As a family, we have experienced times where a trip to the grocery store was cause for anxiety due to lack of money. Once, when R was much younger, we filled a shopping cart and packed paper bags just to leave all of the food behind because my debit card was declined.
So when our counter looks like this, I am filled with gratitude (when I remember to pause for a moment to think about it). I love watching A polish off a mountain of strawberries for breakfast, knowing that T and I can provide fresh fruit for our family. I also love when T bakes muffins. How the smell and taste of her cooking is home.
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I am reusing this window to capture another clip of snow falling. Technically I shot this video on February 2nd but it was almost midnight - close enough to February 3rd.
For some reason I've always been captivated by reversing or flipping video clips of snowfall, by the dreaminess and vaguely eerie feeling it creates. I find dissonance to be extremely alluring. While I have fallen behind on posting, I have not fallen behind on creating. It seems R has been inspired as well! In the clip above, he is describing a short video that he captured when he noticed something simple and beautiful.
Dare I say I notice a bit of influence? (See January 26, 2025) Saturday morning brought the aftermath of Friday night's heavy rain.
Often, after a long week of school, scheduling, structure and responsibility, convincing A and R to leave the coziness of the indoors can be a trying task. But what boy can resist the allure of puddles, sticks and slushy snow? The combination of pajamas and rain boots added to the novelty of this preprandial play session. In 'The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows', John Koenig coins the term 'Maru Mori' and defines it as "the heartbreaking simplicity of ordinary things."
Here are a few of those simple and ordinary things: the rain outside my and T's bedroom window last Friday night, the roar of the shower and fan on the other side of the bedroom wall, footsteps on the stairs, muffled conversation reverberating from the kitchen. Most of life is made of these fleeting moments strung together. I find comfort in savoring them. Yesterday, we celebrated T's 39th birthday. The first birthday we celebrated together was her 24th, just a few weeks after we met - absolutely bananas that we have shared sixteen of her aniversários together already. She chose cheesecake over a traditional birthday cake, a wholeheartedly supported decision. T and I spent a much-needed day together. We took our time enjoying each other's company in the morning before leaving the house. Then we headed to Hartford where we browsed a bookstore, ate shrimp and grits and jambalaya and explored the Wadsworth Atheneum. T was ecstatic to see her first Yayoi Kusama exhibit in person.
By the end of the day, we both felt inspired, satisfied and grateful. We have been accumulating more and more houseplants as of late. Before we started filling our home with plant life, I didn't realize how important it is to me. I love feeling the connection to the outside world while indoors, especially during the cold seasons. Plants, flowers and trees are like beautiful aliens. The Red Prayer Plant and Tradescantia Bubblegum (formerly referred to as a 'Wandering Jew') are birthday presents for T.
After spending the morning in my office, curtains closed, trying to work and shake the feelings from the previous entry, I came upstairs to find this short burst of a snowstorm swirling. Watching the snowflakes dance chaotically was soothing and felt symbolic of a change in the day's energy.
Tuesday morning began with A being the first out of bed, as he usually is. His zest for life and eagerness to spend time together makes shaking off a.m. grogginess a little easier. He and I sat on the family room floor and played monster trucks together before the sun rose. I feel such gratitude for the one-on-one time I spend with A. When I get to experience him being his unfiltered self and witnessing the curiosity and joy he feels for simple things.
The time spent with R on Tuesday morning starkly contrasted that spent with A. To say the least, it was chaotic. R felt some residual frustration from his Monday night homework. His frustration manifested as rage, as it often does, due to an 'Unspecified Developmental Disorder.' In this instance, T and I endured being punched, sworn at and watching many items being thrown around the house. The last words R said to me that morning before leaving for school were "Remember: I don't care about you. I hate you." I realize that, deep down, he didn't truly mean it; that his words were intended to hurt me, and they did. Some photo albums, books and birthday cards laid in disarray on a shelf. One of his journals sat open on the floor after being heaved across the room. The journal landed next to one of the monster trucks that A and I had been playing with and hour earlier. I had three thoughts looking at the items on the floor: that I was grateful for the quality time I'd spent with A, that I was sad and frustrated about the distressing morning with R, and that I was proud of the creativity R displayed in the open journal. My running shoes are looking a bit worse for the wear after several years of use.
After being sedentary for most of my adult life, I developed the habit of jogging in the summer of 2021. I did so after learning about the concept of 'showing up' in a motivational video. Showing up to me means to make some sort of positive effort every day and not beat myself up when the short-term results aren't astronomical. These sneakers did not wear out after a single day of running. They changed gradually and consistently, one step at a time. Most mornings, T prepares a cup of coffee for me. Even if I start brewing, she will often finish the process and pour my cup as I am easily distracted. I look forward to the smell and hearing T say 'your coffee is ready.'
I also love the way the morning sun illuminates our kitchen. Yesterday, I was appreciating how the light emphasized the patterns in the flow of coffee and rising steam. On Saturday, the annual 'Snow Ball' was held at A and R's school. The school dance was the perfect reason for R to don his 'fancy clothes' again and for A to rock his own brand new dress shirt and tie. I have not been able to attend that last few school events due to work; one of the downsides of being a wedding vendor is working on weekends. But since wedding season has slowed, I was able to attend this one and am super grateful. We, drank hot chocolate, took pictures in the photo booth and danced. The DJ played some of the songs that the boys requested (Can I Kick It? Yes You Can). Most importantly, A, R, T and I were able to spend some quality time together. The boys participated in the Chinese New Year dance as well. R was extremely excited and proud to wear the lion mask.
The sun rises on the front side of our home. T and I can see the sky changing color from our bedroom window. When the clouds turn cotton candy pink, the kids say that 'the sky painter' has been here. We have a crystal in the window that catches the morning light and makes lovely rainbows on the bedroom walls. Spinning it makes the rainbows dance and reminds me of how much T loves the sun crystals we have throughout the house.
I am also grateful for the stack of books on my nightstand. Yesterday I wanted capture some video. I felt it could be challenging to find anything worth filming since everything outside has been frozen in place. I've captured a few clips on my phone at the creek behind our home, so I headed there in search of motion. When I first stepped into the woods, everything seemed still and whitewashed but I persevered and did eventually find what I had come for. The water rushing beneath the frozen surface of the stream felt symbolic of my own life during winter; stagnant at first glance but raging below. The longer I stood on the bank in silence, the more I noticed the movement throughout the rest of the woods.
Last night, R performed with his third grade classmates in his school's winter concert. In second grade, he played cello but chose to switch to violin this year. This was our first time seeing and hearing him play violin outside of home. In the picture on the left, taken before the show, he is demonstrating to me how the hand position for holding the violin bow is different than the position for holding the cello bow. In the second picture, he is warming up. In the third, he is catching me taking his photo after the performance.
I was, of course, extremely proud to watch R perform. Another highlight was watching him interact with the other kids and making them laugh before the show started. His excitement about the shirt and tie that I bought him for the concert also made me happy. Earlier in the week when I asked him if he'd like me to get some 'fancy clothes' for him to wear during the concert, he made me promise that I would. After I helped him put them on at home, he looked at himself in the mirror and said that he looked like "a youth president." He wore the shirt and tie to school again today. In the fall of 2024, I started sessions with a new therapist. I'd been talking to a counselor in the psychological services department of the University of Connecticut for the better part of the year with the goal of feeling more happy and less overwhelmed. Each new school year at UConn, all patients of the psych services department are assigned a new counselor and the new school year had just begun.
During one of my first sessions with my new therapist, S, I was attempting to describe how I felt most days. This prompted her to define the word 'anhedonia' for me: an·he·do·nia: a psychological condition characterized by inability to experience pleasure in normally pleasurable acts WebMD says that anhedonia is a common symptom of depression as well as other mental health disorders. I'd been diagnosed as having depression and anxiety in the past so the connection didn't surprise me, but for some reason the new word stuck in my mind. Fighting the feelings, or lack thereof, associated with anhedonia have been a recurring theme during therapy sessions. In our meeting this week, S presented an idea that could potentially rekindle some of the pleasure I used to get from my hobbies. I was given to two pieces of homework: 1) read for 30 minutes every day 2) take at least one photograph or video clip ever day So, I've created this blog to focus on the latter (though I will likely occasionally talk a bit about what I'm reading). My plan is to use this as a digital journal for myself and perhaps share it with others who may find it interesting, useful or entertaining. At the very least, I hope it will keep me consistent in completing my homework for therapy. Beyond that, I would like to learn more about myself and develop some anti-anhedonia tools. |
AuthorI live in Eastern Connecticut with my wife and kids. I like to take pictures, make videos, record music and read books. ArchivesCategories |