Contact Sheet

I took a walk this evening, past the new ice cream parlor, then The Colony where a whole soccer team full of ten-year-olds was eating platters of hamburgers and fries. Down the street, crossing paths with a man whose dog was wearing a striped rugby shirt. And then towards a new hair salon, walls dripping with wild graffiti.  No one was eating at Phiner Bistro (I have never seen anyone eat there), and only a few were snuggled in at O'Neill's, all watching a baseball game. Finally, I made it to Heights Arts and saw that the photography show is up.

Just a bit before my walk,  someone asked me how my day had gone.  And I said fine, it was a good day.  For the most part, if I had to place it in a box, "good" would be the box wherein this day would land.But as soon as I stared through the gallery window, at the dozens and dozens of contact sheets, I knew that that's what today was.That's what every day is.  Part good, part hard, part taxing, part dead dull. And if you were to take my picture at hourly increments, you would have seen an array.  Boxes filling the day,not a day simply placed in a box.

8 am - pale and unanimated, just pulling my car keys out of my pocket.
9 am - smiling, patting my favorite dog Lucy while we both watched the wallball game.
10 am - imitating Icarus falling from the sky,all of the boys' faces swollen with interest.
11 - quiet, still, checking my temperature, not sure if I am getting better or getting sick.
Noon - teasing the woman at the salad bar about her mini-egg rolls.
3 - furrowed, serious, talking to teachers about what needs to happen next. (That is always what I seem to be doing around three o'clock every day.)
5 - concentrated, chopping vegetables, sneaking a pinch full of mozzarella cheese. Thinking about my mom and how she always used to make a similar concoction during the summer months.
7 - cocked head, slight widening of the eyes, as I read, again, an email I have been waiting for for a few days.  Happy, in that slow, slightly unsteady way.

That's what it is, today.  And tomorrow. And the ten thousand next days. Contact sheets, one moment sliding to the next. Every day holding everything. Some more dense and animated than the others, but each, dotted with it all. Yes, today was a good day. And it was a wide day.  I am so wont to label and define, assert a final judgement on so many things that are so fluid.  It was important to be reminded that today was not only what I stamped at its conclusion, but so much more.  I'm going for the small tomorrow.  Not the summative verdict for the day, but the snapshots.  The many, many moments that will make up my Thursday.