I prefer to take my pictures out of doors where the light is usually brilliant and the background way more interesting than, say my crayon-marked walls, for example. Besides, it's autumn meaning, most of the time, our yard and street look like Thomas Kinkade himself came by with his paintbrush and turned our neighborhood into a tranquil scene worthy of slapping on to limited edition decorative plates to be sold in Good Housekeeping for three easy installments of only $19.99. For the past 48 hours, however, it has been raining and raining and raining on top of the mounds of dying leaves spread over our lawns making it look and feel and smell like wet dog around here. I've been forced, therefore, to search inside for some photo opportunities.
I showed the shot above to my husband, who I know must, occasionally, scratch his head in bewilderment of his wife's ever-growing obsession with finding/composing memorable images and yet, bless his heart, never ever questions or teases me about it. He responded with, "Oh, it's a picture of your feet."
"Yes," I said, "they are my feet." And then I giggled inwardly at the thought of me on the edge of sanity, after spending a week locked away in our germ-infested house, wearing 24/7 the same old stretched-out stained sweater, pausing to seriously and enthusiastically position just right my red shoes on the bathroom linoleum.
And there it is: I create to punctuate the days and keep from, totally, losing my mind when life, as it tends to do, threatens to haphazardly bowl me over all at once rather than gently and methodically unfolding. What you're looking at is not only a picture of my humble, thrift store-bought version of Ruby Red Slippers, but also a means of preserving some honest-to-goodness contentment in the midst of chaos.
And now for a shower and some hard-core dish washing!
Ah, there's no place like home.