We are cleaning out the garage. It needs it. We need it. It is a collection of 17 years of kids, activities, growth, hobbies, projects. We are stepping over piles of stuff and so it is time. This might be our 6 month project. We take a shelf each night, and work through it. Being diligent to discard, give away and being conservative with keeping. We've thrown away expired gardening stuff, broken hockey sticks, parts that go to something we've gotten rid of already. It's been hard and good. When it is my turn to look at an item, John doesn't pressure me but helps me make a decision, keep, give, throw away. When it is his turn I do the same. We've gone through his college books, outdated? yes but only because they are on a newer edition. He hasn't used them. Kids' school projects, I walk down memory lane but they don't care about them. I've already documented most of it on this blog and well what wasn't documented, they don't remember or care, it's only me. Dress up clothes in three boxes have been paired down to one.  I did keep some that my mom made for my brother and I and that my kids wore and maybe they will be used again. I realize that we won't be parking the cars anytime soon in the garage. We are not about to get rid of the ping pong table, or the weights, or the bikes, but we can make it so we can walk around the garage and find the things that we want.  Hopefully there will be a part two of this project.  The after shots.

There is something therapeutic when baking. I'm not talking about opening a box, adding oil and egg and then sticking it in the oven.  I'm talking about hauling out the flour, salt, baking soda, eggs, milk and butter.  There is something about combining the ingredients, mixing, waiting, baking, waiting. It's a process. It takes time. Rolling out the dough, cutting it, placing it gently on the baking sheet, taking turns baking, cooling, baking, cooling, rolling in sugar, waiting and rerolling.  It isn't done quickly and I think that's what I like about it. It takes time and effort. It is a commitment, enjoyed by all from the fragrance of the house when the kids walk in to the melt in your mouth taste of each bite. It grounds me. There is no noise while I'm baking except the furnace swinging the vertical blinds, the oven heating, the timer going off, and my mind. It is quiet and soothing.

I just can't get tired of coming out to see these birds. It has become a tradition for me. I take time to drive out; leaving responsibility behind and staying as long as needed.  It isn't just drive out, pop out of the car, snap a photo and drive home. It is waiting for the eagles to awake, get hungry, and start to hunt. The moment I step out of the car, I hear the eagles shriek to one another, sometimes triumphantly and other times in warning. The smell of dead and rotten fish permeate the air. The carcasses of salmon are strewn along the banks and sandbars tempting hungry eagles to dine. I find a spot in the sun. I need the sun as much as the eagles, and pulling out my notebook, I wait. I sip the coffee I brought, still hot in the thermos, burning my tongue and throat. I am thankful for it, as it warms me from the inside. I watch other photographers come and go and yet I wait.  I know this year, I was almost too late. It is the end of the salmon run, the end of the eagles congregating along the trees at the edge of the river. There were a few eagles and yet even without the activity it would have been worth the time just to be refreshed by being.

The start of the year, brings ideas of a clean slate, a way to start new. Each year, reflections of the past year are thought upon and resolutions are made. I long to slow and pour out my soul, yet life spins and twirls with activities. I don't know how to begin. Routines are safe, needed and wanted. They are set but are static, not allowing for dynamic soul searching.  Scheduling times to write doesn't seem to work, I want to be authentic, real. I feel the need to dig, to create, to pour out. How? Picking up my notebook, camera, some hot coffee I head out, hoping to find my voice in the wilderness. Hoping to find me, just for a time.