bay window nook, and my room feels 50% bigger. I "Kon Mari'd" my drawers. I found knick knacks and old gifts from my mom, my grandma, my sister, sister in-law, my aunt, and my cousin, and am now surrounded by love from the important women in my life.

There were pictures of my Valentine's dinner table, resplendent with wine, bread, cheese, flowers, candles, tomato bisque, and stuffed manicotti. There were pictures of the flowers Larry sent me when I got a promotion. And pictures of the beautiful Valentine's bouquet he brought me. Pictures of our tickets to "Once: The Musical" along with the playbill and various other gifts and cards we exchanged and made.

There were photos of all my cooking experiments, like my Cuban sandwiches and coco bananas. Photos of bare trees and the tiny bit of snow we got this winter. Photos of parties we attended and some of a dinner party we hosted.

There were photos of marquees and other playbills, such as "The Mystery of Irma Vep," "To Kill a Mockingbird," and "Fences," all seen at the IRT.

Photos that would mean absolutely nothing to anyone reading this!

So Winter never really quite arrived this year, and I didn't miss it. I stayed busy creating and decluttering and working out and improving my diet.

I've lost 6% of body weight, and have only about 5 more pounds to go!

I started running again and have found that 3 miles seems to be the magic number for not causing knee pain--the reason I had to quit running in the past. I try to get in at least 60 mins of exercise per day.

I've given up my mostly vegetarian diet and now eat lean meats daily, and that seemed to be the trigger that let me build more muscle and shed some fat. I am conflicted with this as I had hoped to be completely vegetarian, but the truth is I feel a little better now that I'm eating meat.

I've given up candy and ice cream and chips. Sometimes I swear and scowl at my super healthy salad I eat for lunch every day; sometimes even cuss it out as I'm preparing it. But I thank it later! I walk right by endless candy bowls and donuts and goodies at work.

Why is it all worth mentioning? I'm not sure it is. Don't most people get through life without tracking and photographing their mundane daily existence? I guess the point is that I don't want to settle for mundane, even though my life is by most counts extremely ordinary. (I know, oxymoron.) Maybe my life is an oxymoron.

I think it comes across as mundane to simply list activities. This means that I am in some way embracing being mundane by not taking the time to write out more meaningful thoughts.

Here's the truth:

I'm not sure I've had many lately.

I've been productive, and that's been great, because I look around my house (my castle, where my truest self resides, rests, dreams), and I see a more accurate reflection of myself. It's unique. It flows. It's colorful. Only my house looks like this, and I have the pleasure of knowing that I made the most of what I have and took the time and energy to make it my special place.

I find myself more drawn to colors and pictures and photos and design than words lately.

I've had trouble sticking with a nightly reading schedule, even though I like the book--"All the Light We Cannot See," a gift from Larry. However, I read dozens of magazines and articles and travel journals.

I still feel creative, but the creativity is more constructive these days, with more immediate results that I feel daily and that are basically for my eyes only.

Last week I was listening to a TED talk called The Psychology of Evil by Phillip Zombardo and I became interested in The Stanford Prison Experiment and the "banality of evil," which led me to Watergate, which led me to John Lennon, which led me to Elton John (oh the winding path of hyperlinks!), and I learned that his seminal song "Daniel" has a missing verse that supposedly explains who Daniel is why he is leaving for Spain. (The verse is missing forever. As was their custom, Bernie would write lyrics, often scrawled on a piece of scrap paper, and Elton would take them to his piano and start composing. When Elton (Reginald, real name) read the last verse, he said to his band mates, "Bernie must be on LSD again. This last verse makes no sense." Legend has it that he simply tore off that last verse and threw it away.

One lyric that remained:
Your eyes have died
But you see more than I

Daniel was blinded in Vietnam. The reason he left for Spain was because after going back home to his Texas farm, no one would let him forget he was a hero, and he didn't want that identity.

(The real reason he went to Spain, as explained by Bernie is that, "It's a stupid rhyme that I didn't think would sound good at the time, but I left it. I wanted him on a plane, and "Spain" rhymed with plane.)

I read the lyrics again, and wondered if my eyes have died. It's been a long time since I've "seen" as in envisioned a play and characters and conflict and hope and a sliver of light that they could experience at least clarity if not resolution.

What am I "seeing" these days, if my eyes have indeed died.

But I don't think they died. I think they are adjusting to a new light.

And I do see things. And I think I see them beautifully.

But maybe I could will my eyes to focus a little faster, a little easier in this new light. Maybe I could coax them, reassure them. My life has so much more light in it now. In a way, it's so full of light and simplicity that it doesn't really seem to lend itself to poetic verse or metaphor.

Teach me to see in this new light, Daniel.